#i know im causing the people who love me pain by being unable to accept that they do love me and that’s the worst fucking part. is hurting

[pepprs]

my depression is getting really really bad. like it’s been bad before but this is like… consistently really bad. like a long unending stretch for several weeks (and tbh months) now. to the point where no inoculation actually sticks (and im isolating myself from most of my inoculations anyway and feel unable to stop doing it even though i know it’s self destructive). im either helplessly unbearably miserable or numbing out on video games. i just don’t feel like it’s going to get better for me and i KNOW that is factually untrue but the feeling is louder than the knowledge and it’s just utterly immobilizing. ive been sinking in quicksand for 2 years.

#purrs #longer than that too ofc but i think ever since i moved to campus in 2021 and shit started hitting the fan my life just started snowballing #and picked up speed majorly when i moved back home and ive been stuck in this horrible limbo ever since. like im scaring myself with how #deeply profoundly unhappy and unwell i am. i am just detached and scattered and bewildered by everything. and the only way to break free is #to fight it but i don’t even have the strength. like in order to fight it i have to have the strength and it s exactly the thing that is #being stolen from me. and i work really really hard to suppress it when im around people so no one can tell but on the inside im being eaten #alive and every day that goes on the pain gets harder to bear except im numb most of the time so i can’t tell except for when i can #one of the things that makes me saddest is ive pushed everyone away either by ghosting them or scaring them. when what i want and need the #most is love and comfort. but then when i get it it isn’t enough. idk. im not explaining it well i just feel like. horrible. unbearably #i think i need to go on meds like i truly cannot go on like this not even in a s*i cidal way it’s like i just can’t take living like this #delete later #i know im causing the people who love me pain by being unable to accept that they do love me and that’s the worst fucking part. is hurting #people by being like this. scaring people by being like this. and being so disconnected from myself #and feeling completely and utterly beyond help like nothing ive tried has fixed it but also there are a lot of things i haven’t tried but i #feel so terrible or my freedom is limited so i can’t. idk. #also the crushing knowledge / sense that i have lost the most precious important years of my life both bc of the lockdown and bc of mental #illness lol. except that’s not true bc of all the stuff abt how your best years are always ahead of you and you can make them. but it doesnt #feel like it for me and then i beat myself up bc my job is literally to exude that belief and help other ppl feel it and i increasingly cant #i remember in high school having the thought that one day i could be depressed and being conscious that i wasn’t and now i look back on that #and am like… how. and will i ever not be. i don’t think so. it just feels unending

[99hook]

Battered

Streetfighter!hook

Synopsis: Hook isn’t just a ring name in AEW but you figure that out when it’s too late to stop him

Warnings: depictions of blood and injury, angst, cursing, violence

A/N: I caught the O’Malley vs Sterling fight in the break room and just couldn’t stop thinking about hook as an underground streetfighter for some reason lmao (and yes I know the boxers aren’t streetfighters but this is just where my mind went)

The low hood shadowed the thick, velvet scar crossing through the arch of his eyebrow, along with the puffed out lower left side of his lip that had an identical cut to match, but not as well as he intended.

“Where do these scars keep coming from?” You asked as you gently ran your thumb over one of the cuts.

“You know I’m a pro wrestler.” He muttered as he pulls his head away, trying to hide the wince from the pain that the slightest touch caused.

“You haven’t stepped in the ring in over a month, Tyler.” You deadpan, and he can practically feel your suspicions slicing through him, but he tries not to acknowledge that.

“I did some practice in the gym the other day and the dude got me.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll heal.”

But you didn’t believe him, and it wasn’t just due to the fresh scars that decorated his face either. Tyler was a horrible liar. He’d always been. He can never look you in the eyes when he fabricated the truth, which was exactly why he was staring down at his busted knuckles instead.

You took a moment to think, but you didn’t even need to. The truth was staring you right in the face and you were tired of pretending that it wasn’t.

“You’re streetfighting, aren’t you?”

You watched his shoulders immediately tense up, his teeth locking down behind his lips making his jaw bone throb. You rolled your eyes and looked away, unable to keep staring at those wounds on your boyfriend’s face.

“So when were you planning on telling me? After I have to see you in a hospital bed with a concussion? Or were you gonna just wait until you were in a coma and I had to find out for myself that you’ve been lying to me for who knows how long!”

“Stop.” He muttered, picking his head back up. “Just try to understand-“

“We talked about this so many times, Tyler! I told you exactly how I felt about you doing this! It’s dangerous! I’ve seen my dad get his skull cracked in half and you know that! Why do you want to do this shit?!”

“I love it.” He shrugs easily. “I love the thrill and the adrenaline. I love knocking bitch ass punks out cold. I love the hype. I was meant to do this, Y/N. I know I was.”

You felt your heart sink in your chest. Clearly seeing the passion bursting through those dark eyes when he told you what it means to him, but it kills you inside knowing that he’s chosen something so dangerous. Possibly deadly, and he doesn’t seem to give that any regard whatsoever.

“It’s not the way it was when your dad broke into it. It’s rough, but people aren’t built like they used to be. I haven’t gotten seriously hurt yet, and I’ve been doing this for-“ he pauses, dropping his eyes to the floor before he says, “about six months now.”

“Six months?!” You snapped, “are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Obviously im not.” He eyes you again. “I’m being dead serious because this is something I love. It’s a part of my life now, just like you are and I guess I’m just telling you so you’ll accept it, cause I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

You felt tears stinging your eyes but you forced them back. Tyler watched your eyes well up and had to advert his attention elsewhere so he didn’t have to see those tears slip down your cheeks.

“Look” he sighs, “I’ll bring you to one of my fights. You can see for yourself that you don’t have to worry about me. Nobody’s ever come close to knocking me out. Yeah I have a couple bruises and shit but that’s just how the shit goes. I hold my own out there and I dominate everyone that comes for me. I’m the last person you ever have to worry about.”

Well, that lead to you standing in the midst of a bunch of drunk, wild people in a rundown underground basement. You couldn’t help but to bite your nails down to the nub as you intensely watched two guys aggressively throwing still jabs to each other’s jaws.

It was already hard to breathe in the smoky haze but even worse when Tyler was announced. The crowd roared when he came out, fists taped up and wearing gear similar to what he wears in AEW, but he didn’t look like that Hook.

Everyone chanted his name, some people holding fifty and hundred dollar bills in the air as they bet on his win. You didn’t even realize he was such a crowd favorite, but that just cemented the fact that he’d been living this whole double life you knew nothing about for six months.

He stepped up and adjusted the tape wrapped tightly around his wrists to cover the tender flesh on his knuckles. The scars so deep that the second they make contact with anything, they’re pouring blood.

The man he was up against had a good three inches of height on him, but he had much more muscle mass than the man did. There was no intimidation on the surface. Hook appeared just as calm, cool and collected as he always did in AEW, but you quickly realized as soon as the first punch was thrown that this was completely different.

All you heard was hook chants and the sounds of knuckle crashing into bone. One stiff jab in particular caused Hook to stumble back, dazed a bit but all it did was piss him off, and then you realized just why everyone was betting on him.

Fury bursted out of him as he threw his fists straight into the eye sockets, the jaw and the teeth of his opponent. He was a quick shooter. His opponent tried to block the shots to the face so Hook strikes them to the ribs instead, landing an uppercut when his opponent folded over.

But as soon as you thought the fight was going to come to a quick end, hook’s opponent reared his shoulder into his gut and slammed him down to the floor. The impact of your boyfriend’s spine crashing against the concrete make your stomach churn. You felt nauseas, hands trembling as you watched him getting punched everywhere that was visible.

He was trapped beneath his opponent, his knees digging into Hook’s rib cage preventing him from breaking free and all he could do was block those deadly punches as best as he could.

The chants only got louder and louder and it gave him more momentum. The crowd, but especially knowing you were out there in it.

In a desperate attempt to gain some leverage, when the next punch was thrown, hook caught it with his left hand, his right hand connecting directly into the teeth of his opponent, cracking one right down the center.

Blood oozed from the man’s mouth, leaving droplets all over Hook’s chest. He quickly reversed the roles and rolled himself on top of his battered opponent, his knees digging into the shoulders to keep the man from having any defense. With the man trapped underneath, Hook’s fists flew at a deadly speed, pounding into the man’s face until there was blood pouring out of every crevice on his skin.

He wasn’t satisfied until his opponent was limp. One good stiff jab to the jaw button followed by three clocks to the bridge of the nose and his opponent’s eyes rolled back, his entire body giving up any source of fight he could’ve possibly mustered.

The crowd erupted in wild screams when hook got off of him. He wiped the smeared blood from his bottom lip with the back of his hand, tainting the white tape with crimson to match his opponent’s blood all over his body and the floor.

He raised both arms up, eliciting more screams from the crowd before he scanned his eyes all around that smoky room, finding you within seconds. You had mixed reactions and he could see that, but all he was worried about was making sure he showed you that this is what he’s best at. This is what he loves. This is what he wants.

He made his way towards you, red welts all over his chest and neck and tinges of blood everywhere you could see. He pushed through the people in front of you until he was standing inches apart, his bloody, slick hand cupping your cheek before he crashed his lips with yours.

He was so amped up and you could feel that in the kiss. The passionate force behind his lips colliding with yours left you breathless when he pulled back.

He dropped his hand from your cheek to your hip and noticed the blood smearing across your skin that he left there.

As if he was reading your mind, he pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around you, blood staining on your clothes but neither he or you cared. You hugged him back, holding onto him for dear life he felt like. Your body was still shaking and nerves still wracking around within you but you couldn’t deny the fact that he really did dominate out there, just like he said. And it was clear more than ever that this was something he loves. Something he wouldn’t give up.

“You’re a badass.” You mumbled into his slick chest, feeling his arms tighten around you. “But listen to me, Senerchia, cause I’m only gonna say this once. You better not die on me, or I’ll bring you back to life and kill you myself.”

He pulls back and looks down at you, his eyes wide and wild and hair even more so, but a slight smirk tipping up his lips distracted you from all that. All the blood smeared on his skin and the welts that were soon bruises. That smile out-shown all of it.

“Never gotta worry about that, baby. I’m never leaving you.”

He placed another kiss to your lips briefly, leaving the taste of salty sweat and metallic in your mouth before he grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd, avoiding the people around trying to congratulate him and get him to sign things because all he was worried about was getting you home.

“Where are we going? I thought there were more fights? You don’t wanna stay and watch?”

“Nah” he smirks as the cold, New York air greets you both. “I got a lot of adrenaline pumping right now, im not wasting it.”

#hook aew #hook x reader #hook imagine #tyler senerchia #hook nation rise #hook #aew hook

[alostlittleriverlotus]

im angry. I'm purely angry. My mom is finally listening about doctor stuff and why I hate doctors so much and instantly she turns my goal of my health into being able to sleep at a "normal" time (waking up in the morning and being awake through the day) and being able to go for walks, be active, and go outside. And I fucking hate it.

★(small sa mention, one line of it. suicidal thoughts and self harm mentions.)★

I don't care if I can never walk normally again. If I will always need mobility aids or only be able to walk/stand for short periods. Yes, I enjoy a ton of exercise and dancing with my whole body and having an active life, but if I never can again, I have accepted that.

I don't care about going outside. That is agoraphobia, fear of people, and extreme paranoia and delusions wrapped into one. I feel constantly watched, unable to be outside of the car or the house without extreme anxiety, fear, and having to talk myself through it when I had to go collect the main. I am okay with not being able to go outside. I still would love to go and sit out back, but my parents bought chairs that I can't sit in which is why I haven't sat out back since we were at our last place and first moved in, a fucking year ago. There's physical issues to it too, but it is mostly mental stuff that I'm fine living with.

I don't care about a "normal" sleep schedule. As long as I can get 6-10 hours of sleep a night, I'm fine and functional. I have pain, I have untreated ADHD, I have bad mental problems, I have delusions, I have flashbacks, I have breakdowns, I have paranoia, I was fucking assaulted in my sleep, I may have sleep apnea. We can fix as much as we possibly can, but I am entirely fine if my sleep schedule will never be routine. Oh yeah, plus my period messes up my sleep schedule too.

I don't care about being the most perfectly healthy active person. I don't care if I'm unable to do things that I could before. If I'm fat the rest of my life, that's fucking fine with me. I refuse to go back to obsessively needing to control my health because of a mix of ocd and ocpd and npd that results in an obsessive need to be perfectly healthy at all times. I am not going back to that cycle. My mental health is too fragile and so long as the mental health system and psychiatry system is broken in America, I do not give a fucking shit. I cope well, I am happy where I am, I am content. All I want is the constant pain to end, to be able to have relief and supports. I got ankle supports and cried over how long I have fucking suffered with joints that feel like 3D Mario game ice physics. I cried about how much I was actually at a disadvantage without knowing it while pushing myself to be "normal" and as good as others because I believed I was just not pushing through it like everyone else.

I do not care about living a happy "normal" life. Even if all of my physical issues could magically be fixed (they can't, I'm fairly certain I will always have these issues), I have severe mental problems that will never fucking change. From who I am and how my autism is to the severe trauma and personality disorders I have. AND THE FACT MY MENTAL ISSUES CAUSE ME PHYSICAL PAIN, FATIGUE, AND MINOR SICKNESS INCLUDING PHANTOM FEVERS!!!!!

But I accept that my pain may be something I live with. All I want is to receive actual help for it instead of constantly worsening it by having 0 support. A shower seat, movable shower head, mobility aids, actual fucking accommodations. My goal is to never be perfect abled and neurotypical or to function as such. My goal is never to be as perfectly healthy as I can be. Because with who I am, that will just worsen me to try to achieve that. And that's fucking okay. I am allowed to be unhealthy.

As long as I am not suffering every second of the day and considering death to be better yet unable to go through with it because I don't want to die while my parents are a part of my life then I am fine. I am happy. Even in bad pain days, the feeling of caring for myself and having things to rely on to relieve the pain makes me feel good about myself. I have lived without those for so long. This is all I desire. To relieve as much of the pain as I can so I can feel alive.

But I am aware I may be fat the rest of my life. I could also lose weight, I've fluctuated weight most of my life. I am fine having mobility issues and requiring help for those for the rest of my life. I do not care to be perfectly abled, I just don't want to suffer every single day with 0 help or accommodations while being blamed for it all as if it's a fucking moral failing and to be able to actually understand what the fuck is going on with my body. I'm fine if I'm unhealthy the rest of my life. I just don't want to have to cry over how sick I feel or how bad the pain is and consider death a better option because I have no help and have felt like I'm losing a race my entire life because no one else seemed to be suffering. That's all I fucking want.

I'm sick of my parents' dumbass health shit. I'm sick of them being fatphobic while they're extremely healthy and I'm fat and neglected and struggled so much more than they have because they will do anything for their own health, but won't do shit for me when they're the ones that I have to rely on. I'm sick of my mother pushing these "normal" goals because she wants me to be functional. Fuck. That. Bullshit.

I want help for my pain. I want to be diagnosed and get the help I can. I want accommodations and supports and mobility aids so I can experience as little pain as possible. It's so bad nearly every day. And wearing those ankle supports only made it all the more real that Yes, I Am Fucking Suffering!!! And yes, I need help. And I'm tired of being hyper independent and being neglected and being ignored while I see my parents handle every tiny thing wrong with their bodies when I've lived with this shit my entire life. It hurts. It hurts so much. And I hate that even with them FINALLY trying to find me doctors and get help, they still push fatphobia and healthy bullshit onto me. As if I need to be the optimal health. I don't know if it's possible and I'm not sinking back into the obsessive tendencies I've had since I was young. I was miserable and hated myself, blamed myself for everything. I will NOT go back to that.

#angry rant #tw self harm #tw self harm mention #tw suicide mention #actually autistic #neglected #traumatized #fat #disabled #disability #healthism #fatphobia #fatphobic #abusive mother #neglectful mother #actually narcissistic #actually disabled #actually traumatized #chronic pain #chronic fatigue #chronic illness #chronically ill #fibro #fibromyalgia #mental disability #physical disability #invisible disability #spoonie #foggy #brain fog

[writerracha]

AGSHSNNS HI IM BACK TO SCREAM ABOUT MY INTERPRETAION OF VOLCANO

no but fr. his solo songs are always so relatable. I haven't seen someone who understands in so long. someone once told me that hannie stans are lonely, and although I'm a lix stan, I kinda get it? his songs are just. argh. he's like my inner voice screaming out??

I think for me, my interpretation of volcano isn't limited to a love song, but a message to yourself, or the parts of yourself you don't like, whether it's a protective mechanism, or the parts of you inside that feel hurt, or your inner child. like "I'll protect you, it's okay to hurt, I'll embrace the wounds you shed" whsjwjwjjw

but also "you can hurt me I don't care" or "you can burst into flames, you can wound me next to you" just. like how your hurt parts can make you feel pain but also serve as a protective mechanism. and also how the song mentions unable to be apart with that person even if they hurt you JUST SEEMS LIKE SAYING BECAUSE ULTIMATELY YOUR HURT PARTS ARE STILL PART OF YOU. so you still have to accept it, love it even if it causes you pain.

IDK I MIGHT BE READING TOO DEEP INTO THINGS but for me it just seems like a euphemism for screaming at the broken part of you inside, trying to accept it. I might've repeated that too many times agahssj I HOPE THAT MADE SENSE

OK OK IM HERE TO YELL ABOUT VOLCANO.

the way you put it is just so perfect, "my inner voice screaming out". like LISTEN I write a lot. that's how I process things that's how I "scream out". but jisung always has a way of wording the way I feel in a way I could never? i think it's the lyrics paired with the melody and arrangement and everything - he does what I could never, that is create music and it just makes me feel understood to a point I shake lmao. like im loved in my life. but jisung understands me in a way no one else can oaisfhasf😭

about volcano YOU ARE SO RIGHT. I know it's a love song, but it's DEFINITELY also about ourselves. cause if we can love someone else its only because we can love ourselves i think in a way? accept those parts of ourselves that are flawed?? and love (towards self and others) is destructive, it's a fire, it's an explosion. LIKE YOU SAID IT SO WELL. to accept our wounds and not try to deny them or erase them - they're a part of us..... and I think that love hurts and that's ok?? loving someone also means accepting the hurt?? "It's okay if everything burns down"

THAT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE. HONESTLY. it really does. I really like the way you see it. jisung has proven to us he's a lyrical genius again and again so while there's definitely a huge part of the song that is an epic love story (loving through the ages, accepting to be hurt), there's also something really deep about what we have in ourselves. and it's also about saying to the other person that they don't have to perfect, that they don't have to change, that they just need to accept the love?? "light it up for me" to me is like, you are in the dark, and that's ok, just light a light for me and i'll find you because i want to carry the wounds with you. not necessarily fixing or healing the other. just being THERE. "Hug my body even if it hurts, it's okay" accepting to be burned with them. but that also means sharing what YOU have. being vulnerable and hurt with one another. so in the end it's about accepting, like you said, the wounds in ourselves??

"even the dark night doesn't scare me if I'm with you" LIKE. it's about finding people (and it doesn't even have to be LOVE omg it can just be friendship like he doesn't speak about a kiss he talks about a HUG so it's also about finding family/friends that accept you for who you are, and you accepting them in return, opening yourself to them) "Unlike those who run away from you, I'll embrace you" IT'S FOUND FAMILY GUYS.

ANYWAYS i hope that makes sense. as always han jisung making me feel things™️

THANK YOU FOR YELLING ABOUT THIS WITH ME. I APPRECIATE YOU

#( :: ask :: )

[hekkoto]

Grow, dont fear world, raise in sun and dance in the rain You will go through pain and suffering, but few things are worth to live for Yo, Im alive. Kinda. Idk yet what is wrong, I have rheumatologist on Thursday. I take steroids meds, it really helps for my pains, not 100% but is WAY BETTER.. I will probbaly have to make other millions of blood tests and examinations, I gonna look through all my past ones to find anything that can be useful. Im really tired for most of time but I was able to spend some time with friends and that was really great I dont know how this all will go but on the other hand, I feel more confident knowing I have my husband, with him its way easier. Im super grateful for all the support I got from you, you are amazing <3 I really started enjoying spending time with friends, I always liked them but now I feel so amazing, tired when its over but I noticed I value our 'parties' a lot. I wanna go back to my 'normal' life, I will slowly try to start doing daily stuff like clean my home as we live in awful filth. I need to buy new cutting desk as one of ours started to mold and I was unable to do anything with this >XD I wanna go back to drawing and creating but Im kinda scared... I wasnt doing it in a long time, pain was too awful to do anything and Im scared I wont be able to show what I feel, what I have in heart. I also wasnt posting almost at all, Im sure my socials kinda died cause of this but I want to go back to posting, even if only few people will see it, I wanna leave something after me in web so people might find this out and enjoy my little abyss of insanity. I hope soon I will be posting more and will back with more usual content ;) Thank you a lot for being here <3 I love ya guys, see ya soon! wanna support my evil dark empire? Im accepting souls on Patreon and Ko-fi! -> Hekkoto Huge thanks to all of my Patrons and people who donate 🖤

#flowerphoto #flowerphotography #photo #photography #macrophotography #macrophoto #aesthetic #beautifulphoto #nature #naturephoto #photographer #polishartist #polishart #polishphotographer #cutephoto #witchy #witchyart #witchyvibes #witchyphotography #edgy #flowerflower #darkart #horrors #art #hekkoto

[turing-tested]

it feels like ive been locked in a cage my whole life and everytime ive left the cage something incredibly bad has happened to me and i have lost something and it was enforced to me that i get very badly hurt anytime i escape and my loved ones look at me and theyre nice about it but theyre like

"well, what are your plans for the future?" i dont know im locked in a cage "you live life at an incredibly slow pace" yes i am locked in a cage i dont have the ability to think about where id like to be and in my mind theyre tired. theyre tired of me being in here. theyre tired of seeing me go no where and they have places to be that aren't in a cage and lives to live and plan for. and i have to accept that other people are going to get tired of it. that they're not required to be friends with me or hold my hands through the bars of the cage. that its depressing. that its not enough. that im not enough. that im not going anywhere because i dont know how. and i get asked to leave it. i get asked when im leaving it. im expected to leave it, im expected to open the door and leave. that the responsibilities and the issues i have that keep me inside are just that, just "things" that if i could just heal away or ignore that i would be able to leave. that my continued involvement in their life has to be without the cage. and what hurts, i think, is the shame. you can argue and tell me that its not my fault that i live in it, that bad things have happened to me, but ultimately, its the fact that im still here that causes me shame. i consider every day that i still am inside it a failure. i consider the fact that it will be someones fault when the ones i love need to be somewhere, with other people, who are not trapped, and that it will be mine. because i haven't left. because i am terrified of the people around me doing what they are entitled and allowed to, because if i could just fucking step outside it and just explore the world outside of it, if i could just put matter over mind, if i could just progress in therapy if i could just leave my mom if i could just accept my problems if i could just have enough self esteem security patience peace comfort drive willingness concentration confidence it just makes me nauseous. the idea of saying that i am in a cage and i dont know how to leave is wrong. people dont like hearing that. people dont like the idea that you dont have a plan. people dont like hearing that you just cant force yourself out. people start wondering if youre holding them back. they start wondering if its worth it to be attached to someone who lives in a cage. they start being upset with you that you haven't left. that you haven't dissolved it. that youre not better. it hurts, i think, living in the cage. it hurts to live in it and know its wrong. it hurts when knowing its wrong turns into shame because you continue to still live in it. you know that it shouldnt be happening and the fact that you dont stop it hurts. it just hurts. its not enough to just be trapped. theres a certain kind of pain that comes from the understanding that youre not supposed to be in it and that its reasonable others cannot persist to stay by you while youre in it hurts. it just hurts. it hurts to know something is so, deeply wrong. it hurts knowing that you feeling unable to leave it is wrong. it just hurts.

#ok to comment on #support appreciated ig

[thisdreamplace]

ashamed to say the 3D reflects our true inner reality, yes? my ENTIRE family has turned against me, after some atrocious conflicts in which they all ganged up on me nd judged me, name-calling, very hurtful things too, provoked me. i been dealing with some serious mental uh 'issues' on my own nd when this happend i was already on the verge of a breakdown nd the good news is while the conflict happened i kept telling myself theyre only reflecting me u can get thru it etc. Later i looked at the hard facts nd realised some of the hurtful things they said were my deep secret feelings abt myself. BUT my question is why the HELL cant they talk to me like normal people? confronting one person vs whole family, why?! i felt so small nd like an object, nd not a single person defended me. am i not a part of the family?

Part 2 is simply its been a week and theyve still been cold towards me as if I yelled AT THEM ABT THEIR PAINFUL 'tRuThS' in front of EVERYONE LMAOOO. At first if i was around we'd have dinner together while they'd all talk to each other like best friends aka sickeningly overly friendly while completely IGNORING me while i sat there. i could tolerate it. I WAS PISSED AT THEM TOO Now its too painful. They're having dinner without telling me, yesterday didnt leave enough food for me knowing i hadnt eaten, serve tea/snacks without my portion. i honestly feel so unspeakably trigered nd sad. worst is these things r reminding me of deep school memories when id feel excluded like this by other kids at parties or class activities nd its like im back there. anyway im glad i controled myself a bit nd didnt counter with horrid things abt them to THEM yet they think they can say the same to me. im so hurt rn i cant even tell u lol i was okay the whole week but now its too much,, ive been crying the whole day

thing is, ik this seems like 'im a victim oh noooo they ganged up on meee'. Nope its more like how do i change myself to change them?! u could say why not talk to them how they made u feel, except whenever ive defended myself in the past regarding hurtful things they/anyone in family did, the siblings/parents would say irritating things like: "oh so YOU'RE the one hurt? Oh thats right, its because YOU'RE right! yes, yes, you're always right. Forgive me for saying anything against the perfect person u are." Or one of them says: "You?! I hurt YOU? What about me? You don't care about me! So you think what ur doing is okay?" or "no, who do YOU think u are to tell ME what to do?" it just goes in circles like this! i dont deserve to hurt myself or do smth to myself even if they dont give a damn, even if years of silent suffering of the 'mEntAL pRoBlEms' (which my lovely parents have already told me is my fault years ago, hence why I NEVER show it to them, unless im crying too much then lol they just mock me, but idc abt THAT bcoz now ik i hav a right to let out my emotions)). i mean this is worse rjan usual. its kinda insane nd when guests come they start talking to me as if nothing's wrong then when they leave, they ignore me!

this whole twisted dynamics, feelijf left out nd helpless is ig some crazy assumptin from childhood of being alone nd unable to defend myself. plus when they argye with anyone, they become overly self-righteous nd over the years its clear they can only scream, blame the scapegoat and never talk abt serious matter like normal ppl. And yes, in the past when i bring this up, they like to reply with stuff like: "no YOU'RE the one who doesnt talk to US bla bla" like, when i do u just shut me down? have belittled my mental 'issues', mocked me when im at my worst, stabbed me with cruel silent treatments nd thinking its alright "bcoz of self-righteousness blegh". Or maybe i think its okay for them to punish me? or whatev? Like law says u get what u r. if these ~~~ keep doing this to me, im doubly ashamed to say this means im the one at fault?! i let this monster assunptin grow nd now idk what to do. the worst thing imo is how i failed to tell them,even if they ignored me in the past, how i feel when anything like this or a conflict happens nd none of them stand up for me, or at least are neutral to me. bcoz now if i do, they say nope, u dont care what we do, YOUR the shameless one :! so yeah they hav the advantage of 'numbwrs' while im too afraid to stand up for myself lol. btw they never apologize nd i suspect they expect ME to apologize to TYEM bcoz everything's already ruined bcoz of 'me'..... i give up on them, i really do, but my heart hurts. Either i harden my heart, nd save up to move out, OR i try to change my self or whatev assumptins i have. But how do i do that? i try afirming: "my familys so nice to me, im respected by them" but it feels so fake tears literally enter my eyes lol

firstly i want to say, thank you for coming here to vent and being open about your feelings. it’s so important sometimes to just let it all out, without holding back. so that way you can move forward more bravely, to create the life you truly want to experience. that being said, i am going to be completely honest with you here in hopes that perhaps it may inspire you and you will be ready to do what is needed for the life you truly want to experience.

“BUT my question is why the HELL cant they talk to me like normal people?” -> “i felt so small nd like an object, nd not a single person defended me. am i not a part of the family?” here is your question, and here is your answer. i think that being completely honest when venting your feelings can actually be so helpful, because if you read back what you have said, you will be able to clearly find the patterns that are creating your personal hell. FEELING IS THE SECRET. ASSUMPTIONS HARDEN INTO FACT. the true way you feel, becomes your experience. Feelings/assumptions/beliefs come first, and the experiences come second to confirm them. That’s all that’s happening here.

i am glad that you were able to keep your reactions to a minimum! that's wonderful and as many of us know, it can sometimes be hard to do in such hurtful circumstances. but you managed to do it, this shows just a small glimpse of the power you truly hold within. although emotionally you may feel out of control, there is still the choice to choose better for yourself which you demonstrated through your reaction to them. good for you!

the truth is, you acknowledge the victim mindset to seem like you’re not engulfed in it, but no, you’re still very clearly engulfed in it. as i have said before, you can’t be a VICTOR and feel bad about it. feeling bad about taking responsibility, about everyone is you pushed out, about any of these types of concepts automatically shows a victim mindset. talking to them won’t do anything, because there are no second causes. you could talk to them nicely, you could be the nicest person in the world. but you can’t pretend your way out of your inner world. your inner world is the one and only cause of your experiences. until you change the story you tell yourself, they will stay the same. this is a hard pill to swallow sometimes. and it can feel heavily, because it’s ultimately only you’re choice. they can’t change until you do. the heaviness of the situation may make it seem impossible to turn around, but that’s just an illusion. your emotional attachment to the situation makes it seem so real and hard to change, but no. that’s just an illusion too. however, it’s ultimately your choice. Do you want to take responsibility for your life, or do you want to keep being tossed around like your lost at sea, victim to the merciless angry waves? Because we always have a choice. No one chooses your inner world, you do. No one can go into your mind and decide things for you, that’s only your job.

you can harden your heart, but who would be the one who suffers more? It won’t be your family, i can assure you. it’ll only be you. by doing that, you keep that old story alive and therefore you keep experiencing it. you keep those stories alive that are desperately showing themselves to you, saying “LET US GO.” but you remain identified with those painful stories, so you grip onto them tight. you keep on thinking of possible reasons for their behavior, but you could just read your entire ask back to yourself and you’ll see every reason. your reactions, your beliefs about them, your emotional pain. its your refusal to let those things go, and focus on what you truly want that keeps you in this state and keeps them in this state. sure it’s painful to face the responsibility at first, but it’s not a blame game. thinking its about blame is just a misunderstanding of the teachings. it’s not about they’re so perfect and you’re so not, so you have to change your ways. it’s about this is how life works here. this is about... you can ONLY ever experience self. whatever is going on within, will be reflected in your outer world. it’s about how they can’t change, UNTIL YOU DO. so instead of feeling sorry for yourself, you have to decide to give yourself the gift of a wonderful life because you have that power too. you stop deciding they can be in control of your experience, and you decide your experience yourself.

to change your assumptions, stop trying to affirm over them and actually face what’s keeping you from believing in your desires. yeah, it’s going to be painful and uncomfortable. but you need to face the pain that you’re running away from, so that it can finally be released. you have to realize, it only stayed true because you believed it to be true. and if you are to live a life free from that story, and experience a more desirable story, then you must let the pain go. give yourself love and grace as you work through it, and know that there is a more beautiful side of life that awaits for you to accept it in.

No One To Change But Self

There is Nothing to Forgive

How to Sit with Your Triggers

give yourself the time you need, it's not race. the love that you wish to experience exists, allow it in. 💖

#eiypo

[kpop-s-akura]

Back to You | Chapter One

Pairing: Lee Suho x OC

Genre: fluff, angst, romance, comedy

Warning(s): strong language, mentions of violence (nothing too bad since I suck at writing), smoking, slight sexual harassment

Word Count: 6.6k

(Gif is not mine; credits to rightful owner)

"This is stupid and unnecessary."

"You're stupid and unnecessary!"

"Real mature, Junie."

"You just said that meeting my friends is 'stupid and unnecessary', what did you expect?"

Chaewon rolled her eyes, very well knowing that the boy had a point, but still unable shake to her nerves.

Meeting new people has never really been in the girl's forte; no matter how confident she seemed in a crowd, "properly" meeting new people turned her into an entire new shade of shy and introverted.

And the fact that these specific people were important to one of the most important people in her life, didn't make her or her anxiety fare any better.

Seojun noticed and stopped to turn to her.

"Don't be so nervous. These guys are really nice, you'll be fine."

Chaewon nodded, still unsure, but followed his lead up the staircase that led to Suho's house, one Seojun's friends she was meeting.

Seojun spoke in a soft and comforting voice, "I really think you'll like them, Chaewon-ah."

She smiled.

❀❀❀

"You're an idiot!"

"Shut up! You're the idiot!"

"I'm not the one who messed with Yongpa High thugs and got them to chase us right now!"

It would be an understatement to say that Han Chaewon was pissed when her post-noraebong bliss with her brother was very quickly squashed afterwards when the two siblings were approached by delinquents from Yongpa High.

Though to be fair, the siblings themselves were both kind of delinquents themselves; but the girl's anger was more directed towards her twin brother, Han Seojun, rather than their chasers for her current mood.

"Well-!"

"Just shut up and get on the damn bike!" Chaewon ordered as she did so herself as well as securing her helmet.

"Yah! I'm older than you, don't tell me what to do." But despite the elder's words, he put on his helmet and sped off alongside his sister on their motorcycles.

With Lee Seongyong right on their tail.

Chaewon led her and her brother through various roads and alleyways, knowing this part of town like the back of her hand; Seojun riding just a couple feet behind her, trusting that the younger would get them out of the mess he created for them. She always did.

It seemed like an endless cycle between the two: Chaewon getting Seojun out of trouble while causing chaos herself and leaving him to clean it up and vice versa.

They were quite the chaotic neutral duo, if you would.

And the majority of the time for them, it was fun. Even the slight life-risking aspect of it; although "life-risking" could be a bit of an exaggeration.

It was fun as long as you weren't alone, and Chaewon always managed to snag a sibling or friend (not that she had many of either) and rope them into being her partner in crime.

But as much as she enjoyed the trouble-maker lifestyle, she thinks of it's disgraces. She thinks of Seyeon.

Seyeon and how much he disapproved of her trouble-making since she was much more frequent in doing so compared to her twin counterpart.

Even when he would (un)willingly take part in his friend's mischievous shenanigans, it was something he loved about her. Something he loved about all of them.

Chaewon was aware of this, but what would he think of the current me? She would constantly ask herself questions like these; though the "he" could be any of the three boys that were constantly on her mind.

The thing is, she already knew the answer. It saddened her to think of it, but what else could she do?

"Chaewon!"

She briefly looked back at her brother, wondering what that was about, before realising what he was warning: a girl was straight ahead, and she was about to hit her.

The unknown girl braced for impact while the twins jerkily swerved to each side of the obstacle.

Avoiding her, but not avoiding falling on the ground along with their bikes.

"Shit..." They cursed simultaneously.

The girl recovered from her shock and went to go apologise to them.

"Excuse me, are you two okay? What should I do?" She muttered the last part to herself. "Are either of you hurt?" Seojun irately pulled off his helmet, shaking his hair out while breathing heavily and glared at the woman who stood behind him.

Hearing a moan of pain from Chaewon, still lying on the ground, he rushed over to her and pulled off her helmet as well.

"Chae-ah, are you okay?" Seojun searched for any injuries, spotting g several messy scratches and gashes on her legs.

"I'm fine." The girl grumbled. Seojun lightly brushed over the bleeding wounds, causing her to wince and smack his hand away.

"Sorry..." He said half-heartedly. Seojun could never handle seeing someone he loved in any sort of pain or hurt in any way.

Still somewhat blinding with anger, Seojun carefully helped his twin up before angrily walking towards the worried and now scared Im Jugyeong.

"Yah!" But before the temperamental boy could chew her out, he spotted the group of motorcycles after them and quickly dropped his and Chaewon's helmets to the ground.

He took his sister's hand as they ran away, not realising that they had left Chaewon's fallen sword hair sticks on the ground.

She was struggling to keep up with him, but her adrenaline was going full force and it soon felt like there was never an injury in the first place.

She wouldn't let him carry her, knowing it would just slow them down even more.

They got to a certain point where they decided to split up, Seojun going left and Chaewon going left. A bit of a last ditch effort.

But as some of Seongyong's boys gained on her, Chaewon realized she couldn't run from them forever with her injured legs. So she stopped, putting her hands up and feigning surrender.

The boys caught up with her and grabbed at her shoulders, only for Chaewon to grab one of their wrists and flip them over her shoulder.

She turned to the other guy and back kicked his chest, causing him to take a tumble backwards and onto the ground. Chaewon started walking over to finish him off, not noticing that the first guy was up again.

He kicked her square in the back, causing her to fall onto her injured knees with a pained yelp.

She squeaked slightly when the second boy stepped on her back to push her fully onto the floor, putting more and more pressure every second.

"Not so tough now huh, princess?" One of them taunted before they both grabbed her arms and did their best to keep her under control. The boys brought her to the rest of the group where Lee Seongyong had Seojun cornered.

"Look what we found, boss."

Seojun's eyes went wide at his sister's slightly beat state as Seongyong turned to his underlings and smugly smirked at the captive girl.

"Well, well, well. I thought it was weird when the Han Twins weren't together."

"She put up a bit of a fight."

"I'd expect nothing less." The head gangster (if you could even call him that) chuckled to himself and lifted Chaewon's chin up with his index and middle finger. Seojun growled lowly as he started towards the two but was almost immediately stopped by two boys "guarding" him.

"Such a pretty thing," the slimy boy said, trailing a finger to a loose strand of hair, "perhaps you can be accepted as payment." He brushed it out of the way, only for Chaewon to savagely bite at his finger, Seongyong only just pulling away in time. Seojun chuckled at his reacted while shaking his head.

"You're a delusional bastard to think for even a second that Seojun would agree and that I would allow that." Chaewon narrowed her eyes and glared at the still slightly shaken boy. But nonetheless he went back to being smug.

He walked back over to the male twin while cracking his knuckled. "Well then I guess I'll have to find another way to get even with your brother." Chaewon gasped as Seongyong punched Seojun in the stomach, causing him to fold over.

"Oppa!" She rarely used the term "hyung" or "oppa", but when she did, it was usually blurted out on accident or during a time of distress.

"Hey, when I think about how, because of you," She screamed again when Seongyong kneed him in his stomach, bringing him to his knees. She could feel the pain of her twin almost vividly, she wanted wanted to throw up at it. "I have no money left, I just..."

He brought the boy back up by his jacket.

"Hey. You didn't come out that day intentionally to backstab us, right?" All Seojun did was scoff with a mocking smile. "Did you think we wouldn't do anything if you ignored and avoided us?" Seongyong went in to land another punch, but only ended up hitting air as his target shifted slightly over.

"Don't hit the face." Chaewon mimicked her brother's reaction from earlier in chuckling while shaking her head.

The teenage bullies just started to scoff in disbelief at the boy's brazenness.

"Yes, you avoided it. Okay, you're dead today." Just as Seongyong placed his hand on Seojun's shoulder with his other fist poised for another punch, the sound of a siren alerted the group: causing Chaewon to stop her struggling.

"Hey, the cops are here."

"Let's go quickly!"

Chaewon shook off the boys that held her hostage before straightening out her clothes.

Lee Seongyong however was hesitant before finally letting go.

"We'll meet again, Han Seojun."

As soon as the boys ran off, Chaewon ran up to her brother and practically jumped into his arms with a hug to the best of her abilities. Seojun returned the affection, whispering sweet nothings into her hair and assuring that they were okay now.

"Are you okay? Does anything seriously hurt?" Seojun smiled at the girl's concern for him and just opted for kissing her forehead.

"I'll survive. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" Chaewon smiled back and shook her head.

"I'll survive."

Im Jugyeong, who had turned on the siren, came out of her hiding place and stared in the direction of where the group of boys ran off.

She slowly backed up with Seojun's helmet in one arm and Chaewon's hair sticks in the other hand, gasping when she distractedly bumped into said boy's solid chest with said girl beside him. The two were staring down at the bewildered girl.

She turned around and became even more intimidated by the twins' height. Although Chaewon wasn't much taller than her, Jugyeong being 5'7 and the other girl standing at a strong 5'9, her stare was enough to make her quiver.

"What's with you?" Seojun said with a blank look on his face.

"Uh, about that... Oh, there!" She pointed at a space between the twins who did nothing but turn their heads slightly at her finger in synchronisation before rolling their eyes.

"What are you doing?" Chaewon said with the same bored look on her brother.

Jugyeong bit her lip, realising she was pretty much screwed before turning to run away, almost falling on her face.

Chaewon caught her by her backpack and brought her back up, causing the girl to slam into her surprisingly also firm figure. Jugyeong slowly turned to look at her.

Chaewon tilted her head. "What do you think you're looking at?"

There was a slight silence before Seojun spoke up, "Run."

The girl seemingly snapped back into reality, running away. "Oh, oh, bye!" She ran away screaming.

"Saebom High School?" The twins pondered in unison.

"What an odd girl..." Chaewon wondered as Seojun scoffed at the interaction. She brushed her hair out of her face and ruffled it when she realized something.

"My hair sticks..."

Seojun stopped as well.

"My helmet!" They looked at the fleeing figure of the girl realizing she possessed their personal items.

"Hey!" But she was pretty much long gone.

"Aish..." He cursed.

"Want me to go get them?" Chaewon offered, ready to go sprint for her and her brother's possessions. They were both of fairly high emotional importance.

"No, you're injured. No more running for you." She rolled her eyes, but conceded.

"Let's go home; Gowoon is probably worried about us." Chaewon patted Seojun's shoulder, he looked at his sister and nodded before they started on their way back to where they left their bikes, the girl relenting in letting her brother carry her via piggyback ride.

❀❀❀

"Gowoon-ah! We're home!" Chaewon called out into the mostly empty house.

"Hey! How was noraebong?" Gowoon was sitting at their kitchen table with her schoolwork spread out.

"Good! Until Seojun was an idiot..." Said idiot glared at her.

"When is he not an idiot?"

"Yah!"

Chaewon laughed and placed her bag on an empty space on the table when Gowoon noticed her wounds.

"What happened to you?!" Chaewon looked down, she nearly forgot about her messed up legs.

"Consequences of Seojun's idiocy and a little bit of my own." She vaguely said before taking a seat next to her younger sister.

"Need help with anything?"

"Nah, I'm good. But you should clean those up and get some sleep."

"Eh. I'll pass." Chaewon winked with a smirk before getting up.

She's gotten into enough trouble and enough accidents that she's gained quite some knowledge about injuries and how to treat them.

"Imma patch myself up a little and then go out."

After cleaning and bandaging her plethora of scratches on both of her legs, wiping off the little makeup she had on, and changing her clothes, she grabbed her bag and made for the door.

"See you later!" She called out to the other two, though Seojun was probably asleep; that being a major reason as to how Chaewon was allowed out of the house at that moment.

Seojun trusts Chaewon to handle herself, but with everything that had happened earlier that night, his big twin brother instincts were skyrocketing; they have him either keep his counterpart in the house after a certain time, or demand he go with her.

"Be safe and don't get into too much trouble!" Gowoon cautioned.

"I make no promises on either of those things!"

❀❀❀

Having decided to take a nice walk instead of rising her motorcycle, Chaewon entered Prince Comics; a place that she's called her safe haven since...

Anyways, the atmosphere of the comfy bookstore had helped her more than she though it would.

She'd spend most of her free days there whenever she just needed a break.

She rarely actually ever read the books, only when she was really bored but not tired enough to nap-- so she just took cat naps.

2-3 hour long cat naps.

The Ahjussi didn't mind though, he liked the company and personality of the young girl. He even put a bean bag, pillow, and blanket especially for Chaewon. He was always happy to see her enjoy it.

Like right now, Chaewon nestled her head further into the bean bag; setting aside the blanket and pillow since she had since changed into short sporty shorts, tucking her exposed and bandaged legs into the warmth of her oversized hoodie.

Lee Suho entered the area with couches and chairs that were bathed in the light yellow-orange light, taking in the place he hadn't come to in awhile.

As he was about to go search for his desired book, he noticed a small, curled-up figure to his right-- face covered by their hood.

He turned to the body, studying it for a second. His eyes roamed over the person before spotting sliver of a certain tattoo on their ankle-- a tattoo he knew all too well.

It was of a key.

"Chaewon...?" He whispered in disbelief. The girl opened her eyes at the all too familiar voice.

Though Chaewon has always been a heavy sleeper, there was one voice that always seemed to get her up and moving besides her brother's.

"Suho?" She said in a similar tone to his. He froze.

God how he missed his name coming from her lips, only she could have that effect on him.

They tried to keep their eyes from checking the other out (in a non-sexual way. sort of.), though their voices and facial expressions already gave away their shock.

It's been so long since she's seen Suho. She noticed how he seemed to get even more handsome, if that was even possible.

But there was something else. Something obvious. But at the same time, Chaewon couldn't quite put her finger on it. Or maybe she didn't want to.

Because this new thing about the boy before her wasn't something good.

She wasn't a fan. Then again, she wasn't a fan of Suho in general.

"What are you doing here?" He asked in a monotone voice while holding a cold façade, Chaewon decided to do the same.

Her expression hardened and became slightly agitated. "Well I was taking a nap before someone so rudely interrupted me." She began stretching out her limbs like a cat, getting prepared to get the hell out of there.

"This is a comic store to read, not a motel to sleep in." He scolded.

"What's it to you where I sleep?" She snipped getting up. The boy slightly blushed at the double-meaning of her words while the girl hadn't cared to notice.

Her new position had exposed her injuries, Suho's eyes notably widening at the sight before quickly going back to indifference.

"What happened to you?"

Chaewon scoffed.

"Since when do you care about me or my wellbeing?"

"Well it's kind of hard to miss all of that." He gestured to her legs. "It doesn't mean I care about you."

Ouch.

The girl just scoffed again and rolled her eyes for what seemed to be the billionth time that night before going to leave.

She didn't need this, not after the day she had.

But she was suddenly pulled back by her hood and stood in front of a puzzled Suho once again.

"The hell?!" She brushed his hand off her hoodie. There was a jolt of electricity when their skin met, though neither addressed it and settled for just staring (glaring) at each other.

This went on for another minute or two when the Ahjussi came back from his bathroom break and went to see if Suho had gotten his book or not.

"Yah, Lee Suho. Did you get the-" He stopped short, noticing the position of the two and their tension.

"Am I interrupting something?" Suho and Chaewon looked at the owner, stepping apart after noticing how close they had gotten. Chaewon cleared her throat before bowing to the Ahjussi, thanking him for letting her stay as always, and then scurrying out of the store.

"Is Chaewon-ie okay?" Suho couldn't bring himself to answer.

He just stood there as he replayed their interaction in his head; wondering what the hell just happened.

❀❀❀

"Motorcycles! Motorcycles!" The friend group turned around to see two motorcycles heading right towards them, jumping away just in time.

The twins continued to clear a path for themselves, parking in the designated area for bikes.

The bustling students continued to stare and chatter amongst themselves in awe and shock.

Chaewon and Seojun took off their helmets, shaking their hair out while doing so.

She tugged and tightened her high ponytail as he brushed his fingers through his hair a couple of times.

When they got off their bikes, Jugyeong froze, recognising the two siblings from the other night.

"They're..." The memories replayed in her head as if they were on tape. "They're from out school?" The girl couldn't believe the unbelievable coincidence.

"The Han Twins are back," Sua remarked.

"Why are they here?" Sujin rhetorically asked, Taehoon echoing her. The group watched as Seojun and Chaewon started to walk to the school's entrance; the elder's arm around the younger's neck.

"The Han Twins?"

"Like how there are the Bermuda Triangle in the Atlantic and black holes in the universe," Sua began, "there are three charming students at our school, whom if you fall for once, you can never exit and get out: The chic, cold beauty God Lee Suho; the rough, wild horse God Seojun; and the dangerous, seductive Goddess Chaewon. Just like deciding between three of your favourite foods is so mind blowingly hard, they're the three ethereal beings at Saebom High School. They're the three top ones!"

Jugyeong's eyes comically widened upon hearing Chaewon's description.

Dangerous? She wanted to facepalm herself for already making an enemy out of a girl who was known to be not-so-friendly.

Meanwhile, the Han duo and Lee Suho had finally come to a stand-still at the front of the building, the two boys looking at each other intensely.

Although Chaewon was able to keep her poker face upon seeing Suho, she kept looking everywhere but him.

She didn't know if the feeling she was getting in her stomach from seeing him again were butterflies or knives.

"Forget the top three nonsense, I hate them. Though I can't really say too much for Chaewon since she can be more enigmatic than Lee Suho or her brother at times. And yet they're still the heartthrobs of Saebom boys and girls alike."

Despite the tension between the three being completely visible to anybody and everybody, the students kept chattering away, loving how this was going.

"The Han Twins returned!"

"They'll get into a fight again."

"Oo, it's already so loud!"

"I love it!"

But as Jugyeong and the group started getting nearer towards the three, she could see how they didn't really seem like friends.

"What's with them? They don't get along?" She asked, turning her head towards Sua.

"They used to be best friends, but they somehow fell apart. When they meet, the atmosphere gets so cold. It's especially weird since everybody thought that Suho and Chaewon were together during that time since they acted much closer than the other." Jugyeong was shocked, trying to process and imagine the two together.

In her mind, they fit pretty well look-wise and personality-wise.

Suho saw how Chaewon's eyes could never quite meet his own and kept his eyes on her.

Seojun took notice of this and roughly brought her closer into his side and raised an eyebrow at the boy who had since then turned his attention back to him. Chaewon's eyes traveled to the ground while Seojun turned his head and scoffed before eying his nemesis once again.

"So annoying."

Chaewon, wanting to escape from the situation, started tugging at her brother's hand that was still hanging off of her shoulder. "Let's go, Jun." Seojun kept his eyes on Suho for another second or two before complying with his sister's wishes.

The frozen exterior of Suho's heart cracked a bit as Chaewon's expressions burned and lingered in his mind, watching the siblings walk off.

The girl in question fighting the urge to look back at him.

❀❀❀

"Hello!" The teacher greeted the class who greeted him back while walking into the room with Seojun and Chaewon in tow.

Suho slightly perked up as they went up to the front of the room, both with their heads held high and looking bored as ever.

This time it seems, Chaewon had no problem in locking gazes with Suho before looking over the class again.

"Alright, Seojun and Chaewon are back now. Good to see them, right?" The class answered back 'yes' before giving a round of applause as instructed by the teacher.

"Bravo!" Cheers kept ringing throughout the classroom, Seojun looking off to the side in faux embarrassment while Chaewon just kept a blank and cold face, intimidating some of the students into silence.

"One of you can sit next to Suho—" The twins looked at each other in alarm, though not particularly showing it.

"What?"

"What now?"

They looked at the teacher.

All eyes were either on Suho, who just looked straight ahead, or the twins, one sighing before walking to where Jugyeong was sitting.

Chaewon watched him kick the leg of the desk, startling the girl.

"Yah. You go."

Jugyeong was just as bewildered as when they first met, only being able to point at herself and ask, "Me?" in a meek voice.

"This was originally my sister's spot." That alone was almost enough for Jugyeong to jump out of the seat, not wanting to test the girl's 'dangerous' reputation.

"Oh, Jugyeong has weak eyes, so she's sitting there." The teacher explained, causing Chaewon to quietly scoff and mumble to herself, "'Weak eyes' my ass..."

Though the teacher had heard her, he elected to ignore it before asking Taehoon to move.

"Taehoon. Our handsome Taehoon, can you switch spots?" The boy, of course, readily and excitedly accepted; the class laughing from his antics.

But before he could get up and walk to his newly appointed spot, he noticed that Seojun had still not moved from his place near Jugyeong's seat.

Chaewon walked up to Seojun, noticing that he was about to refute his senior and demand that she have her seat back.

But she was tired and didn't feel that it was necessary; even if it meant having to sit next to Lee Suho, it was better her than her twin.

She nudged him, getting his attention before nodding to the seat in the corner of the class, "It's fine, Jun."

The seat she motioned to was perfect for napping and not paying attention, she really knew how he was in school. But that didn't matter to Seojun if his sister had to sit next to his rival. He started mumbling about how her sitting next to said rival wasn't happening, but Chaewon was persistent in her glares, slightly pinching him and making the boy wince as he felt her sharp, ruby-red stiletto nails.

He conceded, but not before throwing a sharp and dangerous look at Suho, though the boy wasn't phased.

The twins split ways; Seojun going to his new seat in the back, Chaewon taking the one next to Suho's with Taehoon two spots behind her.

She felt Suho's gaze burn into the side of her face, but paid no mind and rested her head on the desk as her brother was doing for a nap.

Not even 5 minutes later, the sound of a door slamming open caused Chaewon to wake up, looking to the side instinctively. She didn't quite know how to feel when she didn't see Suho there, but quickly turned her attention back to the source of the sound that disturbed her sleep.

A group of boy entered the room, crowding around Seojun who still had his head on the desk.

"Yah, Han Seojun. If you and your sister returned, at least one of you should've shown your face and said hi." Chaewon suddenly stood up from her desk, the object making a horrible screeching sound that had all eyes on her. Seojun banged his fist on the desk before doing the same, exchanging looks with his sister once he felt her presence beside him.

The siblings had a stare off with the taller boy, causing the students to tense up.

This continued outside the school, Seojun and Chaewon standing a couple feet in front of the group of boys when the big one spoke.

"Hey, brother. Today's such great weather for you to die." Seojun rolled his eyes.

"Are you guys a girl group or something?" He scoffed.

"Seriously. Why are you standing like that?" Chaewon questioned, but the boys just sneered and chuckled mockingly among themselves.

"Why? Are you going to hit us? Okay, come in. Come here!" They all got into fighting stances.

"Yah, Kim Chorong!" Seojun's voice boomed, the two stepping up to the boys intimidatingly before he spoke up in a mock bravado tone.

"Your joke was a bit too much." That's what did it for all of them. Everyone started laughing, Chaewon even turning to her brother and playfully punching him before mocking his words.

"Hey, great acting for a pair of trainees." Chaewon playfully rolled her eyes at the boy while smirking.

"Ex-trainees, thank you very much." Chorong just stuck his tongue out at her to which she did the same.

"This is so childish." Seojun said, feigning irritation, "How much longer do I have to play around?"

"Yah, brother!… it's honestly fun, you know?” Chaewon started to laugh harder at the sound of their joy and the sight of seeing her brother teased further.

“Have you guys been well?” She asked.

“Yeah.”

“Woah!” Seojun suddenly exclaimed. “Kim Chorong, I think you gained more weight. Did you bulk up?” The victim of the taunting was staring at the taunter with incredulity while the rest started to crack up again. Chaewon rolled her eyes and shoved her brother’s shoulder, going to wrap her arms around the bigger boy.

“Yah! Leave him alone, Junie.” She pouted.

“Thank you, Chaewon! And for your information, I lost 10 kilograms!” Chaewon giggled at the banter as one of the boys commented that he could see the muscles.

Chorong turned to look down at the girl who was still clinging to his side.

“If your mother better?” He asked. She smiled fondly at her friend’s concern and nodded her head.

“She’s a lot better. Thanks, Chocho.” The two exchanged eye-smiles as the rest let out relieved sighs.

“What a relief. I’m sorry I couldn’t make a munsang.” Chorong said, turning back towards the other twin.

“Yah, what do you mean by munsang, you fool?” Seojun scolded. “It should be munbyeong.”

“Hey, hey, hey.”

“Smart!”

Chaewon smiled as her brother proudly pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around the girl and resting his head on top of her head, both smirking.

It was good to be back.

❀❀❀

Chaewon decided to break off from the group to get food from the cafeteria, having forgotten money to go to the snack bar.

While in line, she spotted Lee Suho.

He’s so different... She couldn’t help thinking the obvious, but it felt so unsettling for her to see the boy she once thought she knew so well to be so... cold.

But under the circumstances that occured, it was understandable. And she couldn’t be a hypocrite by saying that he was the only one that changed.

Then all of a sudden—

“That girl...” Im Jugyeong had come to the lonely looking boy and gave him a red ginseng juice.

His favorite.

How did she know it was his favorite?

Why did she give it to him?

Why did I care?

Why am I asking all these questions?

“The hell?” Jugyeong walked away as Chaewon started placing food onto he tray.

Later that day while Chaewon was looking for her brother and friends, she saw Suho sitting on a bench looking at his phone with earbuds in, when the girl came up to him again.

This time, she was holding a large bag and took out one of his earbuds before whispering something to him and quickly running off.

Ah, so she’s another one of his fangirls. I should’ve known. Chaewon rolled her eyes, starting to walk again.

Only to stop again, seeing Lee Suho actually get up and seemingly follow the girl.

Chaewon couldn’t contain her curiosity and decided to quietly follow him, ending up at the rooftop.

She stayed by the door and watched their interaction. She almost felt bad for Im Jugyeong, knowing how harsh Suho could be.

It seemed to be worse this time around though since Jugyeong decided to flee from the rooftop, not even noticing her eavesdropper.

“Wahhh, you’ve really changed, Lee Suho.” Chaewon said walking out from her hiding place.

Suho turned to her and looked irritated, but also somewhat guilty and surprised. He didn’t want her to see that.

“Did you follow me or something?”

“Mm-hm.” He was quite surprised by her honesty, but he should’ve seen it coming. “I was quite curious when that girl was so brazen as to do what she did. I had to see what would happen.”

Silence stood between the two for a moment before Suho sighed and brushed past Chaewon and back into the building. She continued forward to the edge of the ledge and placed her hands on it, observing the view and breathing it in before pulling two things from her pockets.

Suho watched from the entrance as the girl took a cigarette from the box and lit it with her lighter.

“You still do that stuff?” He couldn’t help but to ask. He, Seyeon, and Seojun always hated whenever she smoked, even though it was a pretty rare occurence. But it still came to a point where they organized an intervention and her family had almost sent her to rehab. After that, he thought she was sober, or at least got better at hiding her actions, but things change he supposed.

Chaewon didn’t answer, seemingly unbothered by his still being there and instead blowing another puff of smoke.

“Does Seojun know?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your busine-”

“I’m making it my business because I’m not going to stand here and let you ruin your life doing that shit!”

“Oh please, Lee Suho. I’ve done plenty of other stuff that’ll ruin my life, and I’m not going to start giving a fuck just because you say so.” 

Suho internally cringed at the stuff implied by her words. He knew she was reckless and liked trouble, but he didn’t know how bad it might’ve gotten over the time they’ve been apart. 

Seeing and interacting with her now made him question how close they really were back then.

“Besides, as if me dying wouldn’t make you happy.” Chaewon softly spoke, it almost sounded sorrowful; though it still held some hot resentment.

Suho felt his facial expressions go awry.

I wouldn’t be happy. I’d be devastated.

“Maybe I should do it more often. Speed up the process, put us both out of our misery, finally put a smile on that frustratingly, emotionless face of y-”

“Don’t.” He interrupted. Neither noticed how close Suho had gotten while she was talking.

“Don’t say those things.” He whispered.

Chaewon didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to say. And all she could hear was her heartbeat about to break out of her chest.

“Why not? It’s not like you care about me, right...?” Chaewon shakily asked with an almost mocking undertone.

He didn’t say anthing and neither did she.

After about a minute of nothing, Chaewon turned back around to face forward. She closed her eyes, trying to reel her emotions in. Bringing the cigarette back up for another hit, Suho took the death stick from between her lips and threw it onto the ground, putting it out aggressively with his shoe.

She was too shocked to even scold the boy and his actions, seeing how he had seemingly gotten even closer.

Suho stared intensely at the girl. His eyes were full of caring and warmth. Yet at the same time, they were full of cold nothingness. But Chaewon could see under that, she always could; that’s one of the things that made them so compatible. 

She just didn’t know if her senses were trust-worthy or not this time around.

They could always tell how the other actually felt. But times have changed.

They changed.

They weren’t Suho and Chaewon anymore.

They weren’t anything anymore.

❀❀❀

It was the next day during gym.

The students were outside playing dodgeball while Chaewon had her tracksuit jacket wrapped around her waist, exposing her normal clothes, and sat on the sidelines watching her brother play.

She could feel a certain pair of eyes on her every so often as she felt herself do the same, but nobody else seemed to notice it.

“Yes! Han Seojun, out!” Chaewon laughed at the fact her brother was eliminated, especially with it being by the hands of Lee Suho and Yoo Taehoon.

As he walked off to join his sister who was now standing up, the ball from the girls’ side traveled to where the twins were, Seojun stopping it with his foot before Im Jugyeong could grab it.

“Yah. You’ve seen us before, right?” Jugyeong laughed awkwardly as the twins stared down at her.

“What are you saying?” She tried taking the ball only for Seojun to press harder on it.

“You ran off with my helmet and my sister’s hair sticks.” She looked back up at him.

“Did you not?”

Jugyeong’s eyes went to the space beside him and pointed at something, “Oh! Over there!”

“We didn’t fall for that last time either-“ Before he knew it, Seojun was shoved to the side as a ball collided with the back of Chaewon’s head who although wasn’t in any pain, was pretty pissed.

Several noises of shock and disbelief sounded from the boys’ side.

“Chae-ah!” Seojun rushed back to his sister’s side and held onto her. “Are you okay?” Before she could answer, he turned to the culrptiy and glared at him with flaming death and growled, “Aish!”

“S-S-Sor… T-t-t-the class president! It was the class president.” Ahn Hyungyu tried explaining in extreme fear.

Jugyeong stood up with the now free ball. “I’m sorry. I’ll give them both back tomorrow.”

It felt like déjà vu when the girl turned around again about to fall on her face; only this time, no one was gonna help her.

Lee Suho, who was watching the whole thing in silent anger, stalked off, but not before roughly shouldering the boy who accidentally injured Chaewon and stepped over Jugyeong’s sprawled out body.

The show was over and Seojun went to scold Hyungyu who was still apologizing profusely, but Chaewon stayed where she was, staring at the boy who was walking back into the school’s building who wanted nothing more than to ask if she was okay.

❀❀❀

Chaewon, Seojun and the rest of their friends walked down the hallway; some girls and boys passing by whispered in awe and silently fangirled/fanboyed.

The twins walked beside each other and smirked at the attention. It was amusing to say the least.

This continued in an almost slow-motion fashion when all of a sudden—

“Wait.” Seojun dropped down to the floor and started re-tying his shoelaces. Chaewon chuckled and jokingly pushed his shoulder, making him lose his balance and making her laugh even more.

“MOVE!” The group looked forward to see Im Jugyeong running down the hallway with a face full of cake.

Although it was a weird sight, Chaewon stayed where she was and stood in front of the panicked girl.

Jugyeong came to a halt with wide eyes in front of the taller girl who had a questioning look with a perked up eyebrow.

She slightly bowed with a quiet “excuse me, sorry” before running past her and jumping onto Seojun’s back and catapulting herself forward.

“Yah!” Chaewon squatted down onto the floor beside her brother who was now sprawled on the floor. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He gritted looking at the direction of the runaway girl.

But it didn’t stop there; the rest of their class following Im Jugyeong, also in a panic.

Chaewon hurriedly brought Seojun back up to his feet and pushed them both to the wall for safety.

“What the hell is going on?!”

They waited for a couple of seconds to see if anymore people would go stampeding down their way, being relieved when it seemed to be over.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Jun?” Chaewon looked over his body for any injuries.

“I’m fine, Chae. Really.” She smiled at him and linked their arms to start walking.

Then Lee Suho came from the other side of the hallway, the side where they had originally come from and where everyone had gone to.

And he wasn’t alone.

Hiding underneath his jacket was Im Jugyeong, still cake-faced.

The twins had to stop and stare at the unusual scene; neither knowing how to feel at the sight before them.

❀❀❀

🌸A/N: Yay! I can’t believe I finally published this. I’m going to start working on the second chapter as soon as possible. Also, I realize that Yeji is also 5’7, but I looked at the height of the other characters and decided that 5’9 was good. Besides that, please excuse any typos or mistakes. I hope you enjoyed!

BTW: The picture below is Chaewon’s outfit. The white dress shirt part of the uniform is unbuttoned and tied in a croptop way, showing the bralette. I tried finding a good picture of Saebom’s uniform but it was pretty hard so I just cropped Sujin’s. Sorry for it’s pretty low quality😅

#true beauty #cha eunwoo #hwang in yeop #moon ga young #fanfic #kdrama #han seojun #han seojoon #Lee suho #im jugyeong #im jukyung #true beauty fanfic #romance #comedy #angst #fluff #yeji #itzy yeji

[foilfreak]

BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 8

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 Link Below:)

Several days had passed since Salvatore had sought out both his younger sisters, requesting items like jewelry or clothing they’d be willing to part with that Salvatore could gift to Nadine, as a sort of soft and informal introduction to ease the young woman’s mind and prove he meant her no harm.

The plan seems to be going rather well, as far as Salvatore can tell. Nadine found the gifts he’d laid out for her rather easily, and even correctly wondered if the person who lived here had left them for her purposefully. She seemed wary of the items for a time, though she seemed pretty wary of everything in the reservoir at the moment, but eventually she deemed them safe enough to accept, throwing the long white nightgown Salvatore had procured from Donna over her petit azure frame, and strapping the delicate golden locket Alcina had graciously donated around her neck.

Salvatore practically drooled when he first saw Nadine, slightly sheer satin nightgown flowing elegantly in the gentle afternoon breeze and golden chain glittering beautifully against her white speckled, ocean blue skin. She looked like a goddess, a true figure of pure ethereal power and beauty. Even the biting cold of winter wasn’t enough to touch the young woman, shielded and protected by her own glowing radiance.

Despite looking every bit like an other-worldly deity worthy of unending human devotion and worship, Nadine’s face held nothing but fear, anxiety, and loneliness as she aimlessly wandered the seemingly empty docks and windmills surrounding the reservior’s watery interior. An occasional dejected “hello?” still echoes out throughout the reservoir every few hours, growing less and less hopeful with each passing round of silence Salvatore spends hiding away from view.

The disfigured man’s heart twists and stabs in pain every time he cowers away from Nadine’s soft, anxious calls, desperately wanting to comfort the young woman in her moment of confusion and fear, but still so terrified of her inevitable reaction to his appearance that he finds himself unable to do anything but skitter shamefully to his room beneath the surface and try to drown her out with one of his old romance films.

How pitiful.

Salvatore spends much of his time lamenting and pitying himself over his soul crushing loneliness and his intense desire for a love of his own, and yet here he is, taking refuge in an old romance film while he hides himself away from the real woman he could be making his own romance film with, were he not a massive coward and a horrific freak of nature unworthy of anyone’s love and affection, of course. What a cruel irony it is, to have the one thing you want, more than anything else in the world, dangled just inches in front of your face, and yet knowing, before you’ve even tried, that it’ll never be yours.

Salvatore knows that no matter how much of a romance story this whole situation might seem like, Nadine will never be able to love him in the way the gorgeous women in the movies love their tall, dashing, dark-haired lover men. Not only was Salvatore the exact opposite of tall and dashing by literally everyone’s standards, but his patches of dry, greasy dark-hair did little to salvage the violent wreckage that was Salvatore’s whole appearance.

There was absolutely no way Nadine would ever be able to love someone as hideous as Salvatore, so perhaps the best thing to do would be to contact Miranda and inform her that, while he greatly enjoyed his gift, Salvatore didn’t feel he would be able to appreciate her in the way she deserved to be appreciated in all her beauty and wonder, and that perhaps it would be better for Mother Miranda to find better arrangements for her elsewhere.

“I-it’s for the b-best… i-i think… a-after all… Nadine… d-doesn’t want t-to live i-in a d-dingy place… l-like this for… for the r-rest of h-her… l-life… m-much less with… w-with someone l-like me… s-she’d hate th-that… im c-certain” Salvatore laments aloud, dipping his head downward as tears of painful realization and sorrowful acceptance pour down his face like waterfalls of lonely depression, already fully set on contacting Mother Miranda as soon as morning came.

“While it's very kind of you to keep my best interest in mind, I do think I am more than capable of making my own decisions regarding what’s the best place for me, thank you very much” a soft voice responded suddenly, causing Salvatore’s head to whip in the direction the sound was coming from in startled shock. “This place is a little rundown, sure, but the windmills still stand tall and the water is always just the right temperature, so I don’t think this would be the worst place to live, if I had to… so long as I wasn’t alone, at least.”

Even in the dimly lit area located at the end of the hallway, Nadine still looked so gorgeously stunning and elegant. It was incredible how she managed to sound so casual and yet look so ethereal.

In the brief moment before his panic set in, Salvatore couldn’t help but pause and marvel at the spot down the hall where the young woman stood, her gaze locked directly onto him and yet she showed no signs of having seen him. She even went as far as to begin moving about behind the large boards that blocked her from entering the room, clearly trying to get a better look at the room and, more importantly, the person she suspects is in it.

After a surprisingly large jump that launched Nadine all the way up to the ceiling, just narrowly avoiding hitting her head, Salvatore’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open in stupefied shock as the sight of Nadine, moving the way she was at the end of the hallway, brought to Salvatore’s mind a scene from one of his favorite romance films. In the particular scene Salvatore is thinking of, the actress’ character is an aspiring prima ballerina, and she’s having a brief moment of bonding with her fellow ballerina’s after a long, but successful performance. Dressed in a nightgown not too unlike the one Nadine is currently wearing, the ballerina is showing the others how to do other kinds of dance, like polka or Irish step dancing, but by the end of the scene the group of ballerinas are all merely jumping about the room excitedly, laughing and cheering while carelessly throwing themselves into the air, only to land gracefully back on their feet.

While not exactly the same obviously, the resemblance between Nadine and the absolutely stunning ballerina in the movie, in both silhouette and style of movement, was almost uncanny.

Stretched out as high as her short legs would allow, strong and gorgeously defined muscles flexed almost instinctually with every rapid twist, curl, bend, and jump of the young woman’s tiny body. Her lucious silhouette was only aided by the feminine aura of the long, sheer nightgown as it trailed after her with every movement. The delicate satin material caresses the sharp ridges of her muscular back and shoulders with the same tenderness and love as it does the weight of her breasts or the pillowy layer of protection atop her midsection. The lower half of the nightgown, cinched just below the breasts, twisted and jerked in whatever direction was necessary to keep up with the speed at which Nadine was fluttering and jumping about upon the tips of her toes. Her legs were hidden by the ferocious speed of her movements, but Salvatore did not need to see her legs to have some idea of what they were, or perhaps merely could be, capable of.

Whether or not Nadine was actually a ballerina herself, or if Salvatore’s delusions were merely that realistic now, the young woman appeared to move with nothing but effortless grace that hides the raw power and physical strength it takes to float as carelessly and as quickly as the young woman was, clearly growing more and more frustrated the longer her search failed to reveal what she was looking for.

Still paralyzed by the sudden presence of Nadine in his personal space, Salvatore could do nothing but hold his breath and hope that the light at the end of the hall didn’t reach far enough to reveal his presence in the room. The TV was still on, but the movie playing on it had finished running long ago, meaning the only thing being displayed now was a static filled screen that proved someone had been here at some point in time, but thankfully wasn’t a dead giveaway from the start.

“Helloooooooo… I heard someone talking on my way in, so I know that someone is down here. Please… just come out, ok… I won’t hurt you… honestly” the raven haired woman begs softly, her movements slowing a bit to allow more of her air to be used for speaking rather than jumping to look over beams over and over again.

Salvatore’s heart ached at Nadine’s desperate tone, knowing all too well what the mutant woman is going through right now, but trying his best to remain strong, since giving in means dooming this perfect young specimen to a life of bitter misery and unending terror, regardless of the best effort he’d try to put in. Whatever short term gain Nadine could get from being with him would only come back to bleed her dry once Salvatore was sufficiently attached, and therefore unable to allow her to leave once she inevitably decides that she’s had enough of pretending to love a disgusting freak of nature.

Salvatore had never been very good at accurately predicting the outcomes of situations, but he knew for certain that Nadine was in no way deserving of the hellish punishment that living in the reservoir with him would undoubtedly become, if it didn’t start out that way from the beginning, that is. Perhaps the young woman could convince herself to accept her situation and play into his affections as a means of survival for a short time, but based on what he’s heard of Nadine thus far, Salvatore doubts such a strongwilled and dangerous woman would allow herself to play wife and sex slave to anyone for very long. If she didn’t somehow successfully murder him in his sleep within the first 48 hours of her “slavery”, it would only be a matter of time before she finally ran out of patience and unleashed... whatever the hell it was she did back in the labs, upon him.

For a brief moment, Salvatore entertains the question of whether Nadine could potentially be strong enough to take him out with a single hit, as well as whether that thought should be something he finds arousing or not. His thoughts are quickly interrupted however, by the sound of shuffling and grunting, and upon turning his head toward the sudden racket, Salvatore is horrified to see Nadine, just small enough to fit her tiny body between the thin cracks of the boarded up wall, attempting to climb through the barrier, and enter the TV room.

Body shaking and voice beginning to tremble slightly, alongside his already labored breathing, Salvatore unsteadily backed his way further into the room, putting his hands out in front of him as if to try and stop Nadine from entering, though he makes no move to physically eject the invading woman himself, oddly enough.

“N-nooo… p-please… don’t come i-in...” Salvatore stutters helplessly, shrinking further in on himself in fear as the young woman effortlessly slips through the wooden boards like a slippery eel, quickly and easily landing on her feet before turning back to the mostly darkened room.

“H-Hello?” Nadine calls out again nervously, taking a tentative step forward, both hands extended outward beside her until her left hand made contact with the wall. Gaining some purchase on the vertical slabs of wood, Nadine slowly turns her head to look about the room, carefully inspecting everything from atop the surface of Salvatore’s messy desk, to the very dark corner in the back right of the room that Salvatore himself was currently shoved as far into as physically possible.

Nadine stuck her arm out in front of her and began slowly walking toward the opposite wall, eyes open, but unfocused, and right hand waving aimlessly in the air for a brief moment, as though trying to feel around for the other wall despite it clearly being right in front of her. The hooded man had no idea how she hadn’t seen him yet, he could practically feel how absolutely ridiculous he looked, his bony, weathered, turtle-esque body hunched as low to the ground as possible with his chin tucked between his knees and hands covering the rest of his face, leaving only the smallest bit of space through which he could observe Nadine’s inevitable reaction to him. And yet, despite the amount of time the young woman spent glancing over Salvatore, back and forth across the room, her bright golden eyes resembling that of a ravenous alligator in their intensity and ferociousness, no scream left her plush lips nor did fear and horror suddenly mar her supple face. In fact, not only had the mutant woman not seen him yet, but it was in that exact moment that the reason why Nadine couldn’t see Salvatore, obviously shoved into the corner, just to her bottom left, became immediately clear to him.

“Y-You’re blind...”

#Salvatore moreau #Resident evil #Resident evil 8 #Resident evil village #resident evil 8 village #resident evil 8: village #Re8 #karl hesienberg #alcina demitriscu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #donna beneviento #angie beneviento #Mother miranda #salvatore moreau x reader #moreau x reader #Salvatore moreau x oc #Moreau x oc #Beauty and her beast #chapter 8 #mine #fic #oc

[firefly464]

The Gilded Cage - Chapter 3

I felt like you guys could use some nice fluff after yesterday, so we zoomed to get this chapter out. Also, oh my god i have so many ideas im so excited ahahahahah

ALSO!! IMPORTANT NOTICE!!! The first section of Chapter 5 of The Real World has been edited slightly. I recommend you go back and reread it :)

Written in collaboration with @i-have-this-now :D

Thank you @rivys for beta reading, editing, and writing :D

Master Post

First -  Previous - Next

~~~

“Alright then, Eret. Talk to me.”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself. “George, it’s all…” he trailed off, unable to explain exactly what he was thinking. “What… what happened to me?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

George scoffed. “Did you not hear me when I said you got shot? Did you miss that bit?”

Bad hit him lightly on the arm. “George! That’s not how you support a friend through a trying time!”

“What?! I’m not wrong, am I?”

“Eret, here.” Bad moved himself over on the bed to sit right next to Eret. “We found you passed out in the woods with an arrow sticking out of your arm, so we brought you back here and patched you up.”

“You also were nearly frozen to death. Honestly, I think the reason you didn’t bleed out sooner is because the blood froze over or… something.” George shrugged, a little too nonchalant for Eret’s tastes. “I dunno, I’m not a doctor.”

Bad frowned. “That reminds me… Why were you even out there without a coat? It’s the middle of winter!” 

“I- what?” Eret asked, caught off guard by the question. Hadn’t it just been mid summer? He shook his head. He was in some sort of fucked up world, why was he surprised by a change in seasons? 

Even so, it made sense. It explained why he had passed out in the first place. After all, running through the woods in the dead of winter without anything to protect him from the cold was a surefire way to give himself hypothermia. Thinking back on it, it was surprising that he managed to last as long as he did. Any longer, and he very likely would have died. 

George cleared his throat, dragging Eret back to the present. He realized that his friends were looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. “I uh…” He stammered, trying to come up with a decent excuse. “I didn’t exactly have time to grab a jacket. They were kinda chasing me out…” 

George’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

Bad’s let out a small gasp of surprise as he realized what Eret meant. He quickly stood, trying to take the heat off his friend. “Well, you don’t need to worry about them now!” he exclaimed, trying to hint to George that now wasn’t the time. “Here, how about we get you situated? Do you want something to drink?”

Eret stared numbly up at him. “Why are you being so… nice to me?”

“Because we’re friends,” Bad stated as though it were fact. “And you deserve it. Come on, I’ll make some cookies, and you can rest while I do that, okay? George, give him your jacket.”

“What?!” He sputtered. “Bad, I’m not giving him my--”

“Give it.” Something in Bad’s eyes must have made George decide to change his mind right then. The man nodded and grabbed a coat from a nearby hanger and chucked it over to Eret. 

Almost instinctively, Eret tried to raise his arm to swat away the incoming coat. Pain tore through him, causing him to let out a small gasp. 

“Hey, careful! You don’t want to tear your stitches,” Bad said quickly, rushing to check that the stitches were undamaged. “You’re still healing.”

Eret only watched as his friend undid the bandages that wrapped around his bicep, trying not to wince. His eyes widened when he saw the torn skin, slightly swollen around the places where string held it together. It wasn’t red or bloody, in fact, it looked like it was at least a few days old. He frowned. 

“How long was I out?” He asked. 

“A day, maybe?” Bad held out his hand towards George, not looking away from the wound. “Could you grab some of the gauze I just prepped? I might as well replace it.” 

Eret frowned as he watched George walk out of the small, curtained room. He could hear the sounds of shuffling in what he assumed to be the kitchen. 

“A day…?” He asked, glancing down at the scar on his arm. The faint, red line looked several days old, with only a minimal amount of swelling around it. There was no way it had only been a day. Injuries just didn’t heal that quickly. “How is it healing so fast?” 

“We tried our best to close the wound as quickly as possible. It would have been better if we had been able to get to you sooner, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers,” Bad sighed. “It didn’t help that you were half frozen to death, so we needed to take care of that first before we could even begin thinking about your arm -- hey George! Grab some regen pots while you’re out there please!”

“Splash potions or normal?” George called from beyond the curtains.

“Normal. We’ve already taken care of most of the outer damage. Now it’s just a matter of getting back all that blood he lost” 

Eret sat in confusion, his gaze darting back and forth between the shadow creature in front of him, and the curtain. “That uh… That doesn’t explain how this looks a week old.” 

“Well, your buddy Bad knows a thing or two about healing people,” the demon chuckled. “I soaked the bandages in healing potions so that your wound would close up safely.”

Eret stared at the scar on his arm in wonder. “Holy shit, Bad, that’s genius.”

“Language!”

He looked down, having the courtesy to at least look somewhat ashamed “Sorry…” 

“It’s alright, you muffin,” Bad laughed. “Didn’t I tell you guys to use this technique already? You know it’s really not healthy to just drink health potions, right? Have you not been taking care of yourself?”

Eret grimaced. “Well, it wasn’t exactly… common in L’Manberg, per se?”

Bad’s face fell. “Don’t tell me. Did Wilbur forget? I know I told him how to!”

“I honestly have no clue,” Eret shrugged. It wasn’t technically a lie, he really didn’t know, but the reason why was entirely different than the implication.

Bad nodded, pride shining on his face. “Well, Eret, I can guarantee you that as long as you stay here with us, we’ll take good care of you.”

~~~

Eret woke slowly and peacefully, a surprise to everyone in the community house. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of a knocking in the doorway, and was startled to see Bad tapping his knuckle against the wall, a plate in his other hand.

“Heya, sleepy-head!”

“What are you--” Eret sat up and rearranged his pillows to support his aching back. “What are you doing?”

The demon grinned. “I’m bringing you cookies, what does it look like?” He sat the plate he was holding down on Eret’s nightstand with a clink.

Eret stared, dumbfounded. “Why?”

“Lots of reasons!” Bad replied, smoothing out the wrinkles in his jacket. “I figured you weren’t feeling too great, so I wanted to do something nice for you to cheer you up!”

“Oh.”

“Plus, cookies taste better than potions, so I figured I could kill two birds with one stone and put the regeneration potion into the cookies.”

“Oh.”

“You have to make sure you eat all of them, okay? Doctor’s orders! I made sure to keep it a small batch so you wouldn’t get stuffed.”

“Oh...” Eret could only stare at the six perfectly round cookies sitting on the plate next to him. This was real, physical proof that somebody here cared about him -- really cared.

Why?

Eret couldn’t think of a good reason why anyone here should care about him. He had betrayed L’Manburg, or so everyone in this world thought. He was untrustworthy. He could turn on his friends at any moment. It would have been in Bad’s best interest to leave him freezing out in the snow, to leave him to die, but he hadn’t. Bad had done the opposite. So--

“Why?” he muttered.

The demon furrowed his brow. “Why what? What do you mean?”

“Why do you…” Eret stared down at his hands, unsure of what exactly he felt. “Why do you care? You have no reason to, I-- I’m a traitor. For all you know, I could turn on you, I could stab you in the back, I could...” he trailed off, not daring to finish his sentence.

A small scoff sounded from the open curtain. “Please, you wouldn’t do that.” 

Eret glanced up. George was once more standing in the makeshift doorway, his arms crossed in front of him. “You’ve already invested way too much into this, you wouldn’t just throw it away. Besides, I like to think of it as a double agent. Sounds much cooler than being a traitor.” 

Bad turned and faced George with a disappointed frown. “George.”

“What?” The man glanced around nervously. “I’m not wrong.”

Bad sighed and faced Eret once more. “Well, I guess…” He trailed off, seemingly deciding what words fit his answer best. “I think that everyone deserves to have someone that cares about them. And I already cared about you before I found you in the snow.”

“Besides, we all knew what would happen once you pressed that button,” George added, a soft smile on his face. “We all accepted it, and we knew what would happen. You weren’t the only one in the final control room. We’re in this together.” 

He could only watch as Bad took a seat on the side of his bed.“You’re our friend, Eret. You still deserve love, and a warm bed, and some nice cookies, no matter what you’ve done. And I want to be able to give that to you, for as long as you’ll let me.”

Eret blinked hard, trying to clear away the tears that threatened to spill over. “Do you mean that?”

A warm smile crossed his face. “Of course! Besides, I may have not approved of your plan, but I still vowed to stay neutral. I knew that this was going to happen, and I’m here to help you through it.” 

Eret gave up. The dams he had put up broke, and tears began to stream down his face. He tackled his friend and held him in a tight hug, not daring to let him go. It was slightly strange, considering the fact that his friend was some sort of shadowy-demon monster, but it didn’t matter. The hug was still filled with warmth and love.

It was enough to make a traitor cry.

He could feel a second pair of arms wrap around them as George nestled his head in the space between the other two’s bodies and let out a content sigh. Their tangle of limbs was slightly awkward, but none of them cared. Both George and Bad were too focused on trying to support their friend, and Eret wasn’t focused at all. 

Bad rubbed Eret’s back, trying to comfort him as much as he possibly could. Eret’s throat was too tight for him to say what he meant just then, but he hoped that this embrace said it for him.

Thank you.

~~~

Master Post

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#this chapter is so self-indulgent #i just wanted fluff #thats it #thats the only reason this chapter exists #eret #the_eret #badboyhalo #georgenotfound #dreamsmp #dream smp #dream team #dreamteam #bbh #mcyt #The Gilded Cage #Split Realities #mcyt au #my writing #the real world

[darkalleywayexpress]

Your destiny is written from the day you’re born. Part 3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Rated M

Warning: non-con sex, oral, violence, abuse.

This is based off The Devil All the Time. Specifically Lee Bodecker. Ideas be taken from the original story of course. 

Note: First time writing. Please give feedback. I don’t mind constructive criticism. Hope you enjoy. 

P.S. Im really bad at using this website. I find it hard lmao. So please give me time as I grown accustom to it. Thank you! (I have another fic in mind- though it will be darkSteve, but I'm not sure if I should do it or not. If y'all would like it please let me know.) :)))))))))

It’s my wedding day and I still don’t feet like ‘myself’. I feel like a withering leaf in fall on it’s last leg before it completely disappears. Not knowing where I truly stand I felt like I’m trapped, my heart palpating so much it hurts. All the days prior to this day I was unable to sleep, the consistent worrying in my head never faded away. As if my heart and brain knew something that I couldn’t fully comprehend yet. I’m left to fully rely on him not having any income of my own any longer since I was expected to quit work, due to the fact that the sheriffs wide would not be able to work or else people will start talking. Also taking in mind that people started talking, which got me to worry more. Rumors. As my mom put it. But don’t rumors have to stem off of some truth first?Though what I was able to comprehend from everything up until now was how much I hated myself. How big of an idiot I am. How I’m so weak to the point that I can even allow myself to be in every situation that I’ve ever been in. Staring straight at my reflection with the wedding gown he chose for me. Simple, just like me. I can care less about what I’m wearing and instead just truly want this horrendous day over. I can care less about what I’m wearing and instead just want the day over. My room door opens, my youngest brother Sam (who is still older than myself) walks in.

“Psst. Mrs. Bodecker.” With a grin smothered on his face. Seeing my reflection on the mirror he asks “you okay?”

“What am I doing?” Holding my tears back, though its hard my shell breaking.

“Well if you were to ask me I would say throwing yourself in fire. But it’s too late for that now, aint it?” He stops to grab both my hands in his own. “don’t worry y/n everything outta be alright. Before you even know it you’ll be much happier there than here with us. I should be getting down, and you should come soon too. You know how Pa and the others get when it comes to waiting.”

He leaves and I begin crying staring at my reflection. Have I truly thrown myself in flames? I wish I had a loving Pa who would save me from everything and everyone. Who would put me first before anyone else. Saying something along the lines of “Your happiness is what’s most important”. Maybe then I would’ve never been in this situation.

I make my way down. I see Lee standing looking up at me as I walk down. This ain’t the traditional way. But I guess that goes with everything. If I wasn’t the one getting married to him I would think he looks handsome today. They all get ready to head out.

I can’t do this. “I can’t do this.”  

My faces back to look at me, her eyes wide open. “Y/n?”

“Mom. I can’t do this. I can’t follow through this marriage.”

“Y/n.” She repeats herself more sternly this time.

Lee scoffs. Frowning but at the same time he seems like he is holding in his laughter. Laughter?

“Y/n, what do you mean I can’t get married?” He asks calmly. His head slightly moving side to side.

“I’m so sorry Lee. I just can’t.” I hold onto my dress running up the stairs, footsteps following behind me. My brothers voice speaking from a distance. He must be speaking to Lee. Before I can make it back to my room my Ma catches up to me yanking my arm, to stop me and get my attention.

“I had dreams for myself too. A dream where we both could’ve been happy. Where we both could’ve been. Not living with Pa and getting beat just because he felt like it - jjust because he was too drunk and he couldn’t think straight! Not a dream where I would marry I man I didn’t even know. Ma, please don’t make me do this. Ma, I beg of you.” I’m at her feet at this point my legs not being able to hold me straight up any longer. Swaying back and forth. Have I lost it?

She kneels down to look me in the face “It’s too late for that now y/n. Give me a chance, just this once? Lee’s a good man. He’ll take care of ya and your future kids. He got voted Sheriff honey now that ain’t so easy. You wont have to worry about nothing, he’ll be the man you deserve.  Holding my hands. Compassion. I don’t have much of a choice do I. If I don’t get married Dad’ll beat me to death. Collecting myself I soon head down.

Lee, sitting down on the beat up sofa. I make my way to him. Mom and Sam leaving us alone. He doesn’t look up at me, his head still in his hands. I don’t blame him. I can’t. To be in his shoes, I can’t even imagine. “Lee.”

“Are you alright?” He asks with what seems like genuine concern in his voice.

I nod. “Cold feet as ladies say it. I’m sorry.”

He nods. Putting his hand out forth for me to hold.

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

The ceremony at the Church happens so fast and before I even notice we are having our celebration in the backyard that all the folks have it during summer, accept for us it’s in fall.

We sit at the table where the couples tend to sit and people coming forth to congratulate us. I drink for the first time to help ease myself, as I have heard it helps. Luckily Lee was answering all their warm wishes and questions if any. All I’m focusing on is keeping all the warmth I have with this little cropped fur coat. Paying attention to people chattering and drinking away. Harold? What is he doing here? I look to find mom in the crowd. Her eyes already looking at me sternly. What am I supposed to do? The weather gets colder and somehow, I start sweating.

“Congratulations on your marriage.” He says staring only at me, causing me to instinctively look at Lee whom is staring at me and him. “I really didn’t expect ya to get married y/n, especially to someone so old compared to ya self. But I guess it’s expected I mean ya Pa ain’t the nicest.” Harold says all the while grinning. I can feel Lee gripping onto my wrist. Tightly.

“Who the fuck do you think you are coming to my wedding and spewing all this shit to me. Boy.” Lee standing up so quickly from his seat the chair topples away. I grab onto Lee, holding him back so he doesn’t fight with Harold. Harold laughs which causes Lee to punch him square to his jaw. And before I even can do anything else a full fight breaks between the two and I just stand there watching as I cry inside.

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

Harold was left bloody. And Lee and I head home. My new ‘home’. Lee slams the door after himself. Fisting my hands so tightly I think my nails are breaking the skin on my palms. Defensive. I feel the need to be defensive.

“Who are you Lee? Are you someone who just thinks out of anger and isn’t able to talk to resolve conflict? Or are you the person that the town loves so much.” The alcohol is truly hitting me hard.

“Forget about be. Who the fuck are you?” He says moderately loud “Start fucking talking or I bet ya it ain’t gonna be good for ya Hon.” I can’t reply it’s like my tongue is cut off. “Who the fuck was that kid?”

Swallowing. “I don’t have to answer you. I – I ain’t your property.” I turn heading to any room with a door at this point.

BANG. He slams his hand against the wall. “DO NOT! Do not walk away from me  when I ask you a question.”

I bawling at this point, not turning around to look him. “Mmaybe we aren’t mean’t to be L-lee. Why didn’t you just marry some other girl from this town.”

And before he says anything else I open the first door my eyes hold onto and shut it after myself. Sitting down on the bed I cry. Noticing soon enough that it must be his room. The door opens, Lee walking in to sit beside me.

I get up facing what would be the window, but is covered due to the blinds “Ccould you just give me sometime alone? Ple” his right hand grabs me from my jaw to make me look straight at him.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I please.” He spits out. Grabbing my fur coat and rips is off my body, turning me around so he can unlace my dress. He pushes me face forward to the mattress, I begin crying to scared to move. I here rustling behind me. Him behind me soon, smelling me. “We could’ve had it so nice but you really wanted to be a bitch. I really did want to take it nice and slow but you really lost that chance and instead I think it’s time for a lesson.”

And it all happens in a blink of an eye. Him putting his manhood in me. I grunt due to the foreign feeling in me. Is it suppose to hurt? “Oh hon, is it your first time he says while staring in between my legs.” I nod, my hands go up covering my face. “Honey, why didn’t you tell me? Is that why you were acting up? Cause you were scared?” He laughs, and stops his rhythm to move my hands away from my face. Kissing me. His hand exploring around my body, kneeding my breats slowly and softly. My hands instinctively go to his own, he grabs onto mine. Putting it on either side of my head, slowly moving his body again. In between my legs begin to feel hotter, wetter. Pain and pleasure mixing together. Clenching an unknown feeling washing over me, he soon whines? Breathing gets harder and sharper and soon stills. I stay still as he gets up to turn the lights off. Pulling the covers over the both of us, his left arm thrown over my body. Eventually drifting to sleep through silent crys.

#The Devil All The Time #lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #dark!lee bodecker #tdatt #tdatt fic #tdatt x reader #Dark Fic

[justalitlecreacher]

Ok as much as I hate the events of the Rako Hardeen arc in Clone Wars and deeply wish that the council/Obi-Wan had at the very least told Anakin and Ahsoka what they were planning, I feel like the arc represents a very important turning point in Anakin’s fall and actually shows an important bit of character growth from Attack of the Clones.

Tl;Dr: The Rako Hardeen arc is my favorite and least favorite arc in all of Clone Wars because while it puts Anakin through unnecessary pain it also gives a lot of insight into why he may have fallen in Revenge of the Sith and shows some important character growth

Ok; the most important part of this post/analysis (I think) is to remember how close Anakin and Obi-Wan are. Anakin was placed in Obi-Wan’s care at the age of 9 and from then on Obi-Wan practically raised him. In Attack of the Clones we see Anakin refer to Obi-Wan as the closest thing he has to a father not once, but twice, and one of those two times was directly to Obi-Wan.”OBI-WAN:  Why do I think you are going to be the death of me?! ANAKIN:  Don't say that Master... You're the closest thing I have to a father... I love you. I don't want to cause you pain.”(Attack of the Clones) and later to Padmé “...He's [Obi-Wan] like my father,...”. This is especially important because when Anakin leaves his mother to become a Jedi in The Phantom Menace, Obi-Wan is literally the only friendly/familiar face in the Temple. Plus in the comics (disclaimer: I have not read all the comics just bits and pieces) we get a glimpse of Anakin training with the other padawans and it’s made clear that at least some of them don’t like Anakin at all. One padawan even refers to him as “just a slave” when shit talking him during training.(which like super fucked up; they def should’ve gotten in trouble cause that don’t seem very Jedi of them ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Anyway; we’ve established Anakin and Obi-Wan’s bond. So let’s turn our attention towards someone who deserved so much better; Shmi Skywalker. Her death in Attack of the Clones was the first major turning point in Anakin’s fall to the Dark Side. There is really no excuse for Anakin’s actions after Shmi’s death; he goes to a very dark place, and likely taps into the dark side of the force during the massacre of the Tusken Raiders. But that’s not what we’re talking about rn so back on track.

I bring Shmi’s death up to say that while Anakin was tracking down Obi-Wan’s “murderer” I didn’t fully realize that Obi-Wan had disguised himself as Hardeen and I was genuinely worried that Anakin was about to unalive an innocent man. I really believe that the only thing that stopped Anakin from trying (and maybe succeeding) to kill Obi/Rako was like he said: he knew that Obi-Wan wouldn’t have wanted him to. This is important because the last time Anakin lost a family member he brutally murdered an entire village of Tusken Raiders, children included, and I think it’s safe to say that Shmi “the biggest problem in the universe is nobody helps each other” Skywalker would not have wanted that. I’ve finally arrived at one of my main points; this arc shows a crucial bit of character growth by showing an Anakin that is capable of thinking his actions through and not just reacting out of anger even after the loss of one of the most important people in his life; something he was previously shown incapable of when his anger and grief blind him. This turns this arc into an sort of midway point on Anakin’s fall; he’s clearly tempted to give into his anger and pain again, but he is able to resist this time. A younger Anakin may have killed “Hardeen” then and there. 

This scene really contrasts with Anakin’s actions in Revenge of the Sith in a way im not sure how i feel about yet. On one hand it has potential to make Anakin’s actions in Revenge of the Sith feel too out of character. We just saw Anakin able to see past his own emotions in the wake of the death of a loved one so what makes this different? On the other hand this arc can be used to show just how desperate Anakin is to not have to feel that way ever again. It’s also good for showing how much influence Palpatine has had on Anakin in the space between this arc and Revenge of the Sith. As for why Anakin may be unable to think past his own feelings in Revenge of the Sith when he appeared perfectly capable in the arc, a likely reason is that there really wasn't anything Anakin thought he could do for Obi-Wan anymore because he believed him to be dead, but with Padmé, Anakin knew she could be saved if he could just get her the proper care. But his fear of being exiled from the Jedi Order, and his increasing lack of faith in the council led him to believe that he had no choice other than to trust in Palpatine. And no hate to Yoda but im sure when Anakin did try to reach out (even as vaguely as he did) Yoda’s response of “Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose.” didn't appear to be very helpful (especially considering that he is well aware that listening to Ahsoka’s visions and responding appropriately saved Padmé’s life (not sure if Anakin knows about that though)). These three episodes show pretty well how/why Anakin may have felt that he had nowhere to turn but Palpatine.

These groups of episodes actually show negative character growth (is that the right term?) in Anakin. He goes from commiting mass murder rated E for everyone to understanding that his loved ones would not want him to seek revenge in this way, but then he backslides into this lightsaber is rated E for everyone by Revenge of the Sith. Logically he should know that Padmé would never have wanted him to do what he did; he has to know what he’s doing is wrong, but he’s incapable of seeing another way out because he cannot handle even the thought of losing Padmé. He’s too desperate to not lose her, and so sure that there’s no other option that he manages to convince himself that he needs to do this for her. I find this entire arc really interesting but unless i want to be here all day the most i can do here is point out that it exists and that it peaks in the Rako Hardeen arc. Surprisingly i do have a life outside of writing long posts, and i lack the time and energy to analyze all of Clone Wars and write about every event that led to Darth Vader (there are so many). On top of that i actually haven’t seen all of Clone Wars; just the episodes most important to understanding Anakin’s fall.

Onto my next point, we just talked about the growth Anakin showed in this episode; now onto why i believe that this arc was instrumental in Anakin’s fall. (Disclaimer: I do not think that removing this arc alone could have saved Anakin, but i do believe it would have helped a good bit). I’ve already touched on Anakin and Obi-Wan’s bond so im not gonna do that again. 

Ive said it before and i will say it again; it was super fucked up of Obi-Wan and everyone else on the Council to use Anakin’s (and Ahsoka’s) reactions Obi-Wan’s “death” for their own gain. It was super manipulative and they absolutely knew what they were doing.  Obi-Wan even explicitly says, “Keeping Anakin on the outside was critical. Everyone knows how close we are. It was his reaction that sold the sniper. I'm sure of it.”(Deception season 2 episode 15). He knows just how devastated Anakin would be by his death, and he uses like Anakin and his mental and emotional well-being mean nothing to him (I know this isn’t true but its probably not hard to believe that someone doesn't care about your feelings when they’ve just tricked you into thinking they’ve died for their own gain). The Council really proves time and time again that they do not care about Anakin’s (or maybe anyone’s; Anakin was far from the only one close to Obi-Wan left unaware of his deception) mental or emotional wellbeing, but tbh i think this is the worst example of how callous the Council can be. And on top of all of that it was Obi-Wan who decided to keep Anakin in the dark Obi-Wan who should have known better; if we assume that Anakin is at least 20 in Clone Wars; Obi-Wan has known Anakin for at least 10 years, and has practically raised him from the age of 9, and yet somehow, somehow he had this idea and didn't see a single thing wrong with it. (And they really picked the worst possible person for this; like yea let’s trick the most unstable Jedi we have into thinking his closest friend/ father figure was murdered)

This arc’s main purpose (IMO) is to really show the beginnings of Anakin losing faith in the Jedi and putting more and more faith in Palpatine. Anakin trusted Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan betrayed that trust. Beyond that Palpatine is able to make Anakin begin to doubt how much the Council is telling him if they didnt tell him something as crucial as this. We even see Anakin parroting Palpatine’s “concerns” of the council not telling Anakin the full truth the Obi-Wan and the end of the arc. This arc is instrumental is establishing Anakin’s loss of faith in the council and shows how much he trusts Palpatine and sees him as a real friend.

Anyway I’m sure I had more I wanted to touch onand if I remember I will definitely edit this post but for the now I just wanna say. A) I love Obi-Wan a lot; this arc just really was not it. I do not understand how he thought this was in any way acceptable but I do still really like him. B) i fully understand that Anakin’s actions are his own and he does take a share of the blame for his own fall.

#what am i doing? #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #rako hardeen #star wars #clone wars #deception arc #clone wars deception #long post #ramble #im so sorry except im not #i hesitate to use the word hyperfixation but not a day has gone by that i havent thougt of Anakin Skywalker at least once #in so long #i have a problem

[alostlittleriverlotus]

the most frustrating thing for me right now is seeing how much worse my chronic pain is. Learning more about the possible causes without even knowing what disorders or conditions I actually have. I get too much medical anxiety/discomfort when researching stuff so I have to take breaks when doing it (physical conditions and the human body just like...icky...I don't even know how to describe the feeling I get from it.) But I've learned a bit more and it just makes me feel sad. Not cause like I'm sad I'm this way, but sad because I feel too easily overwhelmed to know the answers, but it could be a long time before I find a doctor let alone a good one that will believe me.

I hate the feeling of not having answers. I finally got answers for my mental state (my PDs and being a system) which has helped a lot. But now I'm focusing on my physical disabilities and it's much more overwhelming for me than psychological nad mental stuff is. Especially since my pain being my fault was instilled in me since I was like 4. I always knew something was up with my emotions and trauma, but for my pain, I just accepted it came from being my fault. Unlearning that is so fucking hard. I'm thankful for the few accommodations my friend got me like my compression socks, but man...i yearn for the day when I can have mobility aids or even a wheelchair. To be able to actually get help and figure out what's wrong. Cause im sick of using just compression socks, pillows, ice packs, a heating pad, and Advil to be able to live. I'm sick of having no answers for anything. Im sick of never knowing the source of my pain. I'm sick of being unable to describe what I deal with. I'm sick of feeling like I don't belong in disabled spaces because of my internalized ableism, impostor syndrome, and the stuff I've had instilled in me since I was little.

I know what I experience, but I still barely believe myself on bad days. And I hate seeing that it could be a while before I get more help and more accommodations. The only thing helping me is the disability community and my loved ones who actually fucking believe me.

It just feels like when you're really sick, but have to get up and make your own food, do things yourself, move things yourself, but it hurts to move and you have no energy. Except I'm not actually sick (unless my sinuses get bad and I end up with a sinus infection) which is why no one believes me when I ask for help in those god damn household. My parents always see me as a "normal" able-bodied person. They refuse to accept my disabilities. They refuse to accept my pain. And I'm reliant on them all the same.

The thing I mourn over most is how I could have gotten help way sooner. But instead my parents ignored the pain I felt until it progressed to where it is today. The signs were all there. I talk to my able bodied friend and share things about what I experience and she can't relate. And that is so...validating. to know I don't experience normal things. Cause I so often don't feel disabled.

Especially with the crap from my parents lately, it's taking a toll on me mentally and emotionally. Plus the poor sleep from my bed. I just feel in my own head about things. I hate being met with fake sympathy and misunderstanding and lame ass jokes every time I open up about my pain. I want to just move out and be among people that will help me without questioning me. And most all: I want help and accommodations and aids for my pain and issues so I don't have to have these flare ups with almost no solutions that are a coin toss each time.

#neglected #traumatized #disabled #physical disability #physically disabled #actually traumatized #actually disabled #chronic pain #chronic fatigue #joint pain #fibromyalgia #mobility issues #dyspraxia #invisible disability #disability pride month #disabilties #spoonie #imposter syndrome #rant #sad rant #tired #fatigue #pain #difficulty walking #I don't even know anymore #I'm just sad and in pain

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

@theeyethatbinds​ Girl SING IT. SING IT LOUDER FOR THE GIRLS IN THE BACK, SWEAR TO GOD.

Like I’m gonna be real wit y’all I was looking forward to le Comte for a while, but I was always side-eyeing Jeanne. He’s a blunt hermit and grump and 100% mood, so I hoped his route would give me more insight into how I feel about him.

Ladies. When I tell you. It was EXCELLENT. I mean there are so many gr9 routes in the game, I don’t want to take away from them, but there was just something about his that hit me so hard???? (MY KOKORO BROKORO)

More under the cut since his route won’t be out for a little while (we still got Isaac, then Theo, then Jeanne), as a little treat. As usual, pls don’t read if you don’t want spoilers, thanks!

Okay so going into this route I was fully expecting the big sads. I mean, if history has taught us anything it was that Joan D’Arc was a badass but good lord, that doesn’t mean the people of her time were kind to her. (I need to do more thorough research on her, so if I’m getting any of her pronouns wrong or neglect something, I do apologize.)

That being sad, I was like aight DECK MY SHIT WITH TRAGEDY, JEANNE. And at the beginning it’s p fascinating. He’s very ornery and resistant to any kind of consideration or attempts at friendship MC extends. But eventually, after a good deal of persistence, he relents little by little.

I’d also like to level with y’all for a sec. Being someone who knows a great deal in regards to the kinds of mental and emotional shit Jeanne struggles through, I think they handled that part of the route so, so well. Granted, I’m not the kind of person to launch a crusade over different writing styles--but for me it just feels all the more poignant when it makes sense; when certain dispositions or trauma are conveyed with that depth. To me, it made 100% sense that Jeanne would be so against accepting other people into his life immediately.

He and Mozart vibe because they’re so similar, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s comfortable letting just anyone in--much less a complete stranger. I think it’s more that Mozart and Jeanne share a kind of indelible bond/mutual recognition through their talent, actually. They were both prodigies, absolute geniuses in their fields (military vs. music) but their social skills were shot to hell for the very same reason. To be brilliant--beyond one’s potential posthumous legacy--tends to mean being hated. Plus, they’re both principled to absolute extremes. When they’ve decided on something, they will not waver. They’re stubborn and austere, but behind those walls lies a molten core of sensitivity.

This is important to understanding him, I think, before I move forward.

While one could argue that their reaction is a result of that deficiency of emotional and social support (which I entirely concede does contribute to the matter at hand, it shouldn’t be overlooked) I think the real crux of the matter here is control. Think about it. Among the oldest residents in the mansion (let’s say that were born more than 100 years within the range of the present period of the game) are Mozart, Jeanne, Isaac, and Shakespeare. What do they all have in common?

Extremity. For Mozart, it comes in the form of a kind of OCD, as perfectionism. For Jeanne, it is generalized anxiety and PTSD. For Isaac, it is primarily social anxiety--but it’s still noticeably severe. And Shakespeare runs around with a knife, insecurity through the roof, literally unable to trust anything or anyone (psychosis? schizoaffective? I’m really not sure, these are all ballpark assessments based on the evidence I have). In order to adjust to their new surroundings, there was a cost--and in some ways their coping mechanisms become noticeably maladaptive. They were born into eras that were mercilessly unpredictable, and the only way they knew how to cope was to was to either take the blame--make it a personal failing that tragedy struck--or try to immerse themselves into their craft. They all seek to regain some kind of control (this is even visible in Vincent, to a degree--painting was an escape from his emotionally turbulent world).

Granted that’s not to say that the others don’t struggle with such issues at all, I just feel like the characters from more unstable time periods tend (as a general trend) to mirror that instability within their personalities.

All that being said, (I apologize I am a tangent-monger and love meta), Jeanne’s self-imposed isolation is only partially caused by the above dynamic. Yes, he is unwilling to let people into his heart for fear of betrayal. (It’s almost like an entire nation clamoring to watch you burn for something you didn’t do after spending your entire life and talents trying to protect them would do that to you, but I digress >:| ). But there’s another devastating and potentially less obvious reason for keeping people out.

He thinks he deserves it.

Loneliness, melancholy, aimlessness. These are all the punishments that he incurred on himself after a life of what he conceives to be considerable sin (hahaha battlefield enemies go ripppp). Whether or not he was operating purely out of a sense of duty, even if he felt sympathy for his enemy combatants, it’s not enough. And the condemnation of his king, of his entire nation, only served to magnify that self-loathing to a dangerous degree. (Don’t get me started on his parents I’m still so angry >:| they more or less disowned him since he was constitutionally weak as a young boy, and thus could not serve as an adequate farmhand. Don’t work? Don’t eat/live).

It’s hard enough living in a reserved way because you’re afraid of getting hurt, but to think that you deserve it when hurt finds you, no less? And my favorite part, that he’s so profoundly sure that it is an extension of a personal, fundamental failing? That for a person to survive, they must be strong, that there can be no other way--that there is no time or space for ruminations on fairness or unfairness, there are only those who manage to survive and those who die.

Now my friends, esteemed comrades, legendary sluts. Is that enough for us, Cybird asks, are we feeling enough pain quite yet? Fuck no.

Most of his route after we get over the hurdle of his hesitation is just him. Being. Bashful and gentle as all FUCK. Like he is the definition of “I'll kill you, but also I’m babie.” For instance, she insists on teaching him how to read and write at night when she finds him trying (and not succeeding) to read “The Ugly Duckling”. Yes I mean the children’s book. I CRIED THE FIRST TIME AND I’M CRYING NOW. So, naturally, MC buys him a notebook to practice with and he puts his name in big letters on the front. When MC sees this, she asks him about it--wondering why he would given he’s so self-conscious of his own writing (boy writes all squiggly like a little kid because he’s never done it before ;-;).

The scene goes a little something like this:

MC: Wh....whatcha go there Jeanne? Jeanne: ? My notebook? MC: I...mean that you wrote your name on it? Jeanne: Yeah? MC: Why? Jeanne: ._. It was a gift from you, and I figured it'd be hard to practice if I lost it...so I put my name on it... (HE WAS SECRETLY TOUCHED I BET AND IM--) MC: Why such big letters? Jeanne: So people can spot it quickly, obviously MC, inches from crying and laughing: Jeanne: Mademoiselle??? Why are you laughing? MC: Because you’re cute, Jeanne!

Like. They start out so rocky and Jeanne is so SIGH. I guess I’ll agree if it’ll get her to stop looking so sad and ask me to join her for stuff. But then he just can’t help but go full softe at how patient and kind she is, starts feeling comfortable just...being who he is deep down. A man that’s always hoped for better in life, a person that only ever takes up his sword to protect--that has an incredibly pure and clear heart, despite so much pain.

And good lord, they are GOD TIER romantic slow burn???? Swear to everything holy, I was BEGGING for them to make out by like chapter 10, I was just suffering for most of the route until the bangarang premium. Here’s probably my favorite moment in the entire route:

Basically Sebastian and Mozart pull out all the stops trying to bring Jeanne and MC together (once they see Jeanne show some interested in her). And so Jeanne asks her to join him in the courtyard the next morning, and they’re playing with Cherie (Jeanne’s pet baby white tiger). Besides being ungodly adorable--because Jeanne invited her for the sole purpose of hoping to see her delightfully surprised--Mozart begins to play a love song nearby. They don’t name the tune, but Jeanne canonically starts singing along (I wholeass cried, I WANT TO HEAR HIM SING????). And so she asks what the song is about, and he explains that Mozart once played it for him, but he couldn’t make out the words at first. Mozart explained that it was a love song that speaks to the difficulties of being in love (the worry, the strife) but also the beauty of the intensity and passion. He goes on to say that even when he learned the words, it never made much sense to him back then--it never resonated.

He’s singing softly with a fond look, and so she asks, does he understand it now? And he looks her dead in the eye, and says “...I think I’m starting to.” Like. AM I SUPPOSED TO NOT LOSE MY MIND AT THE TENDERNESS????? WHAT A SMOOTH MOFO????? MAN RAISED TO BE A SOLDIER, NO KNOWLEDGE OF ROMANCE OR WOMEN, AND KILLS ME IN MILLISECONDS?????? I DEMAND JUSTICE. (Or it’s just me thinking sincerity is the best aphrodisiac, but that’s beside the point.)

This has been your quarantine 2d boy meta and yelling, provided by your local mod Minnie. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to get to the things I’ve been procrastinating on while reliving/dissociating about one of my favorite rts in the entire game. Stay safe and well out there y’all, peace out!

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp spoilers #ikevamp jeanne #ikevamp mozart #yall like #this reply just launched me right back into my jeanne feels #i dont have words for how much i love him #he's just such a good dude????? such a good dude #he really is trying his best pls give him love for me if you can #i binged his route almost as hard as sg's bc it was just t h a t sweet and compelling #i also cried like a baby #he deserves better and he deserves love #i will protect him forever #does that mean that in every single route i am acutely aware of the fact that I can't help him? #:))))))))))))))))))))))))))) life is pain. life is a party and jeanne and i are the pinatas. #and no i dont wanna talk abt it there will be no more questions LDKJH #just kidding around if anyone has any questions yall are free to send em! I'll answer to the best of my ability~ #anyhoot ty @theeyethatbinds for bringing all those good feels back #you are a legend and you have wonderful taste we stan **cheers**

[sadsapphicslut]

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!! 

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

  Chapter One

A Dead Brother

          I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

           My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

           Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of  “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

           Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

           “Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.  

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

  ❈

             “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

           “Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

           Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

           It rang four times before he picked up.

           “Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

           “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

           I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

           “Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

 Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

 My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

 This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood –  that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene.  My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

  I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

 ❈

             The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

           The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

           I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

           Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

           My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

             We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

           The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

           As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

           The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

#my writing #writing #original writing #original content #original fiction #creative writing #dark academia #tw death #tw drugs #tw mentions of sex #tw swearing #tw mental illness #tw medication #alo writes

[hisakata-resutomoshibi]

Not to bother you, but I've been wondering what would happen next in that Inner Demon! Kuro au. It randomly popped into my head and now im curious lol. I'm not asking for another chapter if you dont want to write it, I just wanna know what u think would happen next! Your ideas are amazing and I love hearing from you! 🧡

Ah, you’re so sweet! Don’t take this too seriously as I haven’t planned any of it and barely edited it LOL but here you go my dear~

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"Alright, and what am I supposed to make of that?"

It was hours later, or perhaps just minutes, and Mahiru found himself staring up at the slightly damp, bug riddled ceiling of the cave. He seemed to have fallen to the ground after Kuro had released his grip; maybe he had taken too much blood? The thought froze his muscles in visceral terror and his mind in a bid to remain sane immediately rejected the idea. Either way, he did distinctly remember hearing Kuro say that he belonged to Mahiru now, or something to that effect, and really, who wanted to have a psycho like this?

"What does what means?"

 Kuro's eyes popped in to view over Mahiru's face and he flinched back, bashing his head further on the cold stone. Frowning in irritation, at the pain in his skull, the situation in general, he sighed. "What do you mean you're mine?"

 The bright red that had flooded through Kuro's irises hadn't faded, in fact it seemed to have almost solidified against the former blue, looking like a small pool of swirling metallic paint splashed across the sky. As he watched, entranced, Kuro grinned.

 "Pretty, right?" He blinked slowly, demonstratively. "The red is a nice touch, a very easy way to identify contracts."

 "Contracts?" Mahiru repeated curiously. "What- no, I mean, how did your eyes change color?"

 "This is your blood, Mahiru." Kuro said matter-of-factly. "I didn't expect it to be so beautiful, to be honest. Most blood mixes in like mud. Such a disappointing shade of brown. But this!" Kuro paused, fluttering a hand in front of his face.

"This is gorgeous. We must be compatible."

 "Compatible..." Mahiru echoed, laughing weakly. "Great."

 "You wanted to go home. I'll take you there."

 "Hold on just a second." He pushed out a hand into the scant air between them and Kuro obligingly sat back, his head cocked in innocent puzzlement. "How do you know where I live?"

 "I know everything that is YOU, now."

 "Again, what exactly does that mean?"

 Kuro smiled wickedly, leaning forward suddenly, a blur of vitality in the dank air of the cave. "Take it literally. Anything that means something to you, makes up a part of your identity, it's mine now. And in exchange-" He gestured down at himself, "you get this, anything you could possibly want."

 Startled into silence, Mahiru felt his tongue form the sardonic comment before he could think better of it. "You're quite confident." As soon as the words were out he regretted them, praying that the offense they caused wouldn't be enough to get him ripped into little pieces, but Kuro only laughed, lighter and softer than anything Mahiru had heard before.

 "Of course I'm confident. Do you still not know who I am, Mahiru?" His lips curled up mischievously and he ran a graceful, delicate finger, along Mahiru's jaw. "You're a bit thick, aren't you? Ah well, no matter! You're mine as well now, no turning back." Before Mahiru had the chance to feel offended, he continued. "I knew you were special the second I saw you."

 The conversation was running in circles and it was only a matter of time before Mahiru got motion sickness trying to follow it, so, trying to decide the simplest course of action, he chose, simply, to ignore it. Obviously Kuro was not who he had originally thought, the eyes, the horns, the preternatural speed, no, there was no way to fake that, he was something else entirely, but the question was, what? Mahiru glanced over to find Kuro staring at him raptly and he couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped. "Where am I supposed to hide you?"

"Is this just something that people like you can do?" Mahiru asked flatly, staring down at the tiny kitten at his feet. It turned it's wide, luminescent eyes (red like his blood, he thought) up to him and blinked. "I don't know what that means."

 "You really are a demanding little one." Kuro muttered as he phased back into existence, occupying the space the cat had previously. "Of course not all of us can, it is something unique to I and a few others." He paused, seeming to think carefully before speaking. "Eight total."

 There are seven others that can turn into animals?"

 Kuro nodded slowly, almost regretfully. "Yes. Seven. But you don't need to worry about them."

 "I'm not particularly worried." Mahiru sighed. "More like amazed." He watched for a moment as Kuro crept around his room, so cat like in his movements Mahiru almost laughed, and began to poke at several of the books piled haphazardly on his desk. "I do have a question."

 As though he had been in anticipation, Kuro spun on his heel, books and exploration forgotten and a lopsided smile in place. "Yes?"

 "Well, er-" Mahiru hesitated, biting his lip. "Not to be offensive or anything but, you're acting very... different now."

 "Oh?"

 "Uh, yeah..."

 "How so?"

 "Well." Mahiru glanced over, quickly looking away again when he met Kuro's amused gaze. "Well, to be blunt, you're not acting like a total nut job anymore."

 "A nut job." Kuro paused, digesting the phrase for a moment. "I do not know that one either." Four rapid steps had him directly in front of Mahiru again and he grinned. "There's so much you must tell me! But before that, what is the question?"

 "Why?" Mahiu blurted. "Why are you suddenly..." He trailed off and, at a loss for definition, gestured vaguely at Kuro. "Like this?"

 Shrugging casually, Kuro raised a brow. "One would act differently after becoming someone else, no?"

 Putting a finger to his brow in fatigued annoyance, Mahiru groaned. "No w I just know you're fucking with me."

 "Not yet, I assure you." Kuro said brightly, his grin widening impossibly when Mahiru blanched. "What can I say to make you understand?" He crossed his arms, gaze traveling lazily around the room. When his eyes lit upon the chair near the door and he paused. "I took from you and so you must take from me." He glanced over, his eyes shining through the shifting blacks and whites of his hair. "Give and take, tit for tat, you are a part of me and so I must honor that change. Act according to the new blood."

 Mahiru frowned, attempting to construct something realistic or even vaguely understandable from what Kuro had just said. "So, you're different because of me?"

 "Precisely. Perhaps if you were less stubborn I would not be quite so composed?" Kuro laughed, just a shadow of the maniacal, wild abandon from previously and shrugged. "It's an interesting change." He raised his eyes to the ceiling, as though looking up into the sky. "Not unwelcome. Certainly different from what I am used to."

 "What you're used to?" Mahiru prompted him after a moment.

 "Things at the court can be unbalanced." Kuro said slowly. "And so for the most part we are... unpredictable."

 Forgoing asking who exactly "we" was because he was fairly certain he didn't want to know anyway, Mahiru frowned darkly, remembering the shattered stalls and engulfing flames he had so barely escaped earlier."You seemed like a psycho."

 Kuro laughed happily. "That sounds like a compliment!"

 "It's not." Mahiru said flatly. "Psycho is bad." He too glanced around the small room quickly, taking in the limited space and lack of guest furniture. "So now what? I accept that you are some kind of- of- mythical creature. But I do not accept that I am stuck with you."

 "Whether you accept or not is of no consequence." Kuro sang, reaching out and plucking a sweater from where it lay draped over the foot of the bed. "We have a contract." He began to twist it back and forth, inspecting it from every angle, eyes wide in puzzlement.

 "About that. I didn't agree to any contract. So I don't really think it's legally binding." Mahiru crossed his arms, attempting his best impersonation of authority.

 Kuro shrugged, pulling the sweater over his head, horns turning to a bright translucent fog for a moment to allow for the collar to pass over them, and smiled, something quick and genuine, and Mahiru felt his heart skip a beat. "Unfortunate for you then that the fae do not care for legality."

It was an hour later, Mahiru standing in front of the cupboard contemplating it's bare shelving, that he finally admitted to himself that he was not the best at entertaining visitors. Not even a spare loaf of bread. He slammed the door shut in frustration and glanced into the living room, finding Kuri still curled up on the couch, eyes glued to the TV. Mahiru had turned it on in desperation about forty minutes ago and Kuro had not moved since. It was currently airing some strange episodic gum commercial but judging by Kuro's expression you would have thought it was a documentary of the end of the world.

 "How do they do this?" Kuro asked suddenly and Mahiru turned fully, watching as he pointed to the screen upon which was a helicopter view of the city.

 "Do what?"

 "Record this? Is that what you called it? It's so detailed!"

 Mahiru wandered closer, unable to ignore the impulse and peered over Kuro's shoulder. "You said you were some magical being but you've never seen a TV? Where have you been all this time?"

 "In the woods, mostly." Kuro answered casually. "It seems I should have ventured farther into town sooner!"

 Briefly imagining the utter devastation Kuro would have wrought unchecked had he indeed entered the heart of the town Mahiru held back a shiver and shook his head. "No. No way. You are way too much trouble."

 "It is not I that wishes for such destruction." Kuro said, flicking his sharp gaze up to Mahiru. "I only embody what you desire."

 "You keep saying that." Mahiru muttered, looking away in discomfort. "Listen. Do you need food? Or..." He trailed off in embarrassment, completely gobsmacked that the next words were about to leave his mouth. "Or are you actually a vampire?"

 "Vampire." Kuro rolled the word around for a moment and shrugged. "Call me what you will. You humans have always had such curious need to name everything. Regardless, it will not change that I simply am."

 Mahiru sighed. He really was getting so tired of all this mystical bullshit. "So then, did you want to get dinner?"

 Kuro froze, his shoulders going taut beneath the blanket he had huddled up in. "Dinner?" His eyes were darting from side to side as though in worry, though there was nothing but an innocuous soap opera preview on.

 "Yeah? You know, we go somewhere and get food? I honestly hate the idea of bringing you in public, but I don't have anything here." Mahiru admitted, frowning. "You have to behave."

 "Ah, I see." Kuro turned, fixing Mahiru with a strange look. "You need to eat then?"

 "I take it, based on this conversation that you don't actually require food." Mahiru muttered sarcastically. "But yes, I'm hungry."

 "Very well. Let's go." Kuro stood in one quick move, the blanket falling from his shoulders and to the couch and Mahiru flinched back a step, having completely forgotten just how tall Kuro really was. At his jerking retreat, Kuro raised a brow and a mocking smile flew across his face. "Do you truly find me so frightening?"

 An immediate affirmation withered on Mahiru's tongue as he studied Kuro's expression. It was neutral and empty but somewhere, deep beneath the veneer of indifference, he thought he could see a wiggling of disappointment. He didn't know what possessed him to do what he did, or even why he would care to do so in the first place but he found himself snorting and reaching out to wrap his hand around Kuro's wrist, tugging him roughly around the back of the couch and towards the kitchen. "Of course not, idiot. What's scary about you?"

#servamp #asks #blackcat!Kuro #my writing #should I add the tag #fae!Kuro #? #ever since Kat said I can't get it out of my head #as evidenced here LOL #Mahiru Shirota #hmmm