#someone smarter than me has probably made this argument better but I had to say my peice | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cinnamonest · 3 years ago

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Rewriting my Diluc housewife thoughts but I saved it in my notes this time, but I made it infinitely more sexist than it already was before bc 1) I was in the kink mood and 2) the spirits of writing gods possessed my body and told me that is the way all Diluc content should be, so, this is major 1950s-ish housewifey horrendously misogynistic shit, you've been warned. Like, even *I* looked back over this and was like "wow this is vile" which is kinda saying something for me so, putting the nastier parts under cut for the sake of my followers' eyes ----------- I was thinking about the post a while back about Diluc reforming a criminal darling - a thief around Mondstadt that's been on a crime spree and of course he catches wind of that and goes to defeat the perpetrator (surprisingly very easy? How is a thief this weak?) and haul the bastard off to jail except... What's this? Said criminal is actually just some girl and not a gross ugly bastard?? This changes things. Clearly, this was not an intentional act of malice or greed, but rather, he, master of criminal psychology™, rationalizes that the world is far too cruel for unwifed girls that have no one to depend on, a cold terrible place, so you must have been driven to these actions out of desperation. You had no provider, no caretaker, which are needs. How could you possibly be expected to provide a means of living for yourself?? This is just the consequences of the unfairness of the world. However, things all work out in the end. You need to be taken care of and restrained from these self-destructive choices by force (since you cannot recognize how bad it is, not that you're expected to, it's natural that you have poor perception, that's why you need a man to make choices for you), and he needs a wife. This solution benefits all parties.

He is, however, a rather dense man, and doesn't really think to like, tell you that. Or tell you anything. He's too lost in thought in his planning -- gonna get you new clothes to replace your ragged ones, gonna have to rearrange the guard schedule so they can watch the house better, all that -- and just kinda slings you up and over his shoulder without a word. Ignores you kicking and hitting because it doesn't really hurt or anything, you're too weak for that. Just says he’ll explain in detail later, but don’t worry, you’re not going to jail. He’s just taking you home. This is better, he says. Stop struggling so much, what, you want to go to jail? No? Then be still. And you don't recognize that it's good for you yet, but again, that's expected. In a better time or society, you would have been married off sooner, and prevented from ever falling victim to your own decision making to begin with, but the world isn't perfect and you can be forgiven for it. You're not responsible for your own actions since you can't comprehend them. It's frustrating and he sighs a bit over it, but that's just the way things are. You'll be happy in the long run, even if it takes a while, you're naturally programmed for a better lifestyle he has in mind. And, really, he's glad you weren't married off, because if you were then he never would have had you, so even though it was technically unideal, the stars align and the universe works out things perfectly. It's all the more of a sign that this was fate and you were made for him. The issue is that a hardened criminal darling is... Not the ideal candidate for a housewife. To some extent, he's right that the criminal underworld hardens a person, you can't survive in that realm if you're submissive or weak willed. And criminal darling certainly is not. Loud mouthed, opinionated, argumentative, bad attitude, defiant and aggressive and very much unafraid. A complete loose cannon. All very unfavorable traits. Worst of all, very much unaccepting of and ungrateful for the privilege of a second chance and being graciously granted the opportunity for a better life. Lots of bad behaviors.

The cursing is a problem. It's not very... Wife-like. Gives off a bad image, you know. Especially since said cursing is usually directed at him at a very loud volume with a snarl and getting all up in his face to tell him he's fucking insane and a bastard. To be honest, the worst part isn't the words themselves, it's the fact that you are so unafraid to be defiant and so fiery that is the primary issue. You disobey very deliberately. Little acts of pettiness. Being mean to the maids who are so graciously trying to teach you how to cook (at his direction), since you had no idea how to (and nearly burned his house down as a result). The first time you were mean and bitter and that's how you learned they report back to him about how you behaved. It did not go over well.

Intentionally burning food. Once you somehow found a bottle in a cabinet somewhere in the mansion and put rat poison in his food, made him sick. Muttering a sarcastic whoops and shoving a vase off to crash and shatter on the floor. Early on you refused to wear all the nice dresses you were generously given and even tried to go through his clothes to find something to wear, which was kinda cute since it was way too big, but still. You mutter and grumble under your breath every time you're given a command. The most important thing is sex, though. You know, your job. One of your only real responsibilities. He has a very stressful job. It's only reasonable that he can expect to come home to his sweet, loving little wife with open arms and equally open legs. You've probably fucked around a bit right? For money, for favors, for intel, you get the idea, lots of ties to criminal gangs to earn their trust. So, if you do it for something so insignificant, how much more does he deserve it for taking care of you fully? You should -- and you will, with time -- drop to your knees the second he walks through the door. But instead, sigh, you fight and whimper and cover your face in shame after you spasm and cum, and worst of all, you actively try not to cum. You shouldn't feel ashamed of that, it's good, he says. Sure, you may not be officially married (since the laws of Mondstadt unfortunately require that whole "consent" thing for both parties, ugh), but, he's basically your husband right? So, it's perfectly normal, you're supposed to cum for him. Maybe once you're all knocked up you'll be even hornier, and less shameful. He actually wasn't expecting you to be this bad. Incredibly stubborn and prideful. Literally the exact opposite traits of a good wife, you know, submissive and humble and obedient. He kinda thought that it was like... automatic. That once he just kinda shoved you in the right environment, it would be like flipping a switch right? Apparently not. But no matter. It can be changed, with effort and time. You're worth it. See, you're not supposed to backtalk him, you're supposed to smile and do what you're told without question. You're supposed to submit and obey, and instead you seem hellbent on pissing him off out of spite - and frankly, you're doing a good job of achieving that. Every time you defy him it sparks an irritation he can't describe, worse than he'd normally get from just being snarled at by anyone - no, something about being disrespected by someone he feels is beneath him makes him much, much angrier than it would be if it were, say, one of the business partners who get snappy and argumentative very frequently. He could break you and it would be easy, don't you know that? You stomp and you hit him and you yell, but clearly you process that you have to look up to look him in the eye, you have to realize how much smaller you are. You hit him even though you have to know by now he'll just grab your wrists, and like always you'll be unable to even hope of pulling out of his grip, the strength difference between you two is so great. There's no way you don't realize all that, yet you continue to behave the way you do. The inferiority is so blatantly obvious, but you act as if it's not. He spends a lot of time contemplating the source of this, the cause of your behavior, it occupies his thoughts. It's like... You resent him for something. Could it possibly be kidnapping you and keeping you as a glorified sex slave? No, no, that's not it. It's something else, yes. Are you just bitter about being inferior in, you know, every conceivable way? Is that it? The criminality for you was compensation to make you feel powerful, perhaps. You have a complex. You resent him not for anything he's done, but because you know he's stronger and smarter and generally superior to you. You don't want to accept it. You're prideful when you shouldn't be. You're supposed to be humble and content with your inferiority. Yeah, that's it. You just have a negative perception of the lifestyle you're supposed to have. Maybe some event in your life or someone else warped your view of things. You don't realize how happy you'd be if you just accepted it. Yes, if you submitted to it, if you swallowed your pride and actually accepted your place, you'd find you would be very happy, you just don't know that. Or maybe, your brain can't grasp something like that. After all, that's the reason you're supposed to be the submissive party of the two of you, you're not as bright or perceptive (says the densest man alive). You have to be... Led. Guided. So he says it. He is, again, a dense man. He does not really think about the fact that perhaps blatantly confronting you with the epiphany he thinks he's had and specifically using the words inferior and weak and small is probably not going to make you very happy. You get bitchy and bratty and try to hit him and he sighs because, see, this is exactly what he's talking about. You reacting the way you did only confirms you do have a complex, he says. So, how could he go about... reconditioning? He is not the most creative man, but thankfully it's a rather easy problem to solve. If you're reminded of a reality often enough, you have to accept it. For starters, using physical strength against you. Maybe that will metaphorically open your eyes. Holds you down in place when you're hitting him like you do, firmly bending you over a counter or whatever and just holding you in place. Come on, try to get up, try to push him off. You snarl and claw at the marble and push will all your strength, but he doesn't budge, not until you politely apologize and ask him to let you up. If you're being difficult and not going where he tells you to, well, he can just sling you up over his shoulder and carry you. If you're fighting being fucked he can just flip you over and press your face into the mattress and hold you still, and you can't help but take the brutal reality that you're basically a ragdoll to him, that is, physically overpowering you doesn't even require trying. It helps to knock you down a peg, remind you of your place and maybe get you to swallow that pride a bit. The orgasms and fucking have a similar effect -- every time you can't help but feel like he has a power over you. And really, he kinda does. Every time you lay there still panting and shivering in aftershock, the shame comes swarming in, all the obscene noises you made and the way you came undone under the person that treats you like property. Even if the rational part of you knows better, you can't help but feel like in a way it's like you let him win, allowed yourself to more or less prove him right. Maybe you'll learn better if you're in more humiliating positions. Stuck getting rammed from behind, hand forcing your face down and ass up. Actually correcting bad behaviors requires more direct approaches, so he takes the... Old fashioned route. After all, it's pretty much guaranteed to work. You don't listen to words, you don't listen to reason, but you'll certainly listen to handprints and belt welts on your ass. It's the first time you really, truly break, and that brings him a lot of satisfaction. The first time you really cry and whimper and beg and apologize so profusely it feels like you mean it for once. Granted, for a while you just persist in your bad behaviors and even try to run when you see him sigh and take the belt off, but you never get far. And, most notably, you actually fix your behaviors, with enough reminders. At one point, the next time you start being bad and get to bitching and snarling and putting up a fight, you catch the look on his face and, for once, you shut your mouth and look down and mumble an apology by default. See, you're learning. Speaking of, you still have that major issue with backtalking him. You're supposed to submit to him and acknowledge his authority over you. So he gets firm. Grabs you by the jaw and forces you to look him in the eye and reminds you that you will *not* get an attitude with him. You *will* show some respect. You say yes sir and no sir and do what you're told. And if you forget, he can give you a reminder, if you want that. But you shake your head with fear in your eyes, say you don't want that. It makes you mad. You want to lash back, but you swallow your pride and mutter a fine - before realizing the mistake, violating the rule you were just reminded of. You stammer out a yes sir but it's already too late. He has to control himself too, not let his anger get the better of him. He speaks in a way that isn't snarling and mean, but rather firm, cold, a flat tone that asserts dominance and demands respect. But... still wants you to like him. So he has to be nice, too. After all, you'll learn better if you're rewarded for being good, right? So you can get little rewards. Words of affirmation. A pat to the head. He'll buy you something you want, let you drink a bit (since, as a thief, of course, you had a problem with that before you came home, but that had to be corrected too, since drunkenness isn't very befitting). And sooner or later he does have a really good little wife. He's proud of you. You smile and obey commands without complaining. He can come home every day, and rather than hearing a long report from the staff about how much trouble you caused that day, instead you have food and smiles and sweet affection waiting on him, you hug him when he walks through the door. You're polite and sweet to the various business partners and guests that come through -- you don't speak to them without permission though, of course, and you look down at the ground so you don't make eye contact with another man. People say he's lucky and how they wish they had a wife that was so outwardly affectionate to them as you are to him, always clinging to him physically. And you don't complain or every object to anything, you just smile and say yes and do it. It makes him happy in a weird way he can't quite articulate. A warm swell of pride, a feeling of success. You have vague memories of a time when you were breaking into houses just to scrape by, not knowing when you'd eat next, not knowing where you'd sleep. It's kind of a fuzzy memory now. You don't have to worry about those things anymore, and you're a lot happier this way.

#this is vile im sorry #tw: ff #tw: misogyny #.dl #yan.txt #q

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wh6res · 3 years ago

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UP IN SMOKES — DOYOUNG

psych student! kdy | tw. college au, violence, a knife, GASLIGHTING, hallucination, psychosis, swearing, just pure manipulation, minor charac death, there's a court scene, this is a repost! | wc. 10k she a beast

life could’ve been simple;

you shouldn't have met kim doyoung.

what does a freshman in college hate the most other than the high-stress levels of moving into a new dorm? a shitty roomie and a smelly, moldy mattress. the girl you call roommate refuses to help move the mattress because it will ruin her new manicure. what a fucking classic.

"sounds like a 'you' problem. figure it out yourself, plain jane."

she said before heading out, annoyingly popping her bubblegum as she kicks a few of your scattered boxes by the front door. you roll your eyes; classes haven't even started yet, so why is she already making your life miserable? as much as you'd like to snap at her, you don't, merely glaring daggers at her back as she finally turns the corner of the hallway and disappears.

"bitch," you mutter under your breath.

you eye the abomination that is supposed to be your bed, cursing how you shouldn't have made a 15-minute pit stop to starbucks for a drink when you could've just bought one from the instant coffee vending machines in every corner of the hallway of this dorm building because if you didn't, maybe you could've beaten regina george wannabe from taking the better bed. sighing, you suck it up and start getting to work. life's full of shit, anyway; no point sulking.

moving a moldy mattress is easier than you thought, to say the least. you can't ask for help from the other freshmen you bumped into in the hallway because they, too, are under a huge amount of stress from the move and are busy getting their affairs in order. it was a good thing, though, that a committee was formed specifically for this day to help out the freshmen if they were to stumble upon problems or mishaps with moving in. they were all around the campus, and they prove to be way friendlier than your batch mates. since this morning, three people have already offered help in carrying your luggage — which you have politely declined.

"hey, uhm… is this the stall for the welcoming committee? oh, wait. i'm sorry, there's a sign right there —"ugh.

you mentally shut your eyes in humiliation. why do you have to be this bad, this awkward at communicating with strangers? why couldn't you be born like all those socialites who already (probably) got their contacts filled with new numbers on the first day of school or something?

"yeah, this is them — welcoming committee, i mean. how can i help you?" he smiles, sweet, radiating the epitome boy next door aura as he looks up at you from where he's sitting behind the stall. your eyes quickly land onto the name tag stuck on his varsity jacket before meeting his eyes again.

"i have an issue with my mattress. it has mold, you see..." your voice slowly trails, becoming quieter as you feel small under the weight of his piercing stare. oh, come on. he's just a guy with a beautiful face, woman the fuck up.

"really? let me see..."

he needn't finish rounding the stall when his nose is hit by the pungent smell brought forth by your mattress. frankly, you weren't that picky. you could've covered it with bedsheets and call it a day, but the odor is too strong to ignore. you mentally hope the smell didn't latch onto your clothes, especially not when someone so cute is around — what a bad first impression.

"oh, god!" he exclaims the moment he lays eyes on it, taking a step back. “now, that has to go. and you lugged it from the fourth floor?"

ah, yes. according to tradition in these dormitories, which you've only found out today, freshmen get the curse of climbing four flights of stairs up while the seniors strut into their rooms on the ground floor like the hallway is a goddamned runway.

"doyoung! help me carry these!"

someone calls his name as you both turn your head to spot a chestnut-haired girl clad in the same varsity jacket he's wearing. you grimace at the sight of her. for someone so small, she just had to volunteer to carry all those heavy bags. however, he doesn't move in front of you and brushes her off as if she doesn't look like she's carrying rocks over her shoulders. "i'm already helping someone else! go find taeyong or something. i'm sure that shit's loitering around here somewhere!"

"oh, it's okay, you can go help her. i'll just look for someone else —"

"nah, it's fine!" you try hard to school your face into indifference when you notice his gummy smile. "plus… trust me when i say no other person from the committee will help you with this. this shit smells like my roommate's sweaty basketball socks!"

you can't help the smile forming on your face as you help him carry the mattress off to the side of the hallway, the stinky thing leaning vertically against the wall and behind a huge terracotta plant pot. "don't worry, let's report it to student affairs so they'll get you a new one. congrats! you'll have to share beds with your new roommate tonight, freshie. it'd be a great ice breaker."

the universe truly hates you.

your expression must've been a dead give away because he's suddenly patting your shoulder, regarding you with utmost sympathy. "been there, done that. i hated taeyong, too, when i met him last year. still, for some mind fuck of a miracle, we've grown to be friends and developed a talent of not wanting to kill each other every two seconds."

"highly doubt i'd be friends with a regina george-level bitch, but thanks, anyway," you mutter under your breath. suddenly, you whip your head towards him after internalizing what he just said. "you met your roommate last year? you're a sophomore?"

he scoffs, leaning down to your height to lowly mutter against your ear as he eyes the lobby's front desk. "why? do i look like some 4th year who radiates 'don't touch me' energy?"

you feel the heat on your cheeks with how close he is, only releasing an exhale when he finally gets out of your personal space. "i'm kim doyoung. you've heard it from wendy earlier, but anyway — i'm a 2nd-year psych major."

"no way!" you exclaim, a little too excited. "i'm taking psych, too!"

"oh, you are? well, if you need anything or if you don't understand stuff…" he winks. "feel free to approach me anytime."

hmm… how sweet of him.

it was only hours later that you found out who kim doyoung is in your department during the acquaintance party. and for god's sake, you found out from your best friend who is a major in english lit and has never even seen the guy. "seriously, you didn't know he's a genius? i hear the professors call him a prodigy, girl! a fucking prodigy. if i were you, i'd ask for his help in every subject."

"you know i prefer keeping to myself. how'd i know stuff like that when i have no one to talk to in the psych dorms?" you look down, making the ice cubes in your drink clink against each other. "i didn't think he was this big shot or whatever. he looks normal, and everyone treats him normally."

"well, what do you expect?" she hisses, hitting your arm. "the other students don't want to make him feel alienated or something just because he's tons smarter than them. but anyway… the real question is…"

you roll your eyes when she pauses for effect, tentatively leaning closer to whisper under her breath.

"is he cute?"

you didn't want to answer her question, but he's been stuck in your head since he offered walking with you to the student affairs office. doyoung had smiled his cute gummy smile and had even ruffled your hair before leaving you for committee duties — saying he's cute would be an understatement.

"you have no idea."

for his first act;

he gains your trust.

fast forward to one year, many things have changed, but the only constant remaining is the handsome sophomore — who is now a 3rd-year, by the way — whom you've met on your first day. coursework has been pretty tough this year. instead of the content written in your textbook, your mind is plagued by the horrible twist of fate your best friend had encountered; she didn't have enemies. or so you thought.

she disappeared in the middle of christmas break last year. her beaten up body was found only a month later, in january, floating around the university's lake. happy fucking new year.

the first time she chose to spend the holidays with you instead of her family back in her hometown, and that happens? some rotten luck you both have. it's why you didn't put it past her family to hate your guts with strong convictions. it's okay. the feeling's mutual. after all, it had been your best friends' own family, the same ones who had been so willing to take you in when you got kicked out, that were so eager to pin you as the murderer of their child. all under the argument that you have been the last person seen with her.

oh, the things her mom said about you when she had stormed into the police station, red in the face, tears streaming down her cheeks..."i warned my baby not to hang out with that — that bitch. came straight out of a cursed family, that one. abusive dad, a nutjob mom. that bitch is a danger! probably got her dad's nasty temper and beat my baby to death! i want her on the electric chair!"

in those times, you once again realize this world is fucked up and cruel in every bit of its glory as you fought tooth and nail to defend yourself. but even then, they never believed you — the law will only favor the rich . the prosecution had been so sure it was you until a certain witness appeared and presented himself before the jury.

"do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

doyoung raises his right hand, fixing his stare straight at the judge. "i solemnly and sincerely declare that the evidence i shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"how long have you known the defendant?" the prosecutor asks, arms crossed in front of her chest as she paces in front of the witness stand.

the boy briefly meets your gaze, and it's enough to make his heart sink. doyoung can't bear seeing you in those grey overalls when he knows it himself. you're being accused of a crime you didn't commit. "i've known her for one year."

"how'd you meet?"

and the questions went on and on; your defense attorney isn't all too keen on winning the case and had never once yelled "objection!" in her seat, but what could you expect? all the evidence kept stacking against you, and some of those you knew were even fabricated. you've never felt this hopeless in your whole twenty years of living.

"what's the point in this, anyway?" doyoung snapped in the witness stand, fiercely glaring at the prosecutor. "how is my history — or lack thereof — with the defendant any relevant to the case? you're not even asking me about evidence nor what my statement is!"

"easy there," the prosecutor retaliates, jaw locked. "i have to first measure what exactly your relationship is with the defendant for us to think twice about your statement. who knows..." the prosecutor makes a grand gesture of turning her head in your direction, affixing you with a condescending stare. "she might've just hired you to say these things."

your attorney doesn't come to your aid.

"perjury isn't my thing."

the prosecutor seems to have taken offense by the tone of doyoung's voice, but he doesn't let her speak further. "the victim isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know. she'd been a part of a sorority and one with quite a nasty reputation in the college, too. i have to say she made very poor decisions, ones i'm sure her family didn't even know about. you see, they take their oaths and pledges very seriously. the victim wanted out. they didn't like that."

"and you have evidence to support this claim?"

without a moment to waste, he digs around the front pocket of his jeans before proudly presenting a black usb between his slender fingers. "knock yourself out."

the professor calls your name, snapping you out of your reverie. this isn't the first time your mind had transported you back to that particular day in the courtroom, where doyoung had swooped in and saved you from a lifetime in prison. the whole ordeal had been so scary, so frightening that you remember everything vividly as if it had only happened yesterday.

the classroom is empty. even your social psych professor has long packed up his stuff and is already standing by the classroom door. damn. were you that out of it?

"i'm so sorry." you mutter under your breath monotonously as you walk past him and out the door without another word. this is bad, very bad. no one would help, much less lend their notes to someone charged with murder — especially of their very own best friend. whether you were innocent or not doesn't matter to the student body. you've been ostracized, gossips of your problematic family spreading like wildfire, and the ridiculous part is only a fourth of the gossips are true.

the damage is done.

at this point, you realize with a heavy heart that you have to face doyoung again sooner or later. you haven't talked to him at all since the start of the new school year, ignoring his lighthearted greetings in the hallways, rejecting his calls, ghosting his texts. you are afraid people would judge him harshly for hanging around you. frankly, you were embarrassed to ask any more favors from him with how much he's done for you already and the fact that he had seen you in such a state of vulnerability.

but you also didn't want to fail your subjects and lose the one thing holding your life together — your scholarship.

that is why you found yourself standing before him, in his favorite spot in the library tucked behind shelves upon shelves of books, next to the windows overlooking the empty football field. he's wearing black-rimmed glasses and is clad in the usual navy blue sweater as his head turns to and fro between a textbook and his notebook. the air had been so silent, you hear the aggressive scratches his pencil makes against the paper.

you feel a little hurt when he makes no move to acknowledge your presence, but you think back to what you have been doing and figured he has a right to act this way.

"hey, doyoung." your voice is meek, hesitant.

"if you're not here to explain nor give me an acceptable reason why you've been ignoring me for the last few months, then please get out of my sight. i'm busy, as you can tell." he is brutally honest, knocking down the remaining hope you have left of ever reconciling with him.

something within you snaps, the steady streams of tears running down your cheeks as you pinned your stare on doyoung's open pencil case lying on the table. you have nobody left. your family — father, specifically speaking — has disowned you for taking a course your heart wanted, and the one friend you have lies motionless in a white coffin buried six feet under the ground. you didn't want to lose doyoung, too, no matter what role he plays in your life.

"i'm sorry," your voice cracks. "life's been… fucking shitty, and i'm sure you of all people know what i've been through. i've thanked you before for — for what you did, and i'm thanking you again right now but — i'm sorry, i'm really —"

your voice cracks when you feel him pulling you into an embrace. you feel the tension in your body breaking loose as you crumble in his arms. all those months grieving and wallowing in self-pity took such a heavy toll that you can't help but tightly clutch the sides of his hoodie, scared he'll slip through your fingers.

one of his hands comes up to push your face against the crook of his neck, muffling your cries in the silent library. doyoung felt like a jerk for snapping at you the way he did. how inconsiderate can he be? however, he felt elated because you sought him out yourself and wanted his help of all people.

his eyebrow raises in amusement.

well, not that you have a choice, anyway.

it took you a few good minutes to calm down, cringing when you see the wet patch on doyoung's sweater because of your tears.

"why don't you tell me everything, hmm? i'll help you as much as i can."

you sheepishly look down, fiddling with your fingers as you sit across him, the open textbook and notebook before him long forgotten. "well, i've been so out of it lately? my mind's just a whole bloody mess and i can't focus on any of my subjects at all and if i can't, then i'll lose the scholarship and it's the only thing i have in my life right now —"

"hey," doyoung cuts you off, placing a warm hand against your forearm to calm you down. "you won't lose that scholarship. trust me, okay? why don't we arrange tutoring sessions and i'll even lend you some of my notes from last year. what do you think?"

"okay... thank you, doyoung."

"for the record, you have me in your life, too. i'll always be here for you."

in the first session, you woke up from your deep slumber with only 15 minutes to spare from the scheduled time, but thankfully, your tutor only lives one floor down with the rest of the 3rd-years. bringing nothing with you but a pen and a pad of paper, your textbooks were destroyed as some students from your batch thought it'd be fun to throw them into the lake to "honor" your friend.

you offer a small smile when taeyong opens the door, sporting an oversized shirt and track pants, eyes wide in shock when he sees you. "hi? can i help you?"

"hello! i'm here for doyoung. he's tutoring —"

"he doesn't live here anymore. his mom bought him a place outside the campus."

what?

"i'm sorry for disturbing you, then. do you by any chance know where he lives?"

that's weird. doyoung never mentioned he's already moved out. you feel a wee bit irritated that he forgot to tell you; it would've saved you the embarrassment of interacting with the varsity player. you weren't stupid, you can see the hints of repulsion in taeyong's eyes the moment he opened that door and saw you standing before him, no doubt thinking about: oh, look, it's the crazy murderer with a fucked up family standing in front of me.

he had shut the door in your face. you stood awkwardly for a good minute in the hallway until the door reopens, taeyong handing you a small piece of paper with doyoung's new address scribbled hurriedly in black ink. he doesn't give you a chance to thank him for he's already closed the door again without another word.

you opted walking to his place instead of catching a ride because the money you have on you is enough to buy yourself dinner. to say the least, the apartment building is mediocre, not too grand, nor is it too rundown. double-checking the floor level written on the paper before pushing the elevator's button, you then realize doyoung lives on the very top floor of the building.

the hallways are painted a boring brown. some acrylic number signs plastered on the doors are broken, hanging vertically with one screw left. it says on the paper he resides in room 720. taking the right hallway, you mentally count as you eye the mahogany doors. 718… 719… there it is!

when you raise a fist to start knocking on his door, there is a tinge of hesitation surging through you. perhaps being alone with a boy in his apartment is not the best setting for a girl like you should end up in, but this is doyoung we're talking about. if he had ill intentions for you, it would've manifested a long time ago. you shake your head, feeling bad for thinking of him that way as you slowly knock on his front door. not long after, it swings open, revealing the 3rd-year in a white shirt and boxers as he lazily dries his hair off with a small towel.

"you're late," is the first thing he says to you before spinning on his heel to disappear further into his humble abode.

"you didn't exactly inform me you've moved out of the dorms. so, whose fault is it?" you retaliate, inviting yourself in and closing the front door shut.

"whatever. let's get started!" he plops himself on the floor, coffee table filled with loose papers as he struggles to find a specific one amongst the mess. "i've already scanned, exported to pdf, and emailed you my notes. it should be in your inbox by now. anyway, answer this quiz i made so i know what i'll be working on."

"you didn't really have to send your notes, doyoung. i could've just read everything from the textbook," you sit down across from him because otherwise, you'll be too distracted to remember information.

a thought crosses his mind. with what textbook?

"i just think it's missing some essence. that's why i love reading over other psych books in the library for fun. be grateful, those notes are like my babies and i don't simply give them to anyone," he looks at you pointedly. "they've all been summarized and explained in layman's terms so you wouldn't have to spend grueling hours of reading and trying to make sense of the big words as i did — i know that's not the definition of 'fun' normally, but it is for me, and that's why i do it."

"okay, doyoung. you sound so defensive when there's nothing to be defensive about," you tease, feeling pleased with the hint of red on his cheeks as he averts his gaze from yours, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

you spent the following tuesdays, thursdays, and sundays like that; hours upon hours with no one but your tutor, laptops with tangled chargers, a printed copy of his babies, and a mountain pile of loose papers filled with the specialized quizzes doyoung makes to measure your progress. the location varies from a cafe or his flat. but in what you've gathered from the time you spent with him, doyoung's a homebody. cafe tutor sessions are rare, and he always complained about how "noisy" the atmosphere was — "i can't stand it."

but the conversation hadn't always been about academics.

sure, for the first few sessions, doyoung kept an image of professionalism and had heavily insisted on it — "it's for your learning experience!" — despite your lighthearted teasing. but as time passed and he eventually grew more comfortable in your presence, you find the strict 15-minute break he had initially imposed between 45 minutes of studying turned into hours of talking about whatever; how he likes his eggs in the morning, your favorite coffee brew, his favorite show, your strongest pet peeve.

and you wholly welcomed the change, not minding that it's practically dark out whenever you go back to your miserable dorm. you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever doyoung offers to walk you home but never had you taken his offer, still cautious of other people seeing you both together despite his constant reassurances. you've already thoroughly ruined your image. you didn't want to ruin his, too.

kdy the cute tutor, 2:14 pm —last day of midterms! & its all majors today —good luck —remember what i taught u —lets get ice cream after u cant say no

you shake your head bemusedly. his texting style is the most doyoung thing he does and it's as if you can hear him say these things to you in real life. too caught up in your own world, you fail to detect another student sitting next to you and had nearly fallen off your chair in shock when they spoke.

"why are your notes like that?"

you fight the urge to glare at the person, especially when you turn your head and see lee jeno looking at you in genuine curiosity. he's the only batchmate that treats you a wee bit nicer among the rest. although he isn't technically your friend, at least he doesn't look at you like you're a piece of bubblegum stuck under his shoe like all the others.

"what do you mean?"

"they're… the definitions are all jumbled up. where did you even get that?"

what? jumbled up? doyoung himself said these notes are a combination of most of the psychology books he had read last year concerning his subjects. how would it be jumbled up? then again, lee jeno was not tutored by the prodigy himself. maybe things are bound to seem "jumbled up" when information is too great to understand for a feeble mind.

just as you were about to claim these notes aren't yours, the professor has already waltzed into the classroom with a thick wad of papers — the exams. after one last concerned glance directed your way, jeno averts his gaze with a confused tilt of the head.

hours later, you walk out of the classroom with the biggest smile on your face. aced it, you thought. your hands feel numb with how much you wrote on the essay portion but it's worth it if it meant you get the full 25 points, which you no doubt will as it was a topic you surely tackled with doyoung. speaking of... he sure is a man of his word.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss, head ducked with hair framing your face as to not draw attention from the rest of the students filing out of the testing hall.

"i texted you that we're getting ice cream. remember?"

"i did. but i didn't remember agreeing."

he shoots you a comforting smile, planting his hands firmly on your shoulder. “i told you, y/n. i don't care if they all see us together, so what? we all know you didn't commit that crime and it wasn't your fault you were born into the family you had. i don't care about the trivial things, baby, so don't shy away from me, okay?"

how the fuck can you say 'no' when he's looking at you the way he is as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear? doyoung's just so bewitching that he has you wrapped around his slender fingers. he seems pleased when you stumbled over your words as you come up with a reply, caught off guard by his bold gestures.

"i just — you, uhh — fine..." you gave in, rolling your eyes out of pretense.

he just had to call you 'baby' and erupt the butterflies in your stomach.

it had been doing that for the last few months now and it had only truly manifested today when he took you out for ice cream to celebrate the end of hell week. and since you didn't want to go back to your dorm yet, you asked if you guys can watch some movies in his house but it had simply become background noise to your heart-to-heart talks. and what better accompaniment than the classic, chicken and beer?

you listen to him drone on and on about the little realizations he had on some of his past lectures even when you barely understood anything he's saying. doyoung's so lucky to be extremely good at something he's so passionate about, talks about the human mind and the complexity of a person's behavior will never fail to make his eyes light up in interest.

he calls out your name.

your eyes snap open.

"why don't we get you home? it's past 10 and it's alright, stupid, you don't need to pretend to be interested in my psychological findings." he chuckled light-heartedly, stealing the can of the now room-temperature beer from your hands before you can protest.

"i wasn't dozing off, i swear."

"i caught you in the act. stop lying."

like all the other times he has you as his guest, doyoung once again offers to walk you home and you decline for the thousandth time. it really isn't that much of a long walk anyway. you don't see the need for him to go out of his way to secure your safety. plus, you were the one who insisted on hanging out in his house anyway. you weren't that thick-skinned to let him take you home, too.

"you're drunk!" he scolds.

“no, i’m not. i can perfectly handle myself."

"but —"

"bye!"

you feel a little guilty for shutting the door in his face. still, a minute longer of his persistence and you would've taken his offer. unfortunately for doyoung, you are one stubborn girl. only if you don't make brisk movements with your head, then you won't see doubles. you'll be fine, it's just a quick walk and it's not as if you're stupid enough to pass by deserted alleys.

but you had underestimated the divine prowess of your fucked up fate.

everything happened in a matter of three seconds; one, the blinding headlights illuminate your path from behind; two, you hear the loud honk, and as you turn around — three, the vehicle sends you rolling against the asphalt.

you should have taken the alleyways.

for his second act;

he alters your reality.

when you open your eyes, you thought you were dead and your spirit is wandering elsewhere — because you don't believe in trivial things like heaven and god — until an agitated doyoung comes into view. for a split second, you thought, is he dead, too?

"i'm not dead, you idiot." too dazed, you hardly register his anger. "i can perfectly handle myself, she said. i'm not drunk, she said. this wouldn't have happened if you had simply let me walk you home! you're damn fucking lucky you're alive and breathing right now!"

a person clears their throat.

"i don't think it wise to… nag at the patient the moment she wakes. don't you agree, sir?"

pink splotches on doyoung's cheek as he looks down, embarrassed at getting scolded as he stands closer to your bed. "i'm sorry, doc."

you didn't know when your vision cleared or when you started hearing normally again, but it was enough to find out what exactly had transpired on the very night of your tragic accident. a hit and run. fifty-fifty chance of surviving. doyoung getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night —"they were trying to contact your dad, but he wasn't answering. i was the last person in your call history."

six months in a coma. but today, you wake… only to find out your world has crashed and burned.

"what do you mean i lost my scholarship?"

"baby, listen to me —"

"why did they take it away? is it because of my accident? i'm behind by one term only and i swear i can catch up. they need to let me back in the program. there must've been some mistake —"

"your gpa didn't reach the cut-off grade."

that can't be possible.

"but you tutored me!" you claim with conviction, pointing an accusatory finger at him until you groan, bowing in pain as you clutch your head.

doyoung springs into action. the chair's legs screech against the tiles as he jumps to your aid, ushering you gently back against the hospital bed despite your refusal. "you're not well. lay back down, please."

you don't hear a single word he says, not when you had lost something so crucial. "i put in the effort and learned everything you taught me... i aced those fucking mid-terms! i know i did!" you were on the brink of tearing up as doyoung settled himself in front of you.

"i… i actually saw your papers," his lips set in a thin, hard-line. "everything was all wrong, sweetheart. what happened to you? i tried reasoning with the professors, mentioned your state — you know, with your best friend dying — but they didn't relent. i'm sorry y/n. i'm so —"

gone. everything is gone. the money. the dorm. what if they ask you to pay the fees from last year? what if they ask you to pay the tuition fee for this year? you have no money, no family, no relatives. no one to help. who's even going to pay for the hospital fees?

you weren't able to process anything after that. not with the sudden news of your now revoked scholarship. doyoung pulls you in a tight hug. "i was a bad tutor," he says, snapping you out of it. "maybe i shouldn't have pushed you that hard to learn them. why were your answers even mixed up y/n? i thought you knew those topics already…"

he pulls away, observing your confused state as your eyes dart everywhere in the room. "what — how are they mixed up? i know i got them right. there has to be some mistake. you taught me those topics, remember?"

"i did... "he averts his gaze. "but i don't remember teaching them to you mixed up, darling. i think you did that all on your own."

"but… why would i mix up my answers? that's —"

"see, what i mean?" he cuts you off, raising a hand to give your cheek the most delicate caress. "you're not well, baby. you need to be treated, especially with how much you hit your head during the accident. don't worry, i'm here. we'll try asking if you can stay in the dorms at least until you find another place —"

"am i a charity case to you?"

oh, the surprise on the junior's face when you push him away as you pin him with a hard stare. you just don't get it. why is kim doyoung so adamant about helping you? in becoming your hero, even when you never asked him to be? if you let him help you this time around, that'll be the 3rd time he came to save your ass. it's not as if you're ungrateful. simply, you've had enough of his help. you don't know how a person like you, who literally has nothing, can return the favor to someone like doyoung.

"what are you saying —"

"i'm saying…" you fix him a hard stare. "you helping me out doesn't even benefit you in the slightest. so why do you do it?"

he pauses, staring at you with hesitance in his eyes as this seems to be the very first time you've truly seen him speechless. when doyoung opens his mouth, he mumbles, and you hardly make sense of what he said.

"do you really want to know why?"

you urge him on with an arched eyebrow, his softened tone creeping into your heart.

"you're someone special to me y/n. i don't know how or when i admitted it to myself, but you are, and it hurts me to see how shitty your luck is," he cracks a small grin, slowly settling back onto the hospital bed as he grabs your hand. "it's okay to seek help from others. it isn't a sign of vulnerability or weakness. i help you because i want to, and i'm more than willing to take care of you. will you let me?"

you're not blind. you've noticed the way he had slowly started coming closer as he continued to speak, hands held securely in his as he looked straight at your eyes then down at your lips. and so, you act in a way you know that will surely answer his question — with a kiss.

the man before you immediately reciprocates, overpowering your own eagerness as he curls the tips of his fingers into the roots of your hair. he pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. you can taste his desperation in the way his tongue dances against yours, the kiss transporting you into an alternate reality where your world revolves around doyoung and doyoung alone.

when he pulls away bleary-eyed, both of you ignore the thin strand of saliva connecting your lips. "how about you come live with me for the time being, my love?"

still high off his kiss and natural scent, you hardly mull over the question he asks you. "okay."

days later, after you've been discharged (he wanted to chip in for your hospital bills but you had given him a firm no), doyoung had been the one to show up at the dorm to collect all your things after leaving you in his apartment. the cutie had refused to simply drop you off and had deliberately accompanied you up the elevator, through the halls, and finally into his apartment.

"i'll be out for just a minute, sugarcube."

"oh, can you get take out?"

doyoung had smiled, playfully booping the tip of your nose. "no, because i'll be cooking for us tonight as a little celebration for you getting discharged. you'll love it; i'm making your favorite!"

it was funny how the night had been nothing but utter bliss. the foreign feeling of being taken care of sprouting in your chest as you watch him cooking from behind the counter. it felt… nice. but funny enough, as if doing a 360, you both had immediately gotten into an argument the next day.

"i don't see the need for skipping another day if i feel perfectly fine! i'll figure something out once we get there, doyoung, so can we just —"

"you' re not fine, babylove — hell, you got discharged yesterday! i'm not just about to let you back into the arena with those students. they've only grown more immature since your coma, love. i seriously don't want you near them."

"fine! then i won't talk to them. simple." you throw your hands up. "there. problem solved. now, can we please just go to uni? i need to talk to the dean and the head of student affairs, too —"

"i'm going to uni, not you."

maybe it had been the way he firmly stated his claim, the way his eyes pierced through your soul as if daring you to argue further with him that made you snap.

"i'm not a prisoner in this apartment, doyoung! don't treat me like i have the plague! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself — jesus christ, i've been doing it nearly half my fucking life!"

too caught up in your anger, you've failed to notice the tears pouring down his face as he sets his gaze on the floor.

"you're right," his voice cracks. "i shouldn't be pushy like that. i'm sorry. you just mean so much to me and i'm so scared of losing you again. with your coma — i just — it's like i was fighting a losing battle each day that passed when i saw you in that hospital bed. i've never felt so scared in my whole life and i hated myself for not being able to protect you that night."

his tears run like waterfalls, and when you step forward with your arms wide open, doyoung sobs harder as he pulls you against him. you hardly comprehend what he says as he spoke, shaking against your frail body as you felt his tears stain your blouse. "i'm sorry, i never should've dictated what you felt — i'm so sorry."

"no, it's okay. i was feeling a little lightheaded, anyway. i'll stay here and i can come back to school next semester, right? doyoung? just… please stop crying."

he lifts his head, staring at you with bloodshot eyes before giving your forehead a kiss. you let a relieved sigh escape your lips, melting into his warmth as you prop your chin on his shoulder. if you had only been more attentive, you would've seen the reflection of his wicked grin on the tabletops. too easy.

living with him became a blur after that incident. everything fell into a routine for the next four days as you spent the day watching netflix, eating, reading, sleeping. nothing felt fun anymore. but your peaceful life had ceased during the fifth night — the whispers, they woke you up. you can hear them from behind your door at night, and when you rouse awake, you see doyoung walking around the hallway from the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. you had sighed, falling back into your plush bed as you pray to god, he keeps it down.

but what he told you the next day rendered you speechless. "me, walking around the hallways? whispers?" he says, confused. "i was already asleep, love. knocked out cold the moment my body fell on the bed."

"but…"

he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes his sweet time skimming through his notes on the dining table, coffee in one hand. "maybe it's just the meds kicking in."

"no, surely it was real! i literally woke up in the middle of the night," you repeat. "it's okay if it was you, doyoung. i'm not mad."

he sets his coffee mug down a little too loud.

"well, you can't be mad at me, sugar, because like i said — it wasn't me," it doesn't take a genius to notice he's awfully cranky today. you observe him, dark half-moons under his eyes as he relentlessly reads his notes with instant coffee in one hand.

"you're just imagining things, okay? stop acting crazy."

for some reason, the way he had uttered certain words like 'imagining' and 'crazy' made you curl into your seat in embarrassment. he was right that your doctor did prescribe a generous amount of pills per day, but his tone made it feel off, made you feel like there was something wrong with you even when there wasn't…

right?

you didn't say a word after that and had hesitantly pecked him on the cheek before he left for school. with the amount of time you're with him, two things stood out to you — his keen sense of observation and his knack for reading people. you highly doubt he didn't notice a shift in your behavior but a part of you thinks it's just the stress talking. he is about to take his finals and had recently started on his research paper.

every psych student is required to present a paper in accordance with the department's annual theme. it could be anything from proposing a theory (if you dare) to constructing a well-developed psychology model. if you don't turn one in, you don't graduate — the paper's that important, and you've been bugging him for so long about sneaking a peek on what his study is about. but he always refused.

the next week came rolling around, and both of you had been spending every day together due to the semestral break. the arguments have significantly lessened, but your episodes — eventually, you started calling it that way because that's how doyoung labels it — have only gotten worse. you end up moving out of the guest room and into his. privacy be damned. the whispers stopped momentarily but what came next became your imminent downfall.

the first time you heard it, you thought you were dreaming. but the doorknob kept rattling aggressively even as you sat up. just as you climb off the bed, your half-asleep boyfriend asks where you're going.

"bathroom," you lied.

you were always the one to snort when it comes to the supernatural, claiming it's all bullshit. yet, as whatever outside continues to fight its way inside the room, the rattling progressing into loud bangs against the door, you're not so sure of your beliefs anymore. you're not crazy. nothing is wrong with you, and you're perfectly fine. this apartment is cursed, and you are going to prove that to doyoung.

grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you turn the flash on, pointing the camera at the door as you take a footage of the mad entity that has been playing games with you. a squeal escapes your lips when a particular bang! reverberates louder in the room than all the others. the phone slips your hand, falling onto the floorboards. you don't bother to retrieve it as you scramble to get yourself back under the blanket and into doyoung's comfortable warmth.

you snuggle yourself plush against his chest, shaking as you wrap your arms around his waist, inhaling his natural scent to anchor you back.

bang! bang! bang!

you didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

"can't the video wait? there's a new episode of start-up, and i want to watch it already!" he whines, shoving his face further on the throw pillow situated on your lap.

you giggle, shaking your head as you scroll through your gallery to find the video. i'm not imagining things. i'm not hallucinating. i'm not crazy. "here! watch... i'm telling you this apartment is haunted, and the ghost probably likes you, which is why it doesn't bother you —"

your lighthearted rambling cuts off when you notice no sound emitting from your phone. weird. you could've sworn you started recording right when the loud banging has already started. your heart drops upon the wary stare doyoung shoots you before he continues to watch the video.

no, no, no, no — please!

you quickly scoot over to his side, watching as the video unfolds before your very eyes. the shot was messy as the phone was handheld, not to mention you were panicking at the time. but the video is silent. not a single noise of a rattling doorknob or banging on the door can be heard through your phone's speakers.

"maybe — maybe you didn't turn the volume up?"

you hardly contain the mortification in your face when you realize the volume's at 100 already. and as if on cue, your squeal is heard in the video and the noise of the phone hitting the floor.

doyoung's silence shakes your whole being. as you kneel before him teary-eyed, your voice breaks. "i swear, i'm not crazy."

but at this point, you don't believe yourself anymore.

for his third and final act;

he triumphs.

his deprivation began in minuscule ripples.

it didn't take much effort on doyoung's end to convince you to stop studying for a year or two, at least, only until your hallucinations aren't as severe anymore. everyday felt like hell on earth as the fine line between what's real and what isn't has blurred over one too many times. in sheer paranoia of accidentally hurting him in his sleep, you moved out of his bedroom and had started sleeping in the guest room again — much to doyoung's frustration.

but he's a smart man, one that recognizes an opportunity amidst the hurdles thrown on his path.

"why does my door need a lock outside again?"

he approaches you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, after screwing in the last of the screws that came with the new doorknob. doyoung is familiar with the look written on your face, has observed and studied you enough to navigate his way inside your pretty little head with ease.

he can't have you doubting him, can he?

"you know i'm all about protecting you, right?" he starts. you nodded. "i've been doing it for a year now, and i will continue to do so until you need me to. the world is a bad place, sweetheart, remember? your own best friend's mother tried framing you. your dad disowned you. you've been ostracized in the whole college... do you think i'm just like the rest of them, baby?"

doyoung has already mastered the perfect expression of a kicked-puppy, one that easily pulls at your heartstrings and has you cooing at him.

"no!" you say with conviction, reaching forward to thread your fingers through his. "i know you're different, not like any of them at all. i know you're only doing what's… best for me."

he ignores the underlying hesitance in your tone. that will be corrected, sooner or later.

doyoung tightens his hold as he kisses the back of your hand. such an innocent gesture — but such ill intentions.

"the outside lock helps me in protecting you, love. you don't need to worry about anything. just focus on getting better, alright? i'll keep the bad guys away from you."

it was during his first semester of senior year, a few months back, doyoung and a good few students of his batch had been granted the opportunity to intern for a mental hospital located near the edge of the city. he was supposed to decline the offer but you convinced him to take the spot. it had only been a two-week “job” yet it was enough for doyoung to conclude — he’d rather kill you than subject you to the horrors of what the patients have to go through in the loony bin.

eventually, the small ripples shift into unforgiving waves, dragging you into the depths as everything comes crashing down before your very own eyes.

it should have been like any other day inside the apartment. doyoung's already gone in the morning to attend classes. though not before setting a tray of your brunch on the nightstand, making sure to lock your door on his way out. he knew your nightmares and anxiety kept you up at night, resulting in longer hours of sleep during the day.

turns out, you moving out of his bedroom had been a blessing in disguise. coming home to an empty apartment has become his biggest fear yet, and you unconsciously found a solution for him. one that doesn’t have him fidgeting on his seat as he counts down the minutes ‘til he’s back by your side.

doyoung smiles unconsciously as he listens to his professor drone on and on in front of him — his mind at peace, knowing you're safe and sound in your little prison.

until he received a text that made his blood run cold.

ty, 11:34 am —im done.

meanwhile, you rouse awake once more to thunderous poundings against your bedroom door. oh no, you thought. it's happening again. this time, there'll be no doyoung barging into your room, half-asleep and hair messy, as he tries to calm you down. you throw the blankets over you as you sob, hugging your legs against your chest as you try to 'wake yourself up' from the hallucination.

the person outside calls for your name, the desperation in their tone alighting a new-found fear in your heart. you don't know what's real anymore. is this truly happening, or is it another hallucination your fucked up mind has conjured up?

"please! it's taeyong! y/n, can you hear me?"

taeyong?

slowly, your head peaks above the blanket, warily staring at the door. doyoung has warned you about these kinds of things, has practically ingrained in your mind that whoever comes looking for you will take you away from him. not to mention, doyoung slipped one time and said he isn’t friends with taeyong anymore.

the banging on the door progresses.

“are you in there? answer me! i can’t find the key!”

you don’t say anything, merely pushing the covers off your body as you keep your eyes fixed on the beating door. it looks like it’s about to pop out its hinges as taeyong relentlessly fights his way inside your room. what are you going to do? do you open the door? oh. right. you can’t do that on your own accord. the key is with doyoung and he isn’t in the apartment at the moment.

all your thoughts come to a halt when the boy outside sends the door flying open, finally breaking the lock with one powerful kick. you flinch back, his actions pushing you on your feet, wanting to place a maximum amount of distance from the intruder.

taeyong looks frantic, disheveled as he immediately notices your alarmed state. he approaches you cautiously, hands up to show his empty palms. “hey, hey… it’s just me, y/n. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m not the enemy here.”

“doyoung doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

the look of surprise on his face is an answer in itself. for someone doyoung had proudly claimed to have “broken” you’re still quite quick to catch up on things, taeyong observed. and he doesn’t know what to feel about it — pity? guilt?

“that’s not important!” he claims, boldly surging forward to grasp your shoulders with a firm grip. taeyong felt his heart dropping when you flinch under his grasp.

“listen to me. we need to get you out of here. doyoung isn’t — he isn’t everything you thought he is!” he can’t help but raise his voice, panic surging through him because there’s not much time left and you aren’t exactly cooperating. you’ve been trying to shrug off his hold the whole time.

“do you think he actually loves you?”

“he does! stop saying bullshit!”

“doyoung never loved anyone and you want to know why? because he’s too in love with his research to care for anything else!” taeyong felt bad to have been so direct, especially when he sees the tears now falling freely down your cheeks. “listen to me, y/n! i’m not the enemy! if there’s anyone you should be pushing away, it’s doyoung! he turned you into his lab rat! you are nothing but a variable in his study! don’t you get it?”

taeyong grabs a firm but gentle hold of your head, trying to make you look at him straight in the eye for the gravity of what he’s about to say to you.

“doyoung had his eye on you since sophomore year. i told him this was a bad idea and that he should change the topic of the research and he was. fucking hell, he was about to scrap the whole thing until your bestfriend died and did you know what that psycho told me? that it was a sign for him to continue the research! and i’ve been pestering him so much that he moved out because he claimed i was going to get in the way of his discovery.

tell you what, if you can tell me right here, right now, that he has mentioned anything — anything at all — about his study to you then everything i’m saying is a lie.”

you have asked doyoung for the longest time about that research but the answers have always been the same. “not yet, my love. it’s not time for it to be seen with your eyes. soon, okay?”

with a voice not louder than a whisper, you ask. “what… what’s his research about?”

you fail to see the sorry look on taeyong’s face. “in psychology, they say a person only develops psychosis mainly through genetics or drugs. although you’re technically already a worthy “lab rat” considering your mom and upbringing, he wanted to expand the external factors of what causes the disorder — grief, grades, toxic family relations…”

you hear a ringing in your ear and a sudden urge to throw up. only, you didn’t have anything to hurl because your brunch remains untouched on your bedside.

“but he hadn’t been successful. and that’s… that’s where i came along. doyoung thought the medications he’s been giving you isn’t doing what he wanted it to and he knew he needed a little push. i was… i gave him that push. remember the whispers, the banging on the door at night? it was all me. he made me do it. you know what that means, right? you’re not crazy. you don’t need to stay here cooped up like some kind of pet, believing all his lies as if it’s written in a fucking bible —”

he stops. and if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t’ve heard the familiar beeps of the front door’s automated lock going off. doyoung’s home.

in lightning speed, taeyong has you sheltered behind him, throwing his warm coat over you in the process, hoping to give the smallest comfort amidst the chaos that’s about to erupt. there’s no point in pretending or hiding — one look at that lock and his crazy friend would know something’s off.

taeyong feels you flinching behind him with every heavy footstep against the floorboards as doyoung wastes no time in getting to your room. and when he finally appears, hands braced against the door frame, you’ve never been this scared your whole life. his eyes are drawn into slits, fixated on taeyong alone. “how fucking dare you?”

“it’s over, doyoung. give it up or you wouldn’t have to suffer a longer sentence than you’ll already get.” taeyong tried with his whole being to appear intimidating.

“what’re you saying, yong? i meant, how fucking dare you barge in here and disturb my girlfriend in her sleep? that’s not very nice of you…” doyoung sports a disarming gummy smile as he approaches, hand outstretched and beckoning towards you. “c’mere, baby. i don’t think you’ve eaten lunch yet?”

“drop the fucking act, you psycho!”

“what act?” doyoung tilts his head innocently, gaze shifting from taeyong’s and yours, who keeps peeking from over his ex-friend’s shoulder. luring you out is a piece of cake unless taeyong decides to make things a wee bit more complicated, doyoung thought. “i’m just concerned for my darl —”

“we’re leaving.” taeyong cuts him off, breaking eye contact as he places a firm grip around your wrist. he pulls you towards him, farther away from your supposed lover as he tries walking past doyoung.

but the said man pushes taeyong back with a humorless smile on his face. “and who told you that you can do that?”

a pregnant silence befalls the room as the two men size each other up. they regard each other with such hostility, you can't help but unconsciously fist the back of taeyong's sweater in nervousness, prompting the man to turn his head over his shoulder for a swift second to check up on you.

but a second is all that doyoung needed to deliver the first kick towards taeyong's legs, throwing him off his balance. if it was one thing doyoung knew, is that he needed to eliminate taeyong's agility all together if he wants to win against him.

but taeyong isn't one to back down. the moment doyoung straddles him on the floor, with a fist raised to throw a punch, taeyong grunts as he rolls them around. doyoung now receiving taeyong's rain of fists as he yells. "fuck you! you manipulative asshole!"

you sat on the corner, horrified of the scene happening before you. you've never seen doyoung this way. he has always been your sweet, caring bunny, but after everything taeyong said, you aren't so sure you even know the man you've been living with.

"everything i did, i did it for her!" you flinch at the sound of bones breaking as doyoung kicked taeyong's ribs. "she had nothing to lose! i saved her!"

the door is open, you noticed. wide-open and inviting you to make a run for it. and you would have made a run for it... but taeyong. you can't leave him behind, not when he lays there bloody and grunting in pain as doyoung lets his anger take over him. so, as stupid as may be, you did it. you had to.

"you didn't save me," you say, schooling your face into indifference as doyoung whips around, forgetting about taeyong in the bat of an eye. "you caged me in here, treated me like there's something wrong with me, gaslighted me into believing everything you said! and... what did you say? 'saved me'? you made me go through hell!"

the whole time, taeyong tries his hardest to stand upright, but his broken ribs don't allow him to. the pain too great that he had no choice but to crawl instead, arms pulling his weight as he drags himself across the floorboards, desperately trying to get doyoung's attention back on him even if it meant getting beaten to death.

meanwhile, he had his eyes trained on you the whole time you spoke, sobbing as you walk backward in fear as doyoung approached you with a dark glint in his eye. he doesn't like what you're saying; that much is very clear. he wanted to yell at you, to scream of your ungratefulness despite his constant care but instead, he says.

"i thought we were making progress, baby. i guess i have to drill everything in your brain again. you're not okay, but you will be after i treat you."

you try to fight the urge to look at taeyong as he finds his strength, silently rising up from the floor to ambush doyoung while he's so busy preaching about you.

"what i said is true, baby. do you actually think this scum over here is doing this to save you? do you actually believe everything he said? i've been here since day-1, my love. literally. and have i ever let you down? no. everything i'm doing is for us. even this damned research!"

taeyong surges forward to put him in a chokehold, but everything happened so fast, and the next thing you knew —

"did you actually think i'd fall for that?"

you didn't know the sound of a knife cutting through flesh could sound that loud, but nothing could beat the strained gasp that tumbled through taeyong's lips as he shakily held the knife pierced through his heart. you would've been concerned about how doyoung got it so accurate in one go or where the knife even came from. but you were too busy screaming, collapsing against the wall as you let out a broken sob.

"no," you mutter. "no, no, no..."

you can't bear to avert your eyes from taeyong as he lies dying before you. the look of fear in his eyes would forever be ingrained in your mind, and no amount of brainwashing or gaslighting would ever make you forget.

doyoung killed him. you lost.

the knife clatters loudly on the floor as he slowly turns around as if he himself has yet to register what he did. you didn't know what to expect from doyoung's reaction but certainly not the eerie smile that starts spreading on his face.

"now... how about that lunch, baby?"

✉ : a repost no one asked but i respectfully dont give a fuck <3

#hmu if i missed a warning #yandere doyoung #yandere kpop #yandere nct #yandere nct 127 #tw swearing #tw manipulation #tw violence #tw knife

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kingexpl0sionmurder · 3 years ago

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Date The Hell Out Of You - Kaminari Denki

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder Pairing: Kaminari Denki/F!Reader Rating: 16+ (Fluff) Words: 1,575 Warnings: I have opinions about comic books so don’t come at me. I think it’s a very mild argument anyway so it shouldn’t be a big deal, but if you feel offended pls know it wasn’t my intention to bash on Batman lol. AN: Hellooo here is my contribution to this months bnharem collab! The theme is Co-Workers and I just wanted Denki and a bookstore so you get this short and fluffy little thing. You’re welcome! Please check the masterlist below for everyone else’s works and heed each pieces warnings before you dive in!

Collab Masterlist My Masterlist My Ko-Fi

---

“You cannot sit there and tell me that you think Batman is better than Iron Man. I refuse to believe it.” You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest and glaring daggers at his best friend.

This had become like a routine to Kaminari, ever since he’d started working at the bookstore, which had been almost a year ago.

He took his lunch break at the same time most days, anxiously hoping you had a break at the same time as well. It wasn’t because he thought you were cute (he totally did, honestly), he just enjoyed your company. You had some loud and unique opinions on a lot of things, and he was thoroughly entertained when you went off like this.

“Well they’re both billionaires with no special powers, just a lot of cool gadgets, right?” Sero pointed out, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded behind his head, his bento sitting forgotten on the table.

“You’re right. But Tony Stark has a sense of humor. Batman is such a stick in the mud.” You made a face from your spot across from them, your chopsticks resting over your cup noodles, the utensil keeping the lid closed so they would cook.

“Yeah, but in terms of physical strength, Bruce Wayne has got Tony beat.” Sero sat forward, picking up his chopsticks again. “Tony relies on his tech. In a hand to hand fight, Batman wins every time.”

“Tony is smarter, though.” You sighed. “Look, do I need to direct you to read the Civil War series? It’s only like 7 issues. I can lend them to you.”

“It’s got Spider-Man in it.” Kaminari supplied helpfully. “He’s your favorite.”

Sero chuckled. “Yeah, okay. Maybe it’ll change my mind.”

“Trust me. Batman is lame, he’s got some interesting villains though.” You finally moved to eat your ramen. “What about you, Kaminari? Any opinions?”

Shrugging, he finished off the last bit of rice in his bento. “I don’t know, I’m not huge into comic books. I like Deadpool, though.”

“That’s so on brand.” Sero chuckled. “He’s a ridiculous dumbass, just like you.”

“Hey!”

“Listen, Deadpool is probably one of the funniest antiheroes. He breaks the fourth wall so often, it’s my favorite thing.” You grinned at him. “I think it’s a perfect choice.”

Kaminari could feel the blush creeping up his neck at your words. You thought he was funny. “Thanks, Y/N.”

Clearing his throat, Sero stood up. “My break’s over. Can you check on the YA section when you’re back on, Kami? Some kids were in here earlier and I think they moved all the Twilight books around.” His teasing grin told him that Sero had not missed the way he’d reacted to what you’d said to him.

“Sure thing, boss.” He gave him a salute. “I’ve got like 10 minutes left.”

Sero packed up his bento and shoved it back in the breakroom fridge and left, leaving Kaminari alone with you.

Kaminari opened his mouth, spitting out the first thing that came to his mind. “But here’s the real question.” He pointed at you with his chopsticks. “Team Edward or Team Jacob?”

Kaminari was crouching down, putting the last copies of ‘Breaking Dawn’ back on the shelf when someone walked up to him.

“If she’s Team Edward you’re going to have to call up Aoyama and ask him to hook you up with some body glitter.”

He glanced towards his right, smiling at the scuffed black boots belonging to his other best friend, Shinsou.

Kaminari stood, staring at the cat sticker stuck to the side of the reusable coffee cup that his perpetually tired friend always had with him. His gaze then flicked to his face, his customary grin back on his lips. “You think he can help?”

Rolling his eyes, the purple haired man shifted on his feet. “Of course. He works for some makeup place, I bet they have loads of glittery shit.”

Humming, Denki let his gaze move back to the shelf, making sure everything looked okay. He threw his arm around Shinsou and began walking back to his own section (he was in charge of The Classics, okay?) leaning into the taller man. “I’ll pick you up some black eyeliner while I’m at it.”

“Please do, I’m almost out.” He snarked, before his smirk fell and he sighed. “Look, you need to do something about this crush you have on Y/N.”

“I do not have to do a thing, my friend. I am happily content sitting over here and pining away quietly.” Kaminari threw his arm out dramatically. “Leave me be.”

“Quietly?” Shinsou snorted. “Look, man, I just mean, I’ve been seeing Monoma hanging around her a lot, I just don’t want you to miss your chance.”

Kaminari stopped walking. “Monoma? But he works in the reference section, where they sell those ‘for dummies’ books!”

“Maybe he read ‘Flirting for Dummies’ and now he has a clue. You should look into it yourself.” Shinsou’s raised eyebrow caused Kaminari’s frown to deepen.

“I know how to flirt, Shinsou.” Huffing, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t you need to go back to Science Fiction and get some work done?”

Sipping his coffee, he fixed Kaminari with a look. “Since I am such a wonderful friend, you’re going to swap me on Saturday and work my section, which is conveniently right next to Manga and Comics, where Y/N will be. You are going to make a move or so help me, I am going to beat you over the head with a copy of ‘Wuthering Heights’.”

“Why that one? Why not something longer, like ‘Don Quixote’?”

“Do you want it to hurt?” Shinsou asked, looking entirely done with his shit. “You’re ridiculous. Just do something, otherwise Monoma might get a date before you do.”

Kaminari cursed under his breath. The thought of you laughing and smiling at Monoma’s terrible jokes rubbed him the wrong way. “Fine. I’ll think of something.”

Seemingly satisfied, Shinsou patted him on the shoulder. “I believe in you.”

—

“How come you and Sero always have these fancy looking bentos for lunch?” You asked, sliding into the seat across from him.

Kaminari paused with his rice halfway to his mouth and looked up. “Our roommate. He’s like a mother hen, he always packs us lunch.”

Looking impressed, you raised an eyebrow. “He sounds like a keeper.”

Chuckling, Kaminari sat back in his chair. “Yeah, he’s a handful, but under his extremely aggressive exterior he’s a good guy.” He gestured to your ramen. “Maybe I can get him to make you one. All I have to do is tell him you eat cup noodles for lunch every day and he’ll have a heart attack.”

“I like my ramen, okay? It makes me feel like Naruto.” You raised your arms and grinned. “Believe it!”

Rolling his eyes fondly, he turned back to his lunch, poking at his tamagoyaki. He’d been working in the section beside you all day, listening to you gush over the newest shipment of manga you’d received, shoving books at him and making recommendations. He’d been trying to work up the courage all day to get off his ass and ask you out, and he was failing spectacularly.

“You know, if you want to be like Naruto, you should be eating tonkatsu miso with the little narutomaki in it.”

You blinked at him, looking surprised. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

This was it. His chance. “We should go get the real thing sometime.” He swallowed thickly, his palms sweating. “Like, maybe tomorrow night?” He closed his eyes, waiting for you to respond.

“Kaminari, are you asking me on a date?”

The fondness in your tone had him opening his eyes to see your expression. You were blushing, biting on your bottom lip as you stared at him.

“I mean, yeah. A date. If you want to, I mean.”

He was seconds away from backpedaling, his heart climbing up his throat and on the verge of escaping his body. The anticipation was killing him.

His nervousness and fear of rejection was all for naught. Your face lit up, a genuine smile gracing your lips. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“I would love that.”

A breath he didn’t realize he was holding escaped his lips. “Yeah, okay. Awesome.”

You giggled, leaning your elbow on the table, resting your cheek against your palm. “Did you think I’d say no?”

Feeling a little ridiculous, he blushed and nodded. “I was worried you might. I’m an idiot and you’re...you.”

You scoffed, kicking him under the table lightly. “You’re not an idiot, Kaminari. To be honest, I thought you’d never ask. I guess Shinsou wasn’t lying.”

“About what?” He sat up straight, frowning. “I’m going to kick his ass. What did he say?”

Snorting, you shook your head. “He might have mentioned that you liked me. I wasn’t sure though.”

“Are you kidding? Was I not being obvious enough?”

“You flirt with everyone, I didn’t think I was special.” You teased. “I’m glad he was right, though.” You turned back to your noodles.

“You are though. At least you are to me.” Grinning, he nudged your foot with his. “I’m going to date the hell out of you, Y/N. Just wait and see.”

His heart swooped in his chest when you looked back at him across the table. “I’m looking forward to it.”

#kaminari denki #denki kaminari #kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #denki x reader #bnha #bnharem collab #mha #kaminari fluff #kingexpl0sionmurder writes

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dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram · 2 years ago

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Hi! I was reading an article in the atlantic yesterday about the Amber Heard trial (I've been trying to stay away from it, because it's so distressing to me, but the headline talked about standom/conspiracy theories, so had to click lol) anyway why I mention it is that the writer said she was super surprised that she was seeing misogynistic takes coming from even the harries that she follows. This was someone who writes about pop culture (I think she even has a book deal on it) and she was surprised that harry's fans are misogynistic. And while one person's bad take is not really notable, your anons are making me think how wild it is that harry has been so successful in convincing everyone he's good about women. I'd actually rate him pretty normal-to-ehh relatively speaking for all the reasons you've pointed out in the past about power, opportunities and the way he in general talks about women in his lyrics. Even the "women are smarter" shirts drive me nuts because like THANKS?! harry styles I really needed you to tell me that (fwi, this isn't even me hating, i'm not looking for activists in my pop stars, and think there's a huge argument to be made about trying to decouple that expectation in terms of making the world a better place, but I digress).

I think a lot of it has to do with what you've said about harry leaving a lot of space around himself for people to project upon. I've seen people give him ideas that would be held by like doctorate level women- or gender-studies students, and compare that to some of the things he's publicly said about gender and they just don't line up.

But there seems to be something else there too... I don't know if it's the boyband thing? But all the guys have talked protectively of their fandom demographic, so probably not. Are we really so lacking in men who actually support women that a t-shirt and turning the temperature up in a room is enough to surprised when they sing about misogynistically about women?

And before the what-about-ers start, I don't think any of the 1D men are good about women, I'm talking about how harry specifically is perceived by both fandom and the GP as being a feminist

hi in case you see this, i just sent the amber heard ask, and I had wanted to include the actual quote from the atlantic article, had reached my limit of free articles so I didn't... but THEN I remembered private windows exist, lol, so here's more context:

"On Twitter, I was personally surprised to see that even many of the Harry Styles fans I follow are, for whatever reason, adamantly anti-Heard."

(and then includes mean tweets from them about amber heard that I have no interest in repeating but are very typical in our fandom)

www theatlantic com/technology/archive/2022/05/modern-celebrity-fandom-johnny-depp-amber-heard-trial/629887/

*****************

Like you I am absolutely fascinated about the stories people tell about Harry and how he has attracted this aura of progressive masculinity.

I totally agree that people often ignore both Harry's music and what he says when he actually talks about gender and related topics. I really don't know why and

One thing I would really like to know is how big a factor his aesthetics are and in what way? Do people really put that much weight on nail polish and flamboyant fashion? Is it the other way round that they like his aesthetic, and assumptions about who people want him to be follows? Or is not that important and just what everything else gets attached to.

Projection is obviously a part of it - both fans projecting onto Harry and how much Harry creates an image that leaves a lot of space to project onto. But I think that's the mechanism by where it's happening rather than why.

The general terribleness of men and how low the bar is, can't be all that's going on because - Shawn Mendes (to pick a man at random) doesn't have the same kind of aura.

One thing that I do think is super noticeable is the very, very, very, long life of the comments Harry made about female fans in his first Rolling Stone article. They spread really wide at the time, and they're still pretty high in people's consciousness (it was really notable to me that they were brought up in the Pitchfork review of Harry's House). As you say that doesn't really answer the question, because it's reasonably common in this era.

I don't think it's just that he said that, but where he said - in Rolling Stone to Cameron Crowe. I think Harry is seen as having a choice, precisely because he's recognised by the rock establishment. It's because he is recognised by men, that his recognition of female fans is valued to the level it is.

I'm not sure what else is going on - I'd welcome other people's thoughts, but those are some starting points.

#I do find the assumptions that Harry's fans won't be misogynist #even more interesting #and odder in a way #but I noted that is Kaitlyn Tiffany #(whose book certain sorts of anons that I instantly delete #are obsessed with #because they think it'll bring down Larries #have I got news for them about the impact of publishing a critical book about something)#I've been curious about her a while #because I don't imagine her book will be want the antis want #(because nobody would care about that book)#and if it'll be interesting #but this confirms what I suspected #which is that she lacks a perspective on her own place in fandom #Oh well #we'll know soon enough about her book

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mgsapphire · 3 years ago

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Ethics and morality... and how they're not the same...

Weird title, and I don't even know if I'll properly approach this one with all the topics I wish to this discuss in today's The Devil Judge essay, because a lot of things peaked my interest, I was debating on doing a separate post for each subject, but I'll do them all in here:

Starting simple

I know we're only 4 episodes in, but I want to break down the things that I often look for in a new show:

Cinematography

Soundtrack

Character building

Plot devices

Social commentary (sometimes)

Of course, these are things most people would consider basics, but I find that a lot of TV shows don't have enough balance in them. Also, cinematography and soundtrack are pretty up there for me because when a plot gets slow, or something like that, I stay for those two (biggest example: King Eternal Monarch).

The soundtrack in The Devil Judge is amazing and the cinematography can be a character of its own. They really get me hooked and are used as tools to properly tell a story. And I'll get into that further down this post.

The onlooker will never understand the actor

Experience is your best friend not only applies to job hunting, but it's true in the real world too. You can't truly weigh in on something unless you've experienced it yourself, you can give it your judgment and everything, but when bad things happen to someone, you'll never truly understand their pain. Am I bringing up because of the difference of mind in Judge Kang and Judge Kim's opinions? On how the public treated the minister's son? No. I'm talking about a very specific scene, where the cinematography told me to think that way and not the dialogue (it's that easy for my mind to be swayed). In episode 3, when the rich are about to dine right after the foundation's commercial for a better future, we see this aerial shot:

What's interesting about this? The seclusion and the enclosed feeling it conveys as a counterpart to the poverty shots we were just shown. Yet, these are the people making ads for a better future, what do they know?

They live comfortably behind concrete walls with no windows to see what goes on apart from the bubble they live in. This idea is further enforced at the party in episode 4, where they're not even a part of the donations, and watch and mock from afar as spectators. Yet, these people call the shots. They even call it commenting, as if they were watching the pain of others on TV.

The intriguing personality and the duality it encites

Now, this was a costume and wardrobe decision, but it was also very well thought of:

Judge Kim wears white and Judge Kang wears black. One is morally perceived by viewers of the show as morally good and the other is perceived as morally dubious at best. However, besides the costume and wardrobe thought put into this, we also have to think about the delivery of this scene and how it may further affect my detailing of this section. Judge Kang brings down the coats, and hangs over the coat to Judge Kim, he's the one who is making that annotation: You're pure, I'm tainted. This can have one of two interpretations:

Either Judge Kang believes Judge Kim to be pure and innocent due to his status as a rookie in the field

Or he believes Judge Kim to be morally white and himself morally black as he's looking at his brother's face and not at Judge Kim's heart.

Because most of the back story we're unveiling is through Judge Kim's perception, there's also an inherit bias we're having as well, because in Judge Kim narrative, he believes he's doing what's right and believes Judge Kang to be evil. In being served information about Judge Kang through Judge Kim's eyes, our bias is inherently skewed.

Another thing is that, when they put on the coat, they're standing in front of the other, as if the producers of this series are telling us they're two sides of the same coin.

The duality is made in more deceitful ways, which include:

A difference of classes that implies one has suffered while the other has not.

A difference of experience that implies one is more tainted while the other is pure.

A difference of age that implies one is a sly fox while the other one is is bunny about to be eaten.

A difference of temper that makes one erratic and the other logical.

Power dynamics

This one, in this one I could make a whole thesis based on just a couple of scenes in the drama. And you know I have to mention it: director Jung being the puppeteer.

It may not be as unexpected at first, nevertheless it brings forward a lot of things I've wished to touch upon for quite some time now. A woman being a puppeteer of an old man in the portrayed dystopia that The Devil Judge is painting makes much more sense than more common demonstrations of these dynamics where it's either a:

A man of power being controlled by a bigger man of power.

A man of power being controlled by a seemingly man of a lower status.

A woman being controlled by a man of power.

Although, there's nothing wrong with those power dynamics, and if they were to be used, a message could also be conveyed, this one in particular works as a megaphone.

A subversion of power in such a way can be interpreted as a true indication of the weak overcoming the powerful. Why? It is not that woman are naturally weaker than men, but that in society, patriarchy has been a big factor in taking voice away from women in order to give it to men.

In order for Director Jung to achieve her purposes, it's smarter for her to do it under the pretense that an old rich man in power is the one calling the shots.

This is better exemplified by her stance when the old man tries to excuse his behavior, and what her moral compass is. I'm not saying I agree with her unethical conduct, but that her morality is directly impacted by the perception of the public of her as a weak woman:

Just because a dog bites a human does the person get dirty?

This is telling on how she perceives the actions of the old man in gropping the waitress. She didn't do anything wrong, even if you touched her, you are the dirty one.

While she's evil, it's a refreshing and deep evil.

The public's opinion and how there's actually logic in the show's portrayal

The public opinion can make or break a person, even if it's not on a public trial like this. While "cancel culture" barely works in today's society, a person's reputation is forever tainted. The show does tell that, but it also exhibits the scary downside of it, by showing how easily it was to make people accept flaggelation as a fitting punishment.

There are many experiments that have tried to test the effect of societal pressure on an individual's decision and the effect of the authority's enforcement of power in the outcome of these decisions. Furthermore, theories based on analysis of human behavior not necessarily relying on experiments can also help break this down. What do I mean? Here's a small attempt at explaining:

Milgram Experiment on Authority: which measured the individual willingness to carry out actions that go against their conscience due to an authority's approval.

Argument from Authority; The idea that people are more likely to use an authority's opinion on something as an argument for their reason. This is often seen in science, where trusted authorities have done the research and offer it to the public. In here, authority bias also plays a role, as we often believe, at first, that an authority must be right.

Moral disengagement: basically speaking, because this is evil or bad, I'm not part of it and I most probably am not actively participating in it. One may disengage by moral justification, which means that before engaging in something that has been previously perceived as immoral, I'm changing my stance on it based on what I tell myself to be logical arguments. This particular form of moral disengagement is very effective in changing the public opinion. I'll be touching on another form further down this post.

Other factors played a part, but these ones in particular came to mind when public flagelation as a form of corporeal punishment was wildly accepted. First, an authority is the one telling them it's correct, to go ahead. Secondly, another authority (the minister) had previously shown approval to such unusual punishment. Thirdly, they are not the ones to be engaging directly in the act, and even if they were, it would be acceptable because an authority has told them so. They may even believe the punishment to be a necessary evil for the greater good.

In fact, the minister's son was actually correct when pleading his case, they were accepting it because it wouldn't affect them directly.

Regarding the cinematographic descent of the public opinion regarding the situation can better be exemplified by the old man we've seen through the episodes.

Does suffering justify misdeeds?

Today I came along the difference between excuse and reason. You may give a reason for your behavior, but it doesn't excuse it.

Not because I've suffered through shit, means I have to make you suffer too.

I may explain myself, but it's on the other side to excuse me.

Why I hate the unreliable narrator and why I love it so much

This story has been told mostly through the eyes of Judge Kim and what he hears and sees regarding Judge Kang, if anything, the narrative is very close to that of the narrative we've seen in The Great Gatsby. An enigmatic man is being narrated to us from the eye of a man who hasn't known him for a long time.

How is that an unreliable narrator? The narrator has their own set of bias and moral standards which function as lenses through which they see the world.

Another way of putting it would be the way teenage romances are often written in a first person narrative where either of the two teenagers is the narrator, so the author can sell to us something as simple as offering a pack of gum as the most romantic act on earth. We're perceiving interactions through rose tainted glasses.

In this case, we're seeing the interactions through Judge Kim's eyes who doesn't trust Judge Kang from the get go due to his own preset bias.

The narrative becomes even more unreliable as we're not exactly sure if what Judge Kang disclosed himself is a fact.

The reason why I love this narrative is because it leaves a lot of space to make simple plot twists to a narrative and make them seem grand, and can elongate a story without making it obvious.

The reason why I hate it is because sometimes, in tv shows mostly, we as viewers can see the other side of the story and grow increasingly frustrated with the main character's prejudice and misunderstandings (I'm looking at you my beloved Beyond Evil).

Also, because I have to wait for a long time before I actually have a clear picture of it.

#kdrama #kdramas #kdrama recommendations #analysis #rant #the devil judge #got7 #park jinyoung #ji sung #kdrama meta #kdrama quotes #kdrama analysis #meta #the great gatsby #kim min jung #please dont let this flop

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khaleesiofalicante · 3 years ago

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DANI HELLO!!!!!!! How you doing babes!!! 🌻🍓

First of all, now I get why you kept on writing 70 more parts to lbaf cause finishing fics is so sad. I keep getting the urge to add more chapters to the ATW fic even though its finished and I currently have 10 WIPS lol.

Anyways, I had my day off today, so I decided to catch up on the last 3 chapters of TLND, which was a horrible decision like always. I have the big sad now I won't be able to get shit done today.

TLND Magnus is becoming my fav. There is something so soft and vulnerable about him. He feels so real and not idealised. And sure, I would like him to communicate better, but that’s easier said than done. Age doesn’t make people wiser or smarter, and stuff like communication issues aren’t something that is resolved easily. I love it when people in their 30’s and 40’s are shown with real problems and issues. He reminds me of Magnus in Peru chapter in TBC.

I read the mansion chapter and then the last one where Clary mentions that thing about being married to a Lightwood. And it’s such a hard-hitting statement. It’s such a common sentiment where people expect partners/spouses to put up with whatever shit life throws at them. Which usually comes from the idea of ‘sacrificing’ in the name of love. Like Magnus clearly went to horrible shit throughout their marriage (I’m specifically talking about outside pressure rn and not their personal issues). Magnus probably got so much shit from the media, and now that he is putting himself first, he is getting more shit. Because people just expect you to sacrifice your whole life, mental health, and every shred of sanity because you love the other person, which is absolutely crazy. It’s not realistic and is always used as an argument against the person with less power for being selfish. It’s very common in military spouses, families where one partner has to reallocate frequently. And any other relationship with power dynamics and is a very harmful idea. So I am glad that Magnus got the divorce (*sobs while typing this*).

Someone needs to protecc Rafael that boy shouldn’t have to deal with all of this. He seems like the kind of person who calls everyone out not because he wants to but because he has to. Peak eldest child syndrome identified. Also, I have a 10 step skincare routine, and I deeply respect Rafael for it. Skincare is actually a very calming experience. 10/10 recommend.

I love Magnus. He’s baby. And he clearly doesn’t know what he wants in this fic which is fine because who even knows what they want lmao. But him taking Rafael to another continent seems unfair to me- specially considering how that would impact Max. Max already feels abandoned as it is; imagine Magnus leaving the country. And I’m thinking how he must be feeling knowing Magnus didn’t go only because of Rafael (idk if Max knew about the London thing or not)- also Magnus saying “oh but Max is allowed to join me if he wants” is also a stupid statement imo like babes, your child thinks you are leaving him. He can’t be a footnote in your London plan, even if it’s temporary. (+ I feel like Alec and Rafael made some stupid deal with each other when they went to talk in the room, they are both sacrifical idiots when it comes to Magnus)

I give more flying fucks about the wet food that people leave in the sink than Shinyun.

The raisin thing made me fucking sob. I fucking hate raisins man and if I ever find someone who eats raisins for me RIP to Magnus Babe but I would simply not divorce them.

P.S. I once again repeat- I am fine with Malec divorce but MAVID ANGST is where I draw the line!!!!!

Alec after seeing Herondale-Fairchilds being happy and normal-

okaybye 💚

EESHU! HELLO!

I hope your week is kind to you. *holds up knife* It better be kind to you.

About the writing. Absolutely! It's so hard to let go once you've immersed yourself. Now you feel me :(

Someone once asked me which version of my fic magnus I like the most. At this time, I haven't even begun to write TLND or have the plot sorted. But I remember replying that it's TLND.

Because you are right. He is different.

He is very much the Magnus we see in TBC. The Magnus we see in TID. The Magnus who is still learning how to be an immortal. The Magnus who is better at hiding and hurting than he is at laughing and loving.

I've always thought what it would be like if Alec met that version of Magnus. Magnus who is like 20. Not 400. Their dynamics would be so different. I do think they will end up together and figure out their shit because come on it's malec.

But yeah. I love this magnus so much too. He is very close to my heart.

And about the mavid angst. Apologies in advance, I guess? 💚

#tlnd

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myhauntedsalem · 3 years ago

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13 True Horror Stories from the Psychiatric Ward that Will Give You the Creeps

Death, illness and tragedy have long been part of the history of insane asylums, and for as long as they have existed, so too have the scary stories associated with them. From haunted hospitals to sadistic doctors and nurses, psychiatric wards have been the inspiration for many of our favorite horror movies and books. Yet, the true stories told by the psych ward workers below far surpass any horrors that we might have seen at the cinema or read in a book.

Without further ado, here are thirteen of some of the creepiest psych ward stories on the internet that have been shared by health care professionals.

1. Holding her own Eyes

My mom told me this story from her time at a neuropsychiatric ward while she was in grad school. She was making her routine room checks and happened upon the most horrific scene I’ve ever heard.

This was during the night shift, and generally, all the patients’ bedroom doors should be closed. So my mom turned a corner and noticed an open door. She saw a staff member’s legs on the floor, halfway out the doorway.

When she looked into the room, she saw the patient, a woman with a severe postpartum psychiatric disorder, who had just gouged both of her own eyes out with her bare hands. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding her eyes in her hands.

The first staff member to witness the scene, who was now lying face down on the floor, had a heart attack when he first witnessed the woman while he was making his rounds.

My mom screamed for help and frantically tried to perform CPR on the staff member. All the while, the woman just sat rather calmly, holding her own eyes.

2. The Saw

I work as a psychotherapist in a hospital system. My definition of creepy is probably quite a bit different from other medical professionals.

The one that got to me the most was a patient who came to us after attempting suicide by sawing both his arms off at the forearm with a table saw. His arms were reattached, fairly successfully too, with only limited impairments in mobility. All I could think was how bad it would have to be to live in his head that sawing his arms off seemed better than that.

He has since completed suicide.

3. Jane?

We had a young lady in our custody with quite a few issues. We’ll call her Jane. Jane’s first night at our facility staff doing a bed check found Jane in a puddle of blood. Turns out Jane had been slicing the skin around her shin with her finger nails and was pulling her skin up her leg, essentially de-gloving her calf.

Jane also had a ritual she performed every night before bed. While in her room she would run between walls in her room touching them in a crucifix pattern. After doing this for a few hours she would sit on her bed and go to sleep. This particular night Jane was frantic in her pace, practically running between walls. Our night staff observed the entire interaction and reported Jane screaming late into the night. When the staff went to check on Jane she reported Jane standing in the doorway smiling. The staff asked what was wrong and Jane replied, “what makes you think you are speaking to Jane?”

4. The Vampire

My mom worked in mental institutions in her younger years (and actually worked at a large, well-known asylum before it was shut down.)

There was one woman there that thought she was a vampire of sorts. She was only allowed out one hour a day, and they had to use safety precautions. She had already attacked and killed at least one hospital worker before these were enacted.

When my Mom asked about her, it was revealed that she had killed at least two of her children, wounded another as well as her husband because she had some sort of physical condition called Porphyria, which apparently made her crave blood.

By the time that they discovered there was something physically wrong with her, she already had lost her mind from guilt and grief.

5. The Spitter

I’m not a psychologist but my friend is. She told me about a patient of hers who was HIV positive and a paranoid schizophrenic. He thought that the nurses who worked at the hospital he was in were trying to kill him, so he would frequently bite his tongue, and spit HIV positive blood into their faces/mouths. When they had to come into contact with him, they were required to wear full masks and gloves.

6. The Only One

I once knew a woman who had spent part of her residency at a psychiatric hospital for people with severe mental conditions. Apparently, the grounds had a lovely, enclosed greenhouse. One day, one of their schizophrenic patients was sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette, as a heron frantically flew around. It had found its way in and, not being able to escape, it was smashing into the large panes of glass. The man just sat there watching.

Finally, my counselor asked him if the bird was bothering him and he kind of sighed and said, “Thank god, I thought I was the only one seeing that.”

7. Family Photographs

My sister is the director of a psychiatric hospital. There was recently a lady there who would cut her arms, legs and torso open and place photographs of her family under her skin.

8. Under the Bed

Once, a fellow female patient told me she found writings under her bed. They were just old, small wooden bed frames with hard mattresses that would make all kinds of noises when you rolled over, but I still wondered what exactly she was doing lying under her bed to find these writings.

When she first told me, I thought it was a joke. But sure enough, one day during group we managed to sneak away, and she showed me. Indeed, there were stories written under her bed. After that, we had everyone check under their own beds, and there was more writing under every single bed.

They were stories of patients who had stayed here before, or ways they were planning on killing themselves, or who the good and bad nurses were. It creeped me out.

9. Time of Death

Well, my mother was a nurse that specialized in geriatrics, and she worked for several hospice hospitals for many years. She often described situations at her work with several of the patients. She would say that each person tends to have a very similar “checklist” that they follow right before death. This checklist often ended in a very similar way.

They would get caught talking to someone that wasn’t there. When asked who they (otherwise lucid people) were talking to, they would describe an individual who was already dead. When asked what they were talking about, they would say that their relative wanted to know if they were ready to move on. A pretty common response would be, “Yeah, he/she said that she will take me tomorrow at 3:00.” Well, it would often happen that they would die at the exact time their relatives quoted.

10. The Test Subject

I had an hour-long conversion with a delusional guy who was confined to a mental health facility, and who was probably smarter than I am. Lots of these folks believe that somebody – often the CIA – is either beaming thoughts into their heads, or has implanted a microchip in their brains for this purpose. This guy was offering a very thoughtful argument as to why such claims should not be so quickly dismissed.

“It’s precisely because such delusions are so common that mental patients make the best test subjects,” he said. There he was, confined and protected, constantly observed, his health and behavior documented, and there is zero chance that anyone would ever take his concerns seriously. How else would you test and improve such technology? Does the government not have a strong motivation and a plausible ability to create such a device?

“You can see I’m not irrational,” the man said. “I’m just straight-up telling you that they are doing this to me. I know just how unbelievable it sounds, and yet, here I am.”

11. The Boy who Loved Knives

As a tech in psych years ago, there was a 7-year-old kid sent to the floor because the mom didn’t know what to do with him. Sadly, common thing to happen, even if the kids don’t have psych issues. Anyway, the mom was shaking and crying, and they had to take the kid into another room. She was genuinely afraid of her own son. She had suspected something was wrong when she kept finding mutilated animals in the backyard, but never heard or saw coyotes or anything around. The neighbors smaller pets started disappearing. The boy had an obsession with knives, hiding them around the house. Denying anything when the mom confronted him. Then when the two started getting into arguments, he would get really violent and hit her, push her down and kick her, threaten to kill her. On multiple occasions she woke up in the middle of the night with him standing beside her bed, staring her in the face. She put extra locks on her bedroom door to feel safe while she slept. The last straw was when she lifted up his mattress and found 50+ knives of all shapes and sizes under there. So she brought him to us.

I remember talking to him, treating him like he was just any other kid that came through. He seemed remarkably normal, until you spoke directly to him. He had this way of looking right through you, or maybe like he didn’t see you at all while you were speaking.

He would respond like a robot, like he was just saying words because that’s what we wanted to hear. And he would always put on this creepy, dead-looking smile. Like all mouth and no eye involvement in the smile. Especially when he would get away with something, like taking another kid’s markers and they couldn’t figure it out. Still gives me chills laying here thinking about him.

I believe I met a 7-year-old psychopath.

12. The New Mom

I was a pharmacy technician at a hospital with a psych ward for some time. We would have to go around with a cart and dispense the patients’ medications, and being a 5’2″ girl, a security guard or male nurse would accompany me, just as a precaution. I never had any real issues other than the occasional death grip onto my arm or manic outbursts, but there was one boy who was entirely different.

His chart said he was nine and he had pale skin, dark hair, and huge bright, green eyes. He always greeted me in the most polite way, asked how I was doing, and always found something different to compliment me on every time. He was extremely well-spoken and mature for his age, so I began looking forward to seeing him, as normal small talk is definitely cherished in that setting. If he saw me outside of his room in the halls, he made sure to say hello and always called me “Miss Jones” or “ma’am.”

One day, a couple of our female nurses saw me pause to chat with him in the hallway, and waved me over to ask if I was out of my mind. Apparently, when he was in kindergarten, he grew an intense attachment to his young female teacher.

This escalated to the point of him calling her “Mom” and leaving notes for her about how he wished he were her son. He had a normal home-life with both parents, and the teacher tried to explain to him that she couldn’t be his mom because that would hurt his real mother’s feelings, and that she already had that job covered.

So, he went home and, killed his own mother in her sleep by cutting her throat, so his teacher could be his mom. The female staff had a general rule of not interacting with him excessively to prevent any kind of attachment from forming.

13. Bugs

Nothing I can say can possibly describe the year I worked in Psychiatric Intensive Care. Creepy isn’t the thing that comes to mind when I think back on it…more heartbreaking and horrifying. But creepiness was a part of it. Especially evening and night shifts, naturally.

There is always something disturbing about watching someone while they hallucinate. You can tell it is 100% real to them, and something about that makes you believe it, on some level. A lot of stories end with, “and of course, I had to look over my shoulder to make sure”. You see the emotions it brings out.

There was a woman that came in and sat down across the table from me for her admission interview. She had bandages all over her arms and scotch tape over her mouth and ears. She looked very uncomfortable and wouldn’t really sit still. When the nurse would ask her a question, she would peel the corner of the tape back and answer, then stick the tape back on really fast.

We eventually found out that she saw and felt bugs crawling all over her, and they were trying to get inside her body. The tape was to keep the bugs out. The bandages were because some bugs got in and she had to dig them out. She couldn’t sit still because she felt the bugs all over her even while we sat and talked. The worst part was, she had some idea that it was her mind playing tricks on her. Can you imagine going through your life, feeling like someone is continuously dumping buckets of cockroaches on your head, feeling like they’re all over you and getting inside of you to the point that you’re digging chunks out of your flesh in a panic, all while knowing intellectually that none of it is real?

#13 True Horror Stories from the Psychiatric Ward that Will Give You the Creeps #shared stories #paranormal #ghost and spirits #ghost and hauntings #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem

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goddamnitdazai · 4 years ago

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Chuuya & The Port Mafia [meta]

[ WARNING; LIGHT NOVEL FIFTEEN SPOILERS/MANGA SPOILERS] This is just my opinion and It’s been stewing in my brain for awhile. The resurgence of uwu fanon Chuuya gave me the strength to spew it all out When fifteen first came out I answered a question (that I can’t find now) about Chuuya and him wanting to leave the Port Mafia or being unhappy (I can’t remember it exactly) and while I stand by most of what I said there are a few things that have changed since translations came out and I was able to look more in depth with what happened. Of course bones absolutely fucked up the entire 15 novel I don’t even consider the two-episode story canon but that’s another conversation. I was under the impression Chuuya was not forced into the mafia in an obvious way, more that Dazai tricked him into it. Which he did, BUT Mori leveraged the sheep against Chuuya saying he would kill them unless Chuuya joined. At this point Dazai had shoved the idea, that came to be factual, that the sheep no longer trusted Chuuya. That was Dazai’s plan all along. Why? Because Mori promised to show Dazai how to kill himself painlessly if he gathered intel on Arahabaki and convinced Chuuya to join the port mafia. Current canon Chuuya is content with being in the Port Mafia. I stated before that he was happy, and while I think he is satisfied with his position and his life protecting Yokohama (he has offered his life up twice in canon to save the city, not the Port Mafia) I believe he has settled. The Perspective of Fifteen He joined the Port Mafia by force in order to protect the people he cared for despite them turning against him. Mori leveraged The Sheep’s betrayal (orchestrated by Dazai) knowing the type of person Chuuya was even as a teenager. Chuuya felt he was at fault for The Sheep betraying him and Mori preyed on that weakness with the help of Dazai sewing the seeds of doubt in Chuuya’s head beforehand. Chuuya vows his commitment to the Port Mafia because that is the only choice he had. Feeling guilty about The Sheep Chuuya took it upon himself to be better and to learn how to be a leader despite what the Port Mafia had done to him. It took me awhile to figure out why Chuuya would become so loyal to the people who literally ripped apart is only family on purpose, and then I realized it is because Chuuya only blames himself for it. He doesn’t blame the Port Mafia or see it for the nefarious backstage puppeteering it was, at fifteen he has already put high expectations on himself because of his power. He was supposed to protect them and he failed, so they no longer trusted him. The argument that the sheep used Chuuya is a bit ridiculous to me because Chuuya openly offered up protecting. Chuuya cares deeply about the sheep they were his first family. They all protected each other, but yes Chuuya was the main source because of his ability. Dazai pointed out the sheep were using Chuuya as a ploy to play on the emotions Chuuya was feeling since he was already searching for the truth about himself and knew he was Arahabaki before Dazai did. The Port Mafia ‘uses’ Chuuya in the exact same way, if you’re going to stick to that argument for the sheep. Dazai wasn’t coming to ‘rescue Chuuya’ from the sheep. He manipulated Chuuya away from them using Chuuya’s own insecurities then twisted them against him to further isolate Chuuya thus giving Mori the room to swoop in and have Chuuya in his ranks rather than fighting against him. Mori then baited Chuuya with information about himself that he rightfully deserved without having to be the Port Mafia’s singular line of defense. Why was Mori so focused on getting Chuuya on his side rather Because. at 15, Chuuya could decimate a large portion of the Port Mafia. Chuuya is a powerhouse without full reign of Corruption. It was tactically smarter to have Chuuya as an ally not an enemy. Under Chuuya’s rule if he were allowed to grow without the constraints of the Port Mafia The Sheep could have become a very strong enemy fighting for territory against the Port Mafia. Current Canon Perspective Like Kouyou, Chuuya is powerful enough to leave on his own. But for what? Mori did an irrevocable job at ensuring Chuuya’s only relationship/’family’ was the Port Mafia from fifteen on. Isolation is a powerful tactic and one Mori has been seen using time and time again. As did the former boss. (Example; Koyou). Chuuya is content. He’s always had criminal tendencies given he grew up on the street and would have probably formed his own strong organization with the sheep if there was no other interference. But Mori made sure Chuuya was blind to what he could have out in the world and kept Chuuya’s blind loyalty in a vice grip. Chuuya settled for the Port Mafia because to him there was nothing else. He cares for his fellow mafia members and subordinates because that’s just how Chuuya is. He’s caring and soft-hearted despite the violence and chaos he thrives in. Will Chuuya ever leave the Port Mafia? Probably not, unless something happens in the way it did with Odasaku & Dazai. But, in order for that to happen Chuuya would have to have a deep relationship with someone however his dedication and workaholic tendencies make that a very, very low chance especially with Mori still sitting on the throne. .

#chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bsd #bungou stray dogs #chuuya meta

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rin-00 · 4 years ago

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The Argument - Kieu My x Fatou

How the hell did they get to this point? In the past couple of days Fatou and her have been out of sync. First, their schedules haven’t matched up so they couldn’t see each other as often as they needed to. Then, when they did see each other it seemed like the skater girl was withholding information from her. Kieu My could practically reach out and feel the invincible walls the other girl has put up around her. Walls that she thought didn’t apply to her since she was her girlfriend after all. Every “How are you’s” are either met with a shrug, a vague answer, or a lie. She thought they were past this but apparently not.

They have been lying down on Kieu My’s bed for the past hour, watching a documentary on Netflix about sea life. If anyone were to walk in the room right now they would probably assume they were two awkward friends instead of a couple that has been together for almost a year because of the literal physical distance between them. Usually when they watch movies together, or are even in the same room together, they always have to be in each other’s orbit. Even if it was just pinkies touching. There was never more than just a thumb’s sized distance between the two. But right now? Right now there is about a foot of space between her and Fatou. A foot that manages to feel like a mile. The other girl is staring blankly at the laptop screen and Kieu My can tell that her mind is somewhere else because she herself has been staring at Fatou’s side profile for about 20 minutes now and she has yet to notice. If this was a regular day, Fatou would have turned to her with a warm smile and a slight blush painting her cheeks and teased Kieu My about how she couldn’t keep her eyes off of her. Instead there’s no smile on the girl’s face. All Kieu My sees are furrowed eyebrows and a clenched jaw. She wants to ask what’s wrong. In fact she has been asking for the past couple of days but she sensed a slight irritation from Fatou the last time she asked and she didn’t want to push. But she’s worried that if she doesn’t push then the distance between them will grow bigger and bigger.

Reaching over, Kieu My paused the film and turned her whole body she would be facing the other girl, “We need to talk.”

She hears Fatou let out an irritated huff, “I know what you’re going to ask, Kieu My. And I promise you I’m fine.”

She had a feeling this was going to be a long night. In fact she was wondering when this moment would come. Her and Fatou have been in a relationship for a while now and they had yet to argue (aside from the time outside her apartment complex) and she knew it would come around eventually. Every couple argues. She read somewhere that it’s part of maintaining a healthy relationship and with her and Fatou having so many differences in how they deal with conflict, she knew that the moment would definitely come. But that doesn’t mean she’s looking forward to it.

“Ok. I’ll believe your lie for now and accept that you’re fine. But something is obviously bothering you. So, what is it?”

Fatou scratches the side of her head and scrunches her nose. How cute. No, wait, Kieu My thought, now is not that the time for her to find Fatou adorable. She needs to put her foot down and tell Fatou that keeping her out of the loop isn’t okay. She’ll tell her she looks adorable once they’ve made up because she has a feeling argument might bubble over to a fight. She also has her own thoughts and feelings she has repressed and pushed aside in order to make Fatou feel comfortable. The insecure nights spent awake wondering if she was the reason the other girl has been so distant. The angry rants to Zoe about how she deserves transparency. The gut wrenching feeling that came with the thought that maybe Fatou was going to end everything.

“Kieu My, please, I really don’t want to talk about it. Okay?” Fatou stands up and walks over to the other side of the room to pace back and forth. Her fingers nervously wringing together.

What felt like a mile of distance now feels like a whole block and Kieu My has to swallow the lump in her throat before speaking, “No. not okay. You have been so distant the past week and I gave you your space. I asked and when you shut me off I didn’t push because I wanted you to come to me. I wanted you to have the space you needed. But, it seems like you’re not making any effort to open up.”

“Maybe I don’t want to open up. Maybe this is something I can figure out myself.”

“Well,” Kieu My said while walking over to the opposite side of the room. The distance between them now expanding as well as her voice level rising. “maybe I can help. I want to help you, Fatou.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

A simple sentence but it managed to open up everything inside Kieu My, “I know you didn’t ask for my help! You didn’t ask for anything! You’ve just been pouting and getting pissed off and going back to being sad for the past couple of days! At the very least, you should be able to trust me enough to be transparent with me.”

“This is something I can handle on my own! I don’t need you to try and babysit me. I can handle being sad for a couple of days.”

“I’m not trying to babysit you, I want to help you. I can help fix whatever the problem is!”

“I don’t need you to fix anything! Why can’t you just be there next to me and let me feel what I need to feel. Sometimes people just need to feel down without a need for some type of solution!”

“What, so you’re planning on just ignoring what is very obviously bothering you until it washes away? You know that’s now how the world works.”

“I don’t need you to lecture me on how the world works, Kieu My. I don’t want you to fix anything. I don’t need you to know everything! I just need you to be next to me while I figure it out the way I need to figure it out!”

“Well, it sounds like you’re asking me to just sit aside and do nothing. If that’s the case, then fine. But at the very least I need you to be honest with me about what’s going on! Are you having second thoughts about us or something?”

“What?”

“Are you having second thoughts? Are you planning on breaking up with me? Because that’s what it feels like right now.”

“No...I’m...no..”

“Then whats the fucking problem? I’m your girlfriend! I deserve more than just shrugged shoulders and a snappy response when I ask you about your life.”

“It’s not a big deal...”

“Then tell me,” thanks to Kieu My’s long legs she only needed to take 5 steps before she’s right in front of the other girl. “Please.”

Fatou’s shoulders drop and with it the walls she had up, “I have to repeat the year.”

Kneeling down so the taller girl can look at her girlfriend in the eyes, Kieu My takes Fatou’s hands in hers and tightens her hold at the sight of the skater girl’s teary face, “What do you mean?”

“I tried everything. I took tutoring lessons, I went to therapy, I did the math exercises, I even spent extra hours after school doing extra credit but it still wasn’t enough. I’m not enough.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because, I’m so embarrassed and ashamed of myself. This isn’t something you can fix, Kieu My. I fucked up. A Kieu My style studying session isn’t going to fix this.”

Opening up her arms, Kieu My takes hold of Fatou and immediately felt drops of tears hit her shoulder, “You didn’t fuck up. You did your best and that’s all that matters.”

“I’m sorry I was so distant,” Fatou presses a gentle kiss against Kieu My’s shoulder, “it’s just that when they told me that I have to repeat a year it’s like everything I did was for nothing. I started going back to bad habits like shutting you out. I shouldn’t have done that. I never want you to feel like I’m leaving because that’s one of the things I’m worried about.”

“You’re worried about me leaving?”

“I’m worried that when you’re off to college and I have to repeat a year that you will find someone better. Someone who doesn’t test your patience or is smarter.”

“Fatou..”, now sitting on the floor with Fatou in her lap, Kieu My took a moment to observe the girl. Find someone better? Than Fatou? Is that even possible? Kieu My has never been good with words. It was always Fatou who had the emotional intelligence in the relationship. She was the one who would leave notes with heartfelt words before leaving her house. She was the one who would randomly tell Kieu My why she loves her out of nowhere even in the middle of class. She was the one who knew what to say whenever she would have a fight with her parents. Hell, she was the one who managed to calm down Constantine and get through his thick head. Who else can do that? Not Kieu My. But she sure wishes she could, especially right at this moment. She wishes she can be as articulate as Fatou. She wishes she can find a way to say how much she means to her. How much it means to her whenever Fatou would just take a glance at her and immediately know what’s wrong and what would make her feel better. How much it means to her when Fatou would ask her about space or even something as mundane as her day working at the shop. How Fatou’s smile makes her heart stop. How Fatou’s voice makes life seem less chaotic. How she disliked the world a little less because they gave her the love of her life. But she can’t. So instead she tightens her hold on the smaller girl and kisses the top of her head.

“There’s nobody like you. What do you need from me, baby? What can I do to help you feel better?”

“I just need you to hold me right now.”

“Of course.”

A few moments of silence later Kieu My feels Fatou sit up right in order to look at her face to face, “I do trust you, you know. I trust you with all my heart. But, sometimes I feel like the only thing I do is lean on you. I can’t help but feel like I’m more than a burden than your girlfriend.”

“You’re not a burden. I want you to lean on me. I need you to. I need to feel you against me. I like knowing that you know I’m here for you the same way I know you’re there for me. I want you to feel loved, baby. Helping you is how I let you know that.”

“But, what if one day it’s too much? What if one day I end up messing everything up?”

“Fatou, I can never get enough of you. Like right now, you’re pressed up against me and you’re still not close enough.”

“I’m trying really hard to be the best I can be for you. And right now I feel like a failure.”

Kieu My sighs as her heart breaks at the other girl’s words. She leans forward to kiss Fatou on the lips before brushing away the tears on her cheeks.

“You’re amazing just the way you are right now.”

Feel free to leave your opinion in the comments as well as some fanfic ideas. ✨✨ this is very rough cuz I wrote it while waiting for my dog to poop.

#druck #fatou x kieu my #skam

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dramionediscussion · 4 years ago

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I have a concern about Dramione fandom, which has been slightly troubling me lately. I am not saying that this is something that is going to happen, or is happening already. Naturally, I don’t think this is entirely unfounded either (hence why I am writing this), but I am just one Dramione shipper. If this doesn’t resonate at all, that’s totally fine! We are all aware of extremely boorish and fatuous anti-Dramione people, who troll, defame and accuse Dramione of being all sort of things. We are also probably all quite familiar with their claims about the ship and its shippers. You know, Dramione promotes racism, sexism, classism, unhealthy and abusive relationships, it’s all about bashing Ron, it’s just cuz actors are hot, we should all pay homage and tribute to canon relationships (and their shippers naturally), and offer respect and fawn over everything “canonical” for gracing us with all this HP bounty, and so on. This time I am not going to try to offer rebuttals, or deconstruct their arguments, or even psychoanalyze them more than absolutely necessarily. I am not even particularly upset about them (anymore). They are categorically wrong, their arguments are never insightful or thoughtful. Most importantly, they are disingenuous in their argumentation and especially about their own motives. I believe, the best course is ignore them totally. What I am afraid, that these endless arguments, relentless belittling, and even harassment of which they never seem to grow tired off actually might change Dramione shippers and community as well. Not in a conscious way, but constantly being on a defense can make people internalize some of these arguments. Or rather their premises and assumptions on which they are based upon. I don’t mean it, that Dramione shippers will suddenly wake up, and shout out that Dramione was actually all about abusing women all along, or anything like that. What I mean is, that people rather internalize certain assumptions, framing and logic chains, which are build into those arguments. In a defense, they start define what Dramione really means, what is ideal Dramione, what is acceptable or desirable in Dramione fics, in accordance of these attacks, by unconsciously defending their ship from slander. As an example, Romione people constantly accuse that Dramione is either all about mindless “Ron bashing”, and Dramione shippers rightly say that it’s not what Dramione is about at all. What I am afraid, that people might internalize the point, that “Ronbashing” is something truly heinous, and what should be avoided at all cost. And as a corollary to that, ideal Dramione fics are those in which there’s no conflicts between Ron, Draco and Hermione. Or the very least they are resolved in a conciliatory and harmonious manner. Or it is lazy Dramione writing, when Ron is “villainized”. Or another thing they say is, that Dramione just about glorifying and eroticizing abusive relationships. This might lead that some of us accept the framing, that describing or narrating something is totally same as promoting and celebrating it. If they accept it, then it’s quite easy to logically infer, that if Dramione is not defined by Draco abusing Hermione (it’s not), then it must be defined negatively as its opposite. Meaning that something cannot be genuine or accepted Dramione, if it contains an abusive Draco. Or as an induction from that, if a fic has an abusive Draco, it also must contain a redemption arc, and Draco has to change and make amends, and redeem himself as a person. That we start to define Dramione being really about redemption or redeeming, forgiveness, changing oneself for the better, etc (as contrary to their claim that its about abuse). Don’t get me wrong, I’d say the majority of Dramione fics contain a redemption story arc, and Draco either has changed or actively changes his views and behavior. It’s a common and wonderful theme, and almost all my favorite Dramione fics have those, and I like just for its own skae. Yet it’s not something what either makes or unmakes Dramione. There’s a minority of fics, in which Draco is never truly redeemed (usually a lust-filled obsession, with many many cognitive dissonances, which he never solves), and they are as Dramione as anything else, and some people enjoy writing them and some people reading them (or at least some of them). Also, a lot of gray areas, which can be quite delightful, thought inspiring and invigorating (and hot!). Speaking for myself, I’d say maybe 1/20 of my favorite fics have this dynamic or something close to it. Maybe 33% are more in that gray area. It doesn’t do any harm, there’s nothing ethnically wrong about it, I never idolize that behavior. If Romione stans have problem with that, they can go away, cry and tell that Rupert Grint body pillow all their troubles, because I don’t give a damn. People don’t emulate or model their behavior or preferences from YA fanfics or smut in that sense in any significant numbers. If someone does, I am sorry to say, but you probably weren’t going to make it anyway. It’s the irl version of getting a comedy death in a video game, like if a smarter-than-average mushroom hypnotizes you and makes you walk into a bottomless pit, or something like that. Your problems are deep seated and numerous, which unless dealt with, will be triggered by just about anything. Its pure happenstance whether it will be Harlequin novels, Dramione fanfiction, urban legend your cousin told you, or whatever. This could go on, but seriously, Dramione shippers have nothing to prove or even argue with those antis. It’s just bottomless pit of resentment, what they twist into moral arguments, which they think will signify us as the worst kind of people, and they themselves as the most virtuous. Their antipathies are petty and personal concerns, in which they feel like the universe and the abominable cabal of Dramione shippers have cheated them out of all that attention, writers, fans, fics, and deference they feel entitled to. It’s natural for humans to cloak often even most pettiest and nonsensical slights and resentments into whatever moral or ethical language and arguments the society they live holds sacred. If we would be living in the 1600s, they’d be scouring the Bible for anti-Dramione arguments, and denouncing Dramione as unchristian and sinful. By their stated “moral standards”, there are a lot more “vile” and “harmful” ships out there, but they aren’t functionally bothered by them at all. So, unless really prompted, they don’t even bother to denounce them, little alone wage this never-ending crusade against them. That’s because they aren’t popular enough to trigger that envy and resentment (Hermione with basically any of the worst Death Eaters). Or they feel that they don’t compete in the same niche as their ship does (Drarry as an example). I wouldn’t be writing this, if this discourse with Antis hadn’t affected me as well. There was a time, I wanted to understand what they were about, and I read a lot of their grievances and internal discussions. While reading I couldn’t help but to be on a defense all the time. Sort of refuting and counter-arguing against their points in my mind, while reading their diatribes (I tried to start a dialog couple of times, but I was always totally ignored, which I am thankful for them in retrospect). Conditioning myself with that for long enough, I did notice that I started to feel a bit hesitant about certain tropes and Dramione fics I hadn’t before. I was thinking about Dramione like a defense attorney, excepting to be attacked from all directions. It actually took me quite long to figure this out, and how the bile of HP fandom had in subtle ways affected my sense and tastes without my really noticing.

Anonymous submitted: P.S. I wrote that previous submission, and I have to add, that I am not trying to say this is happening or pointing any fingers at anybody. There’s perfectly good reasons to not like any Dramione fic, as a Dramione shipper, in which Draco is irredeemable or evil. There’s perfectly legitimate reasons to prefer fics, which Ron is portrayed as a positive influence for Dramione. People can arrive to same conclusions or tastes from countless different routes and reasons. The negativity that the HP fandom and Romione shippers especially grace us just got to me in a way, that I wasn’t even cognizant about. It might be the case for others as well, if their own self-reflection so deems (or not).

------------------------

I agree with every point you’ve made. While it’s obviously okay to discuss why you like Dramione (or any other pairing), people also need to remember that they don’t have to justify why they ship Draco and Hermione together or prove (especially to haters as they’re not worth anyone’s time) that their OTP makes sense because even if it makes no sense whatsoever, it’s still fine to ship it as long as you can differentiate between fantasy and reality. I don’t know about you, but when I started shipping Dramione, it was like love at first sight. I didn’t think if they made sense, didn’t spend hours trying to make a list of arguments for Dramione, I just suddenly loved the idea of them together, believed they belonged together, and that was and still is enough. I don’t need to justify why I ship them, and neither does anyone.

It’s true that in most Dramione fics, Draco gets redeemed. It’s also true that most shippers prefer fics in which Draco gets a redemption arc, but we have to remember that there’s nothing wrong with enjoying fics in which Draco’s irredeemable or his relationship with Hermione is toxic. I myself read such stories from time to time. I like a good Ron bashing fic every now and then as well, and there’s nothing wrong with that either because it’s all fantasy, it’s all fiction, which, I believe, most Dramione shippers are aware of and accept. Hopefully, it won’t change, and no one will ever try to tell others what should and shouldn’t be written or what is and what’s not allowed in a Dramione fic.

- AgnMag

#dramione #anonymous #HP Fandom #submission

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ordinaryschmuck · 4 years ago

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An Issue Worth Discussing: Porn Popularity in The Owl House fandom (Yup, we’re going there)

Salutations, random people on the internet who probably won't read this. I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons. And today...I'm gonna get a little angry. You see, every now and again, I check the kudos page of The Owl House fanfics on AO3. When doing so, I can't help but notice that the twenty-seventh most kudo’d story in this fandom belongs to a story called In the Span of a Week. And do not read it because it is just Beta Lumity porn with a plot written by some sick freak who thinks doing that s**t is ok. Yet, currently, it is sitting at a total of one thousand five hundred and fifty-one kudos. Meaning that In a Span of a Week is better than stories like 12 ways to say I love you, I Only Want To Be With You, and Brave in Bronze. Fanfics that are charming, well written, and fit well with the tone of The Owl House. All of that doesn't mean squat, as they are currently doing worse than porn...I should not have to explain why that's an issue. And yet, I have to. So SHUT UP and STRAP IN as I explain why someone writing a story about characters who are minors in canon having sex with each other is not ok.

First, let's discuss why something like porn is so popular in the first place. That answer is easy: Humans, who are not asexual, are horny as all forms of hell. Some of us can get our act together better than others, but most of us still find ourselves reaching down to our undercarriages more time than what's probably necessary. Especially when you're a teenager, a point of time when your horniness levels just skyrocket into you consistently thinking about sex. Again, unless you're asexual. Now, I have no statistical way to prove this, but I'm willing to bet that a good chunk of the people in the fandom is teenagers, and that is why a story like In the Span of a Week is doing so well. It’s because these horny little monsters wanted to get their rocks off and then move on to the wholesome stuff to calm themselves. If that was purely the case, that would be perfectly fine and healthy...but what about the readers, who are probably adults. Well, if that's the case, this becomes less fine and more disturbing. Look back at the number of kudos that In the Span of a Week receives. It's halfway to two thousand, and I highly doubt that all of them are teenagers. It's especially nauseating considering that the story focuses on characters who are canonically minors.

Now I know what you might be thinking: "Schmuck, you handsome Homosapien, In the Span of a Week focuses on the beta versions of Luz and Amity. Not the final ones." And you would be right to bring up that defense, if not for the fact that AO3 has yet to make a relationship tag to differentiate the beta designs from the final ones. Meaning that anybody, more specifically a new person in the fandom, can stumble upon the story thinking it's about the Luz and Amity we know and love. Even if the person is well aware of the beta designs and all the interpretations the fandom makes up, a person can still walk into a story, not thinking it'd be about the Betas. I can confirm this as I got a comment from my fanfic called It All Started with a Jacket, where a person clearly didn't understand that it was about Beta Lumity. Besides, while we associate these two (Or four, I guess) as different characters, they are still the same, but we as a fanbase just use the Betas as an excuse to write stories featuring violence, drugs, and sex. Especially since Dana Terrace confirms that the beta version was going to be more PG-13.

"Exactly! The Betas were meant for older audiences. So what's the big deal?" The big deal is explained through two reasons: Reason #1, nothing rated PG-13 has ever had explicit descriptions of sex. Sex can be implied but never shown. Reason #2, because AO3 recognizes everything that is The Owl House related as part of the same thing, any and every story about the Betas is always going to be under The Owl House page. Meaning that the original intended audience will read Beta stories that weren't written for them. I'm, of course, talking about the kids.

"But the story is rated E for Explicit! Kids are smart enough to filter that s**t out." You're right. Kids are smarter than we give them credit for. They understand themes and elements going beyond their age limit and comprehend that something is wrong in the world...but they're idiots when figuring out how things function. You have to physically teach kids how to do something, or else they will be lost and scared as they figure things out by themselves. Especially when it comes to something like filtering out explicit stories from the rest!

"But AO3 has a countermeasure that warns kids that a fanfic has adult content." Sure, but you are aware of the fundamental flaw in the countermeasure, right? Such as the fact that the only thing stopping a kid from continuing to read is by clicking on a button that says proceed...which should not be that easy. There should be a function that prevents readers from reading an explicit story other than pressing a button. A person should have to sign in and confirm their age, much like YouTube does with its age-restricted content. And I know people have issues with that function, but trust me, it's for the best if a kid doesn't see something they shouldn't.

"But the freedom of speech entails--" FREEDOM OF SPEECH IS A BULLS**T EXCUSE, AND YOU KNOW IT! Case in point, when people say s**t like "Kill all the Jews," "Build a wall!" or "Dab at the haters," you're probably inclined to tell them to shut the f**k up. That's because even though they have a right to speak, what they're saying is still wrong on every point of logic and morality. I don't care if a person has a right to write porn based on a children's show. They still shouldn't have acted on that right in the first place.

Besides, there is one last, damning piece of evidence that disproves any bit of argument that you can muster. The person who wrote In the Span of a Week made a story based on a kids' show. Why? Why not a series aimed at teens and adults? Why did it have to be a children's show specifically? And the very fact that there is no right answer to that question that doesn't peg you as a sick freak who just wanted to make kids bang proves that there is no reason why In the Span of a Week had to be based on The Owl House. I don't give a s**t if it was a gift to some other sick freak. The writer could have easily said no and wrote something else for some other show.

Instead, this person decided to write a story about minors (doesn’t matter if they were aged up) that kids can have access to. And reaps all the benefits of this action as it one of the most popular stories in the fandom.

And I shouldn't have had to explain why that's an issue.

(And if I see one mother f**ker saying it's a jealousy thing...there's nothing that I can do them physically as that's impossible at the moment. But I can delete their comment!)

(...)

(That should show them.)

#the owl house #lumity #beta lumity #an issue worth discussing

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leahseclipse · 3 years ago

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The Reichenbach Fall: Aftermath - Chapter Two: So, What Did We Miss?

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x GN!Reader (With some Fem mentions)

Warnings: S2 FINALE SHERLOCK SPOILERS, Major character death; death topic, mourning, suicide mentions, depression mentions., terrorist attack brief mention (lemme know if I missed stuff.)

Summary: Now that Sherlock is back, explanations are due.

Word Count: 4.6K

A/N: Here's chapter two! As always- if you prefer AO3, click here :)

The weather had even gotten better, as if it only rained to have a full dramatic effect, there was only wind, which didn’t seem to announce a storm, for now. The sound of the leaves being crushed by my feet as I walked was to be heard, as no other sounds were around, it was very quiet today.

The silence did feel weird, I never liked it.

Not when it caused me to think of…

“Got time to spare for me?”

...him.

“Sherlock.”

“I’m not quite into this, usually- but in movies, the scene usually goes like; they stare, probably cry a bit, and run down in each other’s arms. But...the ‘stare part’ is a bit long, is it normal?” Sherlock asked.

“I would like to remind you that you were dead for two years. Hell, you’re still supposed to be dead, I just talked to a grave for the past hour, doing as if you could hear me from wherever!”

“I don’t think it works like tha- oh, imagination.” Sherlock acknowledged, raising his index. “Forgot, sorry.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing if ‘imagining’ doesn’t exist?”

“Being crazy?” He asked. “Sorry, first thought. Doesn’t mean you...actually are, you’re not crazy. Quite the clever kind actually, a tad smarter than-”

“I didn’t ask to be...praised. We’re kind of in the middle of an argument, and also in a cemetery. Which I realize now, and I doubt the dead people here would like to hear us yelling.”

“Probably.” He agreed, as he frowned.

He’s thinking.

“Can I just ask a small favor? I know that’s quite rare for me to do that, but I’m doing that because it’s you.”

“If that’s asking to keep the secret about you not-being-dead-anymore, I don’t know.”

“This could be this too, but it’s not.” He tilted his head, briefly looking down. “Promise not to kill me in the car? It’s just that, dying in a car, and ‘dying’ again would be quite an unfortunate way to decease, if you…”

“...fine. But I can’t promise I will keep that...promise, once we’re somewhere not outside.”

“That’s...fair, I guess. Thank you for...half respecting-” He stopped in his sentence as I gave him the start of a death stare. “...respecting my favor. Sorry, stutter.”

“That’s better...I guess.” I repeated, hearing a small hum from him as we started to walk out the sinister place.

I didn’t even get myself at this moment. Even though he was there, as I wished, it still hurt. He was here, right in front of me, so wasn’t it fine?

“Why do you have dried blood and bruises on your face though?”

“...John hit me.”

“John did?”

“He...did.”

Well that’s new.

“Guess you said something bad to upset him, I never thought he’d ever punch you, you guys are like kindergarten buddies’.”

Sherlock chuckled. “He had a good reason, though. I faked being dead, let him mourn, miss me. I’m even surprised you haven't done that...yet.” He said, looking at me.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Right. Got it, no...tempting.” He nodded, turning his head back in front of him.

Sherlock’s lucky I have an ounce of good in me. I would have given him more than a punch considering what he did. If he wasn’t the famous, amazing detective, and my...friend-crush, he’d be dead and put in the grave he was supposed to be in all that time.

Speaking of that, I wonder if they just left it empty, or if someone was actually there all the time. I hope it’s empty, though. It would creep me out to find out I’ve been threatening an innocent person- considering they didn’t put some random criminal in there.

At least, the positive point of all this is that he won’t have to pay for another grave, which is...a good deal, for a guy like him.

I hope he has a good explanation for this, it’d be a shame to bury him again.

As I opened the front door of the apartment- Sherlock stepping behind me, I walked towards the blinds, pulling them open to let light in. I turned towards him, looking around the room.

“Yeah, by the way, I cleaned the place.” I pointed out. “Everyday. I know you never wanted anyone to touch it, do anything at all, but I did. I guess that was me hoping you’d come back, and I realize that I...kinda hurt myself by coming back here, hoping you’d be in there, or come through the door any second, but you didn’t, for two years. And even if two years seemed enough to realize that you were really dead- I, and probably others, hoped for a miracle. We didn’t stop at all.”

“I do realize I will never be sorry enough, because no amount of apologies would ever make up for two years, or even a month, or a week.” He listed. “I left you, I acknowledge it. But, even if my next words might anger you more...I did it so you wouldn’t be the ones that’d end up dead. Even if I didn’t die, I did make the person after me believe that, I think. And, don’t hit me for that either- but I’d do it again if a great risk was to put you all in danger. Even you. I know that I haven’t been the nicest, which made you believe you were just a girl working with me, but you’re like everyone I’m always with- a friend, that I also consider family, and you still are, you’ll ever be, if building back our relationship happens to take time.” He admitted.

“I don’t even know what I feel about you...about your death, and you...being here, after a whole lot of time. I mean- we all felt your death deep inside us, it wasn’t just ‘wow, we’ve been real sad , but now we can move on and be better, just as no important person if our life didn’t just die!’, you really couldn’t have...let us know without letting anyone know that we knew?”

“You know I would have if I could have!” Sherlock yelled. “I tried to think this through, and this seemed like the only way to solve this without damage. For you guys, mostly.”

“Oh, so, letting John witness his best friend committing suicide, letting him see his body on the bloodied pavement, his head kinda blown out, literally his friend being dead- was ‘without damage’ to you?”

“It seemed like, at the moment.”

“Well guess what, it wasn’t!” I exclaimed loudly.

“Gosh, try to understand, I don’t know, do as if you were a stranger, I don’t know! If a psychopath threatened to kill you, and your friends, or kill your friends to throw the blame on you, what would you do? Because someone would have known if I ever told it. And they would have killed you, all.”

“I could have done it. You know it wouldn’t have been as bad as it was with you, if it had been me.”

“Please don’t say that.” He plastered a saddened look on his face. “You couldn’t have done it instead. No one else could.”

“I could have, if you had let me. You didn’t deserve this.”

“Neither did you.” Sherlock quietly said.

The both of us glanced at the other, not one word coming out of someone’s mouth. Neither of us knew what to do.

He let out a breath, walking to the window, next to me. “...you’re making it feel like you’re not important.”

“That’s because no one is as important as you.”

“That’s not true. You are.”

“You know it wouldn’t have caused this much chaos with me. We needed you more, you weren’t some stupid detective, you were the most qualified, hell, everyone needed you. Lestrade didn’t need us as much as he needed you.”

“He did need you. you know that. You two were qualified enough to function without me. Don’t act as if you’re not smart, please.” He pleaded. “It was mine to deal with, this was between Moriarty...other people...and me, so not even some kind of FBI agent training for 40 years could have done it, or you, or John.” He explained. “I even had to plan how I’d die, how I’d set it up, how I’d hide, not let my presence slip out- I’m not saying you’re imcompetent, but all of this was mine to handle. I wouldn’t have been able to let anyone carry that. And if I had really died, that would have been fine either, because I would have died protecting the ones that mattered.”

“We would have still felt guilty. There’s always heavy consequences in that kind of event. We all searched what went wrong, if we missed anything leading to that, if we let an important detail slip that caused you to do that, or anything else that could have been blamed upon us. We all thought that was our fault.”

“I know. I thought of that. I do regret it, but I had to...jump off that building. If they wouldn’t have seen me die, they would have killed you all. And the same goes for the actual situation now. If they had seen me dead earlier, they would have killed you too.” Sherlock said. “Look, I wish I could have given up being dead and contacted you in some way, but I had to stay hidden until I could come back without risk, without you getting killed.” He specified. “I would have been the one filled with guilt if I risked your lives.”

“You wouldn’t have deserved to die. You still don’t” I quietly said, resting against the wall. “Do you even know how important you are to us? You’re more than a guy we work with.”

“...and I’m grateful for that. But all I’m asking you is to let me explain what happened; see it as a way to show how much you matter to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Moriarty wanted me to die. He summoned me to the rooftop, and...after I found an ‘arrangement’, he killed himself first, leaving me to be the only choice to save my friends . So, I had to jump as I was being watched, and if I hadn’t jumped, they would have killed Lestrade, John, Mrs.Hudson...and you.” He insisted on the last word, looking at me. “So this was better, what was supposed to happen, and the two years weren’t planned. I came back because there probably was...a literal terrorist attack.”

My eyes widened. “What? Aren’t you supposed to…”

“It’s being handled, forget it. It was probably a false alarm”

“We were on the road, Sherlock.”

“It’s far from here.”

“Why aren’t we there, though?”

“Day-off. I’m technically still dead.”

“Not really if people saw you. Plus, I doubt it’s a false alarm if it’s bad enough for you to come back.”

“Other people are handling it. Look, are you worried about them? I’ll send a text right in front of you.” He took his phone out, typing a few characters before hitting the ‘send’ button. “Just wait.” He looked to his right, as his phone emited a sound. “There…”we’re still alive.”

“Better, yeah.” I nodded. “...two years was really long, though. I started to believe you had really died, so I guess it worked.” I exclaimed with a shaky voice.

“Glad to know my plan turned out to be successful. Thanks for giving your review.”

“Quite rare of you to be polite. I do suppose you say ‘please’, and ‘thanks’, but I think you forget to say them out loud.”

“Sometimes, yeah. But I do think of them.” He confessed.

“Hm. But...what led Moriarty to do all of this? I’m not quite sure I have all the details.”

“Oh, that. It began a while ago, before you fully worked with me. The criminal network he was headed for was vast, he was practically everywhere, like a ‘cancer’, so we came up with a plan. Mycroft had...fed him information about me, and in turn he gave us hints, as to the extent of his web.” He explained. “And as you know, we let him go, so he’d acknowledge having the upper hand, which led him to destroy my reputation. But...I had to let him believe he had ‘won’, so he could reveal himself, in a way.” He informed, as he moved around the room. “Once we were on that roof, there were at least 13 likely scenarios, which were rigorously worked out and given code names. But, even if I said that he destroyed my reputation, it wasn’t what he truly needed. What he needed...was for me to die.”

“And then, what?”

“He...basically told me that whatever I’d do with him, nothing would prevent the assassins he had hired to kill you, unless…”

“You’d die.”

“And complete his story.” He added. “But the thing I wasn’t able to know was how far Moriarty was prepared to go. I guess that was my fault, on this one. Our first meeting at the swimming pool should have been enough.”

“What did he tell you, back then?”

“He told me about his death wish. And, realized it. He killed himself in front of me when we were on the roof as I told you, and I didn’t have long until the assassins would arrive, most likely. I contacted my brother, and the whole scene started. Each person around was part of the plan, even the pedestrians.”

“You hired...pedestrians?”

“I needed the scene to look real.”

“This street is always empty, this couldn’t have worked?”

“Um...not really. This had to look real, plus they kinda contributed.” He detailed. “Oh and if, them getting killed is part of your concerns, they didn’t. The three of you, and me, were the real targets, they would have only killed anyone trying to fail their mission. And also, if that’s also a concern, the whole street was closed off, like a scene from a play. No accidental arrivals.”

“I didn’t even know all of this was staged. Even the paramedics were?”

“Even them. They’re the ones who faked checking on me so John wouldn’t reach me once I hit the ground.”

“How did he not see, though?” I questionned.

“Before I jumped?” He asked, as I nodded. “I made sure he stayed behind the building situated in front of the hospital. That way, he couldn’t see that I hadn’t actually fallen on the ground, but on an airbag. From that moment, the airbag needed to be cleared out of the way as John came, and as he needed to see a body, a fake one was thrown out of the window.”

“And...what refrained him from running to the body?”

“A well-timed cyclist. He ran into him, giving me the time I needed to exchange places with the corpse, and the rest was only ‘makeup’, I couldn’t be white as a sheet, there had to be blood because of how hard I fell. And, before you ask, what refrained him from feeling my pulse once he had reached me was simply a squash ball under the armpit.”

“You made it sound so…”

“Emotionless? Easy? You could say that.”

“I’d say it’s that. But the moment must have been...I don’t know, between you hearing John, and him feeling helpless upon seeing you.” I said. “Be glad I wasn’t there, because you know I wouldn’t have stayed, the plan would have failed because of me.”

“I know you would have listened, anyway. Don’t underestimate yourself, you’re smarter than you think you are, actually.”

“Compared to you, not really close.”

“If Sherlock Holmes himself tells you that you are smart, it’s not a joke, especially if I say it more than once.”

“Promise you’re not lying?”

“Always.” He promised.

“If you’re always going to be this nice, I might even give up on killing you.”

“Oh, please. Killing me. That’s so two years ago.” He stated, looking right at me as a small grin drew across his face.

“Careful, that can always stay an option. I said that I might, not that I will.”

“I’ll sleep with one eye from now on, then.”

“Then be it, I guess.” I defied, letting my eyes fall on the ground after a few seconds. “I missed having you around.” I admitted with a small voice.

“I’m sorry I made you sad, that wasn’t my intention. I swore that it’d never hurt anyone else other than me, and yet- look at us now.”

“We’re kind of broken, isn’t it?”

“You could say that.”

“Do you think we’ll ever fix it?” I asked, with teary eyes.

“Most likely. Even if that takes years.” He walked towards me, taking a breath before fixing his gaze on me. “I hope that’s the case, I don’t want to keep hurting you.” He confessed, gently taking my hand.

“And I hate not having you around.” I responded, getting up from my spot as I enlaced my arms around his waist, holding tight.

“I’ll do my best to not disappear again.” He spoke out, putting one arm across my back, while the other went on the back of my head, slowly, as if he wasn’t totally at ease with it. “This shows how much you count, I’d never do that usually.”

“I appreciate it, but don’t ruin the moment.”

“You’re even taking your behavior from mine, what’s next? My job?”

“Who knows? I’ve been doing a lot these last two years.”

“I’m sure you’re capable of becoming better than me in less time, and before you throw back the compliment, don’t. This is me...trying to be nice.” He explained, lightly tapping my head before we broke off.

“Thank you for...explaining. I’m glad you’re back.”

“Thank you for…not killing me?” He thanked me, slightly unsure.

“You’re welcome, Holmes.”

“Have you been doing well...lately? I figured we haven’t talked much about your feelings.”

“Oh, that.”

I wish he could be more precise, but he doesn't even know of the ‘other’ feelings, which are more of the love kind.

“...I don’t even know if there’s much, to be honest.” I admitted, looking at him. “I mainly wished it could have been me. A world without you seemed impossible, a great loss, almost unfixable. There was no one else like you, and I...even thought about dying, myself. I was in a really bad place. I even started to do as you weren’t dead, I’d go to your apartment and unconsciously wait for you to return, everyday.”

It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

“And if you hadn’t come back for another two or three years, I would have believed it, fully- even if a part of me would think it wasn’t possible. Nothing can kill you, you’ve basically survived everything, and I do know you have moments of weakness like everyone, but you’ve always done your best to stay strong, no matter how difficult it was. And me...I’m not like that. I always have a hard time with some cases, and I always stand behind John and you so by the time you look at me, I’m good as new, as if I didn’t start to cry.” I detailed, fidgeting with my hands. “But...when you died, I didn’t cry, I kept all my feelings in a bottle, most of the time. I attempted to keep my head straight, for you, which was after a bit of time. I mostly wish it had been me...instead of you, and I’m aware of what I could have done, to make the pain go away.”

“I really caused a lot of damage, which seems pretty difficult to chug down for now, I lied about a big thing, and I can’t be sorry enough. I know that we can’t make life go back to normal, because nothing will erase this, or make it get forgotten- considered it’s all over the internet now.”

“You’re trending on Twitter?”

“Pretty much...seems like it- the press must have seen me. This will make things quite unpleasant, they’ll probably harass you guys as well, gosh.” He complained, running his hands through his hair.

“What’s ten more journalists? I’m used to it anyway. Besides, we’ve already got a lot of stuff in our hands, and will probably have more. Lestrade is gonna blow your phone again.”

“We do have a lot, including having a talk with him. There’s no way he’s getting away with that, you two are the best I have ever worked with.”

“I was going to say it’s quite rare from you but, I’ll just take the compliment.”

“I mean it, so it’s a good one.” He quietly chuckled. “Is our fight over...or?”

“I’d say so? I mean, there’s gonna be some ‘getting-used-to-you-again’ moments, of course, and some explainings, but I’d say we’re cool, yeah.”

“Then um...is it a good moment to announce that John and Mary are getting engaged? I didn’t want to announce it in the middle of a...death, well- fake death topic.”

“They are? When did they even-”

“Oh, at the visit I paid them. He was most likely about to do it, but then we talked, I said a ‘joke-y’ thing…”

“And he punched you.”

“Right.” He confirmed.

“Let me guess, you don’t have anyone to go to the wedding with?”

“Exactly.”

“And I guess that the person that’d fill the vacant spot to go with you...is me? “

“Correct? I mean, if you’d be okay with it.”

“Well I’ve never been to a wedding so...that’d be a great experience.” I admitted.

“As we say, ‘there’s a first for everything’. Plus, I can call Mary now.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You see, she had to stay with John, to talk him out of killing me, and other stuff that bores me, and she asked me to talk to you, and ask if you wanted to be her wedding attendant...and you said yes.”

“Did you ask me just because Mary asked you to? I feel like there’s another reason for that.”

“Is this really necessary?” He complained.

“I’m asking so...yeah. I guess.” I assumed.

“Fine, I wanted to have you with me. The thought of being with a friend of hers for a whole day annoys me, and I don’t want to have to pretend to have a good time, only to disappoint her at the end of the day.” He sighed. “And yes, I do have a small amount of compassion for people, even if they are all infuriating to the root.”

“Work on it, because people tend to think you’re embarrassed, or have no interest in having a conversation with them.” I advised. “But...I’m glad you thought of me. I’ll be attending this event with you with immeasurable pleasure, Holmes.”

“You just saved the day, I appreciate it. Call me by my name, though. I know you use Holmes as a nickname, but you have the ‘close associate privilege’, use it.”

“Did you just invent this?”

“Probably. Probably not, who knows. Invent your own words, it’s not forbidden by the law, plus who is going to stop us? The queen? Pff, let her try to catch me.”

“Hm, fair enough.” I agreed. “Although, I don’t get why you dislike ‘Holmes’, I’ll attempt to use it less to please you then, Sherlock.”

“It's very kind of you, Detective.”

“Pff, you’re a child.”

“A grown child then, I’d even say I’m superior, whether I’m speaking of now or when I used to be like them.”

“They’re children, chill.”

“That is quite a complicated task to ask, I do not accept being inferior to a toddler.”

“Come on, it’s a child, don’t be so harsh.”

“Quite complicated, once again.”

“Is there anything that’s not complicated? Something?”

“You.”

“What do you mean...by ‘you’?”

“You know it, you’re nice to be with, easy to talk to, understand, I’ve never had issues when it comes to being with you.”

“Woah, that’s...surprising?”

“I do agree that I’m not that open with everyone, you’re simply part of the few people that I can talk more deeply with. The others just get their whole behavior analysed along with harsh critics, you guys are lucky...even if I used to do that when I met you.”

“I still remember it. You don’t take criticism from a renowned detective in a good way, usually.”

“It’s not really to be taken in a mean way, mainly to be honest so I don’t hurt any feelings later on.”

“People actually tend to see it in a mean way.” I confessed.

“Do they?” He questioned.

“Yes.”

“I wasn’t aware of it.”

“And you’re most likely going to erase that from your memory because you don’t like it.”

“Correct, again. I prefer to be honest, always.”

“I know you do. But you weren’t harsh enough to push us away, we’re still supporting you, years after. You’re gonna have to try harder than this.”

“Is this a challenge?”

“If you’d like to see it that way, it can be.” I offered.

“Then I accept it, dear Detective.”

Even if I would like to ask him to call him by my name as I don’t get to do that with ‘Holmes’, I do like when he calls me detective.

It does give me a special feeling, and I miss smiling at that.

“You do know it’s nearly impossible?”

“Oh, please. Did I ever step down because it was ‘impossible’? I’m not anyone.”

“I do know. It’s just that it’s not going to be easy, you tried doing it when we met, and I’m still here.”

“It was just a small joke, this one is more real.”

“Is it? You’ve been failing for years, are you going to make it now?”

“One-hundred percent sure.” He informed me.

“Well then, I wish you good luck on this task, Sherlock.” I wished.

“I appreciate the kind gesture, Detective.”

“So do I.” I answered. “Anyway...what now?”

“We can either go see John again, hoping he won’t punch me- or we can stay here and talk about anything, even come back on my fake death, you can play the role of a journalist- whatever, I guess.” He said, seeming either embarrassed, or out of ideas.

“I say we let him lose his temper, we’ll see tomorrow.”

“I’d hope you’d not choose to see him, thank god. That’s why I like working with you, you always make the right choices.”

“I told you I was special.”

“And years later, you’re still right.” He agreed. “Can you take some water though? I talked a lot, you see.”

“I knew it. It was so weird that you didn’t ask for something for me to do.” I complained, walking to the kitchen.

“Don’t be mad, you have to drink too.”

I quickly came out of the kitchen, letting my bust stick out. “Yeah but who’s getting the glasses? Not you.” I pointed out, getting back inside.

“Strangely I do not have anything to say. You beat me this time.”

“Told you I’m the best!” I yelled, grabbing the glasses as I exited the room. “Man, I get to tell everyone I beat you, isn’t that great?”

“It’s a pretty good thing to brag about. You can be proud.” He offered a smile, settling into a seat. “Come on, we still have a lot to catch up on.” He said, as I set down the glasses on the low table, sitting down. “So, what did I miss?”

I don’t even know if I ever said it today, but; it’s good to have you back home, Sherlock.

|Chapter Three|

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