#go try and figure out why you hold so much hatred to people you don't know for this thing that harms them more than it could ever harm you

[daz4i]

people are so evil about mental illnesses and to mentally ill people it's actually disgusting

[mssishipi]

THE PURGE SERIES #1: Kiss Me - enhypen! jay PAIRING:purger reader x privileged jay

SYNOPSIS: You hate the Purge. You hate the monster they create, the cruelty, and the way it's broken you down year after year. You hate the rich most of all—the people who don't have to fight to survive. People like Park Jongseong. And now, somehow, he's sitting next to you. The boy who's always smiling, always comfortable, as if the world hasn't burned down around him. The boy who lives in safety, behind barricades his father's company builds, while you've spent years starving, hiding, and praying. Jongseong keeps smiling at you, oblivious to the weight of your hatred. He doesn't care about you, not really. To him, life is simple. And maybe that's why you can't stand him. Because while he laughs, you're trying to figure out how to make sure people like him never smile again.

warning: contains dark sensitive topics, mentions of murder, sexual assault, violence, and ptsd behavior, different perspectives of the purge, one sided hatred, reader is kinda difficult to handle but it's a trauma response, messy ending, jay is a supportive boyfie (in a good and bad ways), reader is unhinged, explicit content (3 diff scenes smut), fingering, nipple play, pussy eating, unprotected sex, doggy style, purge fucking, MDNI, reader discretion is advised

WC: 21.8K.

music to listen while purging: murder in my mind

You hate March 21. God, how you loathe it—the day that strips away any pretense of humanity.

It always starts the same way: the wailing sirens, cold and mechanical, ripping through the air.

Not even sixty seconds pass after the announcement before the streets erupt. Gunshots. Screams. The unmistakable, animalistic sounds of survival. The world falls apart faster than you can blink, faster than you can even take a breath. And every year, you sit in that darkness, trembling, hating.

You hate how they made this—how society carved out one single night to let its ugliest urges spill over.

You hate the twisted smiles on people's faces, the gleeful violence, the merciless slaughter. You hate everything about it.

You hate how weak you are. How poor you are. How your "barricade" is nothing but a creaky door and a pile of junk you've pushed in front of it. Heavy chairs, the couch, a dresser you could barely move—what is that supposed to do against the monsters outside?

They'll break through it in minutes, seconds even, if they choose you this year.

And there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

So you crawl inside the closet, knees tucked into your chest, hands pressing hard over your ears as the chaos outside creeps closer and closer. You rock back and forth, whispering to yourself, "Just twelve hours. You just have to survive twelve hours."

You hate how your morals hold you hostage.

You're too much of a coward, aren't you? Or maybe you're too human, too stupidly tied to the idea of right and wrong.

Either way, you've sentenced yourself to this endless nightmare.

You hate how they have no mercy. How people don't even hesitate.

The second those sirens stop, the masks go on, the knives come out, and the laughter—the laughter—starts echoing down the streets like some kind of hellish symphony.

You hate the way your mind races, picturing your own end over and over again. Would it be quick? A bullet to the head? Or would it be slow? Something worse?

You hate how poor you are. How people like you—people who can't afford high-tech barricades, bulletproof shelters, or private security.

You're the bottom rung of society, the lambs to the slaughter. And that's exactly how they see you. Nothing more than sport for the rich.

You've been their prey before—dragged into one of their "games." Their sick, twisted hunting expeditions where they wear masks and hunt you down like animals, laughing all the while.

Somehow, you survived that night. Somehow, you ran fast enough, hid well enough. But you didn't leave unscathed.

No, you left something behind that night: your sanity.

You can still feel their eyes on you, their jeers echoing in your ears, their mocking laughter as they cornered you over and over, just to let you escape so the game could continue.

You see their faces—those masks—every time you close your eyes.

And no matter where you go, it's always the same.

You transfer to a new town, a new neighborhood, hoping to disappear, but you always end up right back here.

They smile too wide, your neighbors. They're too friendly. Too eager to see you. And every time they stare at you, every time their grins linger a little too long, you feel the bile rise in your throat.

You hate everything about the Purge.

You hate the people who participate in it, the government that allows it, the sick, twisted minds that relish in it.

You hate the monsters you've seen outside, but you hate the monster you're becoming even more.

Because every year, it gets harder. Harder to keep your sanity intact. Harder to resist. Harder to keep your morals from shattering under the weight of it all. And every year, the hatred inside you grows like a poison, rotting you from the inside out.

You hate how you're always waiting. Waiting for another March 21.

Waiting for the next time you'll have to endure this torment. Waiting for the day you finally snap, when you stop running, when you stop hiding, and when you start fighting back.

You hate the waiting more than anything because you know that day is coming. You know it's only a matter of time before something inside you finally breaks.

And when it does, you'll hunt them down. Every last one of them. The rich who preyed on you. The neighbors who smiled too wide while undressing you. The government officials who allowed this nightmare to persist.

You hate March 21.

But more than that, you hate how much you're starting to look forward to it.

"I see you survived the Purge," you muttered, your eyes narrowing as they landed on the group of seven boys in the hallway.

They were laughing softly, their voices laced with relief as they exchanged hugs and pats on the back.

"Thank God," one of them said, gripping the others in a tight embrace, his shoulders sagging like he'd been holding his breath for the last twelve hours.

"I already told you guys," another voice chimed in—smooth, Park Jongseong. Of course.

"Next year, you should all come to our house. Our lockdown is solid. Our barricades are strong enough to keep anyone out. You'll be safe there, trust me."

You scoffed, the sound low and bitter, but loud enough to be heard if anyone was paying attention. Of course, they weren't. They never noticed you. Not people like them.

Park Jongseong— the golden boy. His father owned one of the biggest barricade companies in the country, making a fortune off other people's desperation and fear.

He didn't just survive the Purge; he thrived in it. His family's state-of-the-art lockdown system probably made their house into a fortress.

And now here he was, standing in the middle of the school hallway, flashing that perfect smile and talking about how his family had been "safe and sound" while people like you hid under a bed, praying not to die.

You bit the inside of your cheek, tasting blood, and turned away. Of course Jongseong had survived. People like him always did.

You were miserable. Miserable every single day for the past seven years since the Purge began.

Seven years since the night your parents were taken from you on that first Purge.

Seven years of surviving on your own, scrabbling through life like a rat in a never-ending maze.

An irregular college student balancing four jobs just to afford rent, tuition, and scraps of food that barely kept you standing.

And some nights, when you're too tired to even close your eyes, the same thought creeps in, like a whisper you can't shut out.

Why can't you just die already?

Was this what God wanted for you? Was your suffering some part of His great plan? If it was, you hated Him for it. You hated everything—for putting you here, for making you live like this, for keeping you alive while everyone else you cared about was gone.

Then came August. Seven months before the next Purge, You took your entire month's pay—every single cent you'd earned and bought a handgun from a retired Russian police man who didn't ask questions.

You didn't eat for weeks after that, barely managing to survive on water and scraps you could steal from work.

Hunger clawed at your stomach, but you didn't care. Every second of discomfort was worth it as you cradled the gun in your hands at night, running your fingers over the cold steel.

At college, exhaustion weighed on you like a heavy coat. Your mind was foggy, your body barely cooperating as you tried to focus in class. You were too tired to care about anything anymore. That's why, when you heard the voice, you didn't even look up at first.

"Hey, are you Y/N?"

You blinked, sluggishly dragging your tired eyes up to meet the man.

Park Jongseong. He was standing there, his usual easy smile on his face, holding a lab manual in one hand.

Your brows furrowed as he sat down next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You raised an eyebrow at him, watching in silent disbelief as he got comfortable.

"We're partners in laboratory," he announced with that same friendly grin, his tone light and conversational.

You stared at him, your eyebrow twitching slightly. Of course, we are. Just my fucking luck.

You hated him. You hated everything about him.

You hated how he could walk into a room and light it up, how he always smiled like life was some perfect little gift wrapped up in a bow.

You hated how easy everything seemed for him, how he floated through life without ever seeming to care about the world around him.

Jongseong keeps smiling at you, oblivious to the weight of your hatred. He doesn't care about you, not really. To him, life is simple. And maybe that's why you can't stand him.

Because while he laughs, you're trying to figure out how to make sure people like him never smile again.

"I'm Park Jongseong," he says brightly, "You can call me Jay, if you don't know me."

You stare at him with your tired eyes, barely masking your irritation. His enthusiasm is exhausting, like a candle burning too brightly, too close to your already frayed nerves.

But he doesn't seem to notice. Of course, he doesn't. He keeps talking.

"I'm planning to start our experimental research maybe in like three days? I don't really like cramming," Jay continues, flashing you another one of his easy smiles.

"Are you available on Saturday?" he asks, finally looking at you. "Do you want to do it at my place or yours?"

His smile falters for the first time when you just stare at him, bored and uninterested, like he's wasting your time—which he is.

He must be so used to people hanging on his every word, eating up his charm. You, on the other hand, are trying to figure out how long you have to tolerate him before he leaves.

"I have a morning shift at the ice cream shop. Probably the afternoon, but I'll leave at 7 PM," you reply flatly, spinning your pen lazily between your fingers. You're not trying to be rude.

You're just tired—tired of him, tired of everything. "Then I have another shift at the restaurant."

Jay nods, and for a moment, you think he's about to say something stupid, like you work too hard or you should take it easy. But he doesn't. Instead, he watches you for a second too long before his smile returns, a little dimmer than before.

"And your place," you add, cutting off whatever he was going to say. The idea of being in his house, surrounded by whatever rich-boy luxuries he has, makes your stomach churn.

Jay blinks, then nods again. "Alright, my place it is," he says, his tone softer, as if he's trying to figure you out.

You hate it—hate the way his gaze lingers on you.

You turn your attention back to your notebook, letting the silence hang between you until he finally shifts in his seat and looks away. At least he knows when to stop talking. For now.

You observe people every shift. At the ice cream shop, kids cry and tug at their parents, pointing at a flavor they desperately want. At the fast food chain, students laugh, stuffing fries into each other's mouths, their joy spilling out into the air.

You watch them. You clean up after them. And when no one's looking, you pick at their scraps—half-eaten burgers, fries left behind—anything to stave off the hunger that gnaws at you day and night.

When you sneak into the back to wash your hands, you catch your reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror. It almost shocks you, the hollow-cheeked girl staring back.

Your dark eye bags seem to sink into your face like bruises, your cheekbones sharp enough to look dangerous. Your lips are pale, chapped from thirst, and your hoodie swallows what little remains of you.

Even when you do sleep, it's never peaceful.

The nightmares always find you, pulling you back to that night—hands grabbing, voices laughing, the cold press of a mask against your skin.

Not even the sleeping pills you've wasted money on help anymore. You've tried. God knows you've tried. But the fear is something you can't escape.

And then Saturday comes.

Jay welcomes you at his house with his usual easy smile.

You stand awkwardly at the entrance, your eyes immediately drawn to the luxurious details surrounding you.

Expensive vases line the walls. A cabinet full of fine liquor gleams under the lights. Everything in the house feels deliberate, pristine, and just looking at it makes you feel like you don't belong.

"This way," Jay says cheerfully, leading you to his room.

The moment you step inside, you're greeted with more of the same—displays of wealth that feel almost obscene to you. A collection of guitars lined up like trophies. A cabinet stuffed with fancy perfumes. Everything here screams a life of comfort, of privilege, of a world you'll never touch.

"Are you always cold? Want me to lower the aircon?" Jay asks suddenly, his gaze flicking to your oversized hoodie.

You almost punch him for the question. The audacity of it. 

Are rich people really this clueless?

The irritation bubbles up. You almost imagine your hands around his neck, squeezing some sense into him.

"No, thanks," you say curtly, not bothering to hide your annoyance. You drop to the floor, pulling out your notebook and pen, ignoring the uncomfortable tension forming between you.

"You can sit on my bed," Jay offers, reaching out to touch your arm like it's no big deal.

But the moment his hand brushes your sleeve, your mind snaps. You're not in his room anymore. You're back there—on that night—being grabbed, pulled, restrained. Masked faces loom in your vision, their laughter ringing in your ears like a sick melody.

Before you even realize it, you've slapped his hand away, standing so fast you almost knock your notebook over.

"I—I'm sorry," you stammer, your voice shaky as you rub your arm. Jay just stands there, his hand hovering in the air, confusion written all over his face.

"It's fine," he says quickly. His smile is gone now, replaced by something softer.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to sit down again—this time on the bed, even though you'd rather be anywhere else. You pull your notebook back into your lap, flipping it open as if nothing happened, your hands trembling slightly.

The two of you work in near silence, researching for your lab project. Jay tries to engage you now and then, asking for your thoughts, but you keep your answers brief. You don't want to talk. You don't want to share. You just want to get through this.

After a while, Jay breaks the silence again. "How many jobs do you have?" he asks, his voice almost hesitant. "How do you manage school and work?"

You huff, irritated by his questions. What does he know about working to survive? What does he know about balancing your life on a thread?

"I don't manage," you reply bluntly. "I'm already planning to stop after this semester."

Jay straightens in his seat, frowning slightly. "Why?"

"Because I can't afford it anymore," you snap, your patience wearing thin. Your voice is sharper than you intend, but you don't care. You glare at him, daring him to argue, to say something stupid like, You should keep trying.

But Jay just looks down, his gaze softening. "I'm sorry," he whispers, almost too quiet to hear.

Before you can respond, a knock interrupts the moment. A head peeks into the room—a woman with wavy hair and a face so similar to Jay's that it's clear she's his mother.

"Heard you had a classmate over," she says warmly. "Come down and eat."

Jay stands immediately, glancing at you as if waiting to see if you'll follow. You nod stiffly, clutching your notebook to your chest as you trail behind him, feeling awkward in a house like this.

When you reach the dining room, your stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud at the sight of the food. A table full of steaming dishes spreads out before you, prepared by maids who move around effortlessly. You've never seen this much food at once before, not even during the holidays.

"Come, sit, sweetheart," Jay's mom says, pulling a chair out for you. Her voice is so kind, so gentle, that it makes your chest ache.

You sit down slowly, staring at the food like it's a mirage. Jay's mom piles your plate high with food, her warm smile reminding you so much of your own mother that your throat tightens.

"Eat, don't be shy," she says, her voice light and encouraging.

Your hands shake as you pick up the spoon, the first bite warming your tongue. 

The taste is overwhelming, rich and filling, and it's so good that tears prick at the corners of your eyes. 

You quickly take another bite, and another, ignoring the lump in your throat.

Jay watches you quietly, his gaze flicking to your small, trembling hands. His eyes catch on the scars peeking out from your sleeves as your sweater rides up.

"So, where are you from? It's my first time seeing you here! Jay's always bringing friends over—so many faces!" His mother's voice was cheerful, her smile warm and inviting.

"I'm from Las Vegas," you replied, keeping your eyes on your empty plate. You didn't want to talk, but her energy made it hard to ignore her.

Your gaze shifted to Jay as he leaned over, silently placing more food onto your plate.

"Oh, Las Vegas!" His mom exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "What made you settle here in Seattle? Life is so exciting over there! So bright and lively!"

"Not really," you said, inhaling sharply as you tried to keep your tone even. The last thing you wanted was to go deeper into that conversation.

She didn't seem to notice your discomfort. "Oh, I see. Well, what do your parents do for a living?"

You froze. The fork in your hand stilled as memories rushed back like a tidal wave.

The screams. The blood. The way your parents looked at you, their faces twisted in pain as you hid, trembling in the cabinet.

"They're dead," you said bluntly, gripping your fork so tightly your knuckles turned white.

The room seemed to grow quieter. His mother's cheerful expression faltered. "Pardon?"

"They're de—" you started, but the words caught in your throat. Your pulse quickened, your chest tightening, and before you could finish, Jay cut in.

"It's already almost 7:00," he said quickly, "Didn't you say you have a shift?"

You looked at him, startled. His gaze met yours, and for the first time, his ever-present smile was gone. Instead, his eyes were steady, watching you carefully, like he knew you were unraveling and didn't want to make it worse.

You took the excuse without hesitation. "Yeah," you muttered, shoving your chair back as you stood. "I should go."

His mom looked like she wanted to say something, but Jay rose from his seat, cutting her off with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'll walk her out," he said softly.

"Thank you for the food, Mrs. Park," you smiled, trying to look natural, bowing at her. You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, refusing to look back at the table, at the food, at his mother's concerned face. Your throat burned as you fought the tears threatening to spill over.

Jay followed you silently as you stepped into the hallway. Once you were out of earshot, he finally spoke.

"You didn't have to answer her," he said gently.

You stopped in your tracks, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. "I didn't want to," you said flatly, your voice trembling just a little. "But people always ask. Like they have the right to know."

Jay didn't respond immediately. When you glanced at him, he looked... softer, his usual brightness dimmed with something quieter. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and careful. "She didn't mean anything by it. My mom's just... the type to ask questions. She doesn't think it'll hurt anyone."

"Yeah, well, it does," you snapped, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself. Your voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet hallway. But Jay didn't flinch. He just nodded, that same calm expression on his face, like he understood.

And for some reason, that made you angrier.

Your bag strap digging into your shoulder as you stared at him. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. Your chest burned with frustration, your hands curling into fists at your sides. You weren't sure what you were mad at—his mom's question, his calm demeanor, or the fact that he kept pretending to get you when he didn't.

The words tumbled out. "What are your thoughts about the Purge, Jay?"

Jay's eyes widened, caught off guard by the sudden question. He hesitated for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like he was carefully picking his words.

"I—I don't agree with it," he said finally, his voice quiet..

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "You don't agree with it?" you repeated, mocking his tone.

"That's rich. The Purge is the reason why you're making money, Jay. It's why your family's living in that giant house with your shiny vases and fancy barricades."

Jay blinked, visibly taken aback. "That's not fair," he said, his voice soft but firm.

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice rising.

"Your dad's company makes barricades, doesn't it? Every year, people like you get richer while people like me..." You trailed off, shaking your head as your throat tightened. "You don't get to sit there and say you don't agree with it. Not when your family profits from it."

Jay's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable.

"And you know what's funny?" you continued, the bitterness spilling out of you now. "You probably spend Purge night in your fortress of a house, watching movies or playing board games with your family while the rest of us are out there dying. You don't even have to think about it, do you?"

"That's not true," Jay said quietly, his hands clenching at his sides. "I do think about it."

"Oh, do you?" you snapped, glaring at him. "What, do you spend a whole five minutes feeling bad for people like me before you go back to your perfect little life?"

"That's not what I—" Jay started, but you cut him off.

"You don't get it, Jay," you said, your voice trembling now, anger and exhaustion mixing into a volatile cocktail. "You'll never get it. You don't know what it's like to be hunted like an animal while people laugh. So don't stand there and tell me you 'don't agree with it,' because that doesn't mean anything coming from you."

Jay looked like he wanted to say something—his mouth opened, but no words came out. His shoulders slumped slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw guilt flash across his face.

"I'm sorry," Jay said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You froze, your anger faltering for a moment as his words sunk in. Your chest tightened, and your eyes softened just slightly, guilt prickling at the edges of your mind. What were you even doing?

But the shame and bitterness were too much to face. You turned away quickly, your voice small and strained. "I'm sorry... I should go," you murmured, gripping the strap of your bag as you hurried to leave.

Jay didn't stop you. He just watched your retreating figure, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. As the door clicked shut behind you, he sat down heavily, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to help, but he didn't know how. And the way you looked at him, like he was the problem, made it feel impossible.

The weeks passed in a blur of survival and self-destruction. Bullets were fucking expensive. Even knives cost more than you expected, and every penny you earned disappeared the moment it hit your hands. Life was getting harder.

The monster inside you—was growing louder, feeding off your exhaustion and anger.

At night, when you weren't working, you trained yourself obsessively. Watching documentaries on how to kill someone. Studying anatomy. Practicing with your weapons until your hands were blistered and shaking. 

You didn't care if your body couldn't take it anymore. Pain didn't matter. Hunger didn't matter. Nothing mattered except being ready.

But as the weeks dragged on, it became harder to keep going.

Your hoodie, the one you wore every day like a second skin, was filthy and smelled of sweat and exhaustion. Your body was sore in every possible way.

Your reflection in the mirror was worse than before—hollow eyes, sallow skin, dark circles so deep. And every time you saw yourself, you thought the same thing.

You just want to die already.

One night, your phone buzzed. It was a message from Jay.

"Y/N, I'm sorry to bother you, but you haven't been coming to class. I can handle most of the project on my own, but for this reporting, I really need your presence."

You stared at the message for a long time, debating whether to ignore it. But something in you caved. Maybe it was guilt. You replied: "Okay. I'll come."

Jay welcomed you into his house again, you ended up on his bed, laptop in your lap as you both worked on the PowerPoint for your report. The room was quiet except for the sound of typing, but every movement felt like a struggle. Your body ached. Your head throbbed. You could barely focus, and every second felt like a fight to stay upright.

It wasn't long before your body gave up.

The laptop slipped from your lap, crashing to the floor as your vision blurred. The last thing you heard before everything went dark was Jay's panicked voice calling your name.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a white ceiling. 

The faint smell of alcohol and disinfectant filled the air, and the sharp tug of a needle in your arm made you realize you were hooked up to an IV. An oxygen tube rested under your nose, and your body felt impossibly heavy, as if all the exhaustion you'd been ignoring had finally caught up with you.

Your gaze drifted down to your body—and then you saw it.

You were wearing a hospital gown.

Panic gripped you instantly. Your chest tightened, your breathing quickening as your hands clawed at the fabric.

"No, no, no," you whispered, your voice trembling as your heart pounded in your ears.

Memories of hands grabbing at you, tearing at your clothes, flashed through your mind like lightning. You gasped for air, a faint scream slipping from your lips.

Jay jolted awake from the chair beside you, his eyes wide with alarm.

"W-what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with panic. He moved closer, his hands hovering uncertainly like he wasn't sure if he should touch you.

"H-hoodie," you stammered, gripping his arm with weak, trembling hands. Your nails dug into his skin. "Need to cover. Ugly. Ugly."

Jay winced at the pain but didn't pull away. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he said gently, his voice calm and soothing. "You're okay. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

"No," you whimpered, shaking your head as tears streamed down your face. "I'm ugly. Don't look." Your hands fumbled to pull the gown tighter around you, but it didn't help. You could feel the scars beneath it—the raised lines.

Jay hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching out to cover your hands with his. His touch was warm, steady, and he squeezed your fingers just enough to ground you.

"You're not ugly," he said softly, his tone so sincere it made your chest ache.

You shook your head again, your voice breaking as panic surged through you. "You don't understand. You don't know what they did to me. What I look like—"

"Calm down," Jay interrupted, his voice steady but still gentle, as if he were trying to anchor you to the moment.

He closed his eyes and turned his head slightly to the side, a gesture meant to reassure you. "I'm not looking, okay? I'm not looking."

His words made you pause, your breathing still uneven but slowing just a little as you clung to his arm. The panic was still there, buzzing under your skin, but his calmness was starting to chip away at it, little by little.

"You're safe now," Jay said, his tone softer this time, "and you're not alone, okay? I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Just calm down, breathe in, breathe out. You can do this."

You tried to follow his instructions, inhaling shakily and letting the air out in uneven bursts. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to keep you grounded, enough to stop the tears blurring your vision completely.

Jay's hand was warm against yours, his fingers gentle but firm as he held on. "What do you want me to get?" he asked softly, his voice careful, his head still turned slightly away so you wouldn't feel watched.

"My hoodie," you whispered, your voice weak and pleading. "I need it. Please."

Jay glanced at the IV in your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You have an IV in your skin," he said quietly. "It's still not okay for you to wear your hoodie yet. If you pull at it, you could hurt yourself."

You looked away, shame and frustration boiling under your skin, your fingers gripping the hospital blanket tightly. "I don't care," you mumbled, your voice trembling.

Jay sighed softly, squeezing your hand again to ground you. "I know you don't feel comfortable," he said, his tone gentle but firm, "but if it's too hot or heavy right now, I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to put it on."

You clenched your jaw, swallowing back another wave of tears. "I just—I need to cover up," you said, your voice breaking again.

Jay hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said carefully, "if you're not comfortable in the gown, I can get you a long-sleeve nightgown instead. Something softer. Something that'll cover your arms. Is that what you want?"

You glanced at him, your lip trembling, and nodded weakly. "Yeah," you whispered, barely audible.

Jay gave your hand one last gentle squeeze before slowly standing up. "I'll go ask the nurses," he said softly.

Days had passed, and Jay had stayed by your side, refusing to leave, despite how much of a burden you felt like.

He wasn't overbearing or hovering—just quietly there, helping you in any way he could.

He brought you meals, water, even helped you comb through your disheveled hair when your strength failed you. He didn't ask questions about what happened, didn't demand explanations.

His mother visited often, sweeping into the room with an energy that made your chest ache. She came with baskets of fruit, flowers, and small gifts, her arms overflowing like she was trying to smother you with kindness.

On one visit, she hugged you tightly, tears in her eyes, and said, "You need to take better care of yourself, sweetheart. Your life is precious."

Her words pierced through you, bringing a lump to your throat. You didn't have the heart to respond, just nodded, even though deep down you still didn't believe her.

Jay's friends, Sunoo and Ni-ki, had even come to visit. Despite the fact that they didn't know you at all, they acted like you were an old friend.

They brought a snake and ladder board game, and before you knew it, they were sitting cross-legged on your hospital bed, loudly cheering, groaning, and playfully arguing over the dice rolls. Their laughter filled the room, echoing against the sterile walls and spilling over the edges of your heart.

At first, you just watched them silently, your hands resting in your lap, unsure of how to react. But as the game went on, you found yourself drawn in—your dead eyes softening as you watched them bicker like kids, a faint half-smile tugging at your lips.

For the first time in what felt like years, you felt something other than pain. Just a flicker, but it was there. A tiny seed of happiness.

"What do you want to eat today?" Jay asked, smiling as he sat at the edge of your bed, peeling an apple with practiced ease.

"I want rice cakes!" Ni-ki chimed in, raising his hand like an excited child.

Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, crossing his arms. "Yuck! We had rice cakes yesterday!"

Their back-and-forth made you chuckle softly, a sound you hadn't heard from yourself in a long time.

But later, when the room grew quiet again, and it was just you and Jay, that flicker of happiness gave way to something heavier. Guilt.

You glanced at Jay as he sat by the window, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly. His face was relaxed, the sunlight catching the soft angles of his features. He had done so much for you—things he didn't have to do. And all this time, you had hated him. Misunderstood him.

You had assumed the worst of him, just because he was rich.

You had lumped him in with the monsters who had ruined your life, convinced yourself that he was just another spoiled, privileged kid who wouldn't understand what suffering felt like. But the truth was... he wasn't.

He wasn't the people who had hunted you, mocked you, stripped you of your humanity. He wasn't the people who laughed behind masks, thriving on fear and violence.

Jay had done nothing but help you, even when you were rude to him, even when you pushed him away.

And yet, the guilt didn't erase your pain. It didn't undo your trauma or silence the nightmares that still haunted you.

You still hated the world that allowed the Purge to exist. You still hated the memories that burned like fire in your veins. You still hated yourself for being weak, for surviving when your parents hadn't.

But you didn't hate Jay anymore.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly, breaking the silence.

Jay looked up, tilting his head in confusion. "For what?"

"For... for how I treated you," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "For assuming things about you just because of where you come from. I thought you wouldn't care. That you couldn't understand. But... you're not like them."

Jay's expression softened, a small, almost sad smile tugging at his lips. "You don't have to apologize for that," he said gently. "You've been through hell. I get why you'd feel that way."

You shook your head, gripping the blanket tightly in your hands. "No, you don't get it. I was cruel to you. I blamed you for things that weren't your fault."

Jay was quiet for a moment, then reached out, resting a hand over yours.

His touch was warm, steady, grounding. "I'm not perfect," he said softly, his tone sincere. "I won't pretend to know what you've been through. But I want to help."

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill over again. You didn't know how to respond, so you just nodded, gripping his hand. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to trust someone. Even if it was just a little.

"The doctor said you have anemia and osteoporosis," Jay's mother said gently, setting her bag down on the small table beside your hospital bed.

"That's why your bones are weak! You'll need to eat more foods with calcium and iron to build your strength and get your blood count higher. We'll make sure you have everything you need."

You stared at her, unsure how to respond. Guilt curled in your stomach, gnawing at you. You weren't her child. You weren't even close to being part of her world. And yet, here she was, treating you so good.

"The hospital bill is covered," she continued, her voice casual, like it wasn't a big deal. But to you, it was.

It was a huge deal. The cost of staying in a place like this was something you couldn't even fathom. You'd spent years scraping by, eating leftovers just to save a few bucks, and here she was, brushing off what could've been months—maybe years—of your income.

"You don't need to worry about it," she added, her smile soft and reassuring. "Just focus on getting better. Jay's friend is also my priority."

Jay's friend.

The words hit you harder than you expected. You weren't his friend. You didn't deserve to be called that, not after the way you'd treated him.

"Thank you," you murmured finally, your voice barely audible. It was all you could manage without breaking down entirely.

Jay's mom smiled wider, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," she said, reaching out to gently pat your hand. "Now, tell me—what's your favorite food? I'll have the kitchen prepare something special for you."

You blinked, caught off guard by her kindness. "I... I don't really have one," you admitted quietly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

It wasn't a lie. You hadn't thought about things like "favorite food" in years. Food, for you, had been about survival, not enjoyment.

"Well, then we'll just have to find one for you," she said, her tone cheerful and determined. "I'll have the staff make a variety of dishes for you to try. And don't worry—if there's anything you don't like, we'll keep trying until we find something you love."

Her words left you speechless. All you could do was nod, the weight of her generosity pressing down on you. It felt so foreign, so undeserved, and yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt... cared for.

Jay, who had been quietly peeling an orange in the corner, finally spoke up. "Mom, don't overwhelm her," he said softly, his eyes flicking to yours. "She's still recovering."

You glanced at him, your gaze lingering for a moment longer than you intended.

His mother waved him off with a laugh. "Oh, hush, Jay. I'm just trying to help." She turned back to you, her smile never faltering. "You're part of our family now, okay? At least while you're here. So don't be shy about asking for anything."

Her words made something in your chest tighten. You nodded again, unable to trust your voice.

Jay's mother spent hours at your bedside, chatting away. She told you stories about Jay's childhood—how he once tried to "fix" a birdhouse with peanut butter, or how he dressed up as a firefighter for three Halloweens in a row because he was so obsessed with the uniform.

Jay groaned beside her, his face flushed as he waved her off. "Mom, stop! She doesn't need to know all of that!" he whined, his voice high with embarrassment.

But his mother only laughed, brushing him off with a playful wave. "Oh, hush, Jay. She needs to know how adorable you used to be!"

You couldn't help but chuckle softly, your lips curving into a small, almost shy smile.

Eventually, Jay's mother had to leave, something about a business emergency pulling her away. She hugged you gently before she left, squeezing your hands and promising to visit again soon.

"Take care of yourself, sweetheart," she said with a warm smile. "And if Jay gives you any trouble, let me know."

"I'm right here," Jay muttered, rolling his eyes but grinning all the same.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell quiet again. You and Jay were alone, the silence settling between you like a soft blanket.

"Have you showered?" Jay asked suddenly, breaking the stillness.

You shook your head, feeling a little self-conscious. It had been days since you'd had the energy to even think about something like that.

"Do you want to?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded hesitantly.

Jay smiled, standing up to grab a towel from his bag. He returned a moment later, his hand extended to you. "Come on," he said softly, his voice warm and encouraging.

You placed your hand in his, and he guided you carefully out of the bed. But as soon as your feet touched the ground, your knees buckled beneath you, the strength in your legs giving out entirely.

"Whoa!" Jay exclaimed, catching you before you could fall. Without hesitation, he slipped your arm around his neck, his other arm sliding under your legs.

"I've got you," he murmured as he lifted you effortlessly.

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn't protest as he carried you to the bathroom. His touch was steady, his arms warm and reassuring as he placed you gently into the tub.

"Do you want me to call a nurse to help you?" Jay asked, crouching in front of you. His voice was careful, like he was trying not to overstep.

You shook your head quickly. The idea of a stranger cleaning you—seeing you—made your stomach churn with discomfort. "I'm not comfortable," you said quietly, looking away.

Jay nodded, his brows furrowed slightly in thought. He didn't push or suggest anything else. He just waited, watching you carefully.

And then, before you could stop yourself, you looked up and met his gaze. "Can you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jay's eyes widened in surprise, his ears turning red as your words sunk in. "Are you sure?" he asked, his tone soft but serious. "Are you comfortable with me?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. You didn't know why you asked him. Maybe it was because he was the only one who had seen your broken pieces and didn't turn away. Maybe it was because, despite everything, you trusted him.

Jay hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the redness creeping up his neck.

Your hands trembled slightly as you began to strip off the hospital gown, letting it fall away from your shoulders.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, your chest tightening as the scars on your body were laid bare—scars from knives, from bullets, from cigarette burns that had long since healed but never truly faded.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

You finally glanced up at Jay, only to see his face frozen in a mixture of sadness and anger. His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His eyes weren't looking at you with disgust or pity—just pain. Pain that you couldn't quite understand.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice cracking. You quickly crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself, to hide the ugly truth of what had been done to you.

"Don't apologize," Jay said softly, his voice strained but firm. He crouched lower, his gaze meeting yours. "You don't have to apologize for this. None of this is your fault."

You bit your lip, tears welling in your eyes as you looked away. "It's ugly," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I'm ugly."

"No, you're not," Jay said immediately. "Don't ever say that. Don't ever think that."

Jay begins to open the faucet, filling the tub. You felt his hand gently rest on your shoulder, his touch so light it was almost like a question. "These scars," he continued, his voice softening, "they're not ugly. They're proof that you survived."

You turned back to him, tears spilling over as his words sank in. His gaze didn't waver, didn't falter. There was no judgment in his eyes, only sincerity.

His hands were gentle as he worked, brushing over your skin with careful precision, the towel soaking up water from your arms, your back, every part of you. Each movement was measured, respectful, almost as though he was afraid of breaking you.

The silence was heavy but not uncomfortable. Still, the question burned on your tongue, and before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Why are you helping me?"

Jay froze for the briefest of moments, his hands stilling as he rinsed the washcloth. Then he gently reached for your hair, lathering shampoo between his fingers before carefully massaging it into your scalp.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked softly, his tone calm, but you could hear the edge of emotion beneath it.

You tilted your head slightly, his fingers never missing a beat as they worked through your tangled hair. 

"Because... people don't just help without a reason," you muttered, your voice barely audible. "Are you pitying me?"

Jay's hands stilled again, his fingers pausing in your hair. For a moment, you regretted asking, but then he sighed softly, his hands resuming their slow, soothing motions.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm not helping you because I pity you."

"Then why?" you pressed, your voice cracking as the question spilled out of you. "Why are you doing all this? Why do you care?"

Jay rinsed the shampoo from your hair, his hands tilting your head back slightly so the water wouldn't get in your eyes. He stayed silent for a moment, as if he was choosing his words carefully.

"Because you deserve to be cared for," he said finally, his voice almost a whisper.

His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You stared at the tiled wall, unable to respond as your throat tightened and your eyes began to sting.

"I'm not doing this out of pity," Jay continued, his voice soft but insistent. "I'm doing this because I want to."

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. His words felt foreign, like they didn't belong to you. Like they were meant for someone else, someone who deserved kindness.

"But I'm broken," you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips. "You don't understand. I'm not... I'm not normal."

Jay's hands paused again, and for a moment, you thought he might agree with you. But instead, he leaned forward slightly, his voice so soft it almost didn't reach you.

"Who cares about 'normal'?" he asked gently, smiling at you.

His words made your chest ache, a strange, unfamiliar warmth blooming beneath the pain. You didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything. Instead, you let him finish rinsing your hair, his touch as careful as ever.

Jay stayed quiet for a moment, his hand gripping the soap, before his soft voice broke the silence. "Let me brush your body, hmm? Are you okay with that?"

You looked up at him, your eyes still glossy from earlier tears. He was smiling, It was softer, almost hesitant, like he was giving you all the space in the world to say no.

For a second, your chest tightened again. But then you wiped at your tears, nodding, a small, watery laugh slipping from your lips. "Yeah, okay."

Jay let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he dipped the soap into the water, creating a soft lather. "You don't need to apologize," he said after a moment.

But you shook your head, tears spilling over again as the words tumbled out. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "For being a burden. For being weak."

But Jay stopped what he was doing, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "Showing vulnerability isn't weakness," he said softly, his voice steady but warm. "Don't say you're a burden when you're not."

You finally looked at him, your breath hitching at the sincerity in his gaze.

You spent almost a month in the hospital, longer than you ever thought you'd stay. There were stretches of time when you were alone, the quiet pressing against you like a heavy blanket.

Jay still had to attend his classes during the day, and you hated how much that relieved you. Being around him, around his patience and kindness, was almost too much to bear. It made the guilt twist deeper into your chest.

But every night, without fail, Jay came back. He'd shuffle in, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and his face drawn with exhaustion.

No matter how tired he was, he'd sit beside you for a while, asking how your day had been, what you'd eaten, or if you needed anything.

Then, when he couldn't fight the fatigue anymore, he'd curl up on the couch, a thin blanket thrown over him, and fall asleep with his phone still clutched in his hand.

You'd watch him sometimes, your chest tightening at the sight of him.

Jay's mother visited often, breezing into the room with her warm smile and bags full of food. "You need to eat this," she'd say, setting down a steaming dish in front of you. "It'll help your bones."

The next day, it was something new: "This will boost your blood count!" she'd exclaim, watching eagerly as you took hesitant bites.

At first, you forced yourself to eat out of politeness, but slowly, you began to notice things.

You realized you liked gimbap—the way the rice was soft and slightly sweet, the seaweed wrapping it all together. You discovered new juices and found yourself craving strawberry milkshake more than anything else.

Jay's mom always noticed. "Strawberry milkshake, hmm?" she teased one afternoon, her smile playful. "I'll make sure to bring more tomorrow."

The warmth of her attention and care settled uncomfortably in your chest. You didn't know how to handle it, didn't know what to do with the kindness she gave so freely. It was foreign, and it made the guilt inside you grow.

After weeks of lying in bed, your body weak and fragile, the day finally came when you managed to stand on your own two feet. It wasn't easy. Your legs shook, your grip on the metal IV stand so tight your knuckles turned white, but you did it. For a brief moment, you felt a flicker of pride.

But then you looked down at yourself. Your pale, almost sickly skin stretched over your bony frame. Faint bruises marred your knees and legs.

You hated looking at yourself like this—so helpless, so exposed.

Your fingers trembled as you tightened your grip on the IV stand, leaning against it for support. Every movement felt slow and deliberate, like your body was relearning how to move after months of stillness. You shuffled to the calendar pinned on the wall, each step sending a dull ache through your legs, but you pushed through it.

December 13.

You stared at the date, your chest tightening as the weight of it settled on you. Three months. Three months until the Purge.

Your hand instinctively went to your stomach, as if trying to steady the rising wave of anxiety building inside you. You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight. The memories began creeping in, uninvited, flashing behind your eyes like fragments of a nightmare you could never escape.

You shook your head, closing your eyes to block it out, but it didn't help. The thought was already there, rooting itself firmly in your mind.

You couldn't go back to the same cycle of fear, of waiting for someone to find you, to break you all over again.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to steady your breathing, gripping the IV stand as it was the only thing keeping you upright. You felt caught in between two versions of yourself—the girl who cowered in fear, and the one who had spent months preparing to become something worse.

"You're standing."

The voice startled you, and you turned your head sharply, your grip tightening on the IV stand.

Jay was standing at the doorway, his hand on the handle, staring at you with that familiar wide smile that somehow made the heaviness in the room feel a little lighter.

"My mother said you like strawberry milkshake, so I brought you one," he said, stepping inside and walking toward you, his eyes soft with pride as he glanced at your trembling legs. "Here, let me help."

Before you could say anything, Jay gently took your hand and guided you back to the bed,

"I think I should discharge," you said quietly, the words barely escaping your lips.

Jay blinked, his smile fading slightly. "Why? You're not well yet. Are you thinking about the bills? You shouldn't. I told you, that's already taken care of."

You shook your head, staring at the strawberry milkshake in his hand as he popped the straw into the cup. He handed it to you, the smell of sweet strawberries wafting up and tempting your senses, but you couldn't focus on it.

"The Purge," you said finally, your voice trembling as you gripped the cup tightly, your knuckles turning white. "It's coming again."

Jay froze for a moment, his expression softening as he crouched down in front of you, his eyes level with yours. You could feel his gaze searching your face, waiting for you to continue.

"They... they're coming," you mumbled, your voice breaking. Your chest started to rise and fall rapidly, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. "I don't know what they'll do this time."

Jay reached out instinctively, his hand resting gently on top of yours, steadying the trembling that had begun to spread through your fingers.

"They always find me. No matter where I go. They... they enjoy it. It's a game to them." Jay's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he listened.

"They won't find you this time," he said firmly, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "I won't let them."

You stared at him, your chest tightening as you tried to find the words to respond. Instead, you looked down at the strawberry milkshake in your hand, the straw still untouched. Slowly, you brought it to your lips, taking a small sip. The sweet, familiar taste spread across your tongue, and for just a moment.

Jay stayed crouched in front of you, his hand still resting lightly on yours as he watched your expression soften just slightly after taking a sip of the strawberry milkshake.

"Y/N," Jay said after a pause, his voice careful.

You glanced at him, your grip tightening slightly around the cup in your hands. "What is it?"

Jay shifted, sitting back on his heels but keeping his gaze level with yours. "Have you ever thought about talking to someone? You know, a therapist? Someone who might be able to help with... everything you've been through."

Your breath hitched, and you stiffened slightly, your shoulders tensing as the words sank in. "I don't need that," you muttered quickly, looking away from him. "I'm fine."

Jay tilted his head slightly, his expression soft but unconvinced. "I don't think you're fine," he said gently, his tone lacking any hint of judgment. "And that's okay. You don't have to be fine. After what you've been through... no one would expect you to be."

Your chest tightened, your fingers digging into the cup as you tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat. "I don't want to talk about it," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "Talking won't change anything. It won't make the memories go away."

"I know," Jay said softly. "It won't erase what happened. But maybe it could help you carry it. You've been carrying all of this alone for so long, Y/N. Maybe it's time to let someone else help."

"I can't," you whispered, shaking your head. "I don't know how to... to say it out loud. I don't even know where I'd start."

Jay's hand tightened slightly on yours, grounding you as he leaned closer. "You don't have to start anywhere specific," he said quietly.

"You just have to take it one step at a time. They won't push you to talk about anything you're not ready for. It's not about fixing everything all at once—it's about helping you find a way to live with it."

You looked at him, your vision blurred by unshed tears, and for a moment, you hated how much his words made sense. You hated how right he was, how kind he was being, how much he cared when you weren't sure you deserved it.

"I don't know," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I can do it."

Jay nodded, his eyes warm and understanding. "That's okay," he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring.

"You don't have to decide right now," he continued, his hand lightly squeezing yours. "I just want you to know it's an option. And if you ever want to try, I'll be there with you. I'll help you find someone. You don't have to do it alone."

You stared at him, his words settling in your heart like a soft weight. Slowly, you nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you," you whispered,

January came, and you were finally discharged from the hospital. It felt strange being back in the world after so much time spent in bed, but Jay made it easier.

In the weeks after your release, you returned to your small apartment, but more often than not, you found yourself spending your nights at Jay's home.

His mother insisted, always greeting you with a warm smile and asking how you were feeling. "It's better to keep an eye on you," she'd say, ushering you to the dinner table, where she'd pile your plate with food.

You had stopped studying, deciding to focus on working full-time instead. Jay had suggested a restaurant he knew, and before long, you found yourself settling into a routine. The work was tiring, but it kept your mind busy, and slowly, the spark in your eyes began to return.

Your nightmares didn't disappear, but they became easier to bear with Jay by your side. Whenever you woke up crying, shaking from the images that haunted you, he was always there.

"Shhh, it's okay," he'd whisper, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. His chest was warm and steady against your cheek, and his hand would rub soothing circles on your back as he whispered, "I'm here, love. I've got you."

You didn't know where he got his patience. No matter how many times you woke him in the middle of the night, trembling and crying, he never got frustrated. He never made you feel like a burden.

And maybe that's why, before you even realized it, you fell in love with him.

It wasn't a dramatic realization—no grand moment or spark. It was slow and steady, like the warmth he gave you every day. It was in the way he smiled at you, in the way he stayed even when he didn't have to.

You wanted to be better for him. You wanted to be strong—not just for yourself, but for him, too. That's when you decided to take his advice. You were going to try and talk to a therapist.

One evening, you were lying on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your ear. His hand played idly with your hair, his fingers brushing through the strands like it was second nature. The room was quiet, the only sound coming from the soft hum of the heater, and you felt so at ease it was almost strange.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him. His eyes were closed, his lips relaxed in a small, peaceful smile. Something about the moment felt so natural, so intimate, that it made your heart swell.

Without really thinking, you leaned closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. You felt him shift slightly beneath you, but he didn't stop you. The warmth of his skin was comforting, and before you could second-guess yourself, you pressed a soft kiss to his neck.

You felt his body tense under you, his breath hitching ever so slightly. His fingers froze in your hair, and for a moment, you thought you'd made a mistake.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and shaky, like he wasn't sure what to say.

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his wide eyes, your cheeks burning. "I—" you started, but the words caught in your throat.

Jay's lips parted, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips.

You bit your lip, "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His expression softened immediately, his fingers brushing your cheek. "Don't be," he said gently. "Just... tell me. Is this what you want?"

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding again. "Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling.

Jay's hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your lips were just a breath apart. "Me too," he whispered, and then he kissed you.

It was soft, tentative at first, like he was afraid of breaking the moment, but when you kissed him back, his grip on you tightened slightly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling the back of your head.

Your tongue traced a slow, deliberate line down to his neck, and when you sucked gently at the sensitive skin there, he groaned, low and deep, the sound sending a rush of heat through you.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice shaky as his hands found their way to your waist. You grabbed them, guiding them more firmly against your body as you shifted, straddling his lap.

Jay's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his gaze darkened, his lips parting slightly as you leaned down to kiss him again. This time, the kiss wasn't soft —it was full of need, your lips moving hungrily against his as your hips rolled against him.

You gasped into his mouth, the heat pooling low in your stomach as you felt the tension building between you. Your breath came in heavy pants as you pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you."

Jay's hands slid under your clothes, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist. His touch was warm.

"I love you," he said back, his voice low and full of something raw, his head tilting back slightly as your movements sent a shiver through him.

You didn't stop. Your hips pressed into him again, a slow, deliberate grind that made him bite back a groan, his head falling back further as his grip on your waist tightened. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pausing as his eyes met yours again. "Can I?" he asked softly, his voice laced with tenderness.

You nodded, your heart racing as he carefully lifted the shirt over your head. His eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch of exposed skin, and you felt a familiar pang of self-consciousness.

You instinctively moved to cover yourself, your arms wrapping around your torso, but Jay stopped you gently, his hands warm and steady as they held yours.

"Don't hide," he whispered, his voice so soft it made your chest ache. "Please don't hide from me."

Your breath hitched as his hands released yours, moving slowly to trace the lines of one of the scars on your shoulder. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the scar on your shoulder, the gesture so tender it sent a jolt through your entire body.

 He kissed it again, slower this time, before moving to another scar on your arm, his lips lingering as if to erase the pain it carried.

You couldn't stop the tears that spilled over, your hands trembling as they clutched at his shoulders. "Jay..." you whispered, your voice cracking.

"I see you," he murmured against your skin, his hands steady as they held your waist. "I see all of you, and I love every part of you."

His lips brushed against the scar on your collarbone, then another on your ribs, each kiss more deliberate than the last.

Jay's eyes softened as he whispered, "You're so beautiful, I love you."

The sincerity in his words made your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. You didn't know how to respond, your chest tightening with emotions too overwhelming to name. Instead, you leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that spoke all the words you couldn't say.

His hands slid up your back, his touch firm yet tender as he pulled you closer, your bodies pressing together. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, his lips moving against yours with a passion that sent heat coursing through your veins.

Then, with a flick of his fingers, you felt the clasp of your bra come undone. The cool air brushed against your skin.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his hand cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, teasing and flicking it in a way that made your back arch involuntarily. Jay groaned against your mouth, the sound low and deep, sending a wave of desire pooling low in your stomach.

He gently guided you to lay down, his lips never leaving yours until he moved to your jawline, then your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in his wake. 

He stopped at your left breast, his warm breath ghosting over your skin before he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking gently.

The sensation made you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched into him. His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, sending jolts of pleasure through your body, while his right hand gripped your other breast, kneading it with just the right amount of pressure.

You let your head fall back, lost in the feeling, soft moans spilling from your lips as your body responded to his every touch. His name escaped your lips like a prayer, and he hummed against your skin, the vibrations adding to the heat building within you.

Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, his right hand began to travel lower. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, and you felt his touch move in slow, deliberate circles.

A gasp tore from your throat as his fingers teased you, his touch light but enough to make your hips lift in desperation. "Jay," you breathed, your voice trembling with need, your body aching for more.

"You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice rough and heavy with desire. His lips returned to yours, as his fingers continued their slow, torturous motion, building a fire within you that you couldn't extinguish.

When his finger slowly slid inside you, your breath hitched, your chest pressing into his as you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve in your body alive with heat as he moved inside you, testing your limits.

Jay's forehead rested against yours, his breath heavy and warm against your lips. "I'm going to add another one, baby," he said, his voice low and filled with lust. "Can you take it?"

You nodded quickly, your hands clutching at him, your voice trembling as you whispered, "I can take it for you."

He groaned at your words, his jaw tightening as he stared at you with darkened eyes. "Fuck, don't say stuff like that," he muttered, his voice almost a growl.

Without wasting another second, he slid a second finger inside you, stretching you in a way that made your back arch. The pace of his movements quickened, the slick sound of his fingers filling the room as your walls clenched around him. The pleasure built fast, sharp and electric, making your breath come out in broken gasps.

Jay leaned down, his lips trailing along your collarbone, then down to your chest again. His mouth latched onto your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple, adding another layer of sensation that made your head spin.

"Jay," you whimpered, your hips moving on their own, grinding into his hand as his fingers curled inside you, hitting a spot that made stars explode behind your eyes.

"You're so good," he murmured against your skin, his free hand gripping your waist to keep you steady as his mouth moved between your breasts, leaving heated kisses in his wake.

"I'm gonna cum," you whined, your voice high and desperate as the pressure in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter.

Jay didn't let up. His tongue teased your nipple, licking it in slow, deliberate strokes that made you shudder, while his thumb suddenly found your clit, pressing and rubbing it in perfect rhythm with his fingers.

The combination was too much. Your body shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure crashed over you in waves. "Jay!" you sobbed, your hips lifting off the bed as your orgasm hit, leaving you trembling and breathless beneath him.

He didn't stop right away, his fingers and thumb slowing just enough to help you ride out the high, his lips never leaving your skin. "That's it," he whispered, his voice full of pride and adoration. "You're so beautiful like this."

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. When his fingers finally slipped out of you, you whimpered softly, feeling the loss of his touch.

Jay kissed your forehead gently, his hands soothing over your sides as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close against his chest. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice soft again, filled with affection. "I've got you."

"I was preparing for the Purge this year," you said quietly, staring at your hands instead of your therapist, Ms. Jisoo.

"A self-defense plan, or something more?" she asked gently. There was no judgment in her voice, just calm curiosity.

"Something more," you admitted, biting your lip as your fingers fidgeted in your lap.

Ms. Jisoo nodded softly, giving you space to speak. "Do you still think about it now, after falling in love?"

You paused, her question lingering in your mind. "I don't know," you said after a moment. "I've been so focused on him... on how he makes me feel. The only thing I know for sure is I want to be a better person for him. Not... this."

You hesitated, your voice trembling. "Not some mentally unstable girl who can't even sleep through the night without waking up screaming."

Your chest tightened as the words left you, the guilt clawing at your throat.

Ms. Jisoo leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle and steady. "Wanting to heal for someone you love is a wonderful thing, Y/N. But it's okay to want to heal for yourself too. That doesn't make you weak, and it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you."

Her words softened something in your chest, but the guilt was still there, heavy and sharp. You bit your lip harder, tears welling in your eyes.

"D-Do you think I'm a monster?" you asked suddenly, your voice breaking. "For thinking about purging this year? For even wanting it?" You finally looked up at her, tears spilling as you waited for the answer you feared most.

Ms. Jisoo's expression stayed calm, warm, and understanding. "You're not a monster," she said gently, her voice soft as she stares at you.

"You're someone who's been hurt. Someone who's been through things no one should ever have to experience. It's okay to feel angry. It's okay to feel hate. Those feelings don't make you a monster. They make you human."

"But they feel so wrong," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "Wanting it feels wrong."

"They're not wrong or right," she said softly. "They're just feelings."

You sniffled, wiping at your face with trembling hands, but her words didn't fully settle the storm inside you. After a moment, you looked back at her, hesitating before asking the question that had been on your mind for so long.

"Do you... agree with the Purge?"

Ms. Jisoo blinked, caught off guard by the question. She leaned back slightly, her hands folding in her lap as she thought about her answer.

"No," she said after a moment, "I don't. I don't think violence solves anything. And I don't think people should have the right to hurt others, no matter what the law says. The Purge... it brings out the worst in people. It allows fear and hate to fester. And I've seen how much it hurts people—people like you."

Her gaze softened, and she leaned forward slightly, her tone quiet. "But I also understand why you feel the way you do. The Purge forces people to live in fear, to carry anger and pain that they shouldn't have to carry. It's normal to feel conflicted. It's normal to feel angry."

You swallowed hard, her words sinking into you like drops of water on dry ground. "So... I'm not wrong for feeling like this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"No," she said firmly. "You're not wrong. You're human, Y/N. And humans feel messy, complicated things. There's no shame in that."

You nodded slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what to do with myself. I keep thinking and thinking about what I should do to live freely... but nothing feels right."

Ms. Jisoo smiled gently, her expression steady and reassuring. "It's okay to feel lost, Y/N. Healing doesn't come with a map or a timeline. But you're taking steps forward, even if they're small. Just keep going. You'll find your way."

By the middle of February, your days had settled into a rhythm. You managed your job at the restaurant, worked through your therapy sessions every week, and spent most of your free time with Jay and his mother.

Their home felt warm, almost like a haven, and you found yourself doing small things to show your gratitude—buying Jay his favorite snacks, surprising his mom with flowers or something she'd mentioned in passing.

They never expected anything in return for their kindness, but doing those little things made you feel like you were giving back in some small way.

One evening, the restaurant was hosting a group of high-class businesspeople who had reserved the entire dining area. The room buzzed with laughter and chatter, the expensive suits and gleaming jewelry making you feel out of place as you carried trays of food to their table.

As you placed the dishes on the table, your eyes drifted to a middle-aged blonde woman sitting at the center. Her hair was perfectly styled, her tailored suit fitting her like it had been made just for her. She held a glass of wine delicately, twirling it in her hand as she laughed with the others.

Your breath hitched.

A memory slammed into you with the force of a freight train.

Gunshots. Screams. Blood splattered across the ground. You could see the flash of a machete. Hear the sound of a head rolling across the dirt. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your throat tightening as the room spun around you. The scar on your arm felt like it was burning.

"Excuse me?" a man's voice pulled you back to reality, his tone polite but firm. "Do you need anything else?"

You blinked, your breath still shaky as you tried to steady yourself. The blonde woman's laughter had faded, and now she was looking at you, her piercing eyes sharp and almost bored, like she was trying to place where she'd seen you before.

You struggled to keep your hands from trembling as you clutched the tray tighter. "I-I'm fine," you stammered, inhaling deeply to keep your composure.

But it didn't help when one of the other women at the table—a brunette with diamond earrings—reached for your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the long scar that ran down the length of it.

"God," the woman said, her voice dripping with disgust. "What a nasty scar you have." Her fingers brushed the raised tissue, making you flinch involuntarily. "How'd you even get this?"

You froze, the room seeming to go quiet as her words echoed in your ears. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think. You wanted to rip your arm away, but your body felt paralyzed, like you were trapped in that night all over again.

And then, you heard yourself asking, "Are you Ms. Wilson?"

The words felt foreign on your tongue, your voice shaky as you stared at the blonde woman.

She raised an eyebrow at you, her expression amused. "Yes, why?" she asked, taking another sip of her wine. "Do I know you?"

You almost laughed. Of course, she didn't remember. People like her never did.

Your grip on the tray tightened, your knuckles white as your mind raced. You remembered her now—her face, her voice, the way she had smiled behind the mask as she watched you and the others run for your lives.

And she didn't even remember you.

"No," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. "You don't."

Her head tilted slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she were trying to place you, but after a moment, she simply shrugged and turned back to her companions, already dismissing you from her mind.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your nails digging into the tray as you tried to contain the rage bubbling up inside you.

You turned on your heel, your legs trembling with each step as you left the dining area. The walls of the restaurant seemed to close in, the air thick and suffocating. 

Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps as you pushed through the kitchen doors, your tray clattering loudly onto the counter.

Gripping the edge of the counter, your knuckles turned white as you stared down at the cold, stainless steel surface. You willed yourself to calm down, to pull it together, but your heart was racing, your chest heaving as the memories refused to let you go.

You muttered something about not feeling well to your manager, barely hearing his reply as you left the restaurant. 

You didn't go to Jay's home like you usually did. Instead, you walked to your own apartment, your feet moving automatically, your head swirling with thoughts you couldn't control.

When you finally closed the door behind you, something inside you broke. You let out a scream, raw and primal, nails digging into your throat as if you could claw the pain away. Tears streamed down your face, hot and endless, blurring your vision as sob after sob wracked your body.

You stumbled to the target board you had set up on the wall—the one you used for practice, for preparation—and grabbed a knife. With a sharp, angry cry, you hurled it at the board. It hit the target right in the head.

You screamed again, louder this time, grabbing anything within reach and throwing it across the room. A glass shattered against the wall. A stack of books tumbled to the floor. You didn't care.

When you finally collapsed onto your bed, your body was trembling, your chest heaving as you cried into the pillow. The tears wouldn't stop, your sobs loud and broken as you curled into yourself, trying to escape the weight pressing down on you.

At some point, exhaustion took over, and you fell asleep, your face damp with tears.

You jolted awake when the bed shifted beneath you. Your heart leapt into your throat, your body tensing instinctively, but then you saw him—Jay, sitting beside you, his worried eyes scanning your face.

"You didn't come home," he said softly, his voice full of concern. 

"I was worried. Your manager said you took an early leave." He reached for your hand, holding it gently as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. "Did something happen?"

His voice was so calm, so steady, and it only made your tears resurface. You watched him lift your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your fingertips. The tenderness in his actions broke you all over again.

Your eyes watered, and before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as you cried. Your sobs were muffled against the fabric of his shirt, but he didn't say anything—he just held you, his arms wrapping around you tightly, protectively.

"It will never go away," you choked out between sobs, your voice muffled against his chest. "I don't know how to heal when this Purge still fucking exists."

Jay tightened his hold on you, his hand moving to the back of your head as he gently stroked your hair. 

"I'm so sorry," you cried, your voice breaking. "For always being like this."

"Shh," he murmured softly, pulling you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close. "You don't have to apologize, love. Don't ever apologize for how you feel."

You buried your face in his shoulder, shaking your head. The words of comfort should've helped, but all they did was amplify the storm inside you.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Jay asked, his voice low and patient.

You shook your head, gripping him tighter. You couldn't bring yourself to say it. Not now. Not yet.

He didn't push. He just held you, his hand running up and down your back as you cried into him.

And then, as the room grew quieter, your emotions spilled into something else. The ache in your chest shifted, giving way to a deeper, more desperate need—the need to feel alive, to feel connected, to escape the weight of your mind, even if only for a moment.

Your lips found his, and he kissed you back without hesitation, his hands tightening around your waist. The kiss was slow at first, gentle, but soon it grew hungry, fueled by the raw emotion lingering in the air.

It wasn't long before your knees dug into the mattress, your body arching beneath him as he moved inside you. The pain and weight of your emotions blurred into the pleasure of his touch, every thrust sending a wave of heat through your body.

"A-ah! Fuck, slow down!" you gasped as he hit a spot inside you that made your toes curl.

"Felt so good," Jay groaned, his breath hot against your ear as his body pressed flush against yours. His lips found the nape of your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses as his fingers kneaded your breasts, sending sparks of sensation through you.

You threw your head back, your arms giving out beneath you as he pressed deeper. "Jay," you whimpered, his name tumbling from your lips as your body trembled with every movement.

"Love you," he groaned, his voice rough with desperation. "Fuck, a-ah, I'm gonna cum."

"Inside me, please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper, but he heard you.

Jay's body fell against yours as he pushed deeper, his breath hitching as his release overtook him. The feeling of him filling you pushed you over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you so intensely that tears pricked your eyes.

Your cries of overstimulation mixed with his groans, his hips moving in small, desperate thrusts as he fill inside you. Finally, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

His lips pressed soft kisses along your forehead and temple, his hand trailing to your stomach, where his fingers traced gentle patterns on your skin.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice so full of sincerity that it made your chest ache.

You turned your head, catching his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. He kissed you back, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

"Spend the Purge at our house," he said after a moment, his forehead resting against yours. "You'll be safe there. I'll protect you. I promise."

His words should have comforted you. They should have been enough. But as you stared into his eyes, full of love and hope, you felt your chest tighten.

Because no matter what Jay did to protect you, no matter how much healing you tried to find, there was one truth you couldn't ignore.

No matter how hard you fought it, no matter how much you loved him, you're still broken, and lost.

March 21, 3:00 PM

You wiped the tables methodically, trying to focus on the task, but the air in the restaurant was tense. All eyes were glued to the TV mounted on the wall, where the announcement of the Annual Purge was being broadcast. The monotone voice of the announcer echoed through the room, describing the rules and restrictions for the night.

Your manager came up to you, his voice urgent. "Hey, take an early leave. Go home and get ready. You shouldn't be out when the sirens start."

You nodded, offering him a faint smile. "Thanks, I'll head out soon."

After finishing up and helping close the restaurant, you walked back to your apartment. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the streets. As you set up a small barricade in your apartment—nothing fancy, just furniture pressed against the windows and doors—you heard a car honk outside.

Peeking out, you saw Jay leaning casually against his car, waiting for you with that familiar warm smile.

You felt a wave of comfort wash over you at the sight of him. Smiling back, you hurried outside, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Let's go home?" he asked, his voice calm and full of care.

You hesitated, glancing back at your apartment. "I need to grab a few things first," you said.

Jay nodded easily. "Of course. Take your time."

After changing out of your work uniform, you slipped into a white off-shoulder dress that reached your knees—something simple yet elegant. You'd never worn it before, and even the soft fabric against your skin felt foreign. Paired with Mary Jane shoes and a pair of cute white socks.

When you stepped into Jay's car, he looked up at you, his eyes widening slightly. "Wow," he murmured, his gaze softening. "You look beautiful."

You felt your cheeks warm as he leaned in, holding your jaw gently and pecking your lips. "What's with the outfit today?" he teased, laughing lightly.

You smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I just thought... maybe I'd wear something different. Something nice."

Jay laughed again, his hand reaching out toward your thigh, but you subtly redirected it, placing it over yours instead. He didn't seem to mind, intertwining his fingers with yours as his other hand rested on the steering wheel.

March 21, 4:30 PM

The house was buzzing with noise by the time you arrived. From the top of the stairs, you peeked down and saw six boys piling in through the entrance, bags slung over their shoulders as they greeted Jay's mother.

"Oh, it's Jay's friends!" his mother exclaimed warmly, hugging them one by one.

You recognized Ni-ki and Sunoo, the only ones you'd met before. The rest were strangers to you, their confident voices filling the house as they exchanged jokes and pleasantries.

"Hi, Mrs. Park! I hope you don't mind if we spend the Purge here at your house!" said a tall man with an easy smile.

"No problem, Heesung," Jay's mother replied, her voice full of affection. "What about your parents and sisters?"

"They're at a party," another boy replied casually. "Some politician's mansion. They love that kind of thing."

Your breath hitched, the words hitting a nerve.

What a nice life to be rich, you thought bitterly.

"Hey," Jay's voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see him standing beside you, his brow furrowed slightly. "Are you okay?"

You forced a smile, one you'd perfected over the years. "Yeah, I'm fine. Your friends are downstairs."

Jay studied you for a moment longer, but then he smiled, intertwining his hand with yours as he led you down the stairs.

The boys were loud and full of energy, laughing and teasing each other as they set their bags down and unpacked their things. Jay's mother fussed over them, offering snacks and asking about their families.

"This is Y/N, my girlfriend," Jay announced proudly, pulling you close by your waist.

The room fell quiet for a brief moment, and you could feel their gazes on you.

"Oh my God, you're a thing now?" Jay's mother gasped, her hands clasped over her mouth.

"Isn't it obvious?" Jay replied with a laugh.

One of the boys stepped forward, introducing himself. "Hi, Y/N! I'm Heesung. This is Jake, Sunghoon, and Jungwon. I guess you already know Ni-ki and Sunoo."

You offered a polite smile, nodding as they all greeted you.

As the evening went on, you stayed mostly quiet, helping Jay's mother prepare food while the boys joked around. Jay noticed your silence, slipping his arms around your waist from behind as you worked in the kitchen.

"Hey," he murmured against your ear. "You're safe, okay? You don't need to worry."

You turned to look at him, your heart heavy with emotions you couldn't express. "I love you," you said softly, staring into his eyes.

Jay smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I love you more," he replied, glancing at his watch. "It's already 6:30. I need to barricade the house."

You nodded, watching as he started to walk away. Then, impulsively, you called out, "Jay."

He turned back, his eyes soft. "Hmm?"

Walking up to him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. His hands found your face, gently brushing his thumb across your cheek as he looked at you with worry. "Are you anxious, baby?" he asked softly.

"No," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I just wanted to say I love you again."

Jay let out a soft laugh, leaning down to kiss you. "Love, I'm just barricading the house, not purging." He kissed your forehead tenderly, his lips lingering for a moment. "Now, let me lock everything down so we'll be safe, okay?"

You nodded, stepping back reluctantly as he disappeared toward the storage room.

Jay walked through the dim hallway leading to the storage room when he heard footsteps behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Sunghoon catching up to him, a casual smirk on his face as he slung an arm around Jay's shoulder.

"Yo, bro," Sunghoon said casually, falling into step beside him. "No offense but, you sure about that girl?"

Jay frowned, shrugging off Sunghoon's arm. "Why? What are you talking about?"

Sunghoon shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "She just... seems like a lot. I mean, no offense, but she looks like she's difficult to handle."

Jay's brows furrowed deeper, his steps slowing as he turned to face Sunghoon. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Look, we care about you," Sunghoon said, raising his hands as if to calm him. "Have you seen her scars? Her face? She's clearly been through some shit. Is she even healed from all that?"

Jay's jaw tightened, his teeth clenching as anger flared in his chest. He stepped closer to Sunghoon, his voice low and dangerous. "Watch your mouth."

"Chill, man, I'm just saying." Sunghoon grabbed Jay's arm in an attempt to reason with him. "That girl's got baggage, and I'm telling you, she's going to be a lot of problems for you. She's not stable, bro. You can't tell me you haven't noticed."

Jay didn't let him finish. His hand shot out, grabbing Sunghoon by the collar and shoving him back against the wall. "Say another word, and I swear I'll make you regret it," he growled, his voice dripping with rage.

Sunghoon's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't back down. "I'm trying to look out for you, Jay," he said, his tone firm. "You're my friend. I don't want you getting hurt."

Jay released him with a sharp shove, his chest heaving as he tried to control his temper. "Don't ever talk about her like that again," he said coldly, his eyes burning with anger. "You don't know a damn thing about her."

He turned on his heel, ignoring Sunghoon as he walked into the storage room. His hands trembled slightly as he pressed the button to activate the lockdown. The sound of metal walls sliding into place filled the air, sealing the house and cutting off the world outside.

"Jay, listen to me," Sunghoon said, his voice following him into the room. "I'm serious. There's something off about her. Just think about it, man."

Jay didn't respond. He slammed the door shut behind him, shutting Sunghoon out both literally and figuratively.

Returning to the living room, Jay found the rest of his friends lounging on the couches, laughing and exchanging stories. His mother was tidying up nearby, a small smile on her face as she listened to their chatter.

"Where's Y/N?" Jay asked, his eyes scanning the room.

"I think she went to your room," Ni-ki said, glancing up from his phone. "She said she wanted to sleep early."

Jay nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. But before he could take another step, Sunghoon appeared at his side again.

"Man, I'm trying to talk to you," Sunghoon said, his voice laced with frustration.

Jay's patience snapped. Without thinking, he turned and landed a punch squarely on Sunghoon's jaw, sending him stumbling backward.

The room fell silent as the others jumped to their feet.

"Jay! What the hell are you doing?!" Jake shouted, stepping between them.

"I'm just trying to give him advice about his girlfriend!" Sunghoon snapped, holding his jaw as he glared at Jay.

"Are you seriously saying that fucking nonsense while my girlfriend is in this house?!" he shouted. "How dare you even say that shit in front of me?!"

Sunghoon raised his hands in defense, but Jay wasn't done. He stepped closer, pointing a finger at him. "You've known her for, what, an hour? And you think you have the right to judge her? To judge us? Fuck you, Sunghoon!"

"Jay, calm down," Heesung said cautiously, stepping between the two of them with his hands outstretched, but Jay wasn't having it.

"You don't get to judge her just because of what you think you see!" Jay growled, his voice trembling with anger. He shoved Heesung and Jake off as they tried to hold him back.

"Get the fuck off me!" he barked, storming out of the living room. His footsteps pounded against the floor as he made his way up the stairs, leaving everyone behind in stunned silence.

Jay climbed the stairs two at a time, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. He pulled out his phone, swiping through his notifications until he found a message from Dr. Jisoo that he had missed earlier.

Dr. Jisoo: Good afternoon, Mr. Park. I just wanted to check in on Y/N since she's missed her last three sessions. Please keep an eye on her, especially today—it's a particularly triggering event for her. Thank you.

Jay felt a wave of dread wash over him, his heart sinking into his stomach. He quickened his pace, practically sprinting to his bedroom.

"Y/N?" he called, pushing the door open.

But the room was empty.

Panic set in as he checked the bathroom, the closet, all of the room, even under the bed, but you were nowhere to be found.

He bolted back down the stairs, his voice frantic as he called out for you. "Y/N?! Where are you?!"

His mother stepped into the hallway, her face pale with worry. "What's wrong, Jay?"

"She's gone," he said, his voice shaking. "Did anyone see her leave?!"

Everyone in the living room exchanged confused looks, shrugging helplessly.

"Y/N?!" Jay shouted again, his voice echoing through the house.

Jay froze as the broadcast echoed through the house, the robotic voice chilling him to the bone.

"This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S Government.

Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed.

Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning, until 7 a.m., when the Purge concludes.

Blessed by our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn. May God be with you all."

The final words echoed in his ears as the sirens blared, signaling the start of the Purge.

His heart pounded, his chest tight as he pieced everything together. The missed therapy sessions, how quiet you had been all day, the way you hugged him like it might be the last time.

You weren't in the house.

You were out there.

Jay turned on his heel and sprinted to the storage room, his mind racing as panic surged through him.

He yanked open his closet, grabbing the bag he had packed weeks ago—just in case. Inside were the essentials: a shotgun, a pistol, extra ammunition, and a knife. He tossed the bag over his shoulder, his hands trembling as he loaded the pistol, cocking it with precision.

"Jay, what are you doing?!" his mother cried, standing at the door with tears streaming down her face.

"Unlock the barricade and lock it again after I leave," he said coldly, his voice devoid of the warmth she was used to.

"Jay, you can't! It's dangerous out there!" she pleaded, stepping closer.

"Unlock it!" he snapped, his voice sharp, though his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. "Please, Mom. I have to go."

"No," Sunghoon interrupted, stepping forward and grabbing Jay's arm. "You're not thinking straight. She left, Jay. She chose to go out there—"

Jay swatted his hand away, pointing the pistol directly at Sunghoon's head. The room went silent.

"Jay!" Heesung shouted, stepping forward.

"Come any closer, and I'll blow his fucking head off," Jay growled, his jaw tightening as his finger hovered near the trigger. "You don't get to stop me. None of you do."

Sunghoon raised his hands slowly, his expression shifting to one of caution. "Alright, man. Just... relax, okay? I'm just trying to—"

"Shut up," Jay hissed, the tension in his body radiating outward. His voice lowered, trembling slightly. "I told you to stay out of this. She's out there, and I'm going to find her."

He turned his gaze to Ni-ki, who was frozen near the security console. "Ni-ki," Jay said firmly. "Unlock the barricade. Now."

Ni-ki hesitated, looking at Jungwon and Jake for guidance, but neither said anything. With a shaky hand, Ni-ki pressed the button, and the sound of the metal walls lifting reverberated through the house.

"Jay, please," his mother sobbed, grabbing his arm as he stepped toward the door.

Jay paused, his resolve faltering for just a moment as he looked at her. "I'm sorry," he said softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "But I can't stay here knowing she's out there."

Tears streamed down her face as she nodded, her voice trembling. "I understand, be safe. Please."

"I will," Jay said, stepping out the door. "Lock it the second I'm gone."

The metal walls began to descend behind him as he walked to his car, his mind racing with questions. Where could you have gone? Why didn't you tell him? Were you safe? Were you scared?

Sliding into the driver's seat, he tossed the bag into the passenger side and gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. His eyes scanned the darkened streets, the occasional scream or gunshot in the distance reminding him of the stakes.

Without hesitation, he pressed the gas pedal.

You walk slowly down an unfamiliar road, your steps unsteady. You just keep walking and walking, unsure of where you're going or why. You don't understand yourself anymore. You thought everything was finally okay. What more could you ask for?

You have a loving boyfriend who always tries to make you smile. His mother cares for you like her own. You eat three meals a day. You're seeing a therapist. And you even have a safe place to hide on Purge Night.

So why do you feel like this?

Why do you feel so broken when you should feel whole?

Why are you out here, in the middle of the street, on the most dangerous night of the year, with just a knife strapped under your dress?

You wonder if Jay has noticed you're gone. He probably has by now. Your chest tightens at the thought of him pacing back and forth, calling your name.

Your lifeless eyes stare ahead as you walk deeper into the quiet street. It's so still, unnaturally still. No trucks rumbling down the road. No gangs or masked figures in sight.

"Kill me already!" you scream into the emptiness. Your voice echoes down the road, but there's no answer. Not a single sniper or purger takes the bait.

Then, a distant cry catches your ear—a plea for help. You turn toward the sound and walk toward it, your grip tightening on the handle of the knife hidden beneath your dress.

As you approach, you see a young girl sprinting toward you, clutching her bleeding waist. Four people in masks are chasing her, laughing like it's some sick game.

"Man, we just want to purge!" one of them—a woman—cackles. That laugh—it burrows into your memory like a needle.

The girl stumbles, and when her eyes meet yours, there's desperation written all over them. She collapses at your feet, her blood soaking through your white dress as she clings to you.

"Please... help me," she gasps.

Her words are cut off by a gunshot. Blood splatters across your face as a hole appears in her forehead. Her body falls limp, her grip on your dress loosening.

"My fucking soul feels cleansed!" the woman says with a twisted laugh. The others laugh with her, like a pack of hyenas.

"Up next—" the woman starts, raising her pistol toward you.

But you're faster.

In one fluid motion, you pull out your knife and hurl it at her. It pierces through her mask and into her skull. She drops instantly, blood dripping from the blade.

The remaining three hesitate, stunned. That's all the time you need. You yank the knife from the dead woman's head and dash toward the others, slicing the nearest one's throat in a clean arc.

The man in the joker mask fumbles for his gun, but you grab the dead body beside you, using it as a shield. Then, you throw the knife again, this time hitting his chest.

He stumbles back, gasping for air, as you snatch his gun from his weakening grip. Before he can even hit the ground, you fire a shot straight into his skull.

Now, there's only one left.

The last purger, wearing a cat mask, drops to his knees and pulls the mask off, revealing a trembling man. He raises his hands in surrender, tears streaming down his face.

"P-please... spare me. I-I just wanted to purge this year," he stammers, his voice cracking.

You glare at him, the weight of your actions and emotions swirling inside you.

"How many innocent people have you killed in all the purges you've been a part of?" you ask, your tone icy.

His lip quivers. "P-probably 70—"

Before he can finish, you pull the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through the street as he collapses, lifeless.

Silence fills the street once more as you stand there, your white dress soaked in blood, surrounded by bodies. You don't know how long you've been standing there, staring at the carnage.

Then, it happens.

A soft laugh escapes your lips. It bubbles up from your throat, quiet at first, but it grows louder, sharper, until it echoes down the empty street. It's not a happy laugh. It's hollow, bitter, unhinged.

You bring a hand to your face, your fingers brushing against the blood splattered across your skin.

You really have lost yourself, haven't you? Or, did you found it now?

You hate the Purge. You hate the monsters it creates. You hate the people who thrive on it, the ones who laugh, who kill, who hurt.

So why are you here, in the middle of the night, doing the exact same thing?

Tears prick at your eyes, but they don't fall. You just stand there, your shoulders trembling as the weight of everything presses down on you. You feel nothing. And that terrifies you most of all.

You crouch down, wiping your knife on the dead woman's clothes, smearing blood across the fabric.

Your hands tremble slightly, it's not fear—it's something else. A quiet storm you can't name.

Once the blade gleams clean, you tuck it back into the thigh strap beneath your dress. Grabbing the fallen gun, you check the chamber and reload it. The satisfying click of the cocked weapon echoes as you straighten up and continue walking.

The street stretches ahead, eerily quiet except for the distant sounds of chaos—gunshots, screams, and the occasional rumble of an engine.

Three figures suddenly sprint toward you from the shadows. They glance at you, wide-eyed, as they pass by, their faces pale with fear.

Ahead of you, three figures suddenly appear from the shadows. Their faces are pale with fear as they sprint past you. One of them—a panicked old man—stumbles and grabs your arm, his grip shaky.

"Miss, don't go that way!" he says, his voice hoarse and desperate. "That group's rounding people up—they're psychos!"

His words barely register. Your gaze drifts past him, toward the direction he came from. A cold calm washes over you as he keeps tugging at your arm, pleading.

A large truck screeches to a halt in front of you, its headlights blinding. The old man panics, letting go of your arm and bolting down the road. He doesn't get far. A sharp crack rings out, and he collapses mid-stride, a bullet tearing through his back.

You don't flinch.

The truck door swings open, and several masked figures step out.

One of them grabs your arm, yanking it behind your back as another snatches the gun from your hand.

"Blessed be the New Founding Fathers of America," one of them says, leaning close to your face.

You smile. Not a kind smile—a bitter one. "Blessed be them," you whisper back.

Then, without warning, you jerk your head forward, slamming it into the man's nose. He stumbles back with a grunt of pain, clutching his face as blood pours through his fingers.

Before the others can react, you twist your arm free and yank your knife from its strap. The blade flashes in the dim light as you slice upward, catching one of them in the throat. They gargle and drop to their knees, clutching at the wound.

Another lunges at you, swinging a metal pipe. You duck under the blow, driving the knife into his ribs. He gasps, his body jolting as you twist the blade, blood spraying onto your dress.

You scream—whether it's from rage or something deeper, you're not sure.

The sound rips from your throat as you yank the knife free and stab again, and again, and again, until his body goes limp.

Behind you, the first man—the one whose nose you broke—recovers quickly. He raises his gun, aiming it directly at your back.

You're too focused, too lost in the heat of the moment to notice him.

The loud crack of gunfire fills the air, but it doesn't come from his weapon.

The man's body jerks violently as a burst of bullets tears through him, and he collapses to the ground, lifeless.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you spin around.

Your wide eyes locking onto the figure standing behind him.

"Jay," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He steps forward slowly, his shotgun still in hand. His expression is unreadable, his eyes flicking over the bodies surrounding you before settling on you.

You brace yourself for the anger you expect to see in his face. For him to yell at you, demand answers, maybe even tell you he's done with you.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he stops in front of you, his gaze softening as he raises a hand to your face. His thumb brushes gently across your cheek, wiping away the streaks of blood smeared there.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice full of worry. "Are you hurt?"

You can't speak. Your lips tremble as tears blur your vision. Slowly, your hand rises to hold his against your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, his voice heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry for not noticing sooner that you weren't okay. I should've known."

His words hit you like a punch to the chest, and you shake your head, your tears spilling over. "W-what are you doing here?" you manage to say, your voice shaking. "It's dangerous."

Jay smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I could say the same thing to you, love," he murmurs, pulling you into a warm, protective embrace.

His arms wrap around you tightly, holding you like he's afraid to let go. You bury your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt.

"I can't let my girl be out here alone on Purge Night," he whispers into your hair.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him, your smile shaky and uncertain. "Y-you're not angry?"

Jay shakes his head slowly, his warm hand cupping your face as if to anchor you. "No, baby. I'm not angry," he says softly.

Your lips tremble, the guilt clawing its way up your throat as you look into his eyes. "I... I'm a monster, Jay. Look at what I did," you whisper, your voice cracking.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, his gaze never leaving yours. There's no judgment there, no fear—just a quiet understanding that makes your chest ache.

"I don't think I'm normal anymore, Jay," you say, your voice barely audible as tears spill freely down your face. "I don't even know what I'm feeling right now. I don't know who I am anymore."

You start to sob, the raw emotion pouring out of you like a dam breaking. Jay leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you steady.

"I love you," he whispers into the space between you. "No matter what. No matter what you've done, no matter what you want to do... I love you."

His words hit you like a wave, and your sobs come harder, your body trembling in his arms.

"You always ask if you're normal," he continues, his tone soothing as he brushes a stray tear from your cheek. "But I already told you, love. Who cares about normal? Normal doesn't matter to me. You matter to me."

His arms wrap around you tighter, pulling you against his chest.

"If this is what you need to do to heal, then I'll be here," he whispers into your ear. "And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn't say this to me. I'll always understand, love. Always. Just... don't do this again without me knowing, okay?"

You nod against his chest, your sobs muffling into his shirt.

"I'm such a—" you try to speak, but the words get caught in your throat, your cries making it impossible to finish the sentence.

Jay shushes you softly, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "You're not. You're not anything bad, baby. You're just... hurting."

You pull back slightly, your hands clutching his shirt as you look up at him, your voice trembling. "I hate it, Jay. I hate what I've become. I'm not me anymore. It terrifies me."

His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, and he presses a soft kiss to your hair. "I know," he whispers. "But I'll be here. I'll be with you through every terrifying moment, love."

For a long moment, the two of you just stay like that—his arms holding you close, your head resting against his chest as your breathing slowly evens out. The tension in your body begins to ease, though the storm in your mind still churns.

Jay pulls back slightly, tilting his head to meet your gaze, his smile growing softer but never losing its warmth.

"Are you enjoying yourself right now?" he asks, his voice light and genuine, almost teasing.

You blink at him, surprised by the question, but the answer bubbles up inside you before you can stop it. A faint smile begins to form on your lips, something that feels both wrong and inexplicably right.

"Yes," you admit quietly, your voice steadier than before. "I think I am."

Jay's smile widens just a little, his thumb brushing against your cheek again as if to ground you.

"That's all that matters," he says softly, his voice filled with a calm acceptance that makes the tension in your chest ease.

Then, his eyes flicker toward the carnage surrounding you—the lifeless bodies, the blood that stains the street, and your hands, still trembling but steady enough to hold the knife.

"What do you want to do? Hmm?" he asks, his tone curious yet understanding, as if ready to follow wherever your answer leads.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the gun in your hands and the heat of the night pressing against your skin. Your lips curve into a determined smile, and your answer comes without hesitation.

"I want to kill purgers," you say, your voice clear and sharp, your eyes shining with a fire that you hadn't felt in years.

Jay doesn't flinch or waver at your words. Instead, he nods, stepping closer to you and holding out his shotgun. "Here," he says, his voice calm as he hands it over.

You take it, your hands steady now, and your eyes glint as you examine the weapon.

"Is this a SPAS-12?" you ask, running your fingers along the smooth barrel.

Jay chuckles softly, watching the way your gaze flickers with excitement.

"Yeah. My dad gave it to me," he replies as he takes your free hand in his.

"Come on," he says, tugging you gently toward his car. "Let's get out of here. It's dangerous to stay in one spot too long."

You follow him, practically bouncing on your heels as you intertwine your fingers with his. As the two of you approach the car, a question bubbles up, one you hadn't thought to ask before.

"Where's your dad, anyway? I've never met him," you say, glancing at him as he unlocks the driver's side door.

Jay shrugs lightly, opening the door for you.

"He's overseas," he explains as you climb in. "He's been busy. A lot of countries are starting to plan their own versions of the Purge, and he's consulting on security systems for them."

"Wow," you mutter, settling into the passenger seat as Jay slides in beside you.

He starts the car, the engine rumbling to life as he glances over at you. "You ready?"

"Is this car bulletproof?" you ask, running your hand along the interior with a raised eyebrow.

Jay smirks, shrugging. "I don't think so, but who needs bulletproof when we've got each other?"

You giggle, the sound light and unexpected, even to yourself.

As he presses the gas pedal hard, the car lurches forward, and the thrill of speed courses through you.

The windows are down, and the cool night air rushes past you as you cock the shotgun, the familiar click of the weapon sending a chill down your spine.

You lean halfway out the window, scanning the streets for purgers, your eyes narrowing when you spot a group down the road.

"Hey, fuckers!" you shout, your voice carrying across the night.

Jay glances over at you, his grin widening as he watches you. "Careful with my car, love," he teases, though there's nothing but pride in his tone.

You don't respond, too focused on your target. Raising the shotgun, you take aim and fire. The blast rings out, and one of the masked figures crumples to the ground.

Jay chuckles, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he drifts the car in a sharp circle, giving you a clear view of the rest of the group.

You take the opportunity, cocking the shotgun again and pulling the trigger, your laughter bubbling up as another purger falls.

Jay's eyes are on you the whole time.

There's a softness in his gaze, even amid the violence. A quiet love that seems to radiate from him as he smiles, the chaos of the night fading away for him.

There's just you, him, and the shared thrill of the hunt.

March 22, 4:00 AM

The two of you stand on the rooftop of an abandoned building, the city stretched out before you in ruins. Fires burn in the distance, their orange glow painting the night in an eerie light. Screams and gunshots echo faintly through the air, but up here, it almost feels quiet.

Jay's arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you against him as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"When I first saw you, I thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen," he says softly, his voice low in your ear.

You snort, your lips twitching into a faint smile. "I smelled like shit, Jay. I looked like skin and bones. Where's the 'pretty' in that?" you ask, a chuckle escaping you.

Jay presses his lips to your neck, his voice a murmur against your skin. "You were pretty then. You're pretty now. You've always been pretty."

"You should hate me," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant crackling of fires below. "For leaving. For running away."

Jay's grip tightened, his hands pulling you closer as his forehead pressed against the back of your head. "I could never hate you," he murmured. "Not when I know what you've been carrying."

You opened your mouth to argue, to push back

"I don't deserve you," you admitted, your voice cracking as the weight of the night caught up with you.

Jay let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and reassuring. "You don't get to decide that," he said, his tone teasing but full of affection. "That's my call, and I'm not going anywhere.

You tilt your head slightly, giving him more access, your breath hitching as he kisses the sensitive spot just below your ear. His lips linger, soft and warm, before his tongue flicks against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

A quiet moan escapes you as he nips at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he soothes the bite with a kiss. "Jay..."

His hands begin to roam, one sliding up to cup your breast, squeezing gently, while the other dips beneath your dress. His fingers brush over the fabric of your panties, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves there.

"You're really doing this?" you sigh, half-laughing even as your body arches into his touch.  "In the middle of the purge?"

Jay chuckles softly, his lips still pressed against your neck. "We're standing on a rooftop, watching the world burn," he murmurs. "Seems like the perfect time to me."

His fingers move with more purpose now, slipping past the fabric of your panties and brushing against your wet folds. You gasp, your body trembling against him as he slides one finger inside you, curling it just enough to make you bite down on your lip.

"You know," Jay whispers, his voice low and rough as his free hand kneads your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. "I'm not normal either."

You barely manage to form a response, your mind clouded by the pleasure building inside you. "W-what do you mean?"

Jay bites gently at your neck again, his lips curling into a grin. "Watching you out there... gunning down those purgers... smearing blood all over that cute little dress..." He groans, his hips pressing into you so you can feel just how hard he is. 

"Fuck, it turns me on so much. You looked so beautiful. So fucking dangerous."

His confession sends a jolt of heat straight through you, and your legs almost buckle as he slides another finger inside you, his pace increasing. His other hand slips beneath the neckline of your dress, tugging it down just enough to expose your chest as he palms your bare skin.

"Jay..." you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder as his fingers work you over, pushing deeper and curling just right.

"You're so perfect like this," he whispers, his voice breathy and filled with adoration as he watches your face twist with pleasure. 

"The way your body moves, the way you moan for me... I'll never get enough of you."

His thumb brushes over your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. You grip his arms, your nails digging into his skin as your body starts to shake.

"F-fuck, Jay," you cry out, your voice muffled as he kisses your temple.

"That's it, baby," he encourages. "Let go for me. Let me see you lose yourself."

You're barely holding on, your body trembling as he picks up the pace, his fingers sliding in and out of you relentlessly. 

The pressure inside you builds and builds until it snaps, a wave of heat and pleasure crashing over you as your orgasm takes hold.

You cry out, your hips bucking against his hand as you ride out the high, your walls clenching around his fingers. Jay doesn't stop, his movements gentle now as he works you through it, his lips pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

When the aftershocks finally subside, you collapse back against him, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. Jay wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you close as he presses a kiss to your temple.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice soft and sincere.  "Now, let me eat."

Before you can respond, he gently turns you, guiding your back to the cool metal railing. His hands are steady on your waist

"Park Jongseong!"

He crouched, his teeth hooking the edge of your panties and dragging them down, baring you inch by inch. The fabric pooled at your knees before his face dove between your thighs, his tongue parting you

He worked his way up to your clit, licking slow, teasing circles that made your knees threaten to buckle.

His grip tightened on your waist, firm hands pulling you closer, urging your hips to rock against his face.

Your right leg lifted, hooking over his shoulder for balance, your fingers threading into his hair to anchor yourself. You tugged, hard, grinding yourself against him. His groan reverberated through you, the vibrations sending shockwaves straight to your core.

"Jongseong!" you sobbed, your voice breaking as the intensity overwhelmed you. Your grip on his hair tightened, your body trembling.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and desperate. 

Before you could protest, his hands were on your shoulders, pushing you down. You hit the rough ground with a muted thud, your palms scraping against the coarse surface.

You barely had time to process the sensation before his hands were on your hips, lifting you up.

"Need to be inside you, baby."

You heard him groan softly, the sound of him stroking himself before he pressed against your entrance.

The stretch as he slid inside you was slow, deliberate, every inch a sensation that left you gasping. You clenched around him instinctively, earning a hiss from him as he threw his head back, savoring the feeling.

"Faster," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. Your hands scrambled to reach his, gripping the one on your waist.

"My baby wants more?" he laughed, a dark, almost mocking edge to his tone.

Before you could answer, he gathered your wrists in one hand, pulling them behind your back and holding them there. His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with bruising force.

You screamed, your voice raw, your body pliant in his grasp.

He didn't stop, didn't relent, even as your cries turned to desperate whines. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling violently. But just as you were about to fall over, his movements faltered.

"No!" you cried out, shaking in his hold, trying to move, to chase the release that hovered just out of reach. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pressing you down firmly.

"Don't move," Jay ordered, his voice low and commanding. "I'm still enjoying the view."

You sobbed, your body trembling, your desperation mounting. "Please! I'll be good, I swear, please!"

He growled low in his throat, his hips slamming forward again, harder, rougher, making you cry out.

Gunshots echoed faintly in the background, but they felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered was the man above you, his hands pinning you down, his movements relentless.

Your mouth fell open as you felt him twitch inside you, his pace faltering before he suddenly flipped you onto your back. Your legs went limp, draped over his shoulders as he sank into you again, his face hovering inches from yours.

Your focus locked on him, the way his brows knit together, the way his jaw clenched, the way his sweat-dampened hair clung to his forehead. He was beautiful in his rawness, primal and consuming.

"I wanna cum," you whimpered, your hand reaching for your clit, desperate for release, but he slapped it away with a sharp look.

"Hold it, love," he commanded, his breath ragged. He leaned down, his mouth latching onto your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he bit down, hard.

You screamed, tears streaming down your face as your body writhed beneath him.

"Can't hold it anymore," you sobbed, shaking your head, your pleas growing more desperate.

"Just a little longer," he whispered, his voice a strained plea of his own. His thumb found your clit, pressing down in firm, maddening circles, even as his hips drove into you faster, harder.

The moment came like a tidal wave, crashing through you with a force that left you breathless, your body spasming around him.

"A-ah fuck!" you screamed, your voice breaking.

His rhythm faltered as you tightened around him, pulling him over the edge with you. He buried himself deep, his groan low and guttural as he came, filling you completely.

"Jay, can't!" you whimpered, your body oversensitive, trembling as he continued to move, chasing the last echoes of his high.

"Fuck, I love you," he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion

Finally, he stilled, collapsing beside you. His arm looped around your waist, pulling you close.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?" he teased, his voice soft.

"Tired," you mumbled, pouting with your eyes half-closed.

"What happened to killing purgers all night?" he asked, his tone light, teasing.

You cracked one eye open to glare at him. "It's morning," you grumbled.

Jay chuckled, his fingers gently smoothing down your dress as best as he could. His eyes lingered on you, softening as you murmured sleepily against his ear.

"I wanna kill Ms. Wilson next year," you whispered, your voice faint.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. He kissed your forehead softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Anything for you, love."

You hummed in response, your body melting further into his hold. "I hate how the Purge is so right," you mumbled, your words fading into the quiet dawn. "It really did cleanse my soul."

March 22, 6:45 AM

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a pale golden glow over the city. The streets were eerily still, a grim quiet settling over the aftermath of the Purge.

Jay carried you carefully to his car, his movements slow and deliberate as he set you down in the passenger seat. For a moment, he lingered, crouching beside you. His hand brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingers ghosting over your peaceful expression.

You had found yourself, hadn’t you? Maybe not in the way most people would expect, but in a way that felt undeniably true to you.

Your eyelashes fluttered, your eyes opening just enough to glance at him groggily. "What time is it?"

"6:45," Jay replied softly, his voice low. "The Purge is almost over."

You nodded weakly, your head tilting back against the seat as your eyes drifted closed again. But before sleep could take you, they snapped open once more, and you turned your head to him.

"Why? What’s wrong?" Jay asked, his voice laced with gentle concern.

You smiled sweetly, your lips curving in a way that made his heart skip.

"Kiss me."

His lips twitched into a chuckle, but he leaned down without hesitation, pressing his lips to yours. 

"I love you," you whispered as your eyes closed again, this time surrendering completely to sleep.

"I love you too," Jay echoed, his voice just above a whisper. His hand lingered on your cheek for a moment longer before he straightened up, gripping the steering wheel as he started the car.

The streets stretched out before him, empty and silent now, save for the faint echoes of distant sirens. The Purge had ended.

Jay chuckled softly to himself, glancing over at your sleeping form in the passenger seat. You looked so peaceful now, your lips slightly parted, your head resting against the window. It was hard to believe that just hours ago, the two of you had been surrounded by blood.

"Next year, huh?" he murmured under his breath, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Jay definitely needed to watch his back next year.

But with you by his side, what could any purger do?

There was no telling what the two of you were capable of.

taglist: @fancypeacepersona, @tunafishyfishylike

[yeet-the-chair]

The Ghost Next Door

While leaving your room to do laundry, an unfamiliar presence walks out of your neighbors apartment. While you don't recognize him, he definitely recognizes you.

Word count: 1337

Laundry day. It definitely wasn’t your favorite. Having to walk to the laundry room to hopefully find an open machine was such a pain in the ass. But usually, if the people in your apartment complex see a blind girl coming with her arms full, they’ll turn around and give you the open washing machine. Well, you aren’t actually blind. Due to your mutation, you’re able to see the aura that surrounds people. Their emotions and who they are as a person. Along with that, the rest of the world has a blue, hazy outline to it, allowing you to navigate without difficulty. 

As you exit your apartment, you hear the door next to yours open as a figure walks out. You expect to see your neighbor, Wade Wilson, but the abhorrent strange aura that surrounds him isn’t what greets you. An intimidating aura walks out of the door, one filled with so much sadness, anger, and hatred. But deep down, you saw good. He has a good heart in him, one that wants to do good. 

You noticed, however, that the aura around him had started to change. Instead of the blues and reds you saw before, hues of purples and orange appeared. You could feel him looking at you. He… recognized you? He was so confused, and now you were too. You never forgot someone, even in passing. He probably just thought you were someone else, so you decided to ignore it. Though it continued to nag at you, there was nothing you could do about it, other than go up to him and say ‘hey I know I’m blind but you look like you recognize me.’ 

Nope, no way. You were just gonna leave it as it is, even if you felt strangely drawn towards him. 

…

Logan couldn’t believe his eyes. The minute he walked out of the door and looked at you, it was like seeing a ghost. The last time he saw you was when you laid dead in his arms on the lawn of the mansion. But now, you stand in front of him, or at least a version of you, looking the exact same. There was something different about you, though. You wore red tinted glasses, and looking closer, Logan could see a scar that ran from the outer corner of your left eye, over the bridge of your nose and to your other eye. 

“Y/n?” he mumbled out. 

It was clear you hadn’t heard him, as you continued walking in the opposite direction. He couldn’t let you go again. He followed after you, speeding up as you entered the elevator, but it closes right as he reaches out. Logan’s breathing gets heavier. He finally gets to see you again, he will not let that chance go. ‘Where could she be?’

It clicks for him. You were holding a laundry basket. He books it to the stairs and races to the laundry room

… 

Okay.

There is no way this mysterious man, who just tried to get into your elevator, doesn’t know you. You felt his emotions; recognition, relief, then fear as you disappeared behind the doors. He’s trying to find you, but why? 

You began to panic slightly. Sure, you had a mutation, but you had never used it to fight before, never really even thought of it. You sensed the danger before you could even come close to it and found a different path. But now? There is no other path to take. You’re facing it head on whether you want to or not. 

As you exit the elevator, you hear the pounding footsteps coming down the stairs, while also feeling the desperation coming from them in waves. They’re almost enough to knock you down but you hold your ground. You almost make it to the laundry room when the stairs exit door slams open a few feet away from you and the man from earlier walks over and reaches to grab your shoulder. Before he can, you turn and grab his wrist, glaring at him the best you could.

“Look,” you began. “I don’t know who you are or how you know me, but let me make one thing clear. I may be blind but I am not completely helpless. I will make you hurt in ways you cannot comprehend. Do you understand?”

Sure, you couldn’t fight, but you could manipulate his emotions to be so painful he feels like he can barely move. 

Your threat seems to have fallen on deaf ears as he continues to look at you with so much longing. You can see he is full of love, regret, and despair just by looking at you. You hear him whisper your name, reaching out his other hand to wrap around your waist and hug you. Before he can though you slip out of his hold, releasing his wrist from your grip. 

“Don’t touch me.” Hurt. A new emotion made its way into the man's aura, along with anxiety wrapping all other emotions in a rope of grey and blue. You could feel the creep of anxiety begin to crawl up your back, but you pushed it away and pulled out confidence and defiance to take its place. 

Standing up straighter, you decided that laundry could wait until later and backed out of the room until you made it out of the door. Once you did, you sped over to the elevator and waited for it to open. The man made no move to follow you, seeming almost paralyzed in shock by what you said. You could feel his anxiety continue to wrap around him, tightening around his other emotions in a knot. 

A part of you felt bad. You could feel his emotions as if they were your own, and it hurt. You were mostly numb to feelings others emotions as you dealt with them every day, but every now and them one person's emotions were so strong that you couldn’t completely block them out. It would be so easy to manipulate his emotions, to comfort him and make him less miserable.

But another part of you was afraid. You had no idea who this man was, yet it seemed like he knew you. He knew your name. Was he a stalker? No, he couldn’t be. You would have sensed him, especially with an aura like that. Did you know him when you were younger? Before you were blinded and developed your mutation? It was possible, though he seemed more starstruck than you would expect an old friend to be. 

You continued to contemplate as you began to clean your apartment. You tried to focus on your music, on what the lyrics said and the emotion you could feel from them, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him. There was a strange pull to him you could not explain. ‘He terrified me earlier, but what if I really do know him?’

… 

“Don’t touch me.”

Those words replayed over and over again in Logan’s mind as he sat in Wade’s apartment. He scared you. You were afraid of him. That isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He should be making you laugh, making you smile. He didn’t want to be the cause of your fear. 

But he had to keep reminding himself that this is a different universe. While you looked like the you he knew in his world, the you here was so different. Different backstories, different lives, maybe even a different mutation? You were blind in this world, so did that affect the mutation that you got?

He wanted to learn more about you, but that would have to wait a few days. He needed to figure out how to apologize for his prior behavior and figure out how to explain his actions. Relationships of any kind are built off trust, and while he couldn't tell you the whole truth immediately, he did have to make himself as trustworthy as possible so he could tell you one day.  

first time writing lol but ive had this idea for so long that i needed to get it out

[emelinstriker]

☆ More ESAU Headcanons ☆

Happy New Year! :D

And since my recent art burnout's been a bitch, I decided to at least cook up something by writing down headcanons. Soooo here's some mostly trivial headcanons about the Champions. :)

☆ ~ Headcanons ~ ☆

☆ Wukong

>Did you know he has a collection of snacks hidden on his side of the bedroom? No? Now you do. Macaque already knew that since the start because Wukong isn't subtle about grabbing bags of peach chips from his hiding place. The bags are loud enough that Macaque's intense hearing isn't even required.

>He's also still a hoarder at heart. So don't be surprised if you find out that his closet is filled with items you can tell he doesn't need at all. The only reason the room itself isn't messy is because otherwise Macaque would forcefully shadow-portal his items away to keep things as presentable as possible.

>Not hard to figure out based on his design, but he's not really a fan of shirts. His cape and shoulder guard are fine, but an actual shirt or something else fully covering his torso feels like it's too much. He can get a bit annoyed when dressing up more as a form of disguise, but he also won't openly complain about it.

☆ Macaque

>Definitely holds the record for the highest kill count in the palace. Sure, he has a head start with how long him and Wukong had been servants before the others, but he still has more kills than his brother regardless.

>Him and Ao Lie aren't just besties in regards to them being both concerningly out of their minds, but they also both enjoy reading and gushing about fiction. You could find Macaque often hang around the library even before Ao Lie joined. Though, their tastes in the genres are a bit different. Macaque leans more towards overdramatic romantic books. Or just drama in general. They give him inspiration.

>He accidentally spilled just a tiny bit wine on the carpet once while trying to seduce a Master, and he never forgave himself for that ever since. He was so convinced that single mistake ruined his chances.

☆ Mink

>Despite the way he acts around the other Champions, he actually does care about them... somewhat. He certainly wouldn't be all that opposed to the idea of some of them suddenly disappearing. However, much like a previous point I talked about regarding him being physically unable to have a crush, the same principle applies to true hatred.

>He doesn't hate the others, contrary to popular belief. He just manages to annoy them to the point of some certain Champions wanting to fight and beat him up whenever possible. His blunt way of speaking and casual demeanor, no matter the regular emotion one would have in situations, only adds to why he's not well-liked in the group. That's him pretty much mirroring the Guardian.

>Deliberately leaves tiny pieces of his ink around the palace. The others believe it's just Mink being an asshole and refusing to fully retract his ink. But it's just him doing his job. They have no idea about the lost souls that walked into his small puddles.

☆ Nezha

>Daddy issues. Only really internally though since he can barely remember much of his family. But he does get a bit jealous whenever he sees one of his Masters have a happy relationship with their father. He can't explain why either, but he also would never admit to it. He's in denial.

>Secretly helps out Red Son in subtle ways. Like placing items he was supposed to find for their Master in an easier spot.

>His bed and its surroundings have so much pink and red going on, it looks like he's ready for Valentine's Day all year long.

☆ MK

>You know how his memory is absolutely the worst out of all of them? Oddly enough, he's a fast learner despite that. He may even retain certain parts of what he learned, especially if it involves muscle memory.

>Sleeps with plushies, of which some may be gifts from previous Masters.

>Gets this really odd feeling of familiarity whenever he see the people from that one noodle shop his Master sometimes sends him to. But he also doesn't like sticking around for too long because they've been trying to convince him to stay. That doesn't sit right with him. Their scents also made him suspicious. The green girl smells a lot like Ao Lie, so he doesn't trust her.

☆ Red Son

>Great at cooking and crafting, but horrible at gardening. Nezha can vouch. He once tried teaching Red Son a bit of gardening in case he couldn't tend to the courtyard for a while. It ended up in Nezha's soul nearly leaving his body at the sight of some plants catching on fire.

>If there's something like a broken toilet, he unfortunately is the one being asked to fix it. He's never been given any direct orders about it, but he ended up fixing such matters regardless to get a bit more recognition amongst the servants.

>He owns cute little cookie cutters in the shape of the Champions. One Master formed those for him, and he's enjoyed using those whenever he could.

☆ Azure

>"He asked for no pickles"-energy when out with the other Champions just to relax and hangout in the city.

>Unironically once put a leashed harness on MK after he managed to get lost too many times while the two of them, plus Nezha, were on a mission.

>Gentle giant with a heart of gold... But he also won't hesitate to swiftly crush someone if they were to go against any rules he himself follows. Of course, he would never willingly harm any of the other Champions, even if they sometimes do get on his nerves by breaking rules... We're going to ignore the fact that he has disposed of a few unruly low-ranked servants that spoke badly of his Master and their legacy.

☆ Ao Lie

>The wholesome persona he puts up is more fake than Macaque's glamor. They're both pretty much close to equally unhinged and psychotic, but Macaque is a lot better at hiding it.

>He's surprisingly skilled at crochet. It's actually something he started doing because Azure was trying to get him to open up a bit more, so he showed him how to make some lil crochet animals that Azure had learned from a previous Master.

>Bookworm who has dissected a Celestial Hunter out of curiosity before, as if it were a fun school project.

☆ Jin

>Without his brother around, he is actually extremely calm and laid back. Not that he isn't with Yin around, but it's a lot more prominent when his brother isn't hyping him up with more of his own energy.

>Really likes putting together puzzles and organizing things. Which is why he tends to help Ao Lie organize books that weren't properly put back. He's also really good at playing Jenga with how he also enjoys stacking.

>Gives off a calm dad-vibe similar to Azure, but a lot more nonchalant in the way he reacts to things. Unlike Azure, he's not really a fan of upholding certain rules.

☆ Yin

>Without his brother around, he tends to act more cold and somewhat more easily aggressive. Usually Jin would hold him back and balance him out with his calmer energy.

>He had a run-in with a Karen one time while him and his brother were on a mission in Megapolis, and now he really does not like socializing with the humans in the city. As in, you know those annoying moments where your parent meets a friend at a store at random and they start to small-talk, and you just want to go home? That's how he feels whenever his brother is being all laid back about socializing with the humans they have to interact with.

>Actually more experienced in close-combat than Jin. He used to rub that fact in just to tease him, until he lost in a sparring match to Wukong shortly after having joined the ranks of the Champions... No, the match wasn't required for anything, nor did Wukong even want to do anything at all that day. But Yin kept on boasting so much about his close-combat skills towards Jin that Wukong felt a bit annoyed and asked for a match to let Yin prove himself. Unsurprisingly, Yin lost the match fairly quickly, but it only made him respect the Blue Champion... Oh, and he shut up about his close-combat skills, which Jin was silently thanking the older Champion for.

[ Masterlist ]

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Therapeutic

New drabble drop. The awaited conversation between Dream and Ccino. @spotaus you ready for another gut punch for Dream my friend :D

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

no edit or beta! :D

*-------------------*

Dream tugs on his vest as he glances at the cafe door.

He sees more people leave. As they have been for the last half hour.

It is fine! There is no reason to be nervous! He is just going to visit a place where someone works and lives who may have been kinda friends with Dream's brother!

The same brother that Dream has been actively working against because he was so convinced he knew better what was going on and instead of talking to his twin Dream decided it was smarter to trust other people's opinions who Dream had only known for a while and who were not close to his brother at all!

The same brother that seems to have disappeared and who Dream is no worried sick about while everyone around him celebrates his disappearance! Again because Dream messed up his job!

Dream leans against the wall and tries to calm his racing soul "it is fine. it is fine. it is fine. the worst that can happen is him telling you to get the fuck out and never return." which would include dream losing his one possible lead to find his brother.

Happy thoughts.

...

Dream shakes his skull. no. No forced happy thoughts. that is part of the reason he is struggling this much now.

Dream takes adeep breath and mutters to himself "let the fear be there. let it be with you. but don't let it consume you. don't let it keep you from doing what you wish to do." a bit of an exercise that Blue's Undyne had thought of for him. As she also struggles mentally with quite a few things.

Dream nods to himself and slowly nears the door to the cafe. a glance inside. just to make sure he isn't still busy. damnit the cafe is empty.

Well! Here goes nothing and everything!

He pushes the door open.

Ccino looks up and speaks with a practised smile "Welcome to the Cuddly Cat-" he stops and stares.

Dream tries to look calm but can't help himself as he slowly raises his hand and gives it a tiny wave.

Ccino's shock transforms into a glare as he hisses out "Well if it isn't the god that didn't even bother to read his own job description.".

Dream can't help but start laughing. It is almost a relieve! so many people had been trying to cheer him up and reassuring him that everyone messes up and that what he did wasn't that bad. It is so much better. He hadn't realised how badly he wanted at least one person to actually hold him accountable. To actually look him in the face and just straight up tell him he messed up.

Dream smiles brightly at Ccino as he answers "I know right? I made a mess of things… It is just…" he takes a deep breath. the hard part. Why he came here and hoped Ccino would have info. Because over the last few weeks a memory had suddenly stood out to him. cats who all looked and acted so much like others who Dream knew "I heard you have... very special cats and i was hoping to meet them?"

Ccino hesitates. Ccino keeps glaring at him but then his sight turns slightly and Dream can see him eye a piece of paper. Dream glances at it and sees his own pamphlet. He had left them in every universe he could think of to give everyone a quick update.

It is still a lot of work to continue clean up all the hatred he had unknowingly spread and promoted but it was a start.

Ccino sighs but he waves him over "make sure to turn the sign to closed please."

Dream blinks before smiling brightly as he does just that. he steps fully inside and turns the sign.

Ccino goes around quickly and closes the curtains and everything. Then he walks over to a table and just takes a seat.

Dream joins him at the table and smiles "thank you so much for doing this."

Ccino huffs as he leans on his fist "I figured you would keep bothering me otherwise."

It hurts to not be trusted nad Dream wonders if Nighty had to feel this daily. First in their own universe and than still in the multiverse. for over 500 years. actually being able to feel how everyone hated and distrusted him.

Dream rubs his hands "I... i would have respected a no... if you want i can still leave." he doesn't want to lose this chance... but he can't make stuff even worse. He just misses his brother so much. had missed him for so long already.

Ccino just waves it off and looks at him expecting.

Dream swallows and looks around the cafe for a moment before looking back at Ccino "I... i remembered that some of your cats were... special... in their looks and acting.. .and I was wondering... is it a coincidence or..."

Ccino snorts as he leans back "Yes. they are counterparts to other outcodes and important players in the multiverse. No i don't specifically look for them or get them or make them." he rolls his eye lights "They just show up at my front or back door and i let them stay. Sometimes some leave again."

Dream gives a slow nod and manages to gather his nerves "is... is... Is my brother's? Is my brother's cat okay? I... I can't remember seeing his cat and it is my brother! He is a god he has to be important and be here at least." he can't keep the desperate hope in anymore.

Ccino shrugs "being a god doesn't necessarily mean they show up here. it would be rather busy in here otherwise as there is a surprising large number of gods." he huffs and dream can hear Ccino mutter "with multiple universes completely focussed on making gods and having gods."

Dream alughs and nods "that is fair... it is just... i remember seeing a cat that was.. well... me.... I figured.. .there is no way that i would be there and not Nightmare."

Ccino snorts and grins "Every protagonist needs an antagonist after all."

Dream glares at the table before shooting him a glare "no not like that!"

Ccino tilts his skull and grins "relax. Antagonist doesn't automatically mean evil or anything. it means they are someone who goes against the protagonist and their goal." he shrugs "seeing as we both know nightmare had been right and you were wrong. he was still the antagonist in your story."

Dream shakes his skull "he wasn't!"

Ccino glares at him "it isn't like you left him any other role to play."

it hurts so much to know that and Dream glares "i know! Okay?! I know I messed up. I just want to find him and apologise. i need to tell him i am sorry and that he was right." that Dream lvoes him. that he is sorry. and that... that it is okay if nightmare hates him... that dream would deserve that but dream needs to make sure that nightmare knows he is sorry. that Dream regrets everything and is trying to make it right again.

Ccino stares at him before sighing and getting up. he walks towards the cattree and Dream feels his hopes fall. he is going to be send away... not even a single clue and-

very angry cat meowing as Dream watches his own counterpart cat be pushed into a side room and the door to close. Next ccino goes to the counter. He dips behind it and Dream hears a cabinet open.

After he hears panicked meowing as Ccino rises again. in his arms a large cat. maybe a main coone? but Dream feels himself start to hope as he can spot four large tails and one slow blinking cyan eye.

That is... oh fuck... that actually is!

Ccino wlaks over as three cats follow him on the ground. Dream looks at them and it is pretty obvious it are Killer, Cross and Horror. Dream wonders why they are following when he sees the cat and feels his soul grow cold.

Nightmare's.... his cat looks sick and tired.

Ccino sits in a chair closer to Dream as he gently pets the cat. Nightmare's cat purrs and leans into the touches.

Killer's cat jumps on the table and meows loudly before marching over to Ccino's side and nudging his arm. Ccino stops with petting and Killer's cat stands partly in Ccino's lap to nuzzle and clean ngihtmare's cat.

Dream looks at ccino "waht... why is he...?"

Ccino answers softly "sick? tired? older? I don't know. I have no idea what caused this..." he loks so sad as he pets the cat "I never saw anything like this before..."

Dream remembers his own weakening powers. the way he had been slowly but surely loosing his own powers and magic as he has lost his domain.

This confirms it... Nightmare's also lost his... but he was being kept alive by said magic and powers.

Dream raises a shaky hand "can i... cna i try to heal him?" anything. please let him try.

Ccino looks very unsure and loks at the cats before looking back at the door where Dream can hear his own cat version scream its head off.

Ccino sighs and nods "you can try. nothing the vet did seemed to help him much. he is just... much older now according to him."

Dream still tries. he first pets the cat gently. the goop feels strange but comforting. Dream never thought he would think of the goop like that. he had believed for so long that the goop had taken his brother from him. that it was something to be removed. But if the goop was just the apples magic trying to keep him whole? How could dream hate it? How could he hate something that saved his brother?

Now it is his turn.

He holds his hand near the rib cage of the cat and he can see NGihtmare's cat shoot him a suspicious look.

Ccino chuckles "i wouldn't touch a cat's belly if i were you. that is a very strict no-touching zone for most of them, no matter who you are."

dream shoots him a smile "that is okay. i wasn't going to touch him there." and even if he wouldn't mind too much. he focusses the little magic he still has and tries to heal the cat.

His magic doesn't touch anything that could be healed. according to his magic everything going on wiht the cat is natural and normal. there is nothing to heal.

Dream frowns as he pulls his hand back and looks sad at nightmare's cat. Dream can't even help him like this...

Ccino sighs but seems unsurprised "I figured as much... don't feel bad. the vet already tried healing magic himself. I just try to make sure he can relax and rest."

Dream frowns at the door "why keep... my cat version away from him?" doens't he hear how desperate his cat is calling for nightmare's?

Ccino looks to the side and shrugs "i mean... before when these two got near each other your cat would... well... attack... all the time. It was saver for both to keep them seperated. and now wiht him weaker... I just didn't want to risk it." ccino pets the old cat.

Dream's hand forms fists as he glares down. his sockets itch with tears but he forces them in. this isn't about you. this isn't about you. your brother is dying somewhere. this isn't the time to make this about you or your pain. you don't even have the right to feel the pain. you are part if not the whole reason this happened.

Ccino gets up and takes nightmare's cat with him again. Dream wants to stop him. beg him to just let him hold his brother's counterpart. if only for a little while. but he doesn't.

Dream remembers how his own aura and the goop could get when they met in battle. he doesnt want to risk making it worse.

ccino returns to their table. also the other three following him gone again.

Dream feels hopeful and stares at him "his... his gang cats stay with him?"

Ccino blinks but grins "yeah. all the time. there is always at least one wiht him."

Dream sighs and smiles "that is good... that... that should mean he has them with him now right? that he isn't alone?" at least?

Ccino shrugs "it means there is no animosity between them all. that they all care. that is all i am sure about."

drema nods and rubs his arm "why... why don't people remember this? I get why you don't tell but how come no one notices?"

ccino shrugs "i am not sure how. people just don't. if anyone is willing to hurt someone within the cat group? they just.. don't notice or remember. it is why i am even willing to have this conversation. you remembering implies you won't hurt him."

dream feels himself relax and nods "i won't" never again.

Ccino nods "i figured... but that is what i know. i don't have any othr information for you."

dream smiles "that is okay... he is alive... and most likely not alone. that is more than i knew before." he may not be able to find nightmare fast. but he has a place where he can go to check if nghtmare is still alive. and then while he waits for their meeting. Drema can work on himself.

He can work on teaching the multiverse the truth and find his own calling.

Dream can work on his own trauma nad heal.

All while he searches for his brother.

This? This just showed that it isn't too late. His brother is still somewhere and there is time to fix this mess.

It won't be easy. but he can fix this. and that gives him hope.

*-------------------*

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

[thesilvertheorist]

• headcannons 2 (angst/fluff) •

REQUEST: anon asked -

"Okay but angst/fluff hc of five allowing himself to love/be loved after trying to brush his feelings under the rug and convincing himself he just wanted sex?"

!warning: themes of self-harm, self-hatred, mention of wounds!

A/N: i really want to add here that @kaybreezy3000 has some devastatingly good fics with these kinds of themes! if you like these hc's - you'd really enjoy their works. [be aware that they have both sfw and nsfw on their acc! mdni where you aren't supposed to <3]

Masterlist

okay so, this ask cut deep because this is literally so him...i actually need sectioning. this is on the cliff-edge of being a drabble but shh we don't pay attention to that.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

✦ five was very notably altered during his time in the commission, so much so that he isn't even able to distinguish the murder-rushed thoughts of some serial killer from who knows when from his own intrusive thoughts which his mind offers him as a cruel consolation for keeping him in this prolonged state of terror. this means that he struggles a lot with understanding his emotions when it comes to other people. he tries to put everything into a mental balance sheet, attempting to find some sort of logical conclusion to how he's feeling and what he needs to do for the better.

✦ five is not a cruel person, never has been. he can appreciate beautiful things and he can see when something holds significant emotional worth...he'll just never really say that. he's not this psychotic, unfeeling demon that many would have you believe [even himself to a point]. he cares incredibly deeply about everyone, constantly. the way he steers this is through putting his love into action, wanting to repay what he thinks is his debt to that person under the guise of some bigger mission like 'saving the world'. he's actually so deeply heartfelt, it just takes him a minute to figure out when it's appropriate to let his guard down along with how to do that...specifically. he's not used to feeling vulnerable emotions so this takes him a while. which is why he thinks sex is the only form of intimate connection he needs to regulate his body... and that it didn't need to mean anything...or at least that's what he was telling himself, he never felt fulfilled. he'd convince himself over time that he was undeserving of love, some shameful sex would be hurt just as much.

✦ once he'd allowed himself to know you, realise that you weren't going to hurt him physically, and then establish a connection with you (despite his better judgement) he tried to work on allowing himself to understand that he needs to open up to you more emotionally; there's only so many sarcastic, sexually intended jokes you can take before you eventually wonder if he's not into you the way you originally thought - which is a gross misjudgement, because he's never felt a stronger bond with anyone before. but he noticed he'd started to develop true sexual attraction for you (regardless of his efforts to ignore them and sweep these feelings under a very heavy rug and focus instead on meaningless sexual thoughts that wouldn't damage your bond). he didn't know what to think, but he purged himself for it. how fucking dare he? how dare he sexualise someone so tenderly loving and deserving of true love. perhaps he actually was who people said he was.

✦ when he really delves into what this means, five gets so messed up over the fact that he knows he's fucked up...and you're with him...so he's actively fucking you up and making your life a misery [obviously this is not the case, but this is how he thinks]. he can't separate the pure images of you from the one damning thought of you and him sexually...and all he thought about was that he'd be okay doing that with you. he gets sent downward-spiralling when he maps everything out in his head, seeing how much of him is yearning for love yet so scared to accept it, not even truly knowing what love is. he settles himself on the fact that he's literal scum for thinking of you like that, you deserve someone to love you - not some arsehole who can only think about sex.

❺ he has a huge panic attack about this one night when no one is around, feeling himself become hazy with self hatred and a deep inward loathing. he unfortunately gets so worked up about it, without you there to ground him or remind him who he is, that he takes to hurting himself just so he can come back to his body. he continues to hurt himself throughout the night, needing to bring himself back to earth somehow before he comes completely untethered and loses you forever, regardless of feeling wholly undeserving of you. he's so out of it that he doesn't notice you entering the room the next morning (or the fact that it is the next morning), coming to check on him as he hadn't called you back as he usually would. when his eyes manage to focus on you in the doorway he panics, eyes going wide with the panic of you seeing him like this, knowing that it'll only hurt you more...why the fuck did you have to care about him? it's killing him.

✦ he'd let you touch him, check his vitals, stop his bleeding...he didn't have the strength to object. he feels like he's burdening you with this; he should at least be able to hold it together and not go haywire at the thought of the two of you having sex from the one person he actually gave two flying fucks about

✦ as he lets you patch him up, taking your hand when you offered it, letting you clean and dress his wounds, letting you kiss his tears away. why the fuck was he like this? why could he not be normal for you? was he truly that incapable of feeling? what he didn't realise is that, as you're cleaning his wounds and kissing his salty face - he's accepting love. he's accepting you, openly - just as he always has... how is this happening? why? you're breaking his heart with your kindness for him. he'd just fall to pieces with you, spiting himself again at the agony of not being normal for you.

✦ your calming words, gentle caresses, and open heart make him want to die then and there; it doesn't get better for him than this - than you. he realises that this is how he feels loved...being cared for, being taken care of, being treated with true and honest kindness. this makes him want to crawl as close up to you as he can physically get, so he does.

✦ he actually has a lot of realisations in such a short space of time: that he likes the way that this comfort feels (even if it is alien and he feels undeserving), he wants you to feel the same from him, and he never wants to live without this. he gets so accustomed to your touch that he feels unearthed without it. he begins to basically orbit around you after the events of that episode. he starts to remain as close to you as possible, feeling comforted by knowing you're in the room - there for him as he is for you. he doesn't really know if he's deserving of love, but he knows you are - and he wants nothing more than for you to feel loved by him.

✦ there's never a spare moment where he doesn't appreciate you, so much so that he starts to replace every bad thought he has with ones of you, rewiring the hard drive that is his brain. you gave him permission to accept love, without saying a single word, knowing he couldn't allow himself. you know him so deeply that he'd give anything for you. he becomes selfish with the time the two of you share because its that damn precious.

✦ he's taken to making your coffee in a morning when he can manage to pry himself from the rewarding and unconditional warmth of your embrace... he even stirs affirmations into your mug...thinking only positively about his life (and you) when he makes things for you, knowing that you deserve to feel only love from him.

{{{✦he definitely loves being held by you, comforted by you. his favourite thing is when you're holding him close and you press kisses onto his lips gently, proceeding to pepper his face with the same love.[he thinks the most heartfelt thing you've ever done for him is kiss his ring finger before he married you...kissing straight to his heart as they say]. he feels secure in his silly appearance when you can show him devotion. [he also likes it when you play with his hair whilst he falls asleep].}}}

✦ he turns his need for activity into a need to fill your life with good things. he handmakes you gifts all the time: your coin purse has worn out? he's hand-sewn you a new one and added a cute charm that he picked out. lost your favourite necklace? he's hand-welded you a new one with his initials on the back. [he even installs a ring hook in by the bathroom sink for when you want to do your morning routine and don't want to get your wedding band dirty]. the two of you will take that step eventually, but as of these small moments in time - he feels fulfilled.

✦ five hargreeves appears in many forms - death, psychosis, fear...tenderness, warmth, devotion...love.

[ghirahimbo]

Okay, so I am probably going to get hate for this, but I voted for Trump, and I am shocked at how upset people are about his re-election. As a Republican, we have constant allegations of being racist, homophobic, xenophobic, fascists, against women (the list goes on and on). We have been silenced and abused for over a decade, and yes it hurts. I am genuinely curious how Trump is any of those things listed above, despite there being no evidence shown through his actions, besides clips spread by the left-wing media taken out of context or a joke being blown way out of proportion. (Building a wall to keep millions of people from pouring into our country illegally without any screening not counting as racist). It's clear his personality isn't for everyone. His rhetoric is masculine, he obviously is not sensitive, politically correct, or polished, but despite this, millions of other people from all walks of life support him, including MILLIONS of people from so called marginalized groups. I highly doubt that over half of the people in this country are filled with hatred and violence. If anything, I have felt physically unsafe as a conservative around far leftists. (For example, once at a music camp I heard people say that they would volunteer to shoot conservatives into a ditch like the Naz*s did to the Jews, and everyone was like "YASSS QUEEN.") They thought it was hilarious, but I was terrified. Another thing that I noticed was the only concrete thing Harris really talked about in her campaign was abortion. I think it should be available for incest and rape, (there is also so much you can do before it gets to that point too, unless you're a helpless child, like go to the hospital for plan B) but I find it sick how that was basically the only thing focused on in the Harris campaign. I highly doubt that anything will change as far as "women's rights" since it's up to the states now to decide their abortion laws. It's obvious that many people certainly felt scared during his first term, and I am not denying that racism sexism etc. does exist, but to me, it's evident that the scale of the fear had completely been blown out of proportion. There were no wars, no boys in girls' sports, transgendersism being preached to underaged kids in school, and the prices for everything were better during Trump's first term to name a few things. I certainly felt happier and safer. I was scared of my brother being send overseas for WW3 if Harris was elected, so I am very relived. I don't know your personal beliefs, but why do you think so many people are hysterical about his re-election? I really admire you and your work, so I say this in all respect.

For context, I received this ask a few days after the election, and worked on my response off and on over the next few weeks before dropping it altogether because rehashing it all was putting me in such a bad mood, and then honestly… I forgot about it. Having rediscovered this in my ask box, I figured I might as well post what I’d already written since I really did put some time into it, and then try to wrap it up with some sort of ending. It’s long. Here goes:

Hi! You seem to be reaching out in good faith, so I’ll do my best to respond in kind. There's a problem in this country where people seem to be experiencing two very different versions of reality, and I've been grappling this week with the question of how to break through the cycle of outrage and fear that so many of us are trapped in. Maybe this can be a start to that. 

I can also speak to you from the perspective of someone who grew up conservative and shifted drastically leftward throughout my 20s, and who remembers struggling early on with some of the same things you're struggling with. Particularly, I remember grappling with the accusations that people like me were racist/homophobic/etc. because I didn't feel any such way.

With that being said:

When you speak of feeling unsafe, this is due to beliefs that you hold—and beliefs, while an important factor in determining who somebody is, are subject to change over time on both the small and large scale. If your social or political beliefs eventually shift, you will no longer feel threatened in quite the same way. When marginalized communities describe feeling unsafe, this is due to something intrinsic to their nature, whether that's gender or sexual orientation or the color of their skin. There is no way for them to alter themselves in a way that will make them “acceptable” to those who already hate them for who they are.

This is not to argue in favor of belief-based discrimination or to excuse the kids in music camp—young people exist on both sides of the political spectrum and they’re gonna say shit, and I heard the same or worse from people in my grounds crew in college targeted towards a more liberal population—but it's important to recognize that not all beliefs are created equal. Some are straight up incorrect (flat earth theory), some come as a result of undue influence (cults), and some beliefs are flat out dangerous (white supremacy). Where one person's beliefs interfere with another person's rights is the point where most people start to take issue—and all of that is to say that the beliefs of Donald Trump and his party trample on the rights of marginalized groups and others, and whether you personally align with every one of those beliefs simply doesn’t matter. Whether you personally think of yourself as racist, xenophobic, or anything else, by supporting Trump’s presidency, you signal your acceptance of everything that comes along with it, and those who feel threatened by that support won't care whether your acceptance comes out of ignorance or malice. You're going to face, and have already experienced, a lot of animosity due to your support of those harmful beliefs.

Of course, this is the point where we’re going to have to backtrack because you've already mentioned not understanding how Trump is anything negative other than rough around the edges. As bewildering as that statement is when held up against my own experience, you're not the only person I've seen saying something similar—but then, our country's perception gap (how people from each political party view each other) and the effect of echo chambers and algorithms on the information we're exposed to are both well-studied phenomena at this point. You also stated that Trump's first term as president was fairly positive from your perspective—no wars, a stronger pre-Covid economy, and a general feeling of safety. These two points seem related to me, and I’ll address them together.

I guess first of all, whatever information you've been exposed to thus far, I do want to assure you that Trump has clearly demonstrated the content of his character beyond the need for embellishment or anything pieced together out of context. In fact, the old classic “grab ‘em by the pussy” is made much worse by its context: “I better use some Tic Tacs just in case I start kissing her. You know, I’m automatically attracted to beautiful — I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. Just kiss. I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab ’em by the pussy. You can do anything.”

I just… simply don't have the energy to pull up all the receipts on Donald Trump of all people, but if you're inclined to do some research, look into all the contractors Trump stiffed in previous construction deals, causing bankruptcies and destroying small businesses in the process. Read up on the scam that was Trump University and the predatory tactics used to sell expensive “courses” specifically to vulnerable people. Consider whose best interest Donald Trump has ever and will ever look out for. All of this was well known (I think?) during the 2016 election, but not enough to keep Trump out of office, which is maybe why it's simultaneously treated as common knowledge and never brought up anymore.

Leading into Trump’s first term, I think it’s fair to assume that neither you nor I are in a demographic that was most obviously affected by the worst of Trump’s acts as president, but I do still remember the Muslim Ban: straightforwardly xenophobic, promised first on the campaign trail and then later put into effect during his presidency despite findings from the Department of Homeland Security itself that people from the seven nations affected by the travel ban posed no increased terrorist risk. It sure did fan the flames of hate among those who were already afraid of our Muslim population, though—and consider that according to an FBI report, hate crimes rose by 20% during Donald Trump’s term as president. Consider the wave of racially motivated harassment and texts spurred by the most recent election and realize that whatever Trump’s own views may be, he has always emboldened and empowered the worst of us. I don't care if Trump is personally racist when his policies and rhetoric directly affect minorities. I don't care if he's homophobic when the politicians he places into power alongside him specifically and explicitly want to dismantle hard-won rights for LGBTQ people.

I remember the nuclear pissing match Donald Trump got into with Kim Jong Un on Twitter, and the fear of World War III that lingered for weeks after—a fear famously memorialized in John Mulaney's “Horse in a Hospital” bit which, if you watch it, might explain exactly how that first Trump presidency felt for many Americans. Did that not seep through to the right wing media? 

More than anything else, I remember the “zero-tolerance” anti-immigration practice that came in the form of the child separation policy—and yes, I remember the wall. The wall that Mexico was going to pay for, though of course only US funds were ever used for its construction. The wall that research from the Department of Defense determined would not prevent a substantial portion of immigration—but it sure did make a handy mobilizing symbol, didn’t it?

The lies. There's just something different about the way Donald Trump lies—something that makes you feel a little crazy. Most of them are just so easily disproven that you wonder how he could possibly get away with it… but then he doubles down, and his rabid fan base believes him without question, and the far right media treats it as fact, and suddenly you have to treat his most ridiculous statements seriously because they have serious, real-world consequences (I think I’ve seen this described recently as “sanewashing”). Donald Trump says with no basis in fact or reality that Haitian immigrants are eating your dogs and cats, and a woman in Springfield calls the cops on her Haitian neighbor because her cat has gone missing.

And then poke around a bit. Look up some facts. Research. You've asked me to help explain why so many people are scared of Trump’s re-election, and I've already put literal hours into this response because I'm hoping it might do an ounce of good and I don't know what else to do… 

In fact, do me a favor: go to the Wikipedia article titled “False or misleading statements by Donald Trump”, really internalize this warning:

…And this is where I lost steam when I was initially writing this response because honestly, there’s an essay that could be written to refute every point you’ve made, and I just can’t do that. Political analysts across the country have tried to take apart and analyze voting demographics and campaign strategies and just about everything else related to the election, to varying levels of success—so I’m just gonna wrap this up with the strong suggestion that you can’t see the racism/xenophobia because it’s coming from inside the house, and a plea to you to recognize why you are being led to fear the “other.” 

Transphobia, for example, is not only written between the lines of your ask but soaking it all the way through. I saw enough political ads leading up to the election to know that “transgender panic” was one of THE issues pushed forward by right wing media (right alongside immigration), and if you’re pretty young, which I think you are, then you might not realize how much of a recent development this is culturally? Not transphobia in general—not at all—but the panic part. When I was roughly as old as I suspect you are, it was gay panic, and “think of the children,” and the reaction against Proposition 8 and “I don’t care if they’re together, but why do they have to call it marriage?” And before that it was the satanic panic, and woven all through our country’s history is anti-immigration rhetoric against various groups and ethnicities, because demonizing the “other” keeps your focus off the people who are actually, tangibly making your life worse through the corruption and policies they enact that you don’t notice because they’re pointing the finger elsewhere. It's an old song. And I just scrolled up to look at your ask again, saw that you’d written that “it's evident that the scale of the fear has completely been blown out of proportion,” and burst out laughing because that’s what it is! 

And like, I could link you to some sources that I think do a good job of debunking everything that the “trans panic” is built on (there’s an episode of the podcast Maintenance Phase that has some of the best gathered research I’ve found so far), but you probably wouldn’t find it particularly palatable—and that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? 

Anyway, I don’t think I can stomach reading all this through again right now, but I do wish you luck and a happy new year. I hope this response did any good at all, and I hope my fears for the upcoming presidency prove to be overblown. Can’t say I’m feeling too optimistic, though.

Peace ✌️

[physics-of-one-piece]

I am so sad to inform everyone that there is no Doffy for like 12 episodes since 629, he appears next in 642 which is a CRIME.

Anyway, Eng Doffy liveblog 642, let's gooo!

Doflamingo: Hey, Law! I hate to admit it, but you managed to impress me! Must've taken some effort to get a Navy admiral to show up. And since I'm no longer a warlord, I'm really shaking in my boots!

Hahahahahaha this bastard 🤣🤣🤣 also, the way he says "Law" oh the condescension. Fits.

Law: You're a damn liar!

Go, Law 😤 you tell 'im!

(skips the boring Colosseum parts cus we aren't here for that we are here for the sass fight between Doffy & Law in English)

"Haven't you ever seen a magic trick?" Did he just take a jab at Law's intelligence? I think?

See, Eng Doffy sounds so confident and smug but in that assholeish way, he gives me the "I want to punch him" feel. Meanwhile Japanese Doffy gives me the "I would not DARE punch this man bcs I know I will not live long enough to regret it" feel. I would not DARE go against Japanese Doffy, I would not dare speak or yell at him, while I would foolishly think of punching and attempting to punch English Doffy. Does that make sense? Eng Doffy would trick me into thinking I have a chance. Japanese Doffy I wouldn't even think about fighting him.

I love how you can already pick up on his "I am a god" thingy bcs Eng Doffy says "creates the blind spot in humans" he could have said "people" but nope. That's a nice little hint.

Also, once more, Eng Doffy is making my brain work for it with the "But it's the rigidity of the mind assuming no one would go to such lengths that creates the blind spot in humans."

RIGIDITY OF THE MIND

MAN, he makes me feel like I'm a silly little human with no knowledge of the world. Also, what a freakin scholar. I mean, we knew, and you can catch it in his Japanese vocabulary too, he is a royal for sure.

I gotta say, I remember the first time watching this and my brain was fckn THEORISING how the fuck Doflamingo could do that, get the newspapers to report fake news, did he threaten the newspapers, has someone in that branch etc etc...

Bcs at that point I don't think the OP lore made me aware Celestial Dragons have such influence? I just thought "rich ugly assholes who sit on their butts in Mariejois with no power of their own"

I think this was #1 reveal in One Piece for me cus like as Law slowly like figures it out and says "only celestial dragons have that power" my mind just blanked out from SHOCK bcs that means - Doflamingo is - but if he is, why is he a pirate - what - what - what - also how the hell is he so HANDSOME if he is a Celestial Dragon?

I think my reaction would be funny to Doflamingo 🤣

And then when the reveal happened I covered my face with my hands and said "Fuck, I want to fuck a Celestial Dragon. How far have I fallen?"

"Don't tell me... You're a..." The fckn FEAR in Law's voice. I got chills. I always get chills on this scene. The DREAD. THE ABSOLUTE DREAD. I'm glad it holds up in English.

"It's too complicated to explain right now." Keeping us at the edge of our seats, the bastard 🤣

"You know why I went to so much trouble, Law? Huh?" OH MY GOD AAAAA 😭😭😭 the way he says it is scary!

"No secret. I just really wanted to kill you."

RUN, LAW. RUN. AAAAAAAAAAA 😱😱😱😱😱

It's interesting how I can sorta pick up on the hatred Law feels for Doflamingo in English. Law has quite a calm voice in English, but it gets ROUGHER and RUDER in tone when he talks to Doflamingo. In Japanese, he tends to raise his voice so he's LOUDER than Doflamingo when he talks to him so both VAs have their own very good takes on the approach of Law's emotions. Very nice.

Doflamingo in English speaks like an angry dad who is trying not to show anger but is still angry and is about to beat the shit out of his son, and also condescending as hell. Like oooh, damn, the condescension when he talks to Law like Law is a kid (he does this in Japanese too just in a bit of a different tone but you still feel the "angry dad disciplining his kid who did sth extremely extremely stupid" so the shoe fits)

Onto Ep 643

Law: There's no way in hell you're getting Caesar back now!

HOLY HELL, HELL YEAH, FIERCE ENGLISH LAW, GO LAW!

Okay, so the way "Doflamingo" is said by Law is so very English it took me off guard. (pronouncing flamingo aloud to myself) Oh okay, that's accurate. Huh. I myself don't really enunciate the go as much as Law does. Okay. Sounds cute, though. Very cute 😊😊😊😊

"We've hardly spoken in ten years and this is how you act? Treat your old boss nicer, won't you, Law?"

OH SHIT OH SHIT. OKAY. OKAY. SO LIKE. WAIT IS THERE A WAY TO SEND A MP3 thingy, BCS YOU ALL HAVE TO HEAR THIS ONE. His voice softened when he said the "won't you, Law" and I fckn melted (again)

Oh, that softer "won't you, Law" I'D YIELD. NO, NO, HE SAID IT SO MUCH SOFTER OH GODDAMN FUCK FUCK THAT DIRTY - THAT'S CHEATING - THAT'S NOT FAIR, I CAN'T BE SCARED OF HIM IF HE TALKS LIKE THAT TO ME. I literally went "awww 🥺🥺🥺" after I heard this. I had the urge to just hug him and caress his hair and say "it's okay, Doffy, Law didn't mean it, there, there (pats him on the head)"

I am weak 😭😭😭😭😭 FUCK YOU, ENG DOFFY. DAMN YOU, ENG DOFFY. It's bad enough Japanese Doffy's voice softens when he talks to Cora, now I find Eng Doffy does it too (even if this is the manipulative thing he does for Law)? FUCKING SHIT FUCK.

DAMMIT!

I love how Doffy says "Hello there. 😄" to Fujitora! Haha.

"If you want to dig into my past, you better be willing to get your hands dirty. It'll take a mountain of evidence to topple me."

Or... You know... A crazy 19-year-old who you pissed off and who doesn't care about evidence 🤣🤣🤣

"Speaking of naughty warlords -" I JUST SQUEALED. HE DID NOT. HE DID. HE SAID IT. Naughty warlord. And the way he said it, too. Oh he is very aware. Adding that to my list of affectionate nicknames for Doffy.

"My plan completely fell apart. The Navy shows up and now I'm the target." Welcome to the life of being Luffy's ally, Law 🤣🤣😭😭

"Hehe. Just can't take the easy way, can you?" SAYS THE GUY WHO MANIPULATED THE WORLD NEWSPAPERS TO TRICK 10 PIRATES.

Excuse me while I go have a nerd timeout for Fujitora cus goddamn his gravity's COOL

Doflamingo: "That's a bit overkill, don't you think?"

I THINK SO, TOO! Japanese Doffy was def freaking out more 🤣

Oh, Eng Law saying "Room" sounds cool!

"Is this how the Navy acts now? Show some restraint! ARE YOU INSANE?!" Doffy freaking out 🤣🤣🤣🤣 this is hilarious!

"What now, Law? You aren't thinking about running away, are you? Because you won't get far here in my kingdom." Yikes.

Tagging @moonbaby26

[aleki-lives-here]

I'm making my way through System Collapse audiobook, and it's much easier both the second time around and than reading. This whole thing still feels too real too much, which makes me kinda passionately hate the book but in a way that I know isn't really hatred. I'm just experiencing a lot of emotions, okay. Listening to them create art, tell a story to make people see things from a new perspective is doing something to me.

I was ten when I decided I wanted to tell stories. I was thirteen when I figured out what kind of stories I wanted to tell, and yes the stories I wrote back then were kinda shitty but I reread half of those recently, at fourteen I already had the same kind of vibe that still appear in everything I ever created afterwards: shit happens, and people do mistakes, and it all just sucks, and you keep living, keep trying, keep holding on to hope.

I was a fucking teen and I knew I wanted to tell stories that would take the darkest most tragic situation and say: there's still kindness there. There's still hope. There's still future. I don't like whump or angst or anything just because I like to torture characters (tho I do, like to torture characters), but because shit sucks. shit sucks, and we keep living, and we keep finding joy in it all, and I want, always wanted, to have someone tell me -- to be the one to tell this to people, that yes. It sucks. It hurts. It's awful, and I see you, and I see the hopelessness, and it isn't hopeless anyway. It's all encompassing now and it's gonna change. If just one person read what I wrote and felt a little better, a little more seen, a little more hopeful, a little kinder -- that was all I wanted to achieve with my writing.

And the thing is: I feel like such a fucking failure.

Like okay. Objectively, rationally speaking, I'm twenty... right, twenty two as of now, which is young, but also it's fucking twenty two and it's longer than I expected myself to be alive, and it feels like I haven't done nothing. It feels like I'm never going to be able to do anything. It feels like it's ridiculous of me to even hope that I could do anything, especially with writing. Achieve something with my stories? Make someone think about new things? Make someone feel better? It's a ridiculous idea to aim for. That's what other people do, somehow, not me. The best I can settle is entertaining myself by torturing characters, which isn't gonna help anyone but hey if it entertains someone for five minutes it has to be worth something. It fucking has to be, I so honestly don't know why the hell I'm still alive, but it has to be worth something otherwise it's too depressing to consider.

But anyway. Then, there's System Collapse. There's this whole series, honestly, with the fairly background exploration of what media and art can mean to people, but here it's loud and impossible to ignore in the front of the narrative, and it resonates with me in ways I can't be comfortable with. It somehow fucking hurts to think about. Too many emotions and thoughts and just ugh. I'm not gonna be normal about this book any time soon, am I.

[phaticserpent]

Hello! I know you are very busy so if you don’t want to write this I don’t mind at all! :) But if you can could you please write a Ultron x reader where the reader takes the place of black widow in the scene right after Clint flys off with Visions body and the same thing kinda happens, like we wake up Ultron tells his sob story but something changes in the reader where before they felt only bad things towards Ultron but know they feel so much sympathy for him especially after he says “I don’t have anyone else” because the reader knows what that feels like. You can take it from there wherever your imagination takes you! Have an amazing day/night!❤️

Hi hi! Yeah finals have been really kicking me down, but thank you for this prompt! I've done something similar if you haven't read it

Prompt 1 , Prompt 2

With a start, you woke up, delirious; and you glanced around in confusion.

"....I wasn't sure you'd wake." A voice came. Confused, you turned to the source of the voice to see Ultron. "I hoped you would, I wanted to show you something.....I don't have anyone else."

You inched closer, your heartstrings pulled at the sadness and desperation. "W-wait.....Ultron, please." Your voice was husk and rasp, so you swallowed your spit. Ultron paused his activity, presumably walking away for a split second to pick something up. Cautiously and slowly, he headed towards you; a little wary and afraid, you inched backwards.

".....I'm not going to hurt you." Ultron assured. He had a cup in his hand and placed it a couple of inches from you. "I don't want to hold you from the bare necessities. I'm not that evil."

You reached out for the cup, eyeing him carefully before drinking the entire cup. Then setting the empty cup down, "Thank you."

".....There we go, you sound better with your voice." Ultron nodded solemnly and your face flushed. He grabbed the handle for the door and gently closed it, leaving you to stare at him as he walked away.

"......I suppose we're alike then." You sighed. "I never belonged with the Avengers....I think they pitied me more than anything."

"Ah," Ultron started. "I guess that makes the two of us. Except, they had higher expectations from me that were too much."

".....I don't know anything about what Stark does up there." You peered through the bars. "Do you mind if I ask why?"

"......I don't." Ultron sighed, pausing his activities to meet your gaze. Although his eyes were piercing, filled with hatred but also a look you know all too well. "He created me as a peacekeeping program....wanted me to bring peace to a violent world. I splurged through the internet to find everything he was responsible for."

"Oh....." You slumped against the metal bars. "I'm sorry, burdening another to fix it all....that's a selfish thing to do and ask for."

"You....understand." Ultron stared at you, his eyes searching in your confused eyes.

"....I mean....yeah. It would be the equivalent of a person raising a child just to burden them with selfish gains or just for care." You shrugged. "I think you have every reason to be upset and angry.....but I don't think the way you're doing it is.....pardon me, morally correct."

Ultron blinked at you before letting out a soft chuckle. "You have some galls to point that out, and rather directly as well."

"Thank you." You smiled. "I try, I guess. Or don't, I don't know."

".....I can never understand humans. Or....I understand them but the concept is just....." He waved his hand around, a signal you knew too well of searching for a word.

"Difficult? Complicated? Bizarre?"

"Heh, something like that."

"....I wouldn't recommend racking your brain trying to understand us or figuring humans out. We don't know either, so if we don't know, how would you? What I'm saying is, don't stress it." You smiled. "But if you want, I can help with the human side. I may not be the 'ideal' human citizen.....but I've dealt with people a lot more than the Avengers."

"How can I trust you?"

You leaned your head back, before cracking your neck. "You don't have to. I just want to help you, but if you feel like I'm not to be trusted, you can keep me locked up. I am being genuine." You smiled. "Don't keep be locked up for too long though, humans like to be outside."

Ultron barked out a laugh. "Of course. I wouldn't do that, it's rather inhumane. Plus, it is pointless to run so I see your point."

You cracked a grin. "So? What do you say?"

Ultron slowly walked over to where you were, staring down at you before unlocking the door. You smiled and held out your hand, gesturing for him to shake it. He took the hint and shook your hand.

Smiling up at him, "You probably already know, but nice to meet you. I'm (Y/N)."

[saiwriting]

Thoughts, Thoughts, Blog #13

It is difficult to live in a world where men are so obviously, harmfully bad and yet still have to persist in love. For fear of sounding like a pick-me, I do understand, but I could never make myself hate men. Especially if I date them? That is not to say I cape for them or I excuse any of their behavior or actions, but to say that hating them will bring about any change in the world is to say that hate does anything other than destroy yourself from the inside out.

We have seen on multiple occasions now the ways in which hate can be counterproductive to a society in which we want everyone to thrive in, so how is this any different? But, I will say, men make it extremely hard. I think what I'm getting at here is that, at the end of the day, i just simply don't have a hateful bone in my body. I can be an advocate for change and an advocate for women without vilifying a group of humans who have had the same amount of misguidedness for centuries.

We all are stumbling in the dark trying to figure this shit out. I just personally don't think that hate will be even close to the light that we need in order to have clear navigation. And, if I'm being honest, I couldn't tell you what the actual solution is other than...love. This is why I never antagonize women and people about their sentiments and hatred towards men. I get it completely. There is just a part of me that sees deeper than that, and that is that regardless of anything, we are all still human and humanity as we have created it is inherently misguided and destructive.

I am by no means the philosopher that will figure out the men's mental health crisis nor am I the activist that will finally set the women of the world free. But what I do know is that hate is not constructive. I feel the same way about hate as I do about complaining: what are you going to do about it? That is the questions I think we should all ask ourselves a lot more. Because harbored hate does absolutely nothing to the person you are hating and does everything to the person that is hating.

This sounds like a hippy-dippy "love everyone" type of rhetoric, but it holds true when given a much more thorough look under the microscope. Hate does not allow us to let go enough in order to make necessary movements towards change or to even make steps to healing and freeing ourselves from ensnarement by others. Hate in itself is a self-afflicted ensnarement that we don't even recognize. It's kind've like the Devil card in tarot or even The Hanged Man. Freeing yourself from self-imposed shackles will open your eyes to the fact that the chain around your neck is not even tightened and the rope around your ankle can let you go.

What do we want to let go? What do we need to let go? And how can we, as people, bridge this gap between them vs. us and the forced factions we impose onto ourselves. Much to think about before my nature walk that I have procrastinated for the day.

[jasmine-does-wevertf-she-wants]

As much as I love Word of Honor as an adaption and TV show in its own right I hate hate hate what they did with the ending. can anyone explain why WKX would sacrifice his life to save a very much unwilling to live without him ZZS? Like even under censorship it is established at several different points throughout the series that ZZS' sole reason to decide to get treatment and prolong his life that he himself tried to end is because he met WKX. Like I love the tenderness WoH gave the two. They love each other so so so much and they are not afraid to show it while teasing each other to death. It's so cute. They get each other in a world in which they don't fit in any other way or with anyone else. WKX himself very much stopped envisioning his future beyond getting his revenge. It is heavily implied he kind of figured he'd die somewhere in the end and didn't seem to mind that at all. And then they met each other! After a lifetime being steeped in blood, hatred, politics and blocking every possible emotion they could have they found each other and started to imagine what an actual life beyond their previous life's purpose might be like. They enjoyed themselves! Stopped pretending to be a more civilized version of themselves (I really liked how Faraway Wanderes leaned into what absolute horrendous weirdos those two are but alas censorship)! The two absolute worst people you ever met - a retired assassin who did any political crime you could think of without missing a second of sleep and the head of a underground crime syndicate who is so violent and unhinged he holds the sitting record on that notoriously short-lived position - start imagining studio ghibli whimsical cottage life with each other. "Enjoying some wine and having someone to call by name" screaming crying throwing up it's so cute.

But then but then ZZS is dying and WKX decides the obvious thing to do is to sacrifice his life for him. For ZZS who has the worst survivor's guilt. Who would hate hate hate to be an immortal in a snowy mountain where he could neither drink nor eat only having white-haired WKX's corpse for company. Like I know the show ran out of budget and thank god for the epilogue but what kind of ending did the showrunners think they were giving us here? ZZS would commit suicide as soon as he saw what happened and go find WKX's ass in the underworld to rip him a new one on that idea. I don't even think it's that out of character for WKX to sacrifice himself for ZZS per se. Like man does not place much value on his life. But he would not do that to ZZS. He knows ZZS. He knows what it's like to be disgusted by your own life, by your own person, to be tired and disappointed of the world you live in. What it means to have found a home in another person. What it means to have survived the people you love and have watched yourself become a worse person for it. To doubt whether the people that died for you would think their sacrifice worthy if they could see the person you came out as in the end. And after all the two went through, how they understand each other on a level that frankly not many people are equipped to in the first place, nevermind that they are soulmates. Understanding all that, WKX would not sacrifice his life for ZZS. He knows how utterly meaningless such a life would be for ZZS. He'd a thousand times over stay with ZZS while his meridians broke down only to kill himself the second after ZZS passed. He'd kill himself trying to find a cure so both could live together. He would not leave ZZS to live a life on his own that ZZS does not want to live alone.

Also I just miss the cottage core ending Faraway Wanderers gave them. It's been a while since I read it but I think they are up on YBY's mountain just chilling and doing their thing. They have not cultivated to YBY's style so they can do what they want and will eventually die. Which is fine! Like I think it fits that both end up in seclusion, farming, drinking, eating, fighting and fucking. And WoH absolutely hinted at all of that except the eating and drinking. But I think that's important! It's such a simple essential and basic way to enjoy life. Which neither of them got to do much while they were doing their thing before the plot. And now they get to enjoy life secluded from the world that doesn't have a place for them and share joy in each other and the most simple things in life. And I think that's so beautiful. Like I get the snow mountain in WoH is supposed to convey a similar vibe but it doesn't do it at all for me. Maybe that's me being biased against mountains and the cold but it seems very much joyless and well cold and kind of sad to me. They got there by accident and now they are stuck and have to live in ice hell. While the very point of the mountain in Faraway Wanderers was that they intentionally went there, builing their own world, their own life to share with each other.

I adore WoH but I will forever fight them about their ending.

[banjomelodies]

Spoilers (since I recently rewatched Scaras videos and saw comments about the Nameless Child) (+unintentional Ei rant)

I remember seeing a lot of people question Scaramouches whole thing about holding a grudge on a dying child, but, honestly, as an immortal being that was still learning for the most part at the time, I think it makes sense. He mentions in his character stories that he wasn't aware a human could deteriorate and pass on in a single night. To him, he believed he had so much more time. They had made promises, he cared for that child, showed him the home that once imprisoned him. And if you really think about it.. he didn't really witness death like this until now. He never saw Niwas body, and I don't know if he ever actually saw the bodies of the various workers in Tatarasuna when they finally passed away, as he also mentions that he didn't expect to be flooded with a negative emotion upon witnessing death (though granted, his relationship with the Nameless Child would obviously be drastically different than the random acquaintances of Tatarasuna, so there's just a chance that he really didn't get hit by heavy emotions).

All that he was aware of was that he was alone again. Ei abandoned him, and he only knew that Niwa supposedly ran away and left him alone, and then the child he treated as family left him too. Grief forms in so many different ways, and anger at things around you, or the person who is deceased, can be a common part of it. There's anger at being abandoned, anger about how life suddenly changed.. so many different factors go into it. And instead of being able to handle that anger in better ways, he found himself burning down a building, and attempting to off himself in the flames, and when he lived and tried to keep going with a newfound fear and hatred towards humans who only ever broke his expectations, or had the potential of only hurting him more, he landed in a group that took advantage of and fed that anger.

Scaramouche never had the chance to properly grieve or figure out how to handle emotions that were still new to him at the time. Him having a grudge on Niwa, Ei, and The Nameless Child makes sense, as it's all he knew. There was never anyone there who actually tried to properly help him. In his brain, he was abandoned again, and again, and again, and it eventually just spiraled into a hatred for other people.

I know a lot of people don't usually go for the "I'm going to try to analyze the characters emotions!" route when watching videos about things like this, since, obviously, why would you. But, there are legitimate reasons as to why Scaramouche would be mad at someone for dying, and it's a sucky situation all the way through. But the best thing is, he probably finally got over the anger he had on Niwa and The Nameless Child upon becoming The Wanderer (I don't care what anyone says he doesn't owe Ei any forgiveness - Her situation was straight-up just child abandonment. Which, yeah, sure, she was doing it because she didn't want to control him, and wanted him to live his own life without her interference, but you couldn't just like.. leave him a note explaining that? Check on him once in a while? Hell, even drop him off in civilization that'd love and care for him? You imprisoned him for who knows how long in a domain that probably just felt mind-numbing as everything was always the same until he was finally broken free from it. You say you didn't want to interfere with his life, but then threw him into a situation where his life would've sucked and been non-existent as he could only just stare at walls and trees. Unless she was just gunning on humans to break him out to give him an actual meaningful life, considering he didn't have his strength at the time. But this isn't a Raiden Ei being a shitty mom rant post, so uh!!)

Ignoring my Ei rant for a second. I hope this was. A decent read. Despite how short it is. I always loved analyzing Scaramouche as a character, so making posts about his backstory is very fun.

[beansintrenchcoats]

leave antisemitism out of your activism.

hello, this is going to be a rant, because honestly i am absolutely furious and absolutely DONE.

I'm going to preface this by saying: Yes, I believe that you should support Palestine unequivocally. Yes, you should take a firm fucking stand against Zionism. Yes, I agree, we should all agree that the state of Israel is a coloniser project that should never have been created in the first place. Yes, the people of Palestine have a right to resist and no, Israel is not in ANY way in the right for the GENOCIDE that has been steadily worsening over the last 75 years.

I am also going to clarify that I also have a lot of Jewish heritage, including multiple Holocaust survivors, and despite my parents not raising me religious, I'm currently trying to reconnect with it as when my grandparents fled Germany in the 30s they were forced to leave their culture behind and assimilate into Christian Britain. I also live in an incredibly Jewish neighbourhood, celebrate Jewish holidays with my family (aunts, uncles and cousins) and have many close friends who are Jewish. I have recently realised that I am at least somewhat religious; I identify strongly with my Judaism and with my Jewish community and family, all of whom have been incredibly helpful and welcoming as I try and figure out my identity.

So yeah - when I see antisemitism, I notice it, and it fucking hurts.

So please. For the love of all things you hold dear, whichever God you may pray to. Do not let your criticism of Israel turn into a hatred of Jews.

I was watching an instagram reel of a teenage, non-zionist Jewish creator explaining how to pronounce a name in Hebrew, and I made the mistake of opening the comments. I expected to see people wishing her Shabbat Shalom and putting in future requests.

I wasn't expecting: - N4zi salutes - People chanting 'HH' (I'm sure we can all figure out this acronym, but I don't feel comfortable writing it, and I think my post would get taken down if I did.) - '6 Million wasn't enough' - People telling her to go back to the GAS CHAMBERS - People saying that 'this was why Auschw1tz was needed' - People saying that she should be r***d - People calling her a child r**ist - The conspiracy theories that Jewish people a) dig tunnels under New York, b) are inhuman and c) eat babies. - People calling her a mass murderer - People calling her vermin ...and other general comments about why people support the literal Holocaust!

So let me just say this very fucking clearly.

If part of your 'activism' is just jew-hating, you aren't a freedom fighter. You aren't a good person. You can't prevent one genocide by condoning another. Israel's actions are deplorable, despicable, vile - every fucking word you could think of. But that doesn't make it okay to say that the killing of six million Jews - which occurred before the state of Israel even existed - was a good thing, and it DEFINITELY doesn't make it okay to say that it should happen again. Harassing innocent Jewish people isn't the flex you think it is.

And honestly, even if a Jewish person is a Zionist, it's still not okay to be a literal n4zi to them! Yes, tell them off, yell at them, say fuck you - but don't bring their judaism into it. A Jewish Zionist holds the same views as a Christian Zionist, who is the same as an Atheist Zionist: their identity is not the thing to be criticising, much less in a way that demeans their very humanity and spreads conspiracy theories that have been the cause of our oppression for millennia.

Antisemitism isn't okay. Sending death and r*** threats to Jewish creators isn't okay. Praising Hitler isn't okay. If anything, it's feeding into the utterly untrue Israel-funded narrative that any critique of Israel is a critique of Jewish identity. Don't resort to dehumanisation in the fight for humanity. It hurts us, and it helps nobody.

PS: do not start a fight in my comment section or in my DMs, I do not have the energy to deal with Zionists, not do I have the energy to deal with anti-semites, I'm simply getting this off my chest since I'm exhausted of seeing people say my grandmother shouldn't have survived the Holocaust. Night.

[nottakingresponsibility]

"...Let's try this journal out, shall we?" He grabbed a pen he used to write on his arm occasionally, flipping to a random page. He wasn't gonna be sappy with it, he'd just.. write. That's what this was for, after all. Surely nothing could go wrong if anyone found this in the future. Surely this couldn't be used against him.

"Day one of writing in this journal..." He fucked it up already. He scribbled out the word day and put "night" above it instead. "Day Night one of writing in this journal. I feel like something bad happened recently. I can't seem to shake the eerie silence the ship has been in lately. Well, asides from my conversation with Anya. Which, was surprisingly pleasant. I learned things today." "Granted, it might just be because several people probably want me dead. Hell knows I deserve it. I thought I got shot dead recently, I act like that never actually happened, that I don't think about it constantly, but it's hard not to. Loud noises in general freak me out, so being essentially shot, but also ...not shot? Wasn't a good experience." "Glad I'm still alive, though. I have plans otherwise, if I'm going out, it's gonna be by my own hands. Anya seems to view me as a friend, though. If I do anything to myself, I hope her mental state doesn't deteriorate. Though, that's wishful thinking. Why would she care about me anyway? I deserve it." "You think I'm gonna die before I can do it myself? I had to give up the title of captain recently, well, obviously. I don't even know what that guy expected me to do. I'm fucking useless in that scenario. I didn't really try too hard, I don't think a title is worth it if I can't even earn it in a proper way. He might be dead. That's pretty surreal, I mean. Someone I talked to, someone that gave me an offer, is probably fucking dead." "I can't bring myself to care, though. Guy was too vague for his own good anyway. I recently got reminded why I hate loud noises so much, especially yelling. And sirens. And everything else, actually. I hate a lot of things." "I've got a relationship...? To figure out, apparently. I didn't plan on that happening, I'm not sure if I'm against it or not but I can't back out now, the more people think of me fondly, the better. Maybe I'm pathetic, actually." "I'm not sure how to be loyal, or if that's even possible unfortunately. She fell into the wrong grasp, got attached to the wrong person. I don't know how to go through with this, but I can't do anything that'll ruin my reputation."

He thought for a moment, tapping the pen against his chin. Wasn't he meant to be writing more about his hallucinations rather than just how he felt? Either way, he had information to keep in mind, he was gonna write it down, that was for sure. "I'm just overthinking things. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. We're probably still on good terms, everyone I know. I've begun trying to heal my companionship with Anya, it's been going well it seems. Hope nothing fucks that up." "I've been speculating on Gabe as well, just what exactly he is, who, rather. People are trying to make me think he's some sort of twisted version of Curly. I don't like the implications of that, don't like thinking of what may have happened to him if that was the case." "But hey, at least on the bright side, I've got music now. Hopefully things will start to die down now that... the worst is presumably over. I'm not sure, we'll see what the future holds. I can only hope it won't be hatred." "If Anya ever does take up my offer for help someday, or ever just wants to talk, I'm willing to listen. That seems to be a thing I've been doing well, recently. Right back to my childhood. Except I'm in control now, maybe they were right. Maybe I would grow up better than them." "This has been James, signing off this fucking journal page." That sounded amusing, he liked the 'professionalism' of it. If anyone actually called him James though, he'd probably be extremely confused cause he's only ever called Jimmy, or Jim. Or.. whatever weird ass nickname variants there are of Jimmy. He could keep it in his journal, it would be safe, right? ...He very lightly scribbled over everything, it was still very readable, but at first glance it wouldn't be. He closed it up, placing it away.

[arenee1999]

I thought I had found something special in OFMD and its fandom.

There have been characters through the years that I've identified with in a fairly superficial way. Studious, likes to read, awkward, lonely, bullied -- and my list of favorite characters paints a rather revealing portrait. But then I found Our Flag Means Death and I found myself identifying with multiple characters in a deep, visceral way that I have never had before. And I found a fandom full of people that felt the same way.

Then the darker side of the fandom began making itself known. Close minded, racist, homophobic, puritanical twats. The canyon that despises Ed and Stede, the gentlebeardies that despise Izzy. All of the people treating Rhys, Taika and Con like dogshit and treating your fellow fans even worse.

And yet, through that many of us still managed to love the show, the characters, the cast and crew and each other.

Then, right when literally everyone was expecting a renewal announcement we were told it was cancelled. Many of us fell into depression. We rallied as best we could to fight for our show. But we were still left reeling.

That same day one of my only friends (and the only one I could talk to about anything)  stopped talking to me. But I pushed that to the side and spent all my energy on the fandom, on Xitter, posting and talking and making as much noise as possible with everyone else.

Then March came around we got that announcement. Despite our efforts and a large portion of the industry on our side, we weren't going to see anything come of our efforts. At least not for the foreseeable future. Long term has yet to be decided, but short term there's no hope. Many of us that had been holding our depression at bay with frantic activity, crashed, hard. Some of us were still able to find solace in the fandom. Our love of the show hasn't diminished after all. So we reinvest in what made us love the show from the start and we let it heal us once again as best it can.

I'm one of the ones that crashed. And I was left with no one to talk to. I held myself together for awhile but eventually began to spiral. Tried pushing away everything because if I don't feel anything it won't hurt as much. I had made rather startling progress on extricating my last couple hyperfixations. And I was rapidly becoming dangerously, severely depressed. Then a month and a half ago I find out why my friend suddenly stopped talking to me. Apparently I talked about OFMD too much and he just couldn't handle it. I was simultaneously too much and not enough. And as I was suddenly and violently smacked in the face with a wave of despair, I dug around to figure out what pulled me out of the last few bouts of heavy depression I suffered. Because fuck knows, I was in desperate need of something. Turns out the last two times it was Taika (both directly and indirectly with Thor Ragnarok and OFMD) and before that it was HP fanfiction (for 10 years HP fic kept me mostly stable and functioning). Which explains entirely why my depression kept getting worse by leaps and bounds as I was in the process of purging all of that from myself as much as possible. So I took a good hard look around and decided my mental health was more important than protecting someone else's feelings. I immediately quit trying to unravel my core psyche and personality and was just starting to reach something resembling functional.

And now the fandom has once again erupted into puritanical, homophobic bigotry and hatred. And I'm finding myself shutting down. The joy I was just starting to find again in this fandom is gone. I see nothing but ash and dust. Even the clips of Ed and Stede's first kiss, that usually bring an immediate swell of joy, leaves me feeling nothing but numb.

If you are that full of hatred for an aspect of the show, be it a character, a pairing, a plot point, a cast or crew member, keep it to your fucking selves. Create closed groups, communities, discords etc. with the rest of the hate filled "fans" and spew your garbage where those of us that are here for what we love can't fucking see it. We do not need to be splashed with the muck from your cesspit.

Better yet, listen to DJenks -