#and learn how to dissociate and just let them have it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lassieposting · 2 years ago

Text

Been thinking a lot lately about romanced Astarion post-spawn ending.

Because like. The Funnest™ thing about cptsd is how much of it gets delayed. When you're trapped in a lengthy, ongoing traumatic situation, you do not have the ability to process and start healing your mental wounds. Your brain and body go into survival mode, and all that matters in the moment is that you somehow cope with the horrors. He wouldn't have been able to even begin dealing with the physical, mental and emotional toll of two hundred years of torture, brutalization and dehumanization while he was under Cazador's control; he is in constant danger, surrounded by sharks in the water, and survival means not letting them smell blood. He can't afford to fall apart, to show weakness. He is shockingly functional and competent in-game, partly because he has to be to work as a game character, but also partly because...it do be like that, to some degree. When death, for whatever reason, is not an option, you just have to shut down and keep going. People adapt in order to survive, and when we learn that showing an "injury" (physical or psychological) only gets us punished, we learn to hide it.

Early-game Astarion is terrified - of Cazador, of Godey, of being hunted down by his siblings, of being staked or sold off at the first opportunity by Tav and the other companions, of turning into a mindflayer, of another painful transformation, of losing himself when he's only just regained his autonomy after two centuries, of what Cazador will do to him if he ever finds him - the man is overwhelmed by fear. He's on thin ice as a vampire, and he's not going to give them any more reason to want him gone. Survival instinct is still in control, and in this new situation, crafting some fragile safety for himself means not only selling his body for protection, but also being useful. Clear-headed. Good in a fight.

Endgame Astarion finds himself in a completely different situation. The time-sensitive overarching threats - Cazador and impending ceremorphosis - have been dealt with. He has a loving, supportive partner he's really starting to feel safe with - Tav/Durge has proved that they're on his side, that their affection is genuine, that they don't just want him for the one thing he's been told he's good for. They've told him they're going to help him find a workaround for his sun allergy. He's getting fed regularly. He has time to stop, and breathe, and just. Recuperate.

For the first time in 200 years, he is safe.

And it will probably take a while to catch up, during which time he will seem to be coping really well, but at some point, his brain is going to realise that he's safe, and it's going to finally start processing the sheer fucking horror he's been through. Since I haven't seen anyone talking about this particular fun aspect of cptsd, allow me to offer u some thoughts on issues Astarion and Tav might end up dealing with in the months/years postgame, during the

✨ Delayed Trauma Response ✨

Memory Gaps: Astarion realising, as he opens up to Tav, that there are entire years or decades of his life from which he has only a handful of memories. Great big blank stretches where he has no idea where he was, who he was with, what was happening to him. Some of the gaps cover years at a time where he was so dissociated and shut down that he just didn't retain any memories of what was going on around him. Some are shorter periods of particularly horrific torture that his brain has deliberately blocked out to protect him.

Recovered Memories: At some point, years into the future when he's done A Lot of healing, he might find that every now and then, a fragment of those lost memories will unexpectedly come back to him. He'll catch a particular scent on the breeze, or overhear a specific phrase in the street, or cross paths with someone whose face is oddly familiar, and he'll get a glimpse of an acute horror he'd filed neatly away where it couldn't hurt him anymore. He very rarely remembers all the context to those flashes of his past. He might recall that he was punished, but not what he was punished for, or he might remember words spoken by a greedy conquest, but be unable to recall the man's face.

Dissociation: Tav knows going into this relationship that Astarion has basically made an art out of dissociating during sex. They also know, from their shared encounter with the drow twins, that he's not great at enforcing his own boundaries - he'll always say he'll speak up and back out if he stops having fun, but in practice he rarely does; he's not used to having the option of saying no to his partner, and being punished if he tries. So they know there's going to be some practice and experimentation and negotiation necessary there, to figure out the rough limits of his comfort zone. But once he starts really processing, there may be days where he just checks out completely. Tav will touch his shoulder, and he'll startle and apologise - "Terribly sorry, darling, I was miles away for a moment there." And Tav will gently point out that he's been sat in the same spot vacantly staring into the middle distance for hours. They've been checking in on him occasionally and this is the first time he's responded. It's unsettling, to say the least.

Lost Time: Astarion was very young when he was turned, physically mature but emotionally juvenile. He was basically an overgrown teenager, in the phase of life where elves are just starting to learn who they are and what they want, and figure out their place in the world. But he never got to do that, because he spent his formative young adult years in a world where everyone became an abuser, where his only means of surviving was to smile and charm and obey while even his basic human dignity was stripped away. He learned that communication is based on manipulation. He learned that the powerful can do whatever they like to the weak. He learned an incredibly toxic, abusive way of life, and that was his family dynamic, his everyday life, for as long as he can remember. Now that he's free and safe, he's realising that the world doesn't actually work that way and that he's now far behind even shorter-lived races in social/emotional development. He's grieving for the person he could've been. He's grieving for the life he could've lived. He's grieving for all the years he already lost, and the ones he'll lose in the future as he flounders to catch up. A decent chunk of his life was stolen from him, and that's time he will never get back.

Flashbacks & Night Terrors: Specifically the kind where your brain convinces you that an injury you had a long time ago is actually an injury you have (or are receiving) right now. There are nights where he'll wake Tav in a panic, because his back feels like it's on fire, he can feel every freshly-carved wound dripping blood and he's in so much pain he doesn't know what else to do. If Tav looks, they see nothing out of the ordinary - old, long-healed scars, same as always. But the pain and the fear and the distress are all very real to him, and all they can do is try to comfort him, cover his back with cool damp cloths or healing salves, remind him he's safe now and they're not leaving him.

Boundary Shifting: Sometimes, Tav can come up and hug him from behind, and he'll melt into them a little bit and go all soft and happy. Other times, he might flinch away or go rigid at the same gesture. A lot of the time, it really depends on how he's feeling on the day, but at least a little bit of it is deliberate - he's pushing to find the limit of just how much autonomy Tav is willing to give him. He wants to know at what point they'll stop respecting his "no". Will they accept it if he doesn't want a hug? If he wants to sleep in his own room tonight? At what point will understanding turn to anger at being rejected? From the drow twins four/fivesome, we also know he's got a tendency to push his own boundaries, and jump into things he's actually not ready for, and Tav would be the one holding his hand through the fallout as he tries to figure out what his own boundaries even are.

Frustration! So, so much frustration. He wants to be Over It already. He wants to move past everything that ever happened to him and never think about it again. He hates that Cazador still has a grip on him, even in death - he doesn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction of dwelling on all his punishments, his cruelties. Sometimes, that frustration is going to explode outwards at Tav - he'll get angry at them for coddling him, or find something small to start a fight over, or he'll set an unreasonable boundary and try to defend it because he's still learning what healthy boundaries look like. Sometimes, it will implode inwards, and that won't be about Tav at all, but they'll get the brunt of it all the same - it might come out as self-loathing or self-punishment, and he'll react by doing something stupid, like trying to drive them away, because having a secure, relatively healthy relationship is terrifying and the instinct is to destroy it before Tav can. There will be yelling and angry tears and deeply unhealthy coping mechanisms, and they'd have to work through that. Trauma is ugly, and Astarion is right at the beginning of a very long journey towards healing.

Abandonment Issues: Astarion wants the relationship to be one between equals, but he's kind of got Tav on a pedestal all the same. They saved him. They helped him get rid of Cazador for good. They chose him and love him despite a wealth of better (in his eyes) options, and all his baggage. They stayed with him even when he has very little to offer them. We know his vanity and obnoxious self-absorption is a fragile attempt to obscure the fact that his self-esteem is in the dirt and he has virtually no self-worth, and there are a couple of occasions in-game where it becomes clear that he's afraid of losing the one person who somehow considers him lovable. After seeing Sebastian and all the other conquests, he begs Tav not to hate him, saying that he did what he had to. If he has a rival for Tav's affections, and Tav informs him that they broke up with the rival to be with Astarion, he's shocked and the first thing out of his mouth is, "You ended things with them for me? Why?" And if Durge tries to break up with him for his own safety, his facade drops and he immediately asks if he did something wrong. So while he's not afraid to argue with Tav, if something happens - like an angry outburst - that upsets or angers them, and he thinks he's at risk of losing that one steady, stable person in his life, he might well cling and overcompensate to try and repair what he thinks is a fracture in their relationship. He'll fawn or beg or crawl into Tav's bed to "apologise" and "make it up to them" because, well, very occasionally it worked on Cazador. With patience and good communication and lots of repeatedly driving the lesson home to overcome 200 years of education to the contrary, he will eventually start to believe that "I'm really pissed off at you right now," does not equate to, "You are the worst mistake I've ever made and I am leaving you."

Panic Attacks: I feel like honestly he'd get some symptoms of these on a fairly regular basis, but he's never been given any option other than just trying to power through them. He's used to realising he's shaking, he's used to feeling like he's watching himself from outside his body, or like he can't breathe even though he doesn't need to. He's very familiar with the sickening fear in his gut, so intense it makes his head spin. He's not used to being comforted or reassured about them - he thinks they're normal. Tav disagrees.

Anyway, cptsd is messy and complicated and often looks very different from person to person so these will not represent everyone's but these are just some ideas for what the ongoing recovery process might make them work through, based on the aspects I'm most familiar with.

Projecting? Who's projecting? I'm not projecting. Shut up.

#bg3 #bg3 headcanons #bg3 meta #astarion x tav #astarion x durge #mom said it's my turn to project on the blorbo #astarion ancunin

3K notes · View notes

thecolorblockcurator · 6 months ago

Text

I have one more thing to say to US voters who chose not to vote in this election

And feel free to reblog this because if this was you- I want you to hear it

Fascism was pounding at the door & you stepped aside and let it walk right in.

Now, I’ve seen the ways you try to derail the conversation, or shift the blame. - If the democrats wanted us to vote they would have had a better campaign, they wouldn’t have pandered to the right.

Do you understand why they pandered to the right, because they were counting on you to understand the severity of this election- they unfortunately thought you wouldn’t be swayed by the major misinformation campaigns that plague social media designed to strip you of your voice

They were trying to do what I’ve seen people say countless times on this website - the from very same people who are rightfully angry and upset about the genocides that are happening all over the world

The democrats were trying to reach out to scared Americans, like your aunt, or grandpa who have their mind twisted by fear, misinformation, & straight up lies. They were trying to break through and tell them to choose humanity. They tried to open the conversation gently- as you do with people who have been brainwashed, and tell them they have a choice. That they can make a better choice this time to protect and save humanity

I won’t walk you through every single way you derail the conversation, from she was a cop - to our voices don’t matter. You will learn it as the years go by.

I understand why you’re trying to shift the blame. Because you did something wrong. You messed up big time- your choice to step aside and let fascism take control of this country doesn’t just affect you. It affects everyone on this planet & the planet itself. Those genocides that are so horrific will get so so much worse because of your choice to waste your vote.

You aren’t morally pure, you didn’t do the morally pure thing. You did the truly and deeply wrong thing. And it’s going to hurt when you realize it.

And please realize it.

Don’t push it away, don’t scapegoat, don’t double down. Don’t give into apathy & dissociation

You need to confront that you are responsible.

Because if you don’t, you’re lost. You’re just as lost as the 60 year old woman addicted to Fox News screaming slurs at her tv and pounding away insults on Facebook.

You need to confront that you chose wrong - and you need to figure out how to make up for that choice

#us politics #election 2024

435 notes · View notes

neonspectrumdreams · 7 months ago

Text

Guide to Voluntary Switching

I/we have known we are a system for around a decade now. One of the most helpful things we have ever learned to do is switching on command. Believe it or not, although it may not feel possible, it is possible to control switching. Sometimes it is harder to do and the switch may not last long, but overall it is very possible to learn how to consistently switch in and out as needed. We are a traumagenic system but this should work for other types of systems as well.

One useful application of this skill is for studying. The alter who learns information is the one with the easiest access to this information. It is possible to keep track of who studied and deliberately call them out when the information is needed.

It is also a great skill to use when processing trauma during therapy. It makes accessing dissociated materials that are specific to one alter much easier. It can help access alters with traumatic memories during something like an EMDR session. Outside of therapy, voluntarily accessing other alters has a wide variety of uses related to accessing compartmentalized ideas and feelings, or the opposite - switching to a capable alter when a young or traumatized alter is not up to handling an unavoidable responsibility or letting a tired alter rest and allowing a new host to become prominent.

The Skill of Gatekeeping

Gatekeeper alters are a well-known alter type. They are present in many systems. If you are in contact with one or more gatekeeper alters, try to get to know them. They may be able to teach you how to think in the way that they do that allows them to control who is and isn't in the front.. It is also possible to develop a good relationship with a gatekeeper alter and ask them to voluntarily trigger switches as needed. This is one method of learning how to control switching that works for some systems.

From what my gatekeepers have shared,

"gatekeeping is in essence: remembering who everyone is, and remembering how they feel allows you to find them inside and pull them out. There is also a feeling of pushing internally that pushes alters back and temporarily makes them go dormant. "

Alter Relationships

Some alters are closer to other alters. These alters may remember the existence of other alters that others may not remember. They may be able to trigger in alters that are close to them but not to the other alter.

Internal World Dynamics

It is possible to call inside for an alter, ask for them to switch in, and they may in fact switch in, although if they are especially dormant they may not hear this request at all. Do note that just thinking about the other alter may trigger a switch to that alter.

What helps is to make an area inside where alters can be found. This could be a specific room or place for each individual alter, or a general meeting area. It can be easy to find alters there because if you last remember seeing them inside somewhere, going back to that place sometimes allows you to access them much more easily. Grouping alters that want to front together/more frequently into a similar place can help them co-front together and find each other more conveniently to trigger switches.

Positive Triggers

All alters have certain things that they are passionate about and interested in. Many alters have specific roles that they automatically come out to perform when the situation calls for it. Pay attention to these triggers. If there is a certain behavior or situation that calls out an alter, make note of that. If an alter especially enjoys doing something, doing that activity can trigger them out - as can even just thinking about doing the activity. If an alter really likes something the other alters do not have a particular preference for, keeping a reminder of this thing around can trigger a switch. If this trigger is easily encountered voluntarily, it can be used to call out the alter.

Network of Associations

All of our alters and other types of thoughtforms are connected to memories and ideas that belong to them. The brain can only process so much information at once, so all living forms within the mind cannot be active at once. The information that is salient in our mind determines who is fronting. The brain can be tricked into pushing specific alters to the front by activating information that is associated with this alter and pushing away information that is not.

Memories

All alters are connected to at least a few memories. These are typically memories that they were personally present for - but could also be memories of creative or analytical ideas, or memories of having a strong emotional reaction about something. This often comes with a sense(s) of nostalgia that is associated with the alter and often occurs when the alter fronts. Remember each one for each alter. Some may overlap. This sense of nostalgia as well as any of these associated pieces of cognitive information, such as specific memories or ideas, can be used to voluntarily switch. They may also have an area of the internal world that is associated with them where they may easily be found.

Essence

Each alter has a distinct sense of self. Particularly in systems with strong amnesia barriers, it may be difficult or impossible to directly experience this firsthand. If it is possible to remember what it feels like to be them when they are present, this can be used to trigger a switch.

Using These Associations to Make the Switch Happen

Reflect on something associated with the alter, and the feeling of their nostalgia or what it feels like to be them. This will usually trigger a switch within a few minutes of doing this constantly or repeating it every few minutes. It may help to pay attention to what areas are active in the internal world as you do this. Try to go to areas where you know that alter often is; you may make a meeting area for the purpose of these voluntary switches to make this easier. Keep talking inside to see if they respond and are co-present. Once you feel their sense of self, imagine yourself/feel yourself mentally falling behind them and push yourself backwards inside. As they begin doing things outside of the mind in the real world, eventually you will either become coconscious, you remain present but are somewhat dissociated and may only be active in the internal world/mind's eye, or a full switch will happen and you won't even notice you're gone.

Types of Triggered Switches

It is possible to trigger a full switch (either one with or without coconsciousness,) as well as to trigger partial switches. Partial switches happen when an alter is awakened and present in some form, for instance they may be able to converse or remember events, but they do not fully front.

Coconsciousness

It is common for voluntary switches to lead to a switch wherein the triggered alter fully fronts and switches in while the original alter that provoked the switch also remains present. If this type of switch is specifically desired, it can be achieved by making an agreement with the alter that is going to switch in. Together, one alter can remember to trigger the other alter whenever they notice the other is not present, and this keeps them present at the same time. If co-consciousness is difficult for a system, this may feel like playing tag at first as both alters get used to the skill of triggering switches.

Complete Switch

Complete switches are common in response to voluntary switching. If the switching alters are all in agreement, they can maintain a planned switch by engaging in a voluntary switching method to keep the intended alter in the front. It can help to have a place in the internal world where they can go to symbolize they are leaving the front and going inside. The alter that has switched in can use the voluntary switching methods as a grounding technique to reduce dissociation and keep that particular alter in front. Particularly in dissociative systems, the brain naturally attempts to depersonalize which causes cyclical personality switching; grounding on the essence of that alter's sense of self reduces this dissociation and keeps them in front.

Ground to Maintain

It is common for the triggered switch to not last for very long. You may need to trigger the switch multiple times before it sticks. It helps if the alter switching in tried to ground themselves. If you remain co-conscious, which can happen in a succesful triggered switch, it can help to reflect on the stimulus (such as the feeling of the alter or their memories or favorite things) you used to trigger the switch to help solidfy and maintain the switch.

Fatigue

It can feel mentally exhausting to try to trigger a switch too many times. It is not uncommon to have to trigfer a switch multiple times, failing each time before giving up. Sometimes, you just cannot trigger a switch at all for some inexplicable reason. Don't be afraid to give up for a bit and try again later. It gets easier the more you practice. Don't be discouraged.

Host Switching

It happens to us all from time to time - our host(s) becomes tired or depressed and needs a break. Maybe our host is functional but is not as interested in daily life as another alter that would like a more active role in their life (perhaps because it involves something that is a positive trigger for them.) There is a way of chronically using these alter switching techniques to change hosts.

In order to change hosts, you have to trigger a switch to the intended new host frequently. Some people set an alarm on their phone to trigger a switch several times a day (depends on how long the triggered switch lasts), or make an in-system agreement to always trigger the intended host when host responsibilities (like going to the doctor or paying bills or going to class or eating) come up.

By chronically triggering a switch to a different host, over time (a few days to a few weeks, generally) this becomes the system's default pattern of switching.

Hostile Uses of Deliberate Switching

Remain in good communication with your alters and make sure that the switching alters are okay with what is happening. Don't try to force alters that don't want to leave to go away, and don't try to force alters that don't want to be present to the front. Going against an alter's will can feel painful at the moment and can cause long term problems if it becomes a chronic habit.

#did alter #alterhuman #did osdd #traumagenic system #plural system #endogenic #hc did system #Voluntary switching

527 notes · View notes

lsd-astronaut · 2 months ago

Text

Random headcanons of the fellowship bc I'm bored (mix of modern & canon)

✨Frodo

Scares the shit out of people by staring them directly in the eye without blinking but if you looked inside his mind, it'd be a rotating PNG of a fish, he just dissociates a lot

Would absolutely steal stuff in Claire's. He's really good at it.

Doesn't smoke, yet he is the one who gets asked the most out of the four hobbits for a light.

He strikes me as a stomach problems & back pain girlie.

🌻Sam

He looks like a bread guy for me. I like bread.

Full on conversations with his plants. Mainly gossip about the Shire, and how dashing Mister Frodo was looking today, can you believe it?

The only hobbit with a driving license (Frodo can't bc of depression and dissociation; Merry got pulled over and got his license revoked for having weed in his car; Pippin is a minor).

🍁Merry

You know these videos where a girl (usually) records her partner while they're cuddling and he's so whiny and talking like a princess, and suddenly he sees the phone and forces his voice like three octaves lower? Yeah...

Narrates everything that everyone in the fellowship does during the journey like it's a nature documentary. Stopped pretty quickly after Moria.

The Walter White of Middle Earth if he could get away with it, let's be honest.

🌱Pippin

Had a phase where he ate anything he saw. Mainly stopped after Merry made him cry by teasing him that if he kept eating ants, they would eat him from inside out. He still munches on flowers when he's bored. Aragorn has given up on telling him to be careful in case one is poisonous, but Boromir suffers mini heart attacks daily.

Accidentally mansplains to everyone he knows but that's because he gets very excited with his hyperfixations! He has no idea why he doesn't have any luck in love, and Merry is like "dude shut the fuck up..."

Is like these children who will constantly ask "why" to their parents, and Boromir tries to be nice and genuine for him but he eventually gets tired. "But, why?" "Because I fucking said so!" "Okay... but why?"

I feel like he cries pretty easily about everything and anything. He is just very sensitive, and feels emotions really strongly.

🗡️Aragorn

Hates parties; when he is forced to attend one, he will sit in one corner and sip on his drink. Gets really drunk and texts Arwen. "How was the party, meleth nín?" "Me, yes."

Hyperfixates on the weirdest things like Pippin, but his autism shows in the most deadpan way possible so he just stands there like "i like swords" and will emotionlessly list you all the characteristics of your weapon of choice. If you looked inside his mind, you'd see he is REALLY excited. He just doesn't know how to show it.

🏹Legolas

For some reason, I feel like he'd know a super random skill? Like ventriloquism. Recreates the "hi my name is snapple" video with Gimli just to fuck with him.

Can actually whistle with a leaf, idk how he does this, but it's the only 'instrument' he can play (apart from his voice if you want to get nitpicky with me) lol this elf does not have a single musical bone.

⛏️Gimli

Crystal girlie. Gives Frodo an encyclopaedia on all the types of healing properties and characteristics of every kind of gem and stone.

Really good medical skills. The rest of the fellowship regularly forget his uncle is Oín, so they're dumbfounded when Gimli gives advice to Aragorn, who is the only one that isn't surprised and actually listens to him when patching up Frodo lmfao

🛡️Boromir

Talks like someone out of a Shakespeare play and is dumbfounded when everyone in the fellowship is like "sup bro"

Keeps a heart locket with a picture of Faramir he likes to show like a proud dad does with his kids' wallet photos. Faramir was horrified when he learned of this and stopped talking to him for a month

Took to the hobbits like a dad who says he doesn't want a dog and then they're inseparable. Says he doesn't have favourites but Merry and Pippin remind him of Faramir and him when they were kids.

#lotr #lotr headcanons #frodo baggins #sam gamgee #merry brandybuck #pippin took #aragorn #legolas #gimli #boromir

191 notes · View notes

rozeliyawashereyall · 3 months ago

Text

Headcanons, headcanons and more headcanons but with drawings this time.

✵One common headcanon I always think of is that literally every character ever had fucked up trying to cut their hair by themselves, it's a fun pattern /lh

✵Fucking bet you Tethys used to bully Zef

✵ Timmy and Marco would love musicals actually

✵Explained it before- but in human form; I really feel like the merfolk in human form are still stronger and faster then the average human, Zef would be too but he's still getting used to the surface lmao ✵The fish bois most likely don't understand what hair dye is

"I'm dying my hair blonde tomorrow-"

"..you're killing your hair??"

✵Sera would either tolerate or HATEEEEE slasher movies omfg. Zef doesn't like the little mermaid movie solely because of that one mom dying scene.

✵I feel like Soheil wears reading glasses..it's just a vibe

✵do you think there's video games on the ship in the rebel series, cuz I feel like Naveed would DESTROY others at Mario kart He has daily competitions with Soheil, Torvin occasionally joins and destroys both of them at it

✵Nathan also seems like he rocks at video games, specifically the horror ones. Put him in Slenderman and he's getting out of there with all 7 papers within 20 minutes if not less

✵if Zef finds something shiny he'll immediately bring it to Sera, on some occasions he *purposefully* looks for shiny objects for him

✵He also has an ongoing mission to try and sneak up on Sera, but Sera always knows. Zef refuses to give up.

✵Guys you're really gonna need to hear me out on this one. Ray reads romance novels in his free time for fun. OH ESPECIALLY THE SAME WITH SKY- He wants to know what love feels like and what better way to learn than to read.

✵Ray had those little Beyblades back in middle school. Hell he probably STILL has them actually, just for the memories. Also it's a really cool trinket

✵Mercury has a subtle limp I feel ? From getting hurt all the time—well, not ALL the time, but enough times.

✵Zef has a VERY specific and picky music taste but the problem is you can barely figure it out because it changes like, every few days or so.

✵I feel like Konrad and Sky tend to dissociate a lot ? Just daydreaming and all

✵I'm going to need everyone to hear me out on both Zef and Sera liking photography. Clemmy shows them how to take photos on their phone and it’s all over—like HOW did you take 378 pictures in the span of an hour.

Then hits the realisation that humans live for like, a third of what merfolk live up to so Zef and Sera start hanging little photos of them and Clemmy they took in the cave where they'd meet up as a forever memory.

✵Not an HC and more of a theory- but hear me out, what are the chances Sky DOES turn back into a human somehow?? Smt smt the long line of dark magic that turned the elves into vampires clashes with the holy immunity and reverses him back....But also a negative and a positive make a negative—so instead of reversing him back it could either turn that ginger into god or kill him.

✵Zef thinks jumping out of the water to startle people is the funniest thing ever.

✵Zef, Nathan, Konrad, Sky, AND Ray stim. I rest my case.

✵If Timmy hears a new word, he has to repeat it at least three times.

✵actual crossover shit—Uno night would go CRAZY with all of them. For Ray's safety and sanity he doesn't join- "no I'm not playing Uno with a vampire, a zombie, an enhanced spy and a fucking mermaid. Get me OUT of here." And you know what I don't blame him—If someone said I have to play go fish with a werewolf I'd leave right then and there....Imagine playing go fish with merfolk though- I'd do it just for the jokes i fear.

✵Do not let any of these men anywhere near horror games actually, something is getting broken and it's probably the monitor.

✵ Timmy is the resident "baby" of this AU, and Ray is the extremely unwilling babysitter.

✵it's okay though he acquires Bodie as a father figure /hj

That's all yipppeee

188 notes · View notes

osamucide · 8 months ago

Text

⊹ FOR SURE

RELATIVELY STABLE AND TENTATIVELY ABLE TO SAY FOR CERTAIN WHETHER THIS UNCERTAINTY IS FOR SURE . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: 2k

cw: sad and probably ooc dazai but he’s my husband so i actually know how he falls apart, pretty straightforward references to anxiety+dissociation, references to self harm+suicidal ideation but nothing graphic, angst+hurt/comfort, dazai cries and then you feed him that's all

reid: a little spur of the moment something i started when i wasn’t feeling so hot a bit ago. ethel cain’s cover of this song has altered the course of my life anyway enjoy me projecting

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

He was quiet when he got home, which is uncharacteristic, unless he’s scheming. But there was no glint in his eyes and no menace behind his grin, only exhaustion. What’s more is there was no downcast expression, no particularly sluggish movement to suggest he was upset; granted, he would regularly go on performing his usual persona even if he was upset. He was always all moving puzzle pieces, all thick mask and mystery.

It’s a good thing you’ve learned to read him so plainly.

You owe it to the little shared space you’re in, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, reading a book of his as he shakes his coat off and tosses it across the small dining table with two chairs side-by-side at it instead of across from one another. Dazai usually hangs his coat up on the rack by the door, slips his shoes off mindlessly and comes to flop his entire body weight on top of you, but tonight he pulls his laces undone and leaves his shoes tucked neatly against the wall, walks by the back of the couch to press a ghostly kiss to the crown of your head, and heads straight to the bathroom, which he locks himself in.

You swallow as you hear the shower start. You had specifically picked out an apartment with a standing shower, no tub, when you moved in with him. You’d emptied it of razors a handful of times and you probably would a handful of times more, and you kept all of both of your medication in your bedside table. Still, you can no longer quite focus on the words in front of you.

So, you flick the television on. A little more noise in your brain helps tune out the shower that’s just that—a shower. He showers, most often, because he’s feeling strange and not because he needs to feel clean. Maybe he needs to feel clean, but not in a way that a shower will allow. He does it anyway. You wait.

When the water turns off and he doesn’t immediately bounce out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, singsonging which leftovers you should heat up for him, you turn the TV volume down a few notches. When it’s been five minutes or so, you find yourself in the kitchen putting day-old bibimbap in the microwave. When it’s been ten, you’re knocking on the door.

"Osamu?" Your voice is soft as your knock. "I waited for you to eat." Dirty trick, you know. But you also know he won’t otherwise; not on a night like this.

You hear a bit of shuffling before the bathroom door creaks open. His eyes are red, his nose flushed, and he’s rubbing his face with the corner of his towel like he’s just awoken from a nap. He’s got no bandages on. He nearly whispers, "You didn’t have to."

"Wanted to." You work the towel from his hands as he turns the light off. He’ll hide behind the darkness if nothing else, but it’s alright; you’ll let him. You pat water from his shoulders before you sling the towel around him like a cape. You whisper back, "I’ll get you clothes. Please get silverware, yes?"

You don’t give him much of a choice, but he’s in a state where he’s pliant enough to listen to corporeal orders. Getting silverware will be a marginally easier task than dressing for him right now.

After pulling a sweatshirt and pair of pajama pants out of your drawers—they’re his, or maybe yours, doesn’t really matter; what does matter is they cover as much skin as possible—you return to him on the couch, two bowls of cooling bibimbap with chopsticks stuck in them on coffee table. He’s got as much of his bare body under the towel as it will allow.

When you set next to him and peel the towel back he looks nearly catatonic. It spurs tears to your lash line, but you hold back. "Arms, please."

He shoves himself into the hoodie, tousling his wet mop of hair in the process, and takes the pants from you, which he stands robotically to step into. When he sits you wrap five fingers across the top of his flannel-clad thigh and press a short kiss to his cheek.

As if sparked by your touch, he curls himself into you.

You’re quick to receive him; you unlock his hands from where they latch behind your neck, gently, like everything else, and you lean back, back, until your head is hitting the pillow you were lounged up against earlier. His fingers scramble for somewhere to land; you will his weight down onto you, his shoulder and hip to tuck beside yours on the inside of the couch, his free arm and leg to sling across your body and his sweet face in the side of your neck. The water from his hair soaks through your shirt. You don’t care. You feel his breath; your fingertips trace circles along his spine, and your outside hand comes to tangle up with his. Eating will have to wait.

You don’t waste time asking if he wants to talk. If he did, he would’ve started by now.

So you focus on his breathing, and how lucky you are to have it ghosting along your collarbone. He’s gray, then white, then gray, then blue in the light of the TV as his thumb moves across the back of your hand, stiff, like it’s just been freed from paralysis.

You wait for his breath to shake; you know it will.

And he knows you know, because he squeezes your hand in a pulsing rhythm like a heartbeat. He hates this. He hates that you've seen him crumble so many times that you know exactly what he needs.

You say it so softly, again, almost a whisper: "I've got you, my love."

He doesn't want you to say it's okay or let it out or talk to me; this is another thing you know very well. He feels like he's floating away from what little sense of self he has to begin with and it's not okay, and he doesn't want to talk about it, he doesn't want to be told when to cry or not, but he does need reminded that you're here, and you're real, and so is he, and so is this thing that both have; you'll grab his ankles and pull him down out of the air. You always do. You always do.

So he cries anyway.

It's like hearing a foreign language leave his mouth. There's something so assured about Dazai even while he believes he's all smoke and mirrors and seeing—hearing—his voice jump between heaving breaths and cracking sobs has always jarred you in some way. Moreover, now that you're so attuned to the way he breaks, it fills you with a tired anger that you can't place on anything concrete. It's a frustration you're glad to shoulder with him, but a frustration no less. You would set fire to everything you could touch, strangle it all to death with your bare hands, if it guaranteed his peace. But you know he wouldn't want that, not anymore; you quell the rage inside you between strands of his hair, fingerpads combing over his scalp with all that anger channeled into love, pure love. For as terrible and rotten as he's convinced he is, he's truly turned you into something softer than you thought yourself capable of being.

You feel his heart racing double-time against yours; you briefly wish you had no chest, no ribs, no physical form to separate you from him, so that your heart could cradle his, give over to his troubled body the time of the breath yours breathes.

He's all jagged edges right now and you're holding him like he's made of cotton. It makes him worse, momentarily, and he tears his hand away from yours; he knows wrapping around you like this, like a boa constrictor around its prey, will make his arms lose feeling but he does it anyway, like he's worried you'll go up in a cloud of dust if he doesn't hold onto you tight enough. He knows it's probably uncomfortable for you, too, laying back on his knotted fingers while he shoves every piece of himself as close as he can get to you, but you don't say anything, don't even make a sound when he hyperventilates into your shoulder and pushes out pathetic whimpers between his stuttering. He knows his face is twisted into that expression he long ago deemed too ugly to look at in the mirror. He gasps like he's underwater, and you just press your cheek to his temple while you lose track of if the wetness on your shoulder is from his hair or his eyes. It doesn't matter. You love him so fucking much.

He weeps against you with his constraint surrendered, loud but muffled by your shirt, at least until whatever movie was on is over. When he finally lifts his head, your eyes flutter open. You hadn't realized you closed them.

You tilt to look at him; the seam of your shirt collar is imprinted into his cheek. His bangs have dried wildly; you push them away from his eyes which are raw with sorrow, and Dazai's hands unclasp from behind you, settling back to how they first were with one curled up into the couch and the other interlaced with yours. He's devastatingly beautiful. You can't help the ghost of the sad smile you wear; it's because he's so gorgeous, and also you want to let him know you're content to be here—not content with what's upset him, not at all, but content to pick him up and help him haul himself forward. He does not reflect the smile back to you. You don't blame him.

"Let's eat." You leave the please unspoken, but it hangs there anyway.

"It's cold," he complains, still distant, but with a glimmer of a pout you think may be him. He's not getting out of it, though.

You sit him up, keep him close to your side and pick up a bowl; it's indeed cold, but you take a bite anyway, as if to show him it's not so bad. When you hold sliced carrot and broccoli to his lips, he looks at you like you're trying to feed him dirt, but opens his mouth anyway.

And it may as well be medicine going down. Not that he particularly cares for reheated and recooled leftover bibimbap, but your fingers being at the other end of the chopsticks makes it appealing. More than appealing. Delightful, even. He never really understood how things like food, music, or art could be healing until he met you and you doodles silly pictures of him on slow Sunday mornings, sang old love songs to him while you shooed him away from the stove as you cooked dinner, fed him leftovers in your shared home, on your shared couch, surrounded by all the things that were both yours and his, sweatshirts, books, blankets, chopsticks alike.

And he tells you that in his own way.

"Heat it up again for me? Please?"

He speaks the plea this time, and you grin—not sad this time, but wholly, as he relights slowly in front of you. And as already established, you'd do anything for him.

"Mhm."

"I love you," he blurts. Tags it on. You stand, gathering both bowls, still grinning.

"I love you." No question about any of it. You press a kiss to the crown of his head. He unfurls the blanket from where you'd slung it over the back of the couch earlier, picking up the remote to flick through the channels, finally breathing steadily as he waits for you to return from the kitchen. Your kitchen, his kitchen. He hears the microwave hum, in another room, not on another planet. He knows he'll be alright.

#with love—reid #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #bsd x reader #bsd dazai x reader

356 notes · View notes

allisluv · 4 months ago

Note

Could you write about reader x Finnick where they both met from being victors and were both sold by the Capitol and reader is having nightmares about it so he comforts her

bluffs.

pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!victor!reader

content warnings: pre-established relationship, reader is sold into prostitution, brief mentions of dissociation, shame, brief mention of burning hot showers, nightmares, anxiety attacks. kind of a backstory before we get into the actual nightmare. kind of ptsd. this one is very angsty y'all. if there's anything else you think should be added please let me know!

word count: 0.8k

Once that final canon went off and you were announced as the winner of the Hunger Games, you thought it was finally over— until President Snow called you into his office the next morning and gave you the ultimatum that he had given many tributes before you; be sold into sex-work, or watch everyone you loved be led like animals to the slaughter.

You may have been many things, but you were not stupid.

You prided yourself on being able to tell when someone was bluffing.

And President Snow was as serious as they came.

Your first client was the worst; the pain when you shifted the wrong way, the overwhelming feeling of shame, the ache in your tired bones from being propped in the one position for too long. You had spent three hours in the shower that night in an effort to get the feeling of their hands off your body.

It didn’t work.

It never did— a lesson your red raw skin had had to learn the hard way.

Still, by the time your sixth ‘session’ rolled around, you had found a way to distance yourself from it. A way to almost pull yourself out of your body until it was all over.

Was it the healthiest coping mechanism? Absoloutely not. But it worked. And that was all you had the mental capacity to care about in that moment of time.

Finnick, your boyfriend, found out around client number ten, when you came home with hickeys so large that even your highest turtleneck struggled to conceal them.

His first thought, as selfish as it sounded, was that you were cheating on him. But then you winced when he touched your shoulder, both in pain and in fear, and it clicked into place for him.

You didn’t say anything.

He didn’t ask.

He simply lead you to the bathroom, assisted you in stripping out of your clothes, and ran you a bath. He assessed the damage to your body before helping you into the tub and holding your hand as you sank back into the soapy water. You sobbed and he climbed into the bathtub, still clad in his vest top and his boxers.

He held you as he cried and when you had no more tears left, he wrapped you in a warm, soft towel and tenderly dried you off. He applied the best creams to the bruises, hickeys and scrapes on your body, before coaxing you to lie down hso he could spoon you from behind.

Neither of you talk for a while. He simply holds you as you stare ahead, a distant look in your eyes that he knows far too well. Eventually, you drift off as he runs his fingers through your locks of hair.

You don’t know how long you sleep for, but you eventually wake with a scream lodged in the back of your throat and tears streaming freely down your face. You sit up, holding your chest with one hand and clutching onto Finnick’s vest top with your other.

Your skin is slick with a sheen of sweat as Finnick looks at you with an understanding crease in his brows. Your eyes dart around, wide and doe-like as you attempt to take in as much of your surroundings as possible.

“It’s just me, angel,” Finnick reassures. “It’s just me. You’re not there, okay? It was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real.” He smooths the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone. “You’re okay,” he repeats, voice soothing and sugary sweet. “Do you know who I am?”

You nod and he coaxes you into answering with a small smile. “Finn.” You answer, but your voice sounds foreign and cracked, even to your own ears.

“Good. That’s good, angel. Do you know where you are?”

You chance a look around the room just to make sure you’re right. “Home,” you croak out.

Finnick smiles gently. “Good job. You’re doing so well. Why don’t you lie back down for a minute, angel?” He suggests.

You’re hesitant. Bad things tend to happen when you lie down. “I’m not sleepy.”

“I know, angel. I know you’re not sleepy anymore. You don’t have to be. We can just lie here and cuddle for a while until you come back to me fully, okay? Are you comfortable with that, or do you not want to be touched?”

You hesitate. The truth is, you don’t know, but you decide to give it a shot, anyway. What’s the harm in trying? “Can we cuddle?”

Finnick nods, and gentle pulls you closer so that your head is resting above his chest, where you can hear the steady thump, thump, thump, of his heart beating. He makes sure to keep his grip loose enough so that it doesn’t feel constricting and you can pull away if you need to. He waits for a minute or two before asking, “Do you want to talk about it?” You shake your head quickly and he can feel your chest starting to heave with shallow breaths again. Hes quick to soothe you with soft caresses and gentle words. “That’s okay, angel. We don’t have to. We can just lie here, alright? It’s okay. I’m right here.” He presses his lips to your forehead in a feather-light kiss. “I’m right here.”

168 notes · View notes

aninipanin1 · 3 months ago

Text

GLASS SHOES

Pairing: Nagi Seishiro x Reader

"In the midst of the many beautiful guests and opulent decorations, the lazy prince can only see one person - you." (Cinderella AU)

Note: I def did not imagine Nagi wearing this outfit of him in the official art lmao lmao. But anyways, midway through editing I realized Nagi's eyes were GREY and NOT BROWN which pissed me off (mandela effect is wildin) so forgive me if there are some instances I called his eyes brown.

"That boy will never learn, will he?!"

A loud bang echoed throughout the large meeting room inside the gargantuan and lavish palace. The king, who frequently received reports from his men about his only son, the crown prince was once again more than angry about the news he received.

The duke, who was with the king, cowered as His Majesty threw a small tantrum about how his son will never listen, or about how he does not take his duties seriously.

"Your m-majesty, I believe we just have to be patient-"

"I AM PATIENT, AND I HAD ALWAYS BEEN, ESPECIALLY WITH HIM!"

The old king's face turned into a comical cherry red, which got the duke a little worried for his health, patting the smaller male's back with the intent to comfort the furious and weary king.

"Sleeping in his sword fighting lessons, escaping his philosophy and politics lectures just to play in the carnivals, and now letting the Princess of Marais await him just because he did not want to get married and slept in?! Ridiculous!! Oh, how will I face that dear girl's family."

The king finally fell to his chair in exhaustion. He hated to stress himself or be mad at his beloved son, but Seishiro always did bring out the childish, unreasonable anger in him, especially since the boy had been the way he was since he was born.

Seishiro had always been the lazy kid, a characteristic no one knew where it originated. Both his parents were responsible and dignified leaders of the kingdom, something their subjects praised them for for years. The only thing that kept him from making the kingdom fall on its roots was the fact that he was a genius.

Playing the piano beautifully at the young age of 10, beating his fencing master at the age of 12, and even outsmarting his tactics mentor at the age of 15. He seemed to just get anything that was taught to him in such a short time and without any struggle too.

How befitting of the nickname the Lazy Genius Prince that most of the people in the kingdom called him.

"I just want to see him happy. For him to settle down and find someone he loves just like how I did at his age. Not wasting his time in his dreams slumbering away or playing those mindless games. I'm not getting younger, after all..."

The king let out a deep sigh, a frown on his face. Ever since his beloved wife died, it was a little harder to get through and communicate with Seishiro, seeing that she was closer to their son than he was. She always did know what to say or do just to make their Seishiro interested.

A regret that the king placed upon his shoulder is that the prince mostly grew up alone since both he and the late queen had always been busy. Slaving themselves away to make sure the kingdom was prosperous, but what they did not know is they also slaved themselves away into being close to nothing in their son's life.

And due to this, he became like this. Completely dissociated from the world.

"Oh, it's all my fault... I should have been a better father. My poor Seishiro..."

He sobbed dramatically as the duke patted his back.

"It's fine, your majesty. Perhaps we should just leave him to decide for himself-"

"Leave him alone?! Oh no, no, you see, tonight is a special night!"

The king laughed, cheering as if he was not just sobbing his heart out a few seconds ago. He sat again on his chair, grinning like an evil mastermind.

"Tonight? You mean the ball in honor of the princess-"

"No, no, NO! Not just that! But I made sure that ALL the eligible maiden in my kingdom is to attend. I'm sure he won't be interested in most of them, but he is surely to like one them isn't he?"

"But sire-"

"Oh, lighten up! HE MOST DEFINITELY WILL!"

The king started to hop around in excitement, thinking about the prospect of his only son married to a beautiful and sweet girl, along with him finally having the grandchildren he had always wanted.

"Time out, Reo..."

"C'mon, Your Highness. We just started less than 3 minutes ago."

Still, the albino prince did not listen. Slumping on the grass face first, not even minding that the dirt was tainting his pristine white uniform. No, he just continued sprawling himself on the grass and dirt, his sword left clanging on the ground.

Seishiro and his right-hand man and the heir of the duke, Lord Reo were currently training their swordsmanship. Well, mostly it was Reo taking it seriously, and Seishiro always tries to find a way to escape the training or take a long break.

Seeing as to how the white-haired prince seldom moved, Reo let out a sigh of resignation before sitting beside him on the grass.

"Fine, only a few minutes before someone sees us not training."

Seishiro did not seem to hear his companion. His grey eyes just focused on looking at the beautiful blue sky. Behind his distracted eyes were many thoughts that ran through his head, thoughts he did not want to think about and found a hassle, but he could not get off his mind no matter how hard he tried.

"You alright?"

"Hmm...Reo, do I really have to find a wife in the ball tonight?"

His words came out lazily slurred. However, there is a hint of something beneath it, something that only those who knew Seishiro well can hear. Annoyance? Disappointment? Sadness? The purple-haired lord could not decipher it, but he gave the prince a smile and a pat on the shoulder.

"Unfortunately, yes. Our kingdom needs a future queen, and well, you know that it's part of our duties as noblemen. Especially you, being the crown prince."

He nodded, turning his attention to the sky once again, still sprawling out on the grass. He let out a curious hum.

"How will I even know who to choose? It's not like I know any girl at all. Hmm...what a hassle everything is. I don't want to get married nor do I wanna be king, anyways."

"Don't be like that! You have been training for this all your life. It will be such a waste to abandon it all. And, you can always interact with them and find someone you find common grounds with."

But the concept of marriage and love still felt a big thing to the prince. He had a good example of love, his father and late mother loved each other dearly, and his father was not the same after she sadly passed. However, did he wish for that same connection with someone? No.

It felt like a hassle. A hassle to care so much about someone that you have to change the way you live to respond to them. It is a hassle to feel something so heavy, to always be cautious, so your heart can not be broken. The same way his father did just to please his own mother and vice versa, only for his heart to be broken once his beloved died of a ruthless illness.

"I don't wanna do it, Reo. Too much of a bother."

He turned and fell face first on the soft grass, which only made the duke's son sigh as he thought out loud.

"I wonder how your future fiancée will handle you, your highness. I give her all my regards and respect. Now c'mon, let's start training again."

"Nooo..."

"There will be so many beautiful dresses and decorations. Oh, I can imagine hearing the beautiful orchestral music or even seeing people dance elegantly! I can imagine the ball would be something out of a fairytale."

You wistfully imagined, dancing about the cold and dusty storage room with a broom in one hand and a duster in another. You looked out the window of the room where from a far, you can make out the tall and majestic palace.

For years, you had always been stuck in this manor. Filled with responsibility over responsibility whilst mourning the once bright atmosphere of the place. This was once a house filled with laughter and love. Love between your father, mother and you.

But, it all changed when your mother died due to her illness, and your father remarried once again after a few years. At first, you were happy for your father. He met someone who made him happy and feel loved again, and additionally to that, you will be having two sisters your age. Oh, how exciting could that be!

However, when your father also passed away, everything in the house changed. You were banished from your once cozy room into the attic, forced to do the household chores due to the fact your stepmother was not good at handling the money of your father, and consequently, lost many workers that once worked under the family manor as a form of damage control.

You never gave up hope, though. Hope that you will be free and one day have your dreams of a happy and loving life like you did before come true. But, for now, daydreams are all that you have and so, you dream.

"Welp, no time dancing around. I have to finish all of these so stepmother can allow me to go to the prince's ball."

You went back to dusting, brooming, and overall arranging the dozens of boxes in the storage room that are mostly filled with old dresses, jewelry, or other knic knacks your stepsisters bought and seldom used again.

After that, you went downstairs to prepare lunch to which you bumped into your stepfamily.

"Oh, Y/n! Polish these shoes perfectly, you hear? It has to be perfect so the prince himself can only look at me tonight!" Ai said, putting a box of shoes in the already large pile of cleaning supplies and other dresses they asked you to fix.

"No! Iron this first! It needs to be perfrctly straight and crisp! I will have the prince's attention on ME, Ai!" Chie cut off as the two started to argue again. You just heaved a sigh and walk away from them to start doing everything they asked you to, knowing you can not afford to dilly dally as the hours ticked and you still have not finished some tasks, especially now that they added a few more on your already overflowing plate.

As expected, when the coach arrived, it was just then that you finished your chores and therefore did not have any time to fix the old dress your mother passed down to you. It was a beautiful dress. However, it was old and needed a few alterations, or else some part of it would probably rip the moment you even put it on.

"Why, child. Why are you not ready yet?" You hear the dreaded voice of your stepmother, hearing the hidden satisfaction in her tone, seeing as you will not be going.

"I'm not going." You said, trying not to let the unshed tears fall or the shake in your voice be heard.

"Not going? Oh, what a shame."

"It's nothing. Please, have a wonderful night."

You headed up to your room, or if you can even call the attic, that. You looked out your window to see the rest of the kingdom, and from afar, you can see the palace as it shined bright amidst the black tint of the night sky due to probably the many chandeliers and other reflective and illuminating materials around its opulent build.

"My only chance to have something fun at least for once...it's the only time I am even a part of the demographic of a ball. Yet... yet I can not even go."

A sigh of sadness and disappointment left you. You were not an idiot and you knew that all the stalling your stepfamily did was to prevent you from ever going. But, you still could not understand why they did not want you to go. It was not like you wanted to get in their way of marrying the prince. You just wanted one night. One night of respite and fun from the hellish life you currently lived in.

Resting your head on the frame of the window, you feel your heart break a little at the thought of missing this one night of supposed fun. Well, that was until you noticed your lamp lighting up. Turning around, you found all your animal friends, those that you have taken cared of over the years of loneliness in this place, gathered up as they showed you a beautiful dress, one that was familiar enough yet altered so perfectly that it became a bit unrecognizable at first.

"It's perfect! It's so beautiful, thank you so much all of you! I owe you all!"

The mice and birds all look proud of themselves as they tweet and squeak before pointing at the dressing room, urging you to change quickly before the coach or your stepfamily left.

"Remember, girls. No slouching, arguing, pitter-pattering, or mischievous chattering. Just poise and elegance. You must attract Prince Seishiro's attention and nothing more. Understood?"

"Yes, mother." Ai and Chie said at the same time to which the elder woman nodded approvingly as the two fixed their larger than life dresses.

"Wait, please, wait for me!"

A call got them to turn to the staircase where they found you in a simple yet beautiful dress and your hair simply done. You doned no jewellery, make-up, or beautiful shoes since you did not have any, just a beautiful smile and a genuine heart.

"Well, well, it seemed you found a rather...acceptable dress to the ball, child."

"Yes. Oh, I promise I won't bother you at all. I just really want to see the palace and go out even just for tonight."

"I see, I see..." Your stepmother walked closer and closer to you, her eyebrows raised, and her eyes held no good intent as they glared at the dress from top the bottom. Her smile spoiled and bitter, the same way the glint in her eyes shone.

"However, I don't presume you think me and my daughters will be going to the ball wearing these just to have someone beside us wear...this. It's preposterous and humiliating, after all." She said snarkily, the pretend smile still on her face as she touched the sleeves as if examining it at first, before pulling it with such a force that the fragile fabric ripped.

You gasped, trying to pull back. However, you were outnumbered as Ai grabbed the skirt and pulled it so harshly that it ripped too.

"And the fabric is absolutely filthy, mother! The prince and the other nobles will certainly get sick the moment she enters in this monstrosity!"

Chie, not wanting to be left out, grabbed your hair, making the hard work you put on to fix your hair vanish as it fell down from its updo.

"And her hair us absolutely hideous, mother. We will the laughingstock of the entire palace!"

It all happened too fast. In the blink of an eye, all the hard work of your friends and the memory of your mother that all centered around this one dress was ruined. The moment the door clicked as your stepfamily left the manor, you ran out to the nearby well in the backyard of the manor and finally, the long held back tears dropped from your eyes.

All the frustrations, abuse, sadness, and insecurities that piled up throughout the years of mistreatment and enslavement under your supposed family left through warm teardrops, falling into the deep well. No formed words were needed to translate to anyone that might be seeing (including your animal friends who peeked at you) you as your sobs and tears were enough to know that you were heartbroken and had had enough of everything. That your psyche was close, if not, already falling apart.

"Why are you crying, my child?"

You hear a voice ask from behind you. Turning around, you found an old lady, soot covering her face with nothing on but a thin and old dress, keeping her supposedly warm from the cold wind of the night. You wiped your tears and swallowed the sobs that racked your throat.

"It's nothing, ma'am. Umm, are you alright? It's too cold for you to out here, especially tonight."

"Oh, I don't have anywhere to stay at. I will be fine here."

But, you knew that it was impossible. You were already shivering, what more an old lady garbed in nothing but a thin, worn-out dress? So, you did what you do best, helping her up into the stables where it was definitely warmer, giving her a blanket and a fresh cup of water straight from the well.

"You did not have to do this for me, dear."

"It's nothing, ma'am. I can't just leave you out there in the cold tonight. Sorry if the stables are a little stinky, but it's safer and warmer here. I'll clean it up tonight for you, if you want."

Just as you were about to get a rake and a bucket, her hand immediately stopped you. Her hands were nimble and wrinkly. However, it was warm and soft to the touch. She gave you a warm and kind smile before shaking her head.

"Oh no, dear. We can't have you dirtying yourself before going to the ball now, can we?"

"Huh? The ball-"

You were cut off when small sparkly butterflies and flower petals surrounded her figure. Her once dirty and worn-out clothes turned into a beautiful and magical white and blue dress, her wrinkly and soot covered face turned into one of a beautiful middle-aged woman with beautiful bouncy locks of hair.

She heaved out a few coughs, flicking her wrist and shooing the sparkly dust that fell upon her from her previous transformation.

"This is why I hate using fairy dust. Anyways! Thank you for your kindness, my dear! I am so happy to see my cute goddaughter turn into such a beautiful and kind young woman."

"Goddaughter..? Then you must be-!"

"Your Fairy Godmother, of course! I know it must be a little shocking, but I heard your cries, love. So what's the matter, hm? You can tell your lil, ol' godmother."

She cupped your face, her hands warm and loving, the opposite of your stepmother's cold and callous hold earlier when she ripped your dress. Speaking of dress, you looked down at your dress before turning to your godmother.

"It's just...I want to go to the ball, however I can't because I don't have-"

"Oh, of course! You don't have a ride there! Then you must not worry, my dear. This is why your beloved fairy godmother is here!"

She looked around for her supposed 'wand' only for her to find it inside the well's bucket? Not wanting to complicate magic in your mind, you just smiled at her as she pointed her wand at a pumpkin before turning it into a beautiful gold and silver carriage. It was something fitting for a fairytale or someone of a royal bloodline, not something you thought you deserved. Though, you cannot help the gasp and smile that escaped your lips.

"Oh, it's beautiful! Thank you, godmother!"

She just chuckled and shrugged it off, turning her head to your mice friends who were on top of a well, turning them into horses that are attached to the front of the carriage with some being left out to become the driver and the footman.

"There! Now, hurry up, my dear. It's getting late, and the ball will not be waiting."

"Oh, um thank you, but my dress-"

"Yes, it is absolutely gorg- goodness me! You can't go to the ball in that."

You gave her a smile as she walked closer to you.

"We need a simple yet beautiful dress, fitting for the shade of your eyes and the colour of your hair."

Waving her wand, dozens of golden and silver fairy dust that materialized into butterflies and flower petals surrounded your figure as a glow appeared all over your teared-up dress.

The once destroyed fabric and structure of the dress turned into a beautiful (color) ballgown. Butterflies, sparkles, and flower petals surround the dress in a minute way, yet add to the magic of the dress. It was not overwhelming to the eyes, especially the soft tone of the fabric that contrasted the night sky. Your hair was in a beautiful hairstyle that framed and fitted your face perfectly with seldom decorations and pieces of jewelry, only a small earring, a pair of gloves, and a beautiful arrangement of flowers attached to your hair.

It was simple yet ethereally beautiful, just like you. The gasp that you let out was one of awe and gratefulness as you laughed and twirled around in the dress.

"This... this is breathtaking. Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"It's nothing. You deserve it, after all. However, my dear, you must understand that by the stroke of 12 in the clock, the spell will be broken, and everything would revert back to how it once was."

She explained seriously as she watched you marvel at the dress. You took into account her warning and just smiled, nodding your head. Even with the conditions, you still felt so grateful for the few hours given to you.

"I understand, but it's so much more than I have ever hoped for."

The fairy godmother smiled at this and took you to the carriage where the mouse-turned-footman was about to help you into the carriage when she noticed your shoe that stepped unto the ladder to enter inside the carriage.

"Oh dear! Your...shoes..." She said, biting her nails. You looked at her before looking at your worn-out shoe. Its once vibrant and soft colour turned it to something more akin to black due to the soot, dust, and other dirt particles that you had to always encounter as the endentured servant of the manor.

"Oh, it's fine, godmother. It's not like anyone would see it. Besides, you already helped me with so much." You said with a wide grin, just excited to go to the ball even in your old and disintegrating pair of shoes. After all, ever since your step family took over, you were not given the luxury to buy any new pair of shoes and clothes.

You had to always be creative. Sewing the same shoes back together, or putting random clothes to cover the holes of the few dresses that you have to make it work. However, your godmother begged to differ as she flicked her wand once again.

The old shoes disappeared and were instead replaced by a pair of shining glass slippers. It reflected different colours depending on the light hitting it, with even a small delicate butterfly on the front.

"Wow...they are beautiful. And surprisingly comfortable too."

You wondered, raising your feet up a bit to look at the shoes.

"Yes, of course! You need them to be comfortable so you can dance your heart away! Now go, go! Enjoy your night, my dear!"

"Thank you so much for everything!" You waved at her as the carriage started to move through the streets to head to the palace.

"Your Highness...please stand up."

Reo sighed for the umpteenth time that night as he watched the albino-haired prince lay down on the edge of the fountain in the palace gardens. They were currently waiting for all the guests to fill in, and as always, the lazy prince left the ballroom and headed to a place where he can take his nap.

Which is why both of them were there.

"Seishiro, how long are you planning to take your nap?"

"Hmm..? Until the ball...ends..." He started to snore away, well, until he was hit on the head with a chop by Reo, to which he flinched and looked up.

"Ow...why'd you do that, Reo?"

"Because you're being an idiot. This ball is literally for you, which means you have to be there! His Majesty was kind enough not to involve you in greeting the guest when you're supposed to be there. Now let's go, the introductions are about to start, and I don't want to face His Majesty's wrath when he finds out we both aren't in the ballroom."

The purple-haired heir started to drag the prince by the collar of his uniform, being mindful to not drag him on the ground while patting off any dust or leaves stuck on his pristine, white attire. Seishiro, on the other hand, was softly frowning as his hair and clothes were being fixed by Reo. Especially his tangled hair, which the male struggled to finger comb and try to at least make presentable.

"You know what? I don't care about your stupid hair anymore. Let's go."

The ballroom was as grand and lavish as it could be. The marble and gold colors of the walls and floor matched well with the larger-than-life red curtains. The chandelier was one of the main characters of the interior design, with thousands of candles lit up on it. However, it was not the only light source inside the palace, for there were dozens of mini chandeliers on the ceilings with torches and candelabras on the ground.

To celebrate the occasion, huge arrangements of flowers surrounded the areas of the palace along with other decorative pieces that shouted royalty. The guests were as opulent as their surroundings, wearing beautiful and expensive gowns and suits, with jewelry that cost more than a house in the city. They came from different backgrounds, from the kingdom's aristocracy, a foreign monarchy family, and even some foreign aristocrats.

It was as every bit as overwhelming as it was awe-inspiring. Seishiro looked at everything with boredom. It was all too familiar to him, so where even is the element of surprise for him to be in awe of?

He shrugged it all off, returning to where he was supposed to be (or else he would be dragged by Reo if he did not do it on his own). When the announcer saw him, he started to speak. First, with a welcoming speech to everyone before calling off each and every maiden's name that were invited and have arrived.

Through it all, Seishiro just did as protocol, bowing lazily, while sneaking in a few yawns here and there. This, in turn, angered his father, who watched in anticipation from afar, hoping that his son would at least show some spark of interest in his eyes towards one maiden.

"That boy is not cooperating." He said in annoyance, the duke beside him just nodded.

"It may appear so, Your Majesty. But, I believe we must not rush Prince Seishiro. After all, we know how he can be." The two watched as he just blinked his brown eyes, uninterested at the beautiful princess that was called upon him who introduced herself, and he in return.

"Agh, am I asking for too much when I told him to find a wife? It has been a few years since he came of age, and he needs a wife. There has to be someone who can be a suitable mother and wife!"

The duke blinked in a panic, seeing the king starting to get mad. After all, the king was old, and heart problems were a thing of the monarch's past. The duke cleared his throat and tried to calm him down.

The duke, secretly, is a bit against this forcing of the prince, not seeing it as logical. After all, who falls in love with someone at first glance? No one, certainly.

"He'll be fine, Your Majesty. We just need to give him time. I can not just imagine Prince Seishiro of all people, suddenly focusing his eyes on one girl with interest. Especially if he does not know her well, and do not even get me started with a dance? That is quite impossible, Your Majesty." The duke let our a chuckle to which the king rolled his eyes, focusing his on the prince, letting the duke yap on about logical thoughts and about love.

Seishiro, who was tired and drained from the introductions, ran off as the socialization portion of the ball started. He headed out of the ballroom to the main hall, finding a spot to sit down and hopefully snore away.

Down the hall was an empty velvet couch, that served as a waiting seat for the meeting room beside it where the king sometimes resided for political visits and matters. The albino-haired prince hopped on the couch and started to snore away, hoping that maybe by the time he woke up, the whole ball would be over.

The moment you entered the palace, you were immediately lost. How could you not be? It was so much larger inside compared to how it looked outside, and it was not like you ever went to the palace before, in your life.

When it came to balls, it was only your stepfamily who attended with you being left behind in the manor to do whatever piles of chores they would throw at you that certain day.

Walking around the marble and golden halls with nothing to guide you. You tried to look for clues that will hint you where the ballroom was. Holding your dress up to prevent you from tripping, your glass shoes clicked elegantly on the floor, disturbing the quiet sound of the halls.

"Oh no, I hoped I did not go deeper into the palace. Especially, on restricted places."

Just as you turned the corner, you were ecstatic to see a man in a white uniform that mirrored of his snowy hair, laying on a velvet sofa, probably sound asleep. He was probably a guard! He must know the way around this hopeless maze.

You felt rather rude to be disturbing him. It was not his fault anyway that you got lost in the palace, but instead, it was fully yours. However, you did not want to get into deeper trouble, so with a nervous heart and an embarrassed look in your eyes, you woke him up as politely as you could.

"Um, sir? Excuse me?"

Seishiro groaned a bit in his slumber at the feeling of someone's hand poking his shoulder gently. He did feel a little annoyed with being woken up from a good nap. However, he did stand up, thinking that if he was gone for too long, his father would probably get mad at him.

When he managed to get his conscious state together, he found himself looking at a young lady, probably around his age, shyly smiling at him. She wore a beautiful (colour) ballgown with a butterfly and flower motif, her hair in an elegant hairstyle with flowes attached to it.

She was beautiful, and he won't lie about that.

"Hmm? Who are you..? What time is it?" He rubbed his eyes, muttering his words like a whisper.

"Oh, um, it is currently 8 PM, and I am just a visitor for the ball. I was wondering if you know where the ballroom is?"

You gave him a smile, one polite and warm to a degree. He just nodded, a bit dazed from his sleep, not registering your last question.

"8 PM, huh? Then, the ball is still ongoing. Hmp, I don't want to go back." He said with a frown, a bit torn between going back to the ballroom or not and risking being scolded hard by his father. You, on the other hand, were a bit confused as to how someone not enjoying the prospect of a ball.

"Really? Why don't you want to go the ball? It's supposed to be one, if not the biggest, celebration of the kingdom. Especially, since it is about the prince finding his future bride." His frown deepened at the mention of him finding a wife, before sighing begrudgingly.

"It is. But, it gets a little boring, sometimes. It's the same thing, same atmosphere and same annoying people. If it's the same thing, then why repeat it again and again? I should be just sleeping away."

You blinked at that, finding the man quite peculiar. He was very much lazy, just from the way he seemed to hate even the notion of moving or socializing eas enough for you to know that. You wondered how he became a guard with such a personality?

"I guess. You're right. If it's repetitive, it does get annoying."

"Right? And it's not like it brings any sort of entertainment anyway. Everyone in there acts the same. Too polite it makes me feel suffocated. For example, if you don't follow the trend or rules, then suddenly you are worth it to throw shade at? Hm...If I'm gonna waste my time, then they better entertain me."

You chuckled at his mini and passionless rant, watching him bury his head on the velvet throw pillow he found on the couch. You have long stopped standing up, as the mysterious man gave you space to sit down beside him as you listened to him speak.

"Right! Right! I also heard that there had been a ball where one of the marquess' got so angry at her daughter for not standing good and not flapping her fan right that her daughter got banished to a convent because of it, with the marquess deeming her hopeless to become a wife of someone."

"Hmm, yeah. Heard of it." He confirmed, closing his eyes, yet it was very much obvious he was still listening to you.

"Oh, I also heard that once a foreign prince and king visited, and the prince was beaten in a sword duel by Prince Seishiro. So the moment they went home, the prince was scarred badly by his father, who urged him to train with him in the art of sword duelling. However, the prince loved his father too much to hurt him, so he got hurt instead of a sign of humiliation."

"I guess.." He nodded away, remembering that certain prince. He did feel a bit of pity towards him, but he was kind of cocky and insulted Reo and another one of his friends and a captain of the royal guards, Isagi. So, he did it to avenge both of his friends.

A bout of silence appeared for a few seconds as you both sat next to each other, his eyes closed and resting while your eyes were focused on the starry night outside of the large glass window in front of both of you.

Turning back to face him, you started to speak again, thinking of another subject to start talking about.

"Sir, may I ask?"

"Sure.."

"Why were you sleeping here? Surely you had something to do, especially since the ball is currently happening."

Seishiro had his mouth shut for a bit before he let out a hum.

"I do. But I don't wanna...it's too much of a hassle to move or do anything. Especially as something like a stupid ball."

"Yeah, like you said earlier. But is there another reason why?"

He paused for a second, deep in thought, mouth closing and opening like a fish desperate for water before he found the right words to say.

"Hmm, I guess. I just don't like how I'm forced to practically do everything wants me to do. I have a lot of people hoping for something big from me, but I know I can't or don't want to deliver. I'm not built for a life of so many responsibilities."

"That's not true! Every human in this world is built to be able to handle any responsibility or situation thrown at them!"

He raised an eyebrow at that, it was definitely the first time he heard of this saying before, but he nodded for you to elaborate.

"Well, being human means having struggles. Struggles we don't want to face or find it hard to face, but in the end, we have to. This is how we improve as human beings, all the hardships we go through, no matter how brutal, it's there for a reason. I don't really know you, but from your personality, I can get why you don't wanna go back to the ball, but if it's your challenge, then you just have to brave it out. After all, maybe a time will come where we end up regretting not facing our struggles."

"Heh, when will that ever happen? A life without hassle is good."

"I guess. But there is a saying that goes: "It's better to suffer early in life, than later." It means, that when we suffer early on in life, we can learn so many lessons and when that problem comes again in the future, then we can counter it better because we learned in the past."

"Hmm, I guess that makes logical sense." He stopped to think about everything you brought up in the conversation. He was utterly surprised that a conversation that started out with him asking the time, turned into something so philosophical and yet, relatable that not even his philosophy teacher, who is well versed in the meaning of life, ever mentioned nor went this deep before with him.

"But, mister. You know, I feel the opposite of you. I really want to go to the ball."

"Hmm? Why? Its a hassle." He said, opening one of his eye to look at you.

"Right, maybe it is! But, it's the only time I can ever enjoy the feeling of going through a hassle. That, I have the time and opportunity to do something useless. Because, every second of my life, I have doubles and doubles of responsibility, so to experience and do something not as an obligation but because, its my choice, feels like my first taste of freedom, you know? Not like, I'm planning on escaping or anything because I can't, but I'm still so thankful tonight, even if a few hours pales in comparison to the years of hardship."

As you went on your spiel, his eyes slowly opened. This time, he did not just listen but also looked at you. From what he can tell, your current life was not easy, but the smile on your face said otherwise. It did not feel like you enjoyed the struggle, no far from it, but instead, you loved the small taste of freedom you got to experience that night.

Is this what other people who are forced to either survive but work or else have nothing, go through? Sure, he was forced, but not to the extent that he would be thrown out by his father. Even if he was lazy like this, his father always loved him still.

He looked at the smile on your face, it was full of warmth and happiness. In fact, it was too genuine that even the corners of his mouth quirked up a bit. Maybe, just maybe he can find some sort of reason to not be as lazy as he always was, especially when it came to his responsibilities.

After all, like you, he had dozens of responsibilities. But, the way you handled them? Complete opposite of him, you seemed like a hard worker and a dreamer, the opposite of him. So, he was definitely curious how he would fare if he, at least once, tried to do his duty the way you do yours? With optimism for a better future.

His future was blank in his eyes, unlike how his father and the kingdom sees it. He's the future king, he has a legacy waiting for him to be built. Yet, he had no plans on how he'll do it. How he will leave his mark into the kingdom, but now, he thinks he may have a few ideas.

This time, he would not run away. There is a time for that, a time of respite and rest. But for tonight, he will try not to run away and face the music instead. Who knows? Maybe, just maybe, your way is the missing entertainment, the missing spark in his life.

"Oh my goodness, I forgot about the ball!"

You exclaimed, which startled Seishiro a bit. He watched as you picked your dress up, before turning to him once again.

"Uh, right! I wanted to ask if you know the way to the ballroom, sir?"

He blinked before standing up from the velvet couch, before extending his hand to you in a very gentle and chivalrous way, courtesy of all the training he had to go through when it came to etiquette.

"I'll lead you there, if you'll let me."

Your cheeks warmed up a bit at the rather sweet move before nodding your head and accepting his hand and his offer as well.

"Oh, where is he! I swear if he went back to his chambers or hid somewhere in the palace just to escape his duties, I will make sure he-"

The king was stressed out, face red the moment Reo reported to the king about how it had been more than half an hour since he had been looking for the missing albino prince, to no avail. Even if the duke and his son tried, the king was searching for the young prince. The first dance had started a few minutes ago after all, and Seishiro needed to be there to find a maiden to be his first dance. But he was not even there, and if he did not come in an instant, a lot of people would start talking.

Humiliation is awaiting the monarch of the kingdom if the prince does not arrive in the next second.

However, the king's outburst stopped when the door to the ballroom opened once again, to reveal Prince Seishiro.

"That boy! I swear-"

The king stopped whatever spiel he was about to go on once more the moment his eyes stopped at the beautiful young maiden beside his son, her delicate and gloved hand on top of his as he led her to the ballroom.

"A...a girl. Oh, he's with a girl!"

The king let out an excited and hearty laugh. He turned to the orchestra and raised his hand with such fervor, signaling for them to start the waltz. The conductor raised his baton and started to conduct the orchestra who followed his lead, as the sound of the instruments harmonized into a melodic yet colorful waltz.

Seishiro sighed, before turning to face you, hand still holding yours before bowing.

"May I have this dance?"

You blinked, in a bit of a panic, knowing that you are not the best dancer there is, especially since it has been so long since you danced a waltz.

"B-but, I'm not that good-"

"You'll be fine, I got you."

He said it in a rather serious tone, his gray eyes turning a warmer shade like how a dark cloud shines brighter when the sun hides behind it. With a curtsey of your own as a sign of acceptance, you let him hold your waist, as well as tighten his hold on your hand.

You both swayed across the dance floor, almost like it was ice and you both weighed nothing. In the small instances that you would almost lose your balance or move in the opposite direction of where he was going, Seishiro would move ahead of time to catch you or guide you to the right way, as if he could predict each and every one of your movements.

In his eyes, no one in the world was left other than you and him. The background blurred, with you being the only thing clear in his eyes. The music barely registered in his mind even, his body was being pulled by an invisible force to you, like he was always destined to be near you.

He never felt this way before, never felt so distracted yet so focused at the same time. Why you of all people? Was it because he found you attractive? No, he found many people attractive, yet he would ignore them the same way he did everybody else. Or was it because he felt some sort of connection with you in the short time you two talked in the halls? Because you touched his heart even if you did unintentionally and unconsciously?

The dance continued, his eyes stuck only on you. He even noticed the nervous look in your own eyes, face moving away to avoid his stare, face warm. Not liking that you were witholding your beautiful irises from him, he let go of your waist for a second and cupped your cheeks, guiding it back to face him.

"Don't look away. Only look at me, okay?" Nodding your head, you tried your best to calm the wild beating of the heart inside your ribcage.

As the time passed, you found your feet moving on rhythmically now. The previous clumsy movement of your feet or the lack of balance in your core slowly going away, as you trusted him enough to catch you if you lose your balance.

From afar, the king pat the duke's back, laughing heartily as they watched the dance commencing between the prince and the mysterious girl. It had been a while since the king had looked genuinely happy. Meanwhile, Reo also looked down from the balcony with a nostalgic and warm smile, watching the spark in the prince's eyes. It was a look he was a bit familiar with as there were some instances where the royalty would find it in himself to enjoy something, but most of the time it would only last a few minutes before vanishing. However, now, the spark in his grey eyes was burning bright, so bright that it looked like it would never ever die.

'I'm glad you finally found something worth the hassle for, Your Highness.'

Everything was perfect, well it was perfect until the bell started to ring, the clock's hands striking twelve.

You gasped the moment you realized it was only a few minutes before it turned midnight. Your steps stopped, eyes boring on the clock.

"I-it's midnight."

At first, Seishiro was a bit taken aback when you suddenly stopped, he also turned to the clock, a little confused.

"Yeah, it is. What's wrong-"

"I have to go." You said out of nowhere, ready to bolt out the door, but the prince's hands were still connected with yours, his grip holding unto your wrist.

"Why? The ball is not done yet."

"Oh, I-I just...really need to go. Goodbye!"

You gave one last smile before taking off the ballroom door, hand clutching your skirt tight and lifting it so you can run even faster out of the palace before the magic vanished.

The rest of the crowd, as well as the duke and the king, were all wondering, a bit panicked as to why the mystery girl the prince seemed so taken with was suddenly running away.

Reo, moved fast the moment he saw the lazy Prince Seishiro bolt out of the door as well to follow you. It was something he had never seen before, especially since he had grown up with the prince ever since they were infants.

Wasting no time, the duke's heir also chased after you, even shouting for you to stop or wait.

Meanwhile, you were battling against Father Time himself, trying to outrun his hands fast enough for you to get inside the carriage. Just as you were only a few steps away from reaching the bottom of the stairs, you heard a 'clang' hit the ceramic stairs of the palace as well as the cold and rough feeling of the floor.

Looking back, you saw one of your glass slippers lying a few steps up. You stopped, thinking if you had the time to even pick it up. But, hearing the distressing sound of the bell and the figure of the mysterious man catching up, you immediately abandon it and just head straight to the carriage where all your friends are waiting for you.

The moment you hopped inside the magical carriage and it started moving, you sighed in relief. The smile on your face, however, did not vanish as you remembered everything that happened that night.

The deep conversation that established a connection between you and him, the romantic dance that made you feel like you were on the clouds, the mysterious man who was cold and uncaring at first, but had a caring and sweet personality underneath it all.

In fact, you were too dazed, eyes dreamy even after the magic vanished. The once beautiful carriage turned back into a pumpkin, your animal friends turned back into their original forms and your once beautiful gown turned into your mother's ripped dress.

To your surprise, the glass slipper was still there. It was the only thing that grounded you that everything you experienced was not a dream, but instead, reality.

"No...I won't marry anyone else, but her, Reo."

The glare definitely took the purple-haired heir aback. The pacifist prince showing emotions other than pure boredom? That was a new repertoire in the royalty's very limited facial expressions.

Raising his arms up in surrender, Reo just nodded away to his want, not wanting to know what a pissed off Prince Seishiro would say or do.

"Sorry, Your Highness. It came from His Majesty, but I suppose he would not really be against to you finding that mystery girl from last night. All he ask is for you to find a bride."

He nodded, large hands still holding tight onto the only thing that you left behind as proof that you were real and not just a figment of his dreams: the glass shoe.

It was beautiful, definitely fitted to your feet only, especially since it was glass.

That had to mean that the slipper was customized to your foot only, to the bumps, curves and size of it, meaning that this can become a lead to you.

He stood up from his position on top of the castle staircase, walking to where the horse stables are.

"Tell some of the guards that I need a few of them to come with me to search for her, Reo."

Having no say in the matter due to his lower position, Reo nodded his head almost immediately.

It was not like he had any reasons to hold the prince back anyway, especially since this was the first time he had ever been serious about something and that made the heir of the duke quite proud, to see that the prince, his best friend was slowly turning into the strong man that he and anyone can see has the potential to be.

It was so early in the morning, yet you could hear your stepmother already yelling. To your relief, it was not you who was the victim this time as she entered each of her daughters' rooms, shaking each of them up from their dreamful slumber.

Bringing up a tray of breakfast to their room, you found a rather comedic scene where your two stepsisters were lying on one bed, still dozing off while your stepmother pulled both their sleeping bonnets off, letting the sunlight hit their faces causing their eyes to open wide.

"You two, I told you! Prepare immediately, we have no time to waste! The prince along with the duke's heir will be visiting each house around the kingdom to find that girl from last night!"

Chie just yawned at her, while Ai sleepily raised an eyebrow at that, covering herself with the blankets again without a care.

"Well...it's not like we're the girl, mother. Why should we care?"

"Now, you two listen! No one knows who the girl is, not even the prince who is absolutely in love with her. The only thing left of her existence is a glass slipper, and so by royal command, every maiden in the kingdom is to try on the slipper. And, whoever the shoe fits will be the prince's bride and the future queen."

Your eyes widened at that, feeling your legs weaken a bit at the revelation. Putting the tray on the nearby bedside table, your thoughts ran back to the previous night. A glass slipper? Surely...that was not yours, right? It's not like you were the only one wearing a very rare glass slipper that was probably hard to make without magic, right? And that mysterious man who you just took into consideration had a rather opulent outfit fitting that of a prince than a guard, was not really the prince, right?

You were probably just being delusional.

Well, you were not the best at manipulating anyone, much less yourself. Heaving a deep breath, you wanted to scream out a mixture of surprise and embarrassment at the fact that you talked and danced with Prince Seishiro all night, and by God did not even recognize him even though he was famed for his snow-white hair and skin, grey eyes and tall figure.

However, your stepmother's statement made you come back to reality. He was looking for you? And, he will arrive later today. Panic and excitement rushed through your veins. If he did find you, that meant you would get to see him again. Adding to that, you will also be free from your stepfamily.

It was the best of both worlds.

You were too busy thinking and daydreaming that you did not even notice that your stepsisters were feeling the same way as you, picking up their best dresses and shoes to wear, insisting you make sure all of it was perfect and worthy that of a future princess as if they were sure they will be able to fit into the glass slipper mentioned.

Walking to your room with a dazed look still, ready to start the chores they assigned to you. However, this vulnerability made you overlook a pair of eyes filled with suspicion. Following you to the attic, your stepmother watched as you glided across your room, humming the tune of the waltz from the ball last night while combing your hair.

With her suspicions proven correct, your stepmother took the key from outside her pocket and immediately closed the door on you, locking it. The sound of the door slamming alerted you, however you were too late as by the time your hand arrived on the doorknob, you were already locked inside the cold attic.

"No! You can't do this! You can't..."

As if breaking your heart and hope last night was not enough, she did it again. Taking it from you with a cold and heartless countenance. You wept behind the door, wondering why every time freedom dangled its hand to you, fate would always be there to let it get taken away again and again.

The moment the clock rang, signaling that it was 9 AM, the family was greeted by a knock on the door. Ai and Chie ran to the windows, jumping up and down excitedly the moment their eyes landed on a few guards sitting on their horses just outside of their door, in the midst of them was Lord Reo, and most importantly of all, the Crown Prince himself, Seishiro.

"Mother! They're here! He's here!!" They squealed, to which their mother just smiled, opening the door to see it was one of the captains of the royal guards, Sir Isagi Yoichi.

"Good Morning, Mi'lady! I apologize for the intrusion, but we are here in the name of the King and of course, His Highness, Crown Prince Seishiro to do the fitting by royal decree!"

After the speech, the ravenette stepped back to make way for the albino prince to enter. Everyone bowed to him in respect, and that included your stepmother and stepsisters.

"Welcome, Your Highness. I am Lady Kana, and these are my daughters, Ai and Chio."

The two maidens bowed, giving their best impression of a genuine yet charming smile which Seishiro just fully ignored. He just turned his head to Reo and the guard who had the glass slipper in possession.

Just from looking at either of the sisters, the prince can already tell that it was neither of them. However, it was written in the decree that every maiden in the kingdom must try it on. So he had to follow it even if he was sure it was neither of them. He can never forget your face, after all, not when it was the only thing in his mind the whole time they searched for you.

He just needed a reason for his father to push through with the search, instead of abandoning it all just for his father to arrange for him to another woman. That is why he is even doing this stupid glass slipper thing, and also so that he can visit each house to look for you, and he cannot really do that without a reason, can he?

While the guard called unto Ai to try on the slipper first, Seishiro could not help but notice the matriarch of the family, her face contorted in a nervous expression as if she were a deer caught in headlights. Sweat dripped down her forehead as she put her hands in each of her pockets as if she were checking for something that was not there anymore.

It may seem like it was just something trivial, but he can feel his gut telling him something else. Something much more complex than losing something random.

"Your Highness?"

He heard Reo call out to him. Seishiro sighed and whispered to his right-hand man.

"It's not them, but continue the fitting."

As everything was happening downstairs, you were busy looking through the keyhole to see your mice friends doing everything their little bodies could to get the key which fortunately for them was captured by their leader as your stepmother was heading down the attic stairs.

"No, no! Don't grab there, grab onto the left part of the board! There's a hole there. Just one more step!"

You guided them as finally, they sneaked under the door and gave you the key. The key to your freedom, this is it. Opening the door, you hurriedly ran down the stairs to the halls, your heart pounding in your chest. Was it out of nervousness? Excitement? Even a mix of both, you did not know, and you will not be waiting around to find out.

Peeking your head through the corner, you can see that almost all of the visitors from the palace you can assume, were out of the door except for one. That familiar messy yet soft-looking albino hair, the familiar white uniform, his tall build, and soft, hazy grey eyes.

No doubt, it was him. It was the mysterious man you talked to and danced with the whole night. For a moment, you felt your voice vanish due to shock and awe that you saw him again after thinking that the feelings you felt would just remain as those, feelings. With no way to ever let it out to the person it belonged to. That you will never see him again.

But now, here you were, a few meters from him, and it seemed like he felt you too because at that moment he turned his eyes to face you.

It felt like time itself stopped for a moment. It was only a few seconds but to the both of you, it felt like forever. And then, a small rare smile appeared on his face. Climbing up a few steps, he did not even hear out the complaints and explanations of your stepfamily about how you were just a maid and nothing more.

In response, you also walked down the stairs, where you two met at the middle of it. Gently taking your hands in his, he laid his lips on top of your fingers delicately. No words were needed, the air and the beating of both your hearts were the only thing that mattered.

Until finally, you cracked a bit of a laugh when he did not drop your hand from his.

"You know, I am a maid. My hands are pretty dirty, your highness."

You jokingly said to which he just smiled at, before shaking his head.

"Hmm, I think your hand is cleaner than mine, seeing as to how I am too lazy to wash my hands sometimes, you know?"

"Really? Not very princely of you, Your Highness. I am a little bit confused as to why you did not even tell me you were the prince. I thought you were just a high-ranking guard or something."

He raised an eyebrow at that, shaking his head while a small chuckle escaped his lips.

"My fault, it's not like you told me your name either. Isn't it a little unfair, dear princess? That you now know my name, but I don't?"

Your face flushed at that, recognizing that you in fact, never gave him your name last night at all, as well. But, what got you blushing even more was the nickname he gave you. With one last breathy chuckle, he finally led you down the stairs, hand still holding yours while guiding you to sit on a chair.

As Reo signaled the guard to try the shoe on your feet, everyone gasped when the prince himself took the shoe, kneeled in front of you, and put it on your foot. It was definitely a sight to see the crown prince kneeling before a maiden dressed as a scullery maid.

It was royal protocol that other than his father or any other king, Seishiro bowed to no one. It was the opposite, everyone should bow to him due to his position and bloodline, however, to him, you are the only exception to that rule. He was ready to stay on his knees for as long as he had to, just for you.

You taught him many things in a single night, that no one before had ever done. You changed his life and answered his questions on it, the way no one ever did. You connected with his soul and heart, two places of himself that no one ever managed to.

But most importantly, you taught him love. Love for what he had, love for those around him, love for himself, and of course, love for you.

It was no surprise of course, when the shoe perfectly fits you. The moment he saw your eyes up in the stairs hiding behind the corner, he immediately knew it was you.

His chest rumbled in a small and quiet laugh, one that only you heard. Finding his laugh infectious, you burst into small fits of chuckles as well, raising your eyebrow at the sudden outburst.

"What's with the sudden laugh?"

"All my life, I never believed nor even bothered with love. Yet, here I am. And besides, don't you find it entertaining and interesting too? That I found the love of my life because of a glass shoe?"

AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER, THE END.

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

#aninipanin1 #blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bluelockxreader #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi #nagi seishiro #nagi seishiro fic #fairytale au #Cinderella Au #FAIRYTALE FEBRUARY #FAIRYTALEFEBRUARY #fem!reader

256 notes · View notes

genderqueerdykes · 4 months ago

Note

What i don't understand about people who are vehemently anti-endo is the fact that conditions like DID and plurality in general are extremely understudied.

How can someone say that "its impossible to be plural without xyz" when we barely even know anything about dissociative disorders, let alone plurality as a whole?

Asking you cause you seem smart and would understand where the other side is coming from at the very least + also seem like the least likely person to be mean about it

that's what i've been saying for a very long time, it makes no sense. I believe dissociative disorders are very well, but they're very poorly studied. and i do believe some of the things present in our current studies are heavily flawed or biased in nature because i don't agree with some of the more nitty gritty aspects when it comes to system structure and function.

i was diagnosed during an unrelated screening to apply for disability in 2017. i was relieved to finally have it acknowledged by a professional who knew what they were talking about. he knew a lot about plurality but we were still limited to what the DSM-V said and it's just a book. it only has so much info. it's not a bible. it's flawed. there's still outdated information in our medical reference boxes. research is constantly changing what we come to know about human health and psychology

How can someone say that "its impossible to be plural without xyz" when we barely even know anything about dissociative disorders, let alone plurality as a whole?

good question, thanks for asking! it is ignorance. people who say these sort of things generally refuse to interact with different plural oriented spaces and instead stay in their comfort zones and small bubbles. as a result, they don't learn anything about other types of plurals. they will refuse to because they have an attitude that tells them they are right about everything.

a lot of people virtue signal and try to look like they are a Good Plural or a Plural Ally by bulling plural people who don't have DID/OSDD. it's people trying to suck up to mean, rude plurals who think they know everything. a lot of people are doing this in various communities. it's pretty easy to spot once you've been there for long enough. it's very hollow. they don't back up what they're actually saying. they just say things to blend in and gain acceptance. they're not concerned about uncovering the truth about plurality, it is an attempt to find a place to call home

there are studies on non dissociative plurality, but they're under funded and poorly preserved and researched. medical studies do not occur unless there is money to fund them, and investors want guaranteed returns. they are not going to waste their time with something they think won't be profitable. this also isn't about exposing the truth about plurality. this is just an attempt to make money and nothing else. the medical industry is nothing but a cash generator

thanks for stopping by i appreciate it! plurality is varied. it's not a one size fits all experience. there are many ways to be plural

#asks #answers #plurality #plural #did #osdd #endo safe #endo friendly #endogenic plurality #pro endo

156 notes · View notes

lay-z · 10 months ago

Text

I'm sad for some reason I think I'm getting close to getting my period, so... I'm yearning for a fictional man and I'm hurting, because I can't have him 🥺❤️‍🩹 Also, I'd like to explore some slow burn type of romance and keep Simon's past traumas in mind! Pairing: civvie!F!Reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley Warnings/Info: Reader is demisexual; cussing; tw: mental issues; insecurities; slow burn; awkwardness; humor Word count: 3.5k The one where two broken people connect.

You've already decided that you've given up on finding, not love, but companionship.

You've given up on love a long time ago, long before you'd reached your late 20s.

An old, creative and gentle soul, weighted down and scarred by childhood bullying, constant criticism by your family, societies bloody beauty standards and things you suffer from which you didn't even know how to describe let alone name in your youth.

Demisexuality? Body dysmorphia? Eating disorders? Anxiety? Insecurities, so deeply rooted, that they border on self-hatred?

And no, you never went to therapy – no. Gods, no, because if you go to therapy, you're mental, right? And how can your poor mother tell the rest of the family that you're mentally unstable? That something is wrong with her little, darling daughter? Hm?

So, no therapy, because your hyper-independence got your back. You're used to that, learned it in your younger years; always there for others, but no one ever stepped up for you, except yourself. Yet you're cursed to be an empath, so you never stopped caring for others, even if it killed you inside.

Giving. Giving. Giving. Tearing yourself apart to please and give up the love that brimmed in your kind heart. Never receiving anything good and soft, like some cheap whore, until there was little left of love to give.

Now you've turned cynical, cold, and lonely – or that's what you keep telling yourself to keep the façade up. Hiding behind humour and feigned nonchalance, because you're an entertainer. Always have been. You would've been an amazing actress, but when you were younger, your mother told you that you could never be the love interest, so why bother go to acting school and actually do something you enjoy?

You rarely wallow in self-pity anymore; only occasionally, right before you get your period and your hormones make you feel sad and depressed, make you break and hate yourself. Quiet and in secrecy, in the safety of your dark bedroom, or in front of the bathroom mirror – just to play out a sad scene in your delusional mind. Probably with a fictional man, someone who'd never hurt you – in your alternate universe.

Accept. Adapt. Overcome. Repeat.

It isn't ideal, but you've found coping mechanisms that work for you, albeit some unhealthy ones and you've survived so far. Emphasis on survived, not lived.

You're so deep in your thoughts, on the brink of dissociation, that you don't even realize you've been staring – again.

Your eyes flutter briefly, focusing back on the here and now until you realize what or, rather, who you have been staring at like some creep.

Fuck.

It's that man with the skull mask, not a ski mask, but a balaclava – you've googled it the first time you'd seen him around the café. You'd even researched if face coverings like that are illegal in the UK – turns out they're not, unless you refuse to take it off when a police officer orders you to.

He's staring right back at you; dark brown eyes unblinking, skin around the eye holes covered up by some black smudge – combat or war paint, probably. Sitting at the table right across from you by the cafés large windows; incredibly out of place for such a soft and quaint establishment. Nursing a tea, looking menacing and intimidating with his massive physique and black clothing, yet his eyes hold something more than stoicism in them. You know, because you see it yourself when you look into any mirror.

Bottled up emotions, a myriad of them, simmering just below the surface like a dormant volcano, ready to erupt someday.

You narrow your eyes then, force yourself not to tilt your head to the side like a curious puppy would do, because you don't want him to know that you're actually perceiving him this time – and not merely daydreaming and brooding like you usually do. Cursing internally, when you eventually lose this staring competition that you've completely just made up in your mind, because his eyes are too intense and he's obviously immune to social awkwardness, you reach for your lukewarm matcha latte, taking a small sip as you turn your head away to stare out of the large shop windows, pretending to watch passers-by.

You force yourself to focus on the shitty UK weather outside, resting your chin on the back of your hand, elbow propped up on the cheap table. Rain and wind and colourful leaves grazing the wet pavement as the seasons start changing and autumn begins creeping in. You like autumn, prefer it over summer every year – and your mind begins to drift again, distracted by random strangers outside, grey clouds in the sky and fat raindrops pitter-pattering against the windows.

Meanwhile, his eyes never waver from you, and Simon catches himself wondering, what you might be thinking about now.

Time passes, and you try to keep your routine up – going out for a coffee once or twice every week, so you won't die of loneliness or isolation. At least, the café is nice, the baristas as well, it's not far from your flat and it's usually not that crowded nor busy.

Or so it was during summer.

Now, all people want to do is drink their coffees and teas inside, apparently, since the temperatures have dropped, along with the leaves.

After ordering your matcha latte, you turn around to see that your favourite spot by the window has been occupied in the past six minutes of standing by the counter. If only the lady in front of you had ordered her bloody tea and biscuits a smidge faster, but nah, you're not that lucky.

Groaning internally, you move to the table across from your fave, pulling one of the two plastic chairs out with more force than necessary because you're petty and annoyed. It's loud – not too loud, actually, but louder than it usually is – and you curse yourself for going out. You should've just stayed in this afternoon, curled up on your couch, playing some Baldur's Gate or so.

Some minutes pass after receiving your hot beverage and you've managed to drown out the noises and successfully ignore the sudden hubbub around the café.

That is until you notice a looming presence next to you; aura thick like molasses and prominent like the smell of gasoline, you don't know if you like it or not. It does catch your attention, though, and you turn your head to the left, eye-level with his denim-clad crotch, perhaps a little too close for the acceptable social standards.

Furrowing your brows in both confusion and offense, you have to tilt your head back and lean back in your chair to meet his eyes. How can those eyes be soft and aloof at the same time?

"Uh, hi?" You say then, brows still furrowed; not a greeting but an out for him to excuse himself for getting too close and fuck off again.

"Yer in me seat." He counters bluntly, voice incredibly rough and accented and muffled by the fabric of his mask as he gestures at the table with his gloved hand and holding a small coaster with a steaming cup of tea on top of it in the other one delicately. It looks comical and stupid, yet somehow endearing.

You're dumbfounded for a moment, blinking up at him in disbelief before finding your wit again, nodding your chin at the two chatting women sitting at your favourite table.

"And they're in mine," you say matter of factly, "If we go by that logic." You add dryly, picking up your latte, because the conversation is surely over.

He stays by your side, unmoving like a marble statue, dark eyes flickering somewhat nervously between you and the empty chair across from yours. Simon doesn't know how to properly interact with a civilian anymore; let alone a female civvie, and he ponders for a moment if he should just leave again, have a cuppa at his own flat.

But Simon's therapist had advised him, pleaded with him, to at least try and make a friendly connection with someone outside of his military comfort zone and well, here you are. At least your face is familiar already and you look harmless...safe.

"May I...sit with ye, lass?" He almost grits through his teeth, doing his best to ignore the way his heart beats hard against his ribcage as he waits for your rejection.

You pick up on the vulnerability in his voice, his demeanour, as if asking costs him some courage; truth be told, it would cost you some, too. Perhaps it's the fact that you've become silent acquaintances over the past few weeks; meeting up at this place without even meaning to. Each of you alone, always.

You stop in your movements, lifting the rim of your mug just to your lips before lowering it again, holding his gaze without taking a sip.

Sit with me? You muse to yourself, surveying him up close briefly and for the first time, at least consciously. He shifts on his feet some, heavy black boots – always boots, always layers of dark clothing, always the skull balaclava, no matter the temperature.

However, despite his looks, despite his authoritative and all-consuming aura and your better judgement, you nod once, cursing your intuition and empathy, nudging the empty chair away from the table from beneath it with your foot – a wordless permission, or perhaps an invitation?

And Simon exhales a long breath through his nose, jaw unclenching slightly as he gives a curt nod, sets his tea on the table and takes a seat on the offered chair. Easy.

And that is that.

The next time you're at the café, you breathe a sigh of relief to find it relatively empty for the time, except for some elderly customers and students working in silence on their laptops.

You're delighted to find your favourite table empty again and you order your usual matcha latte with coconut milk before eagerly sinking into the chair at 'your' table with a contented sigh and a good view on the people and life outside the cosy café.

Then your peace is once again disturbed by the soft clink of a tea cup being placed on the table, followed by the empty chair across from you scraping over the old hardwood floor, before he slips into the seat with a quiet huff.

"Your table is free," you tell him immediately, leaning to the side to look past his massive frame at the unoccupied table behind him.

"Aye, I know," he responds gruffly, folding his forearms on the table while he looks outside the window, "Figured we can ah safe space by sitting together." He suggests with a nonchalant shrug, though internally, Simon's stomach is clenching with nerves and anxiety. He despises feeling awkward and being in situations he cannot control.

Yes, it does feel incredibly awkward, but deep down you're too nice to tell him to fuck off, because he hasn't given you a reason to do so. When you were forced to share a table last time, you sat in somewhat comfortable silence, though you'd definitely finished your drink faster than usual back then before uttering a polite goodbye and slipping away.

"I guess so," you mutter in return because he's already sat down anyway.

Silence ensues, but you can't ignore the sudden tension of unasked questions and the pressure of social interactions. Then, it's too quiet in the establishment, and you both suddenly and silently hate it.

"Ye enjoy observin' people?"

His question catches you off guard because he sounds genuinely interested in you answer, and it's unnerving.

"Yeah, you could say that," you answer curtly, crossing your legs at your ankles under the table and leaning back into the cheap chair to feign nonchalance, even though you're currently anything but, "I find it relaxing."

"That's...strange," Simon retorts, quirking an eyebrow behind the safety of his balaclava, because he does that, too, and he never thought you'd blatantly admit that. Is people watching a thing among civvies? Then you shoot him an offended look and he can't help but cringe internally.

"Didn't mean it like that, lass." He assures you in a mumble, eyes flickering down to his steaming cup of Earl Grey tea.

Your first instinct is to mock him for his silly mask, ask him if he's a thug or cosplaying as one or some hooligan, but you bite your tongue, because you know better, and you feel like he could make you regret your sass. Especially if one of those assumptions proofs true.

"And what do you always do around here, hm? Never see you read a book or newspaper, let alone play with your phone," you ask instead, not even hiding the accusatory undertone as you turn your upper body towards the window. You're involuntarily dismissive, because it's been a while since you talked to a stranger like that, let alone a man.

"Same as ye, lass," he grumbles, "Thinkin', observin'...enjoyin' the peace." As if internal peace could ever be achieved in his case.

There's another moment of awkward silence and your mind is racing, riddled with anxiety, though unbeknownst to you, so is his. Simon is so out of his element and yet he forces himself to stay, unless you blatantly tell him to fuck off – which, deep down, he hopes you will.

"You're not some creep are you? 'Cause I swear, I'll clock you if you try anything or follow me home after this," you tell him with an edge to your voice, like you mean it. You're not opposed or afraid of violence. You grew up with older brothers and cousins.

Simon snorts at your threat, genuinely. He's taken off guard by your fierceness and he's absolutely sure you're serious about this, and he hates to know that he's capable of taking you down if he wanted to, even if you'd fight tooth and nail. It makes him feel guilty, makes his gut twist and churn because of those dark thoughts coming up in his brain like some black pest, even though he'd never ever do anything to hurt you.

"'m not," he assures you, eyes flickering over to study your face, your expression. You look tense and standoffish, and he can't help but admire that; to know that you're not afraid, that you can take care of yourself if push comes to shove.

"Name's Simon." He offers it like an oblation, a small yet important piece of himself, putting his given name and some trust into the hands of a stranger, and asking nothing in return.

You're once again dumbfounded and yet your mistrust and suspicious nature get triggered; squinting your eyes as him, your heart and brain are in utter turmoil.

"Didn't ask," you eventually retort coolly, like a proper arsehole, even though, deep down, it hurts yourself, hurts you to be rude like that, especially as you see something flicker in his dark eyes. Surprise? Hurt? Anger? You can't tell, but he leans back in his seat, gives a curt nod, accepting your snappish response just like that, and you think he'll leave, but he stays seated.

"I'm...sorry," you utter suddenly, fidgeting with the hem of your grey oversized hoodie, "That was...unnecessarily rude." You admit with a deep sigh. But was it, though? He's a stranger, some bloke with a mask, who just randomly decided to sit with you and introduce himself–

"It's fine, lass," he says, pulling you from your spiralling thoughts with his deep gravelly voice, "A reasonable reaction, really."

It is, Simon thinks. He might have questioned you about your thoughts on self-preservation and your survival instinct, if you wouldn't have reacted the way you just did.

He contemplates lifting his mask to finally take as sip of his tea, but like always, it costs him every ounce of courage to do so while you're looking at him so shamelessly with your alert eyes and that slight frown on your face, and Simon rubs his gloved palms over his thighs below the table to soothe himself as you keep scrutinizing him.

But then you utter your name in return, albeit hesitantly, and his eyes flicker up to meet your gaze, noticing the hint of curiosity in your eyes.

You don't see him, Simon, for several weeks after that and after some contemplation, you decide that he must've found a new café to hang out at or perhaps he got arrested eventually. You don't care either way.

But then, why do your eyes keep flickering around the shop whenever you drink your matcha latte? Why do you stare at the empty chair at his 'favourite table'? Why do you keep wondering what happened to him?

You don't want to accept it, don't want to acknowledge it, but deep down, you actually enjoyed having a proper chat with him the last time you saw him. When he so randomly decide to sit with you and introduce himself. You swiftly fix the slight purse of your lips as your mind keeps pondering about this stranger and you force yourself to enjoy your hot beverage until you can get back home and feel accomplished for actually having spent time outside your comfort zones, namely your flat and workspace.

But it's lonely. Always lonely.

In those few moments you'd shared with Simon, despite the awkwardness and that uncomfortable feeling of being perceived by someone, you'd realized that something has been missing in your life. Perhaps you should give your parents and siblings a call back; perhaps you should answer all those ignored messages in your phone; messages that have become less and less, because the people closest to you will eventually stop reaching out. You know that spiel already, yet you're having so much trouble actually pulling yourself out of this hole of self-isolation, a hole that's become suffocating, draining the colour from your life while you keep telling yourself that you're fine, that you want it this way.

"Lass?"

His voice cuts through your overthinking mind like a hot knife through butter and your eyes immediately find his gaze, that unwavering, piercing stare of his.

"Simon," you say in return, more like a greeting if it wouldn't be for the shocked pitch lacing your voice. You can faintly see his tired eyes crinkle slightly as he rests one gloved hand on the backrest of the empty chair across from you and you wonder if he's smiling behind his mask.

"Remember me name, aye?" He asks gruffly, almost playfully, the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of his chapped lips beneath his mask as he pulls out the chair, waiting for your permission.

"Tsk. Obviously," you answer with a scoff and an eye roll before giving him a short nod. "No tea?" You remark as he sits down without it, raising an eyebrow as you sip on your own drink.

"Err, no. Not stayin' for one," he answers, shaking his head, "Was jus' in the area," he lies, "Figured I could drop by and say 'ello." He adds with a shrug, feeling utterly stupid now, because Simon definitely was not in the area.

He came home from a deployment last night and wanted to check on you for some reason, see if you're still coming here, see if you’re doing alright – but of course, you are.

"Mhm," you hum affirmingly, though more suspicious than ever as you survey him. You want to spit out Why?, the question burning on the tip of your tongue, but you’re somehow too distracted by his overall appearance.

The paint around his eyes has faded, as if rubbed and smudged too many times. He smells an awful lot of tobacco and something else you can't quite pinpoint. Even in his usual attire of some type of black jacket or hoodie, jeans, boots and his balaclava, he looks terribly dishevelled and messy.

"Where have you been?" You find yourself asking before you can stop your mouth from moving. "If you don't mind me asking." You add casually, for good measure.

“Deployed.” Simon answers offhandedly, sounding colder than he intended to, and you do pick up on the shift in attitude; he doesn’t want to elaborate.

“Okay,” you retort with a nod, though your curiosity is sparked, and you click your tongue, pondering, before you confuse him as you let out a little snort.

Of course, he's a fucking soldier, you muse to yourself, should've figured that out myself.

You can practically see him raise his eyebrows in confusion, noticing how the fabric of his bloody mask shifts slightly.

“Ye laughin’ at me for servin’ me country?” He asks and desperately hopes that you pick up on the teasing tone in his voice, though it’s still hoarse from barking orders at his men for days on end.

“No,” you answer uncharacteristically soft, flashing him a rare genuine and sheepish smile, “I always wanted to join the military myself.”

Simon doesn’t know if it’s the smile you shoot him, catching him off guard, because he’s never seen that expression on your face before, let alone that sudden twinkle in your eyes as you admit that you’ve thought about enlisting in your past, but he suddenly feels even more intrigued by you; this secluded, lovely civilian in front of him, and he finds himself asking then,

“Why didn’t ye enlist?”

Perhaps he should get that tea after all.

Part 2 ?

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #task force 141 #simon riley x you #pic is mine #slow burn romance

356 notes · View notes