#i was mentally incapable of comprehending that i could get whatever i wanted off of a menu

[caffeinatedopossum]

Ok so apparently it's not normal that whenever someone goes to a restaurant and I'm with them, I expect them to get just themselves food and then we leave. Like if you get me food or ask if I want anything I will in fact look at you like you're a stranger who just walked up and offered me a 100 dollar bill

[let-them-read-fics]

The Finer Things

Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 4,864

Warnings / Misc. -- Pining, Some Self Doubt, Fluff, Some Angst, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time writing for Blackpink. I hope you enjoy. Happy reading, as always! Let me know what you think. 

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Part 1: Partners

“Alright class, settle in now. Today we’ll be starting our new projects. You know the drill; they’ll be a quarter semester long, and you’ll have a partner to work with. That gives you 9 weeks to complete the assignment and be ready to present your creations. Your topic is “the finer things in life”. Remember: there’s no exact way to do this. Whatever that topic means, however you interpret it, just show us what you envision when you think of that. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

Unsurprisingly, everyone is rather excited for this project. Considering this class is an elective, your classmates signed up for it knowing what they were getting themselves into. Regardless, even the stray few that enrolled for an easy A would rather do this than Calculus and Statistics. 

Your eyes scan the room, and you smile upon seeing everyone light up as they discuss their game plans. Familiar eyes meet yours from across the room, and you feel a blush begin to rise to your cheeks. You mentally curse yourself at how easy it is for her to make you giddy, but you don’t look away. The small smile that she gives you nearly makes you combust from the cuteness; you can’t help the dorky grin that takes over your features. 

Before you can fully melt under her gaze, your teacher speaks up again. You silently thank the universe for that divine intervention. “Now that you’ve had a minute to brainstorm, it’s time for everyone’s favorite part: partner time! I’ve chosen your partners based on your individual strengths and weaknesses as photographers; I want this to be a true learning experience for all of you. Being an artist takes constant growth, and I see this as the perfect opportunity.” 

Since your class is a fairly close-knit group of students, no one’s upset by who their partners are. Mrs. Johnson continues rattling off the pairs, and you take a moment to look out the window. It’s a beautiful day, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. The vivid red hues of their leaves are complimented perfectly by the bright blue sky behind them.

“...Y/N, you’ll be working with Rosé.” The second those words leave her lips, your eyes shoot to your partner’s. It’s an odd feeling, to put it plainly; those were the words that you were dying to hear, but also terrified of. After all, working so closely with your long-time crush would definitely prove to be nerve racking. You didn’t have much time to worry, though, as Rosé sat down at the desk in front of you, turning the chair around to face you. It was clear that she loved to see what she did to you, your reactions to her words, everything. She studied you like her life depended on it, but you never noticed. Your brain was always too busy short-circuiting to take in the ways that she watched you from afar, remembering every detail, curve, and dimple of your face. 

“So, how about we meet up after school today to get some ideas going?” She proposes, and you nod. “How’s the park sound? I’d hate to miss such a gorgeous day.” Her face lights up at your suggestion, and you smile at the sight. In her excited state, she rushes out, “That’s just what I was thinking!” The two of you spend the rest of class chatting and goofing around, and go your separate ways once the bell rings. You send her one last wave, already missing her presence. To say the two of you are eager for your next meeting is a major understatement.

Part 2: The First Few Meetings

The first couple weeks are spent getting to know one another better and spending more time together -- something you definitely weren’t complaining about. Seeing her out of school, able to really be herself, was a magical experience. You often thanked your lucky stars that you decided to sign up for the class in the first place.

Part 3: You Go To One Of Her Practices

Attending school practices and games was never really your speed, but you made an exception for Rosé. Some family issues had gotten in the way of your meet-ups for a bit, so the two of you were a little behind schedule for the project. You weren’t worried (the honor student in you knew that you’d get it done in time), but Rosé asked you to stay after school for one of her cheerleading practices. “We can work on it everytime coach gives us a break, okay?” She had said earlier that day, during class. You were almost too mesmerized by the way her lips moved while she spoke to comprehend what she had said, her accent popping out in the most adorable way possible. 

The memory brought a light smile to your face, and she saw it, stealing a glance at you. You looked up at her and tilted your head to the side, letting her know she’d been caught. Her eyes widened in shock and she quickly cleared her throat, clearly not expecting that. 

~~~

“Ah, ah, ah,” you protested, blocking her from sitting down in the seat beside you. “Stand in front of me, I wanna take a picture.” She put on a horrified face, looking down at you. “Excuse me?? Absolutely not! I look terrible. I’m all sweaty.” You rolled your eyes at her, letting out a dramatic sigh. “I’m sorry to inform you, Rosé, but you’re physically incapable of looking bad. My condolences.” You bowed your head in mock pity, adding to the effect. “Oh shut up, you dork.” She said, pushing you playfully. “Fine. One picture; you better make it a good one.” You smiled your signature grin at her, and she got a little lightheaded at the beautiful sight. “1, 2, 3…”

Part 3.5: Could It Be?

“Rosé, I don’t know….” You begin, a grimace crossing your face. The object of your affection had spent the past 10 minutes trying to convince you to ditch work and accompany her to the local fair that was in town for the weekend. It’s not that you didn’t want to go; in fact, you can’t think of a place you’d rather be tonight than with her, getting away from the stress of everything life had been throwing at you. If you were honest with yourself, though, the work was just an excuse for something bigger; you knew that with each step closer you got to Rosé, you would eventually be taking two steps back. You had long ago assured yourself that she didn’t share your attraction, and you had done okay in accepting that fact. By okay I mean “totally not at all, even in the slightest.” You liked to pretend, though, wanting to have some semblance of control over the situation. 

“Pleeeeease?” She whined into the phone, drawing the word out to torture you a little more. Surely she had to know what she was doing.

That simple question served as your command, and it became very apparent in that moment that you’d do just about anything that Rosé asked you to. You kicked yourself, a genuine feeling of nervousness rushing over you. 

A sigh left your lips as you responded, “Okay, okay! But only for a little while.”

Her high pitched cheering drew a laugh from you, and you shook your head at her antics. What were you getting yourself into?

~~~~~

Rosé looked stunning, as usual. Her long blonde locks fell elegantly over her shoulders, looking just as soft as always. The pink top she donned complimented her light blue jeans perfectly; if you weren’t so enraptured by her, you might’ve gotten jealous. How can someone look so gorgeous without even trying? It’s infuriating, to say the least. 

“Ready?” Her cheery accent met your ears, and you felt yourself pep up at the single utterance. Dear lord, you’re in deep. Pushing the thoughts from your head, you send her a simple smile and nod, pulling her in for a hug. 

Freezing time had never been a thing that you thought about often, but it surely crossed your mind as you stood there with her in your arms, feeling her skin against yours. All too quickly she pulled away, already rambling excitedly about all of the rides she wanted to try out. You were still in a bit of a daze, her strawberry perfume making your head spin. Before you know it, she has a hold of your hand, dragging you towards the largest drop tower that the festival had to offer. Maybe this would be a good time to mention that you’re deathly afraid of heights…

~~~~

Hair disheveled and heart palpitating, you stumbled away from the ride. It was comical really, the state you were in. Rosé must have thought so, because she couldn’t contain her laughter once she looked over at you. The sound was music to your ears, and you quickly decided that you’d be willing to get back on that ride if it meant you could hear her giggle like that again. 

After your laughing fit died down, you suggested getting on the ferris wheel to see all of the city lights. Everything burned a little brighter this time of year, the downtown area bustling with life and activity.

“I was just about to mention that. I like the way you think, Y/N.” The combination of the look she gave you and the way your name rolled off of her tongue made you weak in the knees. Before your mind could even begin to question if she had meant something else -- something deeper -- you stopped yourself. It wouldn’t do any good to read too far into the things she said. It was just innocent teasing, you reasoned. 

You failed to notice the way Rosé had looked at you, her eyes taking in every part of you. She wanted to remember this sight; your head thrown back, eyes welling with tears of laughter. When you didn’t pick up on her flirting, though, she took it as a sign to back off a bit. Surely it had been obvious, right? She told herself she’d give it one more try, by the end of the night. No matter your reaction, she would have an answer. 

With that decision made, she led the way to the ferris wheel, you trailing happily behind her. 

“Two?” The worker looked to be about your age, face marked with acne scars, and attitude already unpleasant. With a simple gesture of confirmation, the two of you made your way to the nearest cart. You held the small gate open, allowing Rosé in first. The metal was cool against your palm as you closed it after yourself.

A chilly breeze rolled in, and you noticed her body shiver in the seat across from you. You could tell she tried to hide it, but you were far too observant to miss that. “Here,” you start, already pulling your leather jacket off of yourself and offering it to her. She shook her head furiously, saying, “No, I can’t. You’ll get cold up there!” Maybe it had been the slushy you had earlier, but you got a sudden surge of confidence. “Come over here, then. We’ll keep each other warm.” Her eyes shined with something you couldn’t quite place; something mischievous, perhaps.  

She quickly repositioned herself next to you, snuggling up against your side. “You’re still putting this on, Rosé.” You say lowly, lips grazing her temple. The way the words left your mouth, so matter-of-factly, made her bite her lip. You rarely told anyone what to do, so this role reversal was a bit unexpected. A welcome surprise, she thought, as she slipped the warm material over her shoulders.

~~~~

If someone offered you a million dollars to be anywhere else in the world right now, you would turn them down. You were sure that you had died and gone to Heaven, with how Rosé’s body fit perfectly up against yours and the distant skyline looked as though it had been stolen from a postcard.

Once the cart reached the top, the ride stopped for a short while, allowing you to get a picturesque view of the surrounding area. You grabbed the camera from your bag and snapped a few pictures, not wanting to forget this moment. A quiet wow left her mouth as she leaned over you, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. Has she never seen the lights like this? The untamed beating of your heart echoed wildly at the feeling of having her so close. You prayed she wouldn’t notice the tremble that ran through you as she placed her hand on your thigh, pushing herself up higher into the air for a better perspective. She must’ve noticed something in the distance, because soon she was pointing across the city and bouncing lightly in the seat. With some help, you located what she was so excited about: it was an inflatable cat. She had been that giddy over an inflatable animal on the porch of someone’s apartment. Such a dork, you muttered. She drew in a breath, feigning disbelief. “I am not!” She started, about to defend her honor, when she turned her head. In the excitement, the two of you had pressed closer together -- much closer than either of you had realized -- and now you were face to face. Your eyes darted down to her lips, and you almost threw caution to the wind and closed the distance. You didn’t, though, still missing the signs she was sending you. Her gaze raked across your features, and she grew bold; her hand came up to your cheek, her thumb soon brushing the soft skin. She was achingly close; you could feel the warmth radiating from her body, calling for you.

This cycle continued; both of you waiting for the other to make the first move, terrified that the other didn’t feel the same. It was a wicked game of cat and mouse, and you were finally getting the courage to end it. Just as you were about to lean in, the rickety ride started back up again with a groan, and she was jostled away from you, back into the seat.  

That had to be some sort of symbolism. 

The rest of your night went well, soon again filled with laughter and jokes, but the two of you couldn’t shake what happened. There was an air of something uncertain now, and only something significant was capable of putting an end to this cruel arrangement. 

Part 4: The Realization

“Shit!” You exclaim with a huff, realizing your mistake. “Rosie, do you have any extra film for the polaroid? I lost the last pack I had.” You mentally slap yourself for that one. When you don’t get a response, which is quite unusual for Rosé, you take that as a sign to go look for her. The two of you had chosen to work on the project at her house this time, and it was definitely more spacious than yours. “Rosie?” You call out to her again, checking the rooms as you pass them. Sniffling sounds perk up your ears, and you follow them to their source: the bathroom. “What happened, Rose?” She just sniffles again, letting out a defeated sigh. “It’s nothing, Y/N. I’m okay.” You shake your head, a pained look taking over your features. Knowing that she was hurting killed you. “I don’t believe you. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but at least let me cheer you up. Please?” You plead through the door, waiting rather impatiently for her response. Wordlessly, she gathers herself and opens it, choosing to lean against the frame and meet your concerned gaze. “It’s Joon. He’s being an ass.” You set your jaw and quickly bite your tongue, not wanting to upset her more. Her sweater is soaked and matted with tears, large stains polka-dotting the fluffy material.

Who’s Joon, you may ask? Rosé’s boyfriend and star of the football team… aka your arch nemesis. The two of you typically avoided talking about him, and dating in general. As far as you were concerned, he wasn’t deserving of the attention. A muffled sob pulls you from your stewing session, and you’re quick to step forward and wipe away her tears. You cup her cheeks, softening at the way she leans into your embrace. It’s not hard to tell that she doesn’t get the love that she deserves. “You’re too good for him, Rose. He’s never deserved you.” You say softly, tired of seeing her being mistreated. One instance of this was more than enough, and knowing that this isn’t the first time that he’s been the reason for her tears makes your blood boil. You pull her in, and she rests her head against your chest. If circumstances were different, you would’ve been terrified to have her so close; however, that’s not at the forefront of your mind right now. You’re determined to be there for her, even if it’ll never be in the way you want. “You should be with someone who values you. You can do so much better.” You whisper against her temple -- just loud enough for her to hear -- lips in the same position as they were that night at the fair. It comes out as a gentle confession, but you say it like the simple fact it is. 

After a few more moments of holding her close, her sweet vanilla perfume in the air, she shifts in your arms. Her eyes find yours, and the moment seems as though it was plucked out of some cheesy, coming of age movie. Something within both of you clicks at that point, and you just know. Her slightly puffy features look especially adorable right now, her eyes sparkling. That always seemed like such a strange, poetic thing to you -- how some people can manage to look so stunning after crying. It’s as though she needed that, in some twisted way. It opened her eyes to the situation she was in, although it hurt. She knew she could get through anything, though, with you by her side. And standing there, wrapped in your warmth, she really couldn’t find it in herself to even think of Joon. 

Your eyes fell to her lips, and she didn’t fail to notice. God, those lips. You thought, remembering all of the times you’ve wanted to kiss her. She somehow managed to be utterly perfect without even trying. Your heart rate sped up at the feeling of her hands working their way down to your waist, gripping your hips tightly. The atmosphere shifted, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. “Y/N…” she says lowly, almost as if she’s trying to keep herself from doing something stupid. “Hmm?” You drag out, causing her to bite her lip in return. Just as the two of you lean in ever closer, the sounds of keys jangling downstairs interrupts your moment. Feeling brave, and not wanting that encounter to pass with nothing to show for it, you give her a sweet kiss on the cheek. You chuckle lightly at the whine that leaves her lips, and take a minute to gather yourself before leading the way downstairs to greet her parents. 

----

Over the next few days, neither of you mention all that’s happened. You want to, but you have no idea how; your nerves would surely get the best of you. And what if she didn’t feel the same? How embarrassing would that be? You wanted nothing more than to have that Hallmark, fairytale ending with her, but you knew that was unrealistic. So, you did what you do best; you continued falling for her from afar, attempting to settle into this routine.  

Little did you know that she hadn’t stopped thinking about it. She often found herself stroking her cheek, where your hand had been that night. If she focused hard enough, she could almost remember the smell of your tropical shampoo, too. Her feelings confused her, but she knew what she wanted. Her fear of rejection outweighed her courage, though, and she never knew how to tell you that she had fallen for you. 

Part 5: An Overheard Conversation

As you made your way through the halls and towards the library, your mind wandered to a place it often frequented: Rosé. You had been so caught up in other things that you hadn’t really registered that the project would be over soon. It saddened you to think about, but maybe it was for the best. Perhaps a little distance between the two of you would make it easier to ignore your feelings. Turning the corner, you collided with someone, sending their books into the floor. “I’m so sorry!” You apologize quickly, making sure they’re alright, before helping them gather their things. They do the same, and continue on their way as you readjust your clothes.

At the sound of that achingly familiar voice, you freeze.

“I broke up with him, Jennie.”

That’s all it took for you to press yourself up against the wall, set on listening in on the conversation without getting caught. Part of you felt bad for doing that, but there was no way you were leaving now.

“Good, he never deserved you anyway.” The other girl, Jennie, said, and you made a mental note to give her a high five later on. 

“He took me for granted. I’m just upset it took me so long to realize it.”

“Hey, don’t do that. You remembered your worth and didn’t let that jackass hurt you anymore. That’s queen status, if you ask me.” Make that a double high five.

The sounds of her locker being closed lead you to believe that the girls are about to walk away and end the conversation, but you soon stop dead in your tracks, yet again.

“There’s another reason that I ended things, though, and I’ve been meaning to tell you about it.” 

“Ooh, do tell.”

Rosé clears her throat, and quickly checks to make sure the coast is clear before speaking again. Thank God she didn’t notice your presence. 

“I’ve liked this person for a really long time, Jennie.” She confesses, before continuing. “They’re always there for me when I need them… and don’t even get me started on how adorable they are.”

Jennie chuckles at Rosé’s words, and you can see her shake her head. “What??” Rosé asks, pushing her shoulder lightly. 

“You’ve got it bad. I’ve never seen you blush like that at just the thought of someone. And that’s saying something.”

Rosé hides her face in her hands, embarrassed but amused. “She’s just so incredible.”

Your heart stops, blood running cold in your veins, and your hand shoots up to cover your mouth. Does Jennie know she likes girls? SHE LIKES GIRLS?? I mean, you had thought so after that night but she’d never admitted it before.

“She?” Jennie asks gently, not even a trace of judgement in her tone. A little surprise, sure, but nothing bad. Rosé simply takes a deep breath and nods her head, waiting for her best friend’s reaction to her slip up. It’s not that she thought she would be unaccepting, just that these kinds of things were a little bit of a shock to hear sometimes.

“Well, who is she? I’ll have to do some snooping on your next potential love interest.”

Rosé lets out a giggle, and you almost blow your cover by laughing with her.

“You won’t be getting that information out of me yet, Jennie. No way.” She says, taking the other girl’s hand and leading her down the hallway, away from you. 

Once alone again, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Could you be that girl?

Part 6: Presentation Day

As you make your way to your seat, you let out a tired yawn; you had stayed up late adding some last minute touches to your presentation. You wanted it to be a surprise for Rosé, so you hadn’t told her about what you had done. Hopefully she would enjoy it.

The other groups each took turns showcasing their projects and explaining what the prompt had meant to them. Some said “money”, “luxury”, “time”, etc. Your answer was a bit different than theirs, and you were excited to share it with everyone.

Once it was your turn to present, you made your way up to the front of the room, selecting the correct files and connecting your device with the projector. Rosé could sense that you were anxious, which wasn’t new for you; school presentations had always made you nervous. Silently, she took your hand within her own and rubbed her thumb across your knuckles. None of the class was paying much attention yet, since you were still technically getting set up, and you were beyond thankful for that intimate moment with her. 

A short time later, you begin. 

Rosé expertly introduces the different topics you chose to cover with the prompt, explaining their meaning with sincerity. Images of old couples smiling, holding one another close, graced the screen when she brought up “growing old together” as a finer thing in life. “Not everyone gets the opportunity to do that with who they love,” she said, and you noticed that her eyes went to you when she said that. Maybe you just imagined that last part, you thought to yourself. Surely so. 

Other slides of animals, pets, and nature appeared as she continued her speech, followed by her suggestion that “the act of loving and preserving Earth and its creatures” is another finer thing in life. 

This process continued, with you jumping in for the slides that you had chosen to take over for. 

Upon hearing Rosé finish her last stretch of rehearsed dialogue, you look to your teacher, who gives you a subtle nod and smile. Rosé shoots you a confused look, but you don’t answer her with words. You move a nearby chair to face the board before bringing her to it. She sits, even more confused now, but trusting you. 

You swallow nervously, and lick your lips. “Over these past couple months, Rosé and I shared new experiences,” with a click of the remote, images of your adventures flood the screen -- your trips to the lake, forest, park, and even the beach, capture the attention of the class. Rosé was right there with them, considering she had never seen some of these pictures, let alone expected you to present them. “We tried new foods, left our comfort zone, and learned more about each other.” More images popped up; some from when you went on a tour of the different restaurants around town, some from bungee jumping, cave exploring, and open water fishing. 

“But as we grew closer, I realized more about myself in the process. I’m totally, utterly, and undeniably in love with you, Rosé.” The next set of candid images shows a new glint in your eyes when you look at each other; this was when you had really gotten in deep. You shyly raise your eyes to hers, your stomach in knots. Tears are quickly forming in her eyes, and she’s covering her mouth to quiet herself. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been, and life feels better with you. You are my finer thing in life.” Despite all of the emotions she’s feeling right now, she smiles at the dorky pictures of the two of you doing random things during your shared escapades. 

Finally, you click to the last slide, revealing a series of pictures of you spelling out, “Be mine?” 

This was the final straw; tears finally make their way down her face, spilling onto her soft cheeks. You nod at Mrs. Johnson the same way she had done before, and she swiftly bends down to grab something beneath her desk. When she returns, she hands you a single red rose. “OMG! A rose for Rosé, how cute!” One of your classmates yells from the back of the room, and you laugh aloud. That broke the tension, and soon all of you were giggling loudly together. “Well, whaddya say?” You ask, holding out the rose to her in offering. Wordlessly, she takes the flower and wraps her arms around your neck, connecting your lips in a long overdue kiss. The class erupts at this and she smiles against you. 

“Mission accomplished.” Mrs. Johnson says to herself, once everyone is settled back in their seats and chatting about what happened. “I was hoping that would work out.” Confused, you decide to inquire. Reluctantly taking your eyes off of Rosé, you look to your teacher and ask, “Did you plan this from the beginning?” She gives you a curious look before scoffing, “I’m practically a matchmaker, Y/N. I saw the way the two of you looked at each other. It would’ve been a crime not to pair you up.”

Your mouth hangs agape as you look back to Rosé, finding her donning a similar expression. “I was tricked into the plan!” You realize, laughing with her. “It was destiny, then.” She says, pulling you in by your collar for yet another kiss, loving the feeling of your blushing cheeks against her own.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for reading!!!

[whatifxwereyou]

Firestorm Part 9: Isolation

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021 Liu Kang x Reader

A/N: skalfjwealjf I live for the angst

Start From the Beginning << Previous Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

Your head was pounding. The stone you leaned against seemed to bounce with the throbbing of your head. A soft wet cloth was dabbed against it. Droplets trickled down your forehead and over your cheek only to be wiped away by a familiar hand.

Liu Kang.

You opened your eyes and found yourself curled against the wall in Raiden’s chamber. That was right. He’d had to read you after all that had happened in the fight pit. Each time you woke up from these experiences you had to face the terror of finding your friends injured and exhausted. But this time they didn’t seem to be any different than when you’d last seen them. Liu Kang’s eyes were filled with concern but he said nothing as he dabbed your burning skin. He offered you the faintest flicker of a smile to acknowledge that you were awake.

Behind him sat Kung Lao with his knees folded. He looked nervous. He had several scrapes that had been tended to while you’d been unconscious. Liu Kang looked like he hadn’t bothered seeing anyone for his.

“She’s awake.” Kung Lao’s eyes darted to the side as Raiden approached from somewhere behind him.

“Good.”

The guilt was overwhelming. Again. Guilt for hurting them. Guilt for being so useless in those moments. You’d been strong once but now you felt as though that were something you were incapable of. It was frustrating. You’d felt strong for just a few seconds before it had all gone horribly wrong.

“We must unravel this curse.” Raiden crouched next to where you were leaning. “I fear that there is not much time left for us to do so.” You had nothing to say. He was right. You knew that. “I think that we must uncover who you truly are, Y/N.”

“We know who she is.” Kung Lao was defensive. He’d always been defensive when it came to that kind of thing. Even as kids, he’d stood up for you when anyone questioned you.

“Kung Lao, that is not what I meant. I mean that there is more to her than what we know. I have a feeling that this thing is a part of you that’s hidden away, Y/N. Your gift of sight is unrelated to your arcana. I think that the answer might lie in your heritage. Something isn’t connecting. We have only parts of the full picture. There is a mystery within your mystery. I wish for you to return to the place where you were born to try and uncover it.”

“Most people went to Guilin for more complicated medical procedures. That’s probably a good place to start.” Kung Lao was again at your defense.

“I wasn’t born there,” You finally spoke but your voice sounded tired. Liu Kang kept dabbing the cloth over your forehead. The cold was soothing but it also gave you the shivers. You were freezing. It was probably a damn fever again. You missed having normal crappy days. Days where you’d been fine other than an annoying sinus headache or a stubbed toe. Everyday seemed to be something new and horrible now. At least it didn’t seem like you’d hurt anyone after you’d given yourself over to Raiden so he could understand what you’d seen. “I was born in South Korea. My parents moved to China shortly after I was born.”

“Really?” Kung Lao was surprised, maybe even a little annoyed that he hadn’t known that about you. He had been the Y/N-expert thus far. It was kind of charming how defensive he was over you.

“Yeah. Mom’s Korean and Dad’s Chinese. I’m trying to remember where it was.” You furrowed your brow and massaged your temple. Liu smoothed your hair back and you gave him a look but he averted his eyes with a slight smile. “Andong, I think. I meant to visit as I got older but never got around to it. I used to have the address to their old apartment but… that’s been lost. If I looked at a map, then I could probably at least find some familiar names.”

“When you have recovered then you will go to Andong.” Raiden instructed.

“To what end?” You frowned. What did he expect you to find there? It wasn’t like there would be answers hiding in any obvious places. For all you knew the apartment your parents had shared before they’d moved to China had been demolished and replaced with something else. And it wasn’t like you could ask anyone. Your remaining family thought you were dead.

“Start with birth records. There are memories, Y/N. Memories that I cannot see.

He could see your memories? Oh no. You didn’t like that.

“Memories?”

“Important parts of your history are locked away. They are hidden much like parts of your visions are. Someone doesn’t want you to know what is hidden there. Someone doesn’t want us to know. You must uncover these truths.”

“I still don’t understand how I’m supposed to do that.” It felt impossible.

“You will find a way. I have faith.” Raiden’s encouraging smile backed with the determination behind his eyes was encouraging even if you were running out of hope that there was anything after this for you other than being locked away until you withered and ultimately died. “Find a connection to your birthplace. Find your story where it starts. At the beginning.” When he said it, it made perfect sense but you still had no idea what you were looking for. “Liu Kang and Kung Lao will accompany you. I have a feeling that whatever has been hidden from you will be quite dangerous to reveal.”

“Okay.” You had no room to argue with a god. Any idea was better than no idea and Raiden seemed confident. Going to where the artifacts had been hidden in your vision had yielded results. If Lord Raiden thought that you needed to visit Andong and look at your birth records then you would.

“I’ll still take you to the city before we go. I promised.” Kung Lao smiled brightly at you. He seemed to be a beacon of positivity in a room of heavy energy.

“I could probably get what I need in Andong.” You didn’t see the point of taking a separate trip. You were far less worried about that now anyway. What was the likelihood that you even could get pregnant? You were so sick. Your body barely had any energy to give to you nonetheless a baby. You were pretty sure that something akin to a parasite would not survive within what you were now considering an inhospitable environment.

“No, no. I promised we’d go. And it’ll be a nice break before we go to Korea.” Kung Lao smiled and this suddenly seemed important to him so you weren’t going to argue. You didn’t have the energy to argue. Besides, you could use a few new things. “One of the monks offered to come with us just in case you needed medical assistance. Your friend. The mean one.”

“Chen?” You could not mentally comprehend the embarrassment of going on a trip with Chen and Kung Lao to the city so you could buy condoms and birth control because of Liu Kang. Later. That would be a horrible situation for later. Right now you were feeling too exhausted and defeated to deal with unpacking that. “Is that safe?”

“With Kung Lao there you should be fine.” Liu Kang spoke for the first time since you’d woken up. His voice sounded weary. He’d cleaned up but his scrapes on his face and arms weren’t tended to. The guilt again. It was awful.

“Raiden said he’d be on alert in case anything went wrong.”

“I just don’t know if it makes sense to do anything unnecessary right now.” You were afraid to go out into the world again.

“You can’t stop living because something might happen.” Liu bowed his head politely, clasping the prayer beads in his palm. He’d stopped dabbing your forehead. You knew he was right but it didn’t mean it was easy for you to consider putting anyone in harm’s way.

“Rest for a day or two. But no longer. There is work to be done.”

“I don’t think that whatever this is plans on allowing me to recover. It almost feels like… this happened because I had regained some ground earlier. It felt the need to take it away from me. I don’t know if that’s crazy or not.” You were sure that sounded silly. But judging by the look on everyone’s faces, they didn’t think it was crazy or silly at all.

“Rest, Y/N.” Raiden bowed his head.

“I’ll bring you to your new space so you can do that.” Liu Kang set aside the cloth, next to the bowl he’d been getting water from on the floor. He seemed to have much more to say on the matter but held his tongue. You guessed that whatever it was he wanted to say would be said in a private conversation later.

“I’ll start moving things.” Kung Lao jumped to his feet and dusted off his hands. Raiden offered you his hand and you took it. You were wobbly and exhausted, hands tingling. What had happened while you’d been out of it to make you feel this drained?

“Don’t be defeated. We will figure this out. I have a feeling that we’re close. Like you said, you were getting stronger when this happened. Whoever is behind this wants you to feel defeated. They want you to feel like you have no control. We will not allow that to happen.” Raiden’s determination on your behalf was remarkable. It must have been much easier to make lofty promises while being a god. You were a little touched that they were so willing to help you but the truth was that you were weak. You felt weak. The little bit of strength that you’d regained had been taken from you. You felt like you could have gone to sleep and never woken up. If it hadn’t been for Liu Kang and Kung Lao then you probably would have.

You thought that whoever was behind this was doing an exceptional job. Not to compliment them or anything but you were defeated. You were exhausted. At the end of your rope, even. Liu Kang offered you his arm and you took it. Raiden watched you go. Kung Lao chattered along the way but neither you nor Liu had much to say in return. It didn’t bother Kung Lao. He was happy to fill the silence.

“What happened when I was out this time?” You asked when Kung Lao parted ways with you. He was headed to your old room to gather some of your things while Liu Kang brought you to your new room. A much more isolated place. It was a far longer walk so far. Liu Kang sighed heavily as if he did not wish to discuss this. You were sure it was something ridiculous like talking in crazy demon voices and ink exploding out of you. “Come on, tell me.” You wanted to understand the exhaustion you were feeling.

“Nothing happened.” Liu didn’t sound very convincing.

“Bull.” You tried to joke but Liu Kang stopped walking in the hallway. He grabbed your hand to stop you from walking too and then stepped closer to you. He took your other hand and held both between you.

“Really. Nothing happened. You just… laid there.” He seemed more upset by this than he had been when you’d been speaking in odd voices and making ink thrones and dragons. “Raiden thinks that you were too drained to do more. At least that’s what he said.”

“And you don’t believe him?”

“I think that Raiden finds it easy to avoid saying things that might make us act rashly.” Liu Kang didn’t sound like he approved of the idea but he didn’t sound angry about it either. “Or sometimes he thinks it is better not to mention them.”

“And what is it you think he’s not saying” You didn’t like his tone. You didn’t like the implications. Liu Kang seemed to be the one avoiding saying what he thought was happening. He looked down at your hands and suddenly you understood without him having to say it at all. That was why Raiden had said that he didn’t think there was much time left.

Oh.

“We’re going to figure this out.”

“I’m not dying, Liu Kang.” You sounded awfully confident for a woman who had just considered going to sleep and never getting back up. Liu averted his eyes but you could see the slightest smile on his lips.

“I know.” He decided after a long moment of silence. “I won’t let you.”

You knew that neither one of you truly had control over life or death but you would fight until the end no matter what that end was. It was cruel to have someone like Liu Kang come into your life only for this to happen. It was cruel to be reunited with your childhood best friend only to slowly decay and potentially lose him again. You didn’t want to hurt them more than you already had. You had never wanted to hurt anyone. Even in your worst moments, when you’d been angry at the world, angry at the people of your hometown for treating you so terribly, you had never wished pain or unhappiness upon any of them.

But hurt was unavoidable. You had already hurt them.

“At least you didn’t have to fight my arcana while I was out of it this time.” You gestured down the hall and Liu Kang led them onward but didn’t let go of one of your hands. He just casually held it as you walked like that was no big deal.

“It is a pleasure to fight your arcana, Y/N. Even if you are exhausting in those moments.”

“You’re very sweet but I know that it’s draining for you. Maybe I was just too exhausted from everything that happened in the fight pit. Did Raiden tell you anything about the man I saw? How could I create someone and mimic their power like that without having ever seen them? I can barely create you two and control you properly and I know you very well.”

“He suspects that whoever has cursed you did it. Not you. That was all he told us.”

“I thought that thing was going to kill me. What a way to go. Killed by my own arcana. Are there any records of that? Would I be a first?”

“Not the first. There have been a few unfortunate incidents… one involving a laser and well, you wouldn’t be the first.” Liu Kang managed to joke with you and that was a relief. He led you down a flight of steps and the hall at the bottom was dark. Liu bathed his palm in fire and led you down the hallway and around the corner. The room he led you into was smaller than the one you’d had before but it was more secure. No windows and the doors were heavy. There was an old table with a singular candle atop it. Liu lit the candle before extinguishing the flame in his palm. “Welcome to your new home. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I can’t think of another option, Liu.”

“But what if you get trapped… Kung Lao told me about that morning and…”

“No one else will get hurt because of me.” You spoke firmly. There was no arguing with you on this. “When I’m not this volatile then I will happily move back to the other room. But until then, Liu, this is the only solution that I can come up with.”

“I don’t like this, Y/N.”

“I know you don’t. I don’t either. But it’s the right thing to do.”

He sighed heavily. The door opened behind you and Kung Lao came in holding your entire desk. Then he slammed it down inside the room. “It’s too dark in that hallway. We have to put in some lights. I nearly died getting down here.”

“There’s got to be an easier way to move my things than you blindly carrying them through dimly lit hallways like a crazy person.”

“Name one.”

“I’ll go get a dolly.” Liu Kang patted you on the shoulder and then shook his head in dismay at Kung Lao before they continued about the task of moving your things to your new space. You sat on the edge of the desk and looked at the small, dark room. This was temporary. You would leave this space successful. You had to.

[talks-refined]

Why azula, in my opinion, shouldn’t have had a redemption arc

i know it’s a complicated subject in this fandom but i wanted to give my two cents on it! i promise this isn’t me just going “booh evil”

okay so here’s the thing. the reason this is so complicated to answer is because it needs to ask pretty existential and complex questions like, can everyone be redeemed? how is evil made? how much of you is really only your upbringing? is it possible to be inherently bad? what do we fundamentally deserve? can you separate yourself completely from what you’ve been since birth and if so, what’s left?

now if you walked up to me and asked those questions, my answer would probably be something along the lines of “i don’t know, i just got here”. so that’s not what i’m gonna try to answer here

notice how i said “shouldn’t have had” and not “deserved”. i can’t tell you what azula “deserved”— probably a nicer childhood and therapy— but i can also say azula didn’t “deserve” anything. she’s a character, she’s words on paper, animation and voiced acting. there isn’t a real azula, an actual 14 years old child soldier out there awaiting to turn good. characters are story arcs, development, goals... what makes their value isn’t morals but what they bring to the story. and azula brings so much that, in my opinion, being ultimately redeemed would cheapen

first off: zuko. i’ve seen people say azula shouldn’t get a redemption arc because then her story would just be the same as zuko. it’s... not true, obviously, they’re different characters for a reason, but there is a part of truth i wanna point out here:

zuko and azula’s stories are diametrical opposites. two siblings, a boy and a girl, a firebending prodigy and one who’s average at the very best, one favored by his mother, the other favored by her father, one impulsive and one calculating. At the beginning of the story, one angry and unstable, the other calm and confident, one banished, desperate and without honor, and the other a princess and leader, acclaimed by all, who radiates regal energy.

“(ozai) said she was born lucky. he said i was lucky to be born. i don’t need luck, though. i don’t want it. i’ve always had to struggle and fight and that’s made me strong. that’s made me who i am.”

( zuko, to aang, season 1 finale )

that first sentence was the hook that told the viewers azula would come in the picture in season 2 and it tells you exactly the opposite dynamics their characters would develop on. azula is perfect, zuko is a failure is the message we’re supposed to get, at least that’s how they view each other and themselves, because that’s what their father taught them. but here’s the thing: luck is by definition elusive, and perfection is by definition unattainable. azula spends her life building herself around the vision that failure is inexcusable. because she’s at such a high place, because she’s so perfect, she can never fail, because she can’t and because she’s not allowed to. that mentality is bound to doom her, it’s inevitable. it’s a direct opposition to zuko, who builds himself in the fact that he’s failed so many times, that he made so many mistakes, that each taught him lessons. when zuko fails once, he knows he can get up because he was miserable for so long that it taught him he can survive anything. when azula fails once, she crumbles. azula is a cautionary tale of perfectionism, and cautionary tales can’t have happy endings. zuko’s approach of life has to reach a happy ending, because he’ll always look for one, it has to reach a redemption arc because he’s not scared of the mistakes he’s made in the past and he is always trying to better himself (the redemption comes when he realises he was trying to meet the wrong standards). azula’s approach of life guarantees a downfall because she’s convinced that failure is the end.

both their stories mirror each other, backwards. when we meet zuko, he’s failing, always, and when we leave him, he finally won. when we meet azula she’s winning, always, and when we leave her, she finally (by which i mean that it’s inevitable, not that it’s good) fails.

and there’s another reason (let’s pretend this is structured, okay?), that’s a little more complicated, and it has to do with ozai.

you know how ozai is barely present in the series? i’ve seen some people argue that azula is a better villain because she’s scarier or because we see her more. here’s the thing:

when you’re trying to portray something that’s really, really awful, it’s easier not show it. when you show something, in it’s entirety (in that context that would mean making ozai a deep, 3 dimensional character that we see develop) it’s... small. to define is to limit (- oscar wilde). when you only show small things tho, details, in movies it can be shadows, think the beginning of stranger things when you don’t see monsters, but can feel a threat, that’s when it can get scary as shit. because whatever limited, physical (or character-ial? is that a word) form you chose for the villain isn’t there in people’s minds, it’s only their own imagination trying to comprehend what you made them feel. and what people imagine based on only fear, or anger, is easily scarier than any five headed monster you can put onscreen.

that’s what ozai is: a looming threat. hell, i’m not even sure we see his face until season 3. he only has a handful of scenes. but i hate him. i hate him so much i could scream into a pillow and he’s so vicious it sends shivers down my spine. you know why? because of what he did to zuko and azula.

when you wanna keep your main villain mysterious, it’s good to give the audience characters that he’s interacted with. characters that he’s close to enough to have had an effect on them, so they can perceive a part of him. and boy did he have an effect on his children

( to be fair here: that idea and most of what i’m saying about it came from Overly Sarcastic Productions video on minions as a trope. it’s really good i love their whole channel, red is amazing)

season 1: meet zuko. he’s a sixteen years old. he’s a bad guy, but written so that you sympathise with him to a certain extent. then comes the Tragic Backstory Episode and you learn that he was challenged to a duel as a thirteen years old by his father after he spoke without permission in a meeting, begged for mercy, got half of his face burned off at the hands of his father, and was banished from his home to search for the avatar, who was dead as far as anyone knew.

now you’ve seen very little of ozai after this episode, but you’re ready to fight that guy, right? i know i am.

it gains a level of depth with azula. after being introduced to a character who is starving for his father’s love and approval, we’re introduced to a new character, who seemingly has all of that. azula is zuko’s ever winning rival. she has everything he wants, her honor, her title, her father’s favors.

(i think it’s worth noting that making your children compete for your love is already a red flag for noticing pieces of shit)

but it’s not enough. azula has everything, she is everything ozai values (cunning, strong, ruthless) and even then it’s not enough to please him. nothing will ever be good enough. and you see two children fighting, breaking themselves to please a father that is seemingly incapable of love, but keeps baiting them, giving them impossible standards to reach so they’ll always keep trying to please him.

okay, now you hate him, right?

but here’s the thing: because azula was a firebending prodigy, she got a taste of her father’s approval. he saw himself in her, where he saw too much of iroh and ursa in zuko. he was proud of her.

he was never proud of zuko. too soft, not strong, or fearless enough. because of that, zuko was never close to his dad. all he got was disdain. because of that, he forms bonds with other people (with his mother and uncle, at first) that expose him to another vision of life. and in exile, after chasing relentlessly, part of him is pushed to the realisation that he can live without his father’s approval. because he had to.

azula on the other hand, quickly becomes all ozai’s. from flashbacks you can clearly tell each of them gravitates around one parent, zuko around ursa and azula around ozai. even in her other relationships (zuko, tylee, mai...) she behaves according to what her father taught her, how to manipulate and hurt others

and ursa has flaws, god i’m not saying she doesn’t. that deserves a post in itself. but she values things like kindness, softness and love. ozai values strength, power and cunning. childhood is a formative stage: you often build yourself on the way you were raised. zuko had those conflicting values, because ursa, and ozai more indirectly, both taught him. but ozai isolated azula from other (adult) presences. this is more speculation but i really think it’s true, for what it’s worth. we rarely ever see ursa and azula interact, and when we do ursa is i think always? reprimanding azula for something that ozai taught her. it doesn’t seem like they spend enough time together for her to teach her daughter a better way.

that’s the thing. ozai’s “love”, or at least approval, was azula’s curse. zuko thinks it’s something he has to aim for, and later realizes it’s only ever going to be conditional and manipulative and stops trying. because he knew another way. but azula always lived with it. it isolated her, prevented her from ever finding a better way. his “love” is what did this to her

so yeah. none of this is saying that azula could never have been good. she was 14, she had a whole life ahead, i’m not some psychology master that can tell you exactly if it’s even possible to unlearn so much manipulation and abuse- i want to believe it is. but this is a story, and to me it’s the more nuanced, more interesting, better story they could’ve written. i think having those two very different and very paralleled stories, for a show that doesn’t shy away from complexity the way atla does, was very important.

while i was writing this, i showed it to a friend, who can speak for toxic households better than i can, and gave me a new perspective and the best conclusion: when in an abusive parental relationship, there’s always a tearing hesitation between ‘breaking free’ and doing what’s best for you, and staying loyal to your parent, someone you’re supposed to love and who’s supposed to love you. zuko is a message of hope ; azula is a warning

[wherevermyway]

step out! do what you want (chapter eleven|finale)

pairing: reader/bang chan/han jisung rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: BIG FUCKING TW for implied death by suicide clearly designated at the end of the chapter, major character death, mental instability, post-traumatic stress, postpartum depression, profanity, smoking, discussion of pregnancy/childbirth, drug dealer/organized crime!au word count: about 5,400 also on my ao3 here. chapter/series navigation

chapter eleven: now it’s over, we’re sober.

important beginning note: I have labelled where the possibly triggering content is (it’s at the very end) so that you can just stop reading from there if you’d prefer.

note: this is it. this is the final chapter for step out! do what you want, and I am devastated. this series took so much out of me, but I loved and hated every moment of it. if you’ve stuck around, even after all this stuff with feelings and plot when you probably just wanted smut, I am really grateful. without further ado, let’s begin the end.

recommended tracks: nightlight by illenium, smile like you mean it by the killers, modus by joji, forever rain by RM, like you do by joji | playlist can be found here

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

if you have thoughts of suicide or struggle with mental wellness, please reach out to your local hotline or emergency services. life is worth it, I promise. to any fellow authors, please take this article (and its sources) into consideration if writing about suicide.

Sunshine bores through your shared bedroom window, songbirds chirping loudly outside. The smell of pancakes fills the room as you slowly wake up. It almost sounds like Christopher is singing in a hushed voice from the kitchen, occasionally talking in a cutesy, baby-talk voice, likely to Jiyoon. She’s usually awake by the time the sun comes up, but since it seems like it’s at least a couple hours past daybreak, you assume Christopher woke up and decided to take care of her.

You move to get out of bed, the smell of pancakes tempting you to practically float into the kitchen, but Jisung pulls you into his chest as he sleeps. He grumbles something in his sleep, and you’re unable to make out exactly what he says. He clearly seems comfortable, so you gently turn to your side and kiss him on the forehead before you slip your way out from under his arm and on to the floor.

As you stand up, you accidentally knee the nightstand next to the bed, jostling the charging cable in your phone - you really needed to stop leaving it plugged in overnight - causing the cord to dislodge itself and your phone to wake up.

10:18. No new messages or notifications, just like normal and the way you liked it. Talking to most people was absolutely draining. You had a hard enough time handling Christopher, Jisung, and now Jiyoon. Hell, it was hard enough to handle your own thoughts sometimes, you were just glad that Jiyoon had three parents so that she could get attention from at least two of them whenever she wanted it.

Whatever, you think to yourself, ignoring the lack of notifications on your phone, as the smell of bananas and pancakes distracts you too much to really allow yourself to get too depressed over it.

Why did this all feel so familiar?

There’s a bit of a headache in the front of your head from the bright lights, but it starts to dissipate as you make your way towards the kitchen, Christopher’s singing voice getting louder and louder the closer you approached. You were able to peek over the doorframe without either Christopher or Jiyoon spotting you, so you watched them for a few moments.

Christopher was made for this. He did a great job of keeping Jiyoon entertained in the harness strapped to his chest, holding her in place as he prepared breakfast. You took in the view of the two of them, warmth enveloping you from head to toe. It was endearing to see how much both Christopher and Jisung cared for both you and Jiyoon, but there was still an uneasy feeling in the back of your mind.

It had been maybe four months since Jiyoon was born. It was likely due to all of the psychological stress you had been going through the past year, but when the doctor told you that you were experiencing postpartum depression, it didn’t surprise you. They prescribed you yet another antidepressant and pushed you out the door when you had physically recovered.

You spent a lot of time aimlessly staring out the window. Jiyoon kept the men off of you, keeping them from barraging you with check-in questions, since taking care of a newborn was so hectic. Of course, you did help, but there was this sense of detachment you had from everyone, like you were behind glass and just watching a movie play out in front of you. There wasn’t much of an attachment you had to anything anymore.

Why were you even here?

“Oh,” Christopher softly gasps, “hey, baby, you’re awake.” He smiles and grabs Jiyoon’s arm, making her wave at you. “Good morning,” he sets down the spatula in his other hand and walks up to you, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. “How did you sleep?”

You give a timid smile and nod your head. “I slept alright, although I could use a little more.”

Liar.

You hadn’t slept well in over a year. A year and a half, at this point, maybe even two years. Time didn’t make sense anymore, like it was a foreign concept someone tried to explain to you in a language you didn’t comprehend. Memories of Changbin jumping in front of you, dying in front of you, Christopher getting shot in front of you, Minho punching Christopher in front of you, Minho coughing up blood as he died in front of you, all of these memories would rudely interrupt your dreams nearly every night, causing you to wake up in a panic, cold sweat dripping down your body. The medication you had made it a bit more bearable, but it still felt like someone was building The Great Wall of Despair in your chest, brick by brick. It was starting to smother you, consuming you from the inside out.

“That’s good,” Christopher leans in and kisses your forehead before returning to the pan, flipping the pancake inside of it. “Have you taken your meds yet this morning?”

You shake your head, knowing that he wasn’t actually asking, this was his way of reminding you to take them. He specifically kept them in a kitchen drawer so he knew you took them. The second week you were home after Jiyoon was born, you kept “accidentally” forgetting to take them, so after you had a complete meltdown over being incapable to fold a pair of socks, Christopher and Jisung would alternate bringing your pills to you in the morning, until you finally started getting up and taking care of yourself, then they moved them from your bedside table to the kitchen drawer, making sure they observed you as you took them.

“I’ll take them, just give me a second. “ You reach down to the island’s drawers, flipping open Tuesday’s reservoir, shaking the pills into your hand.

“What the fuck did you put in these?” You swear you hear a voice come from the opposite of the counter. A gasp escapes your lips as your eyes slowly tilt up and you freeze in place. There’s no one in the seat across from you, but you swear you could have heard Changbin’s voice.

“That reminds me,” Christopher says, his eyes still on the stovetop, “I was scrolling through recipes the other day and I saw that, if you add a bit of maple syrup to pancake batter, it makes them taste nice and lightly sweet. So,” he smiles, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you, “I added some to the batter and wanted to try it out. Figured it would go well with the bananas in there and change it up a bit.”

This felt so oddly familiar, but you couldn’t figure out why.

You shake your head, trying to clear the strange feeling from you, as if it would just fly out of your ears. The pills in your hand suddenly feel weighted down and heavy as you go to grab a glass from the cupboard, then fill it with maybe a hundred millilitres of water. With a bit of a shake, you spill the pills into your mouth and suck down the water, feeling the gelatine coating stick to the back of your throat for just a second as the pills travel down your esophagus.

“There we go,” Christopher says with a laugh. “Everything’s ready. You should go wake up Jisung so that he can -“

“I’m already awake,” Jisung groggily complains, shuffling his feet on his way up to you. He gives you a kiss on the cheek, then steals the glass from your hand, filling it with water and taking a drink from it. “You guys are loud, and you,” he playfully pokes you in the shoulder, “you left me in there all by myself. I just wanted more cuddles and to be lazy, but no.” He continues to whine before setting the glass down and taking a couple steps to Christopher and Jiyoon.

“Morning,” Christopher says, turning to softly kiss Jisung’s forehead, and Jiyoon makes a soft coo when she sees Jisung, reaching her tiny hands up to his face.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” the younger man’s face brightens up with a smile. “Mind if I take her off your hands, baby?”

Christopher nods, removing Jiyoon from the harness and passing her off to Jisung, giving the top of her head a quick peck. “Please do. She’s getting bigger and it’s killing my back.”

You smile as you watch the two of them interact with your daughter. They were so good to her and she deserved the best parents she could ever have.

The day that Minho and Hyunjin died, Christopher dropped Seungmin and Jeongin off at their apartment, then made the way back to Cheongdam-dong. As he parks the car in the apartment building’s garage, he turns the car off and reaches his hand down from the steering wheel to pull another cigarette out from the pack, but you snap your hand over his wrist.

“You need to quit,” you tell him without thinking and without looking at him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see that he scrunches his nose up at you in confusion. “I know?” He wiggles his fingers, trying to pluck one from the packet, but you tighten your grip on his wrist and pull the plastic test out of your pocket with your other hand, tossing it into his lap. You let go of his wrist and stare out the window, too afraid to see his reaction.

“You need to quit,” you say again, quieter this time. “I’m not asking.”

Jisung grabs the back of your seat, pulling himself between the two of you. “Hold up,” he says with an alarmed voice. “Is that what I think that is? Is this why you were acting weird at CU when you darted off to the washroom?”

“Holy shit,” Christopher gasps, then tugs you by your arm into his chest. “Oh my god, oh my god!” He excitedly kisses the top of your head, running his hand through your hair.

“Wait, seriously?” Jisung gasps as he reaches into Christopher’s lap, grabbing the plastic test. It takes a minute for it to register, but he eventually lets out a squeal, throwing the test into the air as he wraps his arms around both of you. “We’re seriously going to be parents,” he happily sighs, nudging his face up against yours, giving your cheek small, frequent kisses.

You should be excited, but you can’t bring yourself to be as excited as them. There’s an overwhelming feeling of dread enveloping your chest with a vice grip.

The doctor tells you that you’re being taken off of a couple of medications, replacing them with ones that were safer for pregnancy. You just kind of sit there, letting her words go in one ear and out the other. Christopher demanded that either he or Jisung went with you to your appointments, since he knew how flighty and unstable you were. He sat next to you, squeezing your hand as you drifted off, staring at the name plate on the desk.

Park Hyunmi. Your doctor had a pretty name. Would you name your child something Korean, like Jisung? Japanese, like yours? English, like Christopher’s? When should you tell your parents? Should you even tell your parents? You hadn’t talked to them since all of this started. You wondered if they knew if you were alive or not. Did they even care?

“Did you hear that?” Christopher shakes your hand, pulling you out of your dissociative trance.

“Mhmm,” you lie, nodding your head. You know he doesn’t believe you, but he won’t make a scene until you get to the car.

You mentally drift away, the walk from the office to the passenger seat of Christopher’s car blurring together. After he closes your door, he walks around the car, stopping in front of his door. He presses his hands against the roof of the car and takes a step back, letting himself unravel into an emotional wreck.

This happens every time he comes with you to your appointments. Jisung would keep it together until he got home, then he’d lock himself in the studio or the washroom for a half-hour and come undone.

The nightmares never seem to stop chasing you, haunting you every night, scaring you to the point where you can’t sleep until your body literally shuts down. It's almost as if every time you close your eyes, someone gets shot in front of you. Every time you close your eyes, your brain pulls you back right into those moments.

Tonight’s nightmare starts with Hyunjin, staring at you with empty eyes and a bloodied face. “No one makes it out of here sane or alive.” A wide grin slowly spreads on his face as he moulds his hand into the shape of a pistol, aiming it at you. He snaps his thumb down and quietly whispers, “bang” as you fall through the floor.

Time slips through your fingers, like grains of sand; it’s impossible to grasp or keep a hold of for more than mere seconds. You continue sinking in the deep darkness until you land  on the couch in the studio. If this was reality, your back would be aching. You would be crying. But nothing was real here, no matter how real it had emotionally affected you when you woke up.

“Christopher,” you hear Jisung whine from the kitchen, repeatedly saying his name over and over calmly, as if it were a mantra. It never made sense why Jisung called him Christopher in your nightmares. You make your way up to your feet, staring what appeared to be blood spattered on the floor, trailing itself through the door. There’s nothing more that you want other than for this nightmare to be over, but you know it won’t come that easily.

There was no choice but to see it through.

You follow the blood spatter out of the studio and into the living room. The image that greets you causes your entire body to run cold and your heart to stop. In the empty floorspace between the living room and the kitchen, there are four lifeless bodies placed next to each other in an intricate manner.

“It’s just us,” Jisung speaks up, and you don’t bother looking. You can’t take your eyes off of the bodies, the pool of crimson surrounding them. The four of you look so cold, so lifeless, so blue. Hyunjin is behind you, his head right behind yours, mirroring your body but with his arms open wide. Changbin’s body is closest to you on your left, his hand outstretched  behind you to Minho’s hand, who is mirroring Changbin’s positioning. Your body is right in between them, laid flat on your back, as if you were in a coffin and the three men were presenting you as some sort of macabre art piece. If you were awake, you would be sick to your stomach.

“It’s all her fault.” Jisung whispers, his voice echoing in your head. “Nobody would have died if she never got involved.” As harsh as it was, he was correct. If you had never met Christopher that night several months ago, they would all be alive.

Changbin would be alive. He would have never taken that bullet for you.

Minho would be alive. He and Changbin could have left the family, got out of South Korea, gotten married, started the family they wanted.

Hyunjin would be alive. They would have never gotten in that fight.

Hell, even Minji would be alive too, probably, but she didn’t matter much to you anymore.

“I loved her,” Jisung croons, “but I wanted you, Christopher. Everyone wants you. Not everyone can have you, though, only me.” You’re finally able to turn your head, staring into the kitchen. Jisung looks through you with an empty stare, covered in blood, as Christopher leans up against Jisung’s chest, his eyes gazing vacantly off into the distance. He looked lifeless, but you were able to see that he was still breathing and blinking.

“She never deserved you,” Jisung says as he stares at you with wide eyes. “She deserved nothing. She was never good enough for us.”

Your therapist sits back in her chair, taking a deep breath as she processes your nightmare. “It sounds like you’re afraid that he’s is going to become too possessive, or already is possessive.” She exhales slowly as she writes some sort of note down on her pad. “And you’ve had this nightmare how many times?”

“Four times, I think,” you say, turning your head to stare out the window. A few birds fly past the window, aimlessly scurrying off into the distance in a uniform pattern. “It’s the same every time. Every night.”

“You need to talk to them, you know,” she says, taking her pen in between her teeth. “Until you talk to them, you’re -“

“Going to keep having the nightmare,” you cut her off, not meaning to seem so rude. “Sorry, but I know. This happens every time. It’s predictable at this point.”

The rest of your appointment is the same generic therapist shit she always gives you. Write out your dreams, talk about your feelings, work through your personal life, stop being such a fucking train wreck. That last tip may not have been verbatim, but that was what it felt like she was actually saying as she stared at you with terrified eyes at the end of every appointment.

“No one makes it out of here sane or alive,” Hyunjin’s words echo in your head again, very real and very crisp, yet so far away from you. You give your head a quick shake and subconsciously rub your stomach as you walk out into the lobby, not bothering to look at Jisung as he greets you.

“That’s terrifying,” Jisung whispers, trembling as he loosens his grip on the steering wheel. Tears start rolling down his face, and he turns away from you. “I would never… Why would you think that I…?”

You shouldn’t have told him, you knew that in the back of your head, but it just slipped out as soon as you were idle in the parking garage. “Jisung,” you whisper, reaching out a hand to his shoulder, but he shifts away from you, putting a hand up between the two of you.

“Sorry,” his voice shakes as he says it, wiping his face off with the sleeve of his sweater. “This is just so much to process. I’m not going to do something like,” he pauses, swallowing hard, “I’d never do anything like that.” He slowly turns to look at you with bloodshot doe eyes, tears falling from them in a continuous stream. “I love you, bunny. Yeah, I love Chan, too, but you were the first person I fell for. Ever. Sure, there have been other people in my life, but you were the one.”

He sniffles, rubbing his face with his hands. “If I never joined up with the family, I wanted to marry you. I was gonna ask you not long before we broke up, but we stopped seeing each other so I figured, what’s the point if I’m just gonna leave?”

His confession makes you rapidly blink your eyes several times in succession before you can clearly focus on him. “What?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, nodding his head in disbelief. “But I was stupid and younger and I thought I could really go somewhere with my music career. I don’t do anything with music anymore, at least not like I want to. I’m too busy with this kkangpae shit I never wanted to be a part of. Fuck’s sake, if I never left you, we would never be in this situation.”

“No,” you reach down to his thigh and grip it firmly with your fingers. “Don’t go down the ‘what if’ rabbit hole, Sungie. Just don’t do it.” Ironic that you were giving him advice on staying sane when you had lost the plot a long time ago. “Trust me, once you start with the ‘what ifs’, they don’t stop.”

Jisung blinks away a couple of tears, wiping his face with the sleeve of his sweater again. He looks up at you and pulls you into a hug. “I’m so sorry for all of this, bunny. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper to him and close your eyes.

“So,” the nurse stares at the three of you in disbelief as you groan in the wheelchair, a contraction ripping through your body, “exactly which one of you is the father?” Christopher and Jisung were probably exchanging an uncomfortable glance with each other, as an awkward silence fills the empty waiting room.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whine as sweat drips from your brow. “I don’t know, I don’t care, I want this child out of me and I want her out of me now.”

“Ma’am,” the nurse speaks up, looking down at you with soft eyes, “I just need to know who to let into the delivery room with you.”

“Both of them,” you grumble, tilting your head back as you ride out the contraction. The nurse furrows her brows and her face contorts in confusion. However, she doesn’t protest as she walks behind the wheelchair and starts pushing you forward.

“Mother knows best,” she whispers under her breath, probably hoping that nobody heard it. “Alright, let’s get going.”

On the third day you were in the hospital post-delivery, you shifted for the first time in hours, looking at the doctor as he told you that Jiyoon was biologically Jisung’s child, that he would be listed as the father on the birth certificate. All legal responsibility was on the two of you; Christopher would have no legal rights over Jiyoon, and that probably felt like a knife in his side.

“Oh,” was all you could manage to say. It didn’t matter to you. Sure, you had spent eight and a half months growing another human being inside of you, but she felt like she was just this tiny, babbling human that didn’t belong to you. You never wanted to be a parent, so this entire situation was just foreign, strange, and unwelcome. It was another thick layer to add to The Great Wall of Despair.

Your eyes roll over to Jisung and Christopher, and it’s painfully obvious that Christopher is trying to not be offended or uncomfortable. Jisung blinks rapidly a few times, biting back a smile. He flits his eyes down to you and lets a small glimpse of his smile creep up.

“I’m happy for you, Jisung,” Christopher says, pulling Jisung into an awkward man hug. The two of them would hide any romantic affection towards each other if there was a stranger around that they had to interact with. They would force themselves to be as heteronormative as possible and it was uncomfortable for you to watch because you knew they were agonizing over it.

“Doesn’t change anything,” you softly say, then roll over to look out the window some more. Today was window-washing day, so you would eventually see someone scale down the window and wipe off residual dirt and grime that had built up over the past two days. It was probably the most interesting thing to watch nowadays.

The doctor exhales sharply through his nose. “We’re going to increase the dosage of a couple of your medications and add on another mood stabilizer.”

“Great,” you say nonchalantly, throwing your arm in the air and dismissively waving it. “I don’t give a shit. Dope me up, doc.”

“Maybe you should consider signing away parental rights to -“ the doctor starts quietly making a snide comment before Christopher interrupts.

“We’ll handle it,” he curtly cuts him off, stepping forward to likely usher the doctor out of the room. “Thank you.”

Jisung walks up to you, bending down in front of you to be at your eye level. “That was a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

Your face remains devoid of emotion as you stare past Jisung. “Probably. Don’t care, though.”

The younger man frowns at you, scooting a bit to the side and closer to you to basically force you to look at him. He puffs his cheeks out and makes a silly face, which does get a bit of a smile out of you.

“I can’t promise you’re going to feel better any time soon, but I can promise we’ll be here with you, every step of the way.” Jisung brings his forehead to yours and rubs the back of your head. “We both care about you so much and just want the best for you.”

You try your best to offer a genuine smile, but it just feels awkward on your face. “Thanks, Sungie.” His honesty was appreciated, but you knew in the pit of your stomach that none of this was going to get better any time soon.

Christopher had talked up how great the pancakes were, but to your tastebuds, it was like you were eating syrupy cardboard. This was no fault of his, but you just couldn’t taste things anymore. A few months ago, things still had some semblance of flavour. You had no idea when things stopped being flavourful, when everything became desaturated and bland, but this was life now. It felt like you were stuck in this fog of misery and there was no way out of it.

“Bunny,” Jisung waves his hand in front of your face, “you’re staring off again. What are you thinking about?”

“My life flashing before my eyes,” rolls off of your tongue before you really process what you actually say. You quickly correct yourself to sound a bit less depressed and insane. “How excited you and Christopher were when you found out I was pregnant. Jiyoon’s birth. You know,” you stab at the pancake on the plate and begrudgingly shove a forkful of it into your mouth, “normal sappy shit.”

“They taste really sugary.” Changbin’s voice echos in your head again and you drop your fork, turning your head to where you thought he was. “That’s sugar on top of sugar, dude.”

You blink a couple of times, staring at the empty spot at the island counter. Why the fuck were you hearing his voice so much today?

“Are you alright?” Christopher asks with a layer of concern in his voice.

There was no way you could tell them that you were hallucinating, especially not that you were hallucinating Changbin’s voice over and over again. No, not today. You had plans tonight and you didn’t want to risk it.

“Yeah,” you lie, reaching back down to your plate to grab your fork. “Just thought I saw a spider or a bug or something, no big deal.”

Christopher and Jisung exchange a confused glance and shrug it off. Jiyoon starts to whine from the bedroom, and Christopher gets up. “I’ve got her, don’t worry. Finish your breakfast, both of you.” He smiles as he walks towards the bedroom.

Jisung puts his fork down and looks at you with a frown. “Are you sure you’re alright, bunny? You’ve been really out of it lately.”

“Haven’t I been out of it a lot for the past few months?” You retort, taking another bite of the syrupy, bland cardboard to your lips.

Jisung purses his lips and bobs his head. “Yeah,” he draws out, “but you’ve been a little extra spacey lately. Is it the meds?”

“Probably,” you say, looking up to him and offer him a fake smile. “I’ll be fine soon, though, I just have a hunch.”

[tw from here on out]

It was about three in the morning when you make your way out of bed. You hear the soft pattering of rain hitting the windowsill as you look down to the bed. Jisung shifts in his sleep, rolling over to Christopher. He rubs his head up against his chest, and Christopher rolls into him, wrapping his arms around the smaller man. You bend down and kiss them both on the forehead. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, nearly silently.

You quietly shuffle over to Jiyoon’s bassinet, looking down at her as she sleeps. A tear makes its way down your face as you bend down to kiss her forehead and gently stroke her hair. “I love you so much, all of you, but I’m so sorry.”

You don’t bother changing out of your pyjamas, making your way to the entrance of Christopher’s apartment. Quietly, you take your slippers off, then grab a random pair of trainers off of the shoe rack, slipping your into them and not bothering to re-tie them. You turn to the door, your hand trembling as you reach out to the door handle.

Another tear falls down your face as you take in a deep breath, quickly looking over your shoulder to make sure that nobody has awoken. As soon as you confirm that you’re the only one awake, you quietly open the door and step out into the hallway, quietly making your way through the building, then out towards the Seongsu bridge.

No one makes it out of here sane or alive, do they?

[ to be continued in step out! you’re the sanctuary ]

final notes:

thank YOU so much for reading this insane story.

massive thanks to my best friend/wifi T for panicking with me from beginning to end, for reading this when you barely knew anything about stray kids and you barely knew me. you are a genius, and I couldn't have done this without you.

also, thanks to my spouse for reading this even though this wasn’t something you were interested in. you really helped me out a lot and I am thankful for ya for believing in me.

to my friend D: I still don’t think I’ll ever turn this into a novel or anything remotely similar, but thank you for always supporting me and keeping me going. your kind words really meant a lot to me when I was having a rough go from chapter eight on.

the words from all three of you AND all of the people that left me comments on AO3 and tumblr meant so much and I couldn’t have written this dumpster fire without you.

I know this wasn’t a happy ending or a happy fic at all (the epilogue, see you in the next life, ends on a happy note, at least) but I personally struggle with mental wellness (always have) and so writing this was kind of a trip. it was almost oddly therapeutic in a way because I’ve been there more times than I’d like to admit, but I’ve come back from the brink. reach out for help if you need it. it’s worth it, I promise.

I still can’t believe I wrote this. what the fuck.

until we meet again, yuki. ♥

[mintseesaw]

Mad Passion

Pairing: husband!namjoon x reader Genre: smut, fluff, arranged marriage!au Word count: 5.7k Warning: jealousy, possessiveness, mild teasing, unprotected sex

Part 1 | sequel

One of his men said he’s been working in his office at home all day, when you squeezed an information about his location. In some days, he was barely home. Some weeks even spent outside the country for business purposes. So it came a surprise for you to know he’s at home.

Pushing his office door open, you were instantly met by an intense atmosphere, seconded by the booming voice of Namjoon barking instructions to the caller you are unable to identify of. By the sound of his voice and the manner he talks, it could be one of his men. His one hand resting on his hip and his back is facing you, keeping your presence yet unknown to him. Your intention when you came to his office hanging in the air, while calculating your next move. Should you leave and come back later?

Your feet stepping back discretely to create no sound that would make him aware of your presence, or else, he would realize your entrance to his office unannounced. Half scared that he will divert his anger to you.

You were not anticipating his next move. In fact you thought he was too preoccupied from the conversation to even care of moving. Your calculated steps were cut short when he abruptly turns around. He stops mid-sentence at the sight of your presence. His tensed shoulders visibly relaxing. His eyes softening as they lock with your widened ones. His silence didn’t last long, but it was not to speak further with the person on the other end of the line. It was to cut the conversation which seemed to have been going on for longer than you estimated. This time, it was in a much calmer tone, of which his voice still laced with ire with the cause you have no knowledge of.

“Do you need anything, y/n?”

He was curious. You never go to him on your own will, unless if he asks to. When he does, it always comes out as an order. A command that no one will dare say no to. Your attention is always directed to anyone—anything but him. And seeing you here so suddenly piques his curiosity.

“You didnt have to do that, I was about to leave and come back...later.” You spoke, uptight, and your hands fidgeted. His eyes caught it.

Did he make you nervous? You shouldn’t have witnessed him in that state. Among the things about him that he does not want you to see or be aware of, the first on the list is his temper—the untamed beast in him. Now he suddenly finds the need to assure you. That even how angry he can be, never would he lay his hands on you.

Why are you here, again? He recalls you have yet to fill in his curiosity. When was the last time you went to him, again? Was it 2 months ago? When you came to inform him about your decision to go back to the coffee shop you used to work at. Not to mention that it was also the cause of your first serious argument with him. Your decision without consulting him had severely bruised his ego. A wife wants to work at a local coffee shop when your husband could probably be wealthier than all the all the coffee shop owners combined in the city.

He was furious. But his intimidating aura didn’t hinder you to fight back. Of course he has his ways to wring off the reason out of you.

“I just did. Now, do you need anything? Is your card not working?” Concern oddly laced in his voice. You noted.

He gave you the black card, limitless expenses for your needs. If not for his harmless threat which you took in seriously, you wouldn't think of accepting it. Your father gave you one when you went to college. But your will to live independently has you neglecting their financial assistance to your basic needs.

“The black card is not my concern. I didn’t come here just for that.” Your body language— the more he watches it, makes him aggravated the longer you talk in circles, not giving the answer he desires to hear. He took a step forward so that his thighs are pressing against the corner of the desk’s glass surface. He would have gone closer in the absence of it. As your wandering eyes stop at his peering ones, he made sure to leave no trace of emotion in his features, despite having mixed-emotions being with you in the same room.

“Then tell me.” He pressed, growing a little more impatient at your lack of cooperation.

“Your men...the ones who guard me… they harassed my friend.”

That’s it? That’s what made you come to him? A bead of jealousy nurtured through your concern with someone you care about, suddenly enveloping his mind. Your bodyguards are there for the exact same reason. Not only for him to be knowledgeable on your whereabouts, but to protect what solely belongs to him from everyone who threatens to steal you away from him as he’s not always with you to do it himself. The ones closest to you are no exception. They had to keep their distance for their own safety.

“They are protecting you.” Namjoon stated, dangerously calm to believe it is purely casual. He almost wants to shut off the subject and ask you about your day, instead.

When the words went past his lips, slowly comprehending his short statement, your eyes grew wider.

He definitely knew. Everything is reported to him. Every single thing that you do outside under your bodyguards’ watch, he’s full aware of it all. Except when you’re in the vicinity of the mansion.

“Y-You knew?” You stuttered in shock, for you expect the event that occurred just this morning was left unknown to him. You purposely want let him know so you can ask him to change the men in-charge of your security, condemning their inappropriate way of guarding you.

His lips pressed together, if it was to avoid answering your question, you’re not sure. But his silence confirmed it.

“Did y-you tell them to hurt him?”

Violence is not what he ordered for his to do, unless the incident calls for it. What his men did to your friend was not considered violence, he was warned. That you’re not allowed to be touched. Not when you’re legally bind to him. Not ever.

“They are protecting you, y/n.” He insisted, although his composure remains calm and collected, far from what you caught sight of earlier.

“He’s my friend! He’s incapable of hurting me!”

He stood still, his eyes lingers on you, as his lips formed a thin line, having no intention to speak yet. If someone else is treated with his silence and under the scrutiny of his piercing eyes, they would be shaking in fear by now. His thundering voice indicates an imminent adverse, but it is a better option than his silence. Being unable to elicit a reaction from him is the worst kind that can be likened by the calmness of the sky before it devastates the area where a storm lands. By the looks of you now, your head tilted to be able to return his gaze unaffected by his dark stare. He smile inwardly in the guise of the blazing fire of his jealousy, admiring your tough display.

You spoke further amidst his silence, “I didn’t even agree with having bodyguards in the first place.”

“I make the rules here, wife.” He simply reminds you.

His anger is something you wouldn't want to challenge but you have to set your boundaries in this marriage. Although you know, deep in your heart, he’s incapable of violence, him under the influence of his temper is a different story. “Do whatever you want, I don't care. Just...don’t touch my friends, Namjoon.” You stated, mentally shaking away the fear at the thought of being preyed under his fury.

“I cannot promise you that.” A side smirk slowly creeping up in his face, and a shiver ran down your spine from the sight of it.

A captivating man tainted with darkness. Someone you didn't want to get yourself involved with despite the fact that he’s the only man ever elicited a certain emotion within you. If only you were given the option to choose your future, you wouldn’t marry someone like him. Even if you might possibly have unrequited feelings for him.

You swallowed hard.

“Why?” You asked in a breathy whisper.

“I told you, sweetheart, I’m protecting what’s mine.” The endearment left you stunned. He was able to capture it under his scrutiny.

You have no idea how you recovered from your mild flabbergasted state. The next thing you know is you’re opening your mouth to remind him the real score between you and him.

“We both know what kind of marriage we have. There’s no need to stake your claim.” You challenged, feigning bravery with your unwavering stare.

“It doesn’t change the fact that you're my wife.” His smirk didn't falter and it’s severely affecting your agitation.

It was no longer the case when you spoke again. “I may be your wife, but you don’t own me.”

Like a breeze washes over you, you froze as his eyes grew darker piercing through yours, so sharp that you think it could almost hurt you, physically.

“What did you say?” He dangerously drawled, so painfully excruciating. You didnt dare speak again. Too consumed with fear to anger him further.

He strutted slowly, and with his towering height, he was able to close the distance with three long strides. His sudden move surprised you, that it was already too late to step back as he caught both of your arms, making sure to keep you immobile.

“Namjoon...“

You slightly flinched and your head lowering so you wouldn’t meet his dangerous eyes when he dipped his head to whisper right next to your ear marking you through his words alone. “You belong to me.” You didn't know how you gathered the strength to squirm in his captive. To get away from him. Having the obvious advantage, he didn't even budge as you try to push him away.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He stated so casually but in a lingering tone of warning. As if he would do something if you try to disobey him.

Your temporary inability to see his face seems to give you comfort under the severe effect he has from your proximity with him.

Namjoon is too close to your liking. His hand traveled to your cheek, then traces his fingers down your chin to level it up to his gaze. His dark eyes scream danger, but you were left unmoving from his arms. It should have made you fear for your life, for your security, so you should have tried to step back to protect yourself. But his nearness was making you strangely mute.

The sight of him alone activates your senses. He was not your first, but for you to desire someone requires your attraction towards the person. Namjoon is exquisitely attractive, a beautiful man, whom you’ve admire with not only for his physical flawlessness but also for his exceptional intelligence and his soft heart you’ve witnessed with your own eyes.

And right now, the tiny space you have in between is not helping your effort to clear away the wild thoughts running around your head. In fact, it severely adds up to your pooling desire of him. One which has never been satiated after your first and only night with him. The same night you married him in a civil arrangement.

The way his eyes never faltered, raking you all over sensually. He moved his head, burying his face on your neck. Taking in your alluring natural scent. The move alone shoots a sensation right at his length that is hardening the longer you stay this close with him when he can just do anything he wants. Anything. To relieve his long, unsatiated desire inside your deliciously tight core.

Namjoon’s hand loosened its hold on your arm and instead, circled it around your waist which allowed him to pull you further against him. The force of his pull without any kind of resistance from you causes a hard impact on your bodies. His move was fast and calculated, because the moment your chest collided with his, his palms cupped both of your cheeks and crashed his lips to yours. It didn’t prepare you enough, and you were left unresponding for a second before your needle-like strength to repel his deed, to fight your own need, gave in.

Entirely envelope with desire, you remained submissive under his hot kisses. His mouth, sucking and biting and playing with your tongue. It was there. His possessiveness. You can feel it through the manner he takes your mouth, to the way he keeps you close to him.

And your clouded mind is willing to be marked again in any way that he would.

Until you felt something on your stomach. A hard bulge. The proof of his arousal. Suddenly, guilt flicker through you—for what? Namjoon is your husband. Sticking for your conscience, you mustered up all the strength left in you to resist his advances.

“Stop…” It came out a sound of weak muffled against his dominating mouth.

“You don’t want this?” He echoed, tearing his mouth away from your bruised pair of lips just to suck a spot on your neck. The spot he once marked, and bruised it purple on your first night together.

“Why is that so hard to believe...” Namjoon darkly whispered.

Your hand unconsciously went up on his hair, tangling your fingers in between his locks. Your grip was firm but not enough to extract a sensation of pain from his scalp—until he went further down to nuzzle your clothed breast, his other hand squeezing the other that you let out a sound of strangled moan mixture of pain and bliss that your hand aggressively pull his hair.

He left the sensitive mound then went back north to trail kisses on your jaw, chin and on the corner of your lips. His mouth which you crave to touch with your mouth—intentionally avoids your lips.

Your voice croaked breathily as you plea for contact, “Namjoon,”

“You don’t want this, right?” He teased seeing as you’re visibly delirious from his ministrations when he pulled away. Your body feels hot and your limbs—like a jello, that you would have met the marble floor sooner if not only for his firm hold around your waist. His reflex further let your bodies even closer. You didn’t care. But the one thing which you anticipate impatiently is not happening it seems. Namjoon is doing nothing other than keeping you standing on your toes.

“Please,” you couldn't believe you’re hearing yourself beg, barely recognizing your voice.

“Please what, sweetheart?” He murmured against the skin of your throat, nibbling it. You heard him, but his words went past your ear without being comprehended. Too delirious to heed on anything but his kisses. Your eyes are tightly closed, thus, your temporary inability to see made you much more sensitive from your other senses. Especially your sense of touch.

His mere contact reminds you he’s this close to you, trailing hot kisses from your neck and shoulder. Excitement bubbles up in you when his hand traveled down the waistband of your pants, skimming inside so he can palm you through your wet underwear. To feel your arousal. The simple act left you even more desperate than you already are.

You want more of him, and you want him to touch more of you.

“How come you’re soaking, sweetheart?” He taunted sensually.

No reply came out of your mouth, throwing your head back crying instead, as you felt him thumbing your sensitive nub. One of your hands flew to his shoulder over his back to find something to cling on. The other tightening their grip on his hair.

His assault didn't stop as he continued to strum your bare clit and you’re not even sure how long you’ll last before reaching the end from having no sexual activity since you married him.

To your delight, Namjoon inserted two long fingers into your leaking hole which made you cry from the abrupt entrance. Stretching your walls enough to make you writhe in his captive of which is initially to keep you intact on the ground. He didn't give you time to adjust as he fingers started stroking deep inside you.

The sight in front of him is what he’s been fantasizing to do to you. To make you feel good...and more.

When he curled his fingers inside your hole sucking him tight, a particular moan emitted past your beautiful, luscious lips. His name left your mouth repeatedly.

A fucking music to his ears. His dick jerking at the sound alone, suffocating his intensifying arousal that the painful restriction of his slacks is getting too difficult to ignore. He suddenly withdrew his hand.

And then all the sensation stops. You suck a deep breath, surprised and deprived at the lost of contact. A sound of protest came past your throat, too desperate for a proper release. Your eyes snapped open, wanting to know why he briefly stopped. Ready to beg for more.

You couldn't see his face, as he has it buried in your neck.

“Mine.” He claimed. His ragged breathing is doing nothing but amplifies your hunger. He had you all weak and motionless when all he did is kiss you and touch you down there.

He grinded his bulge against your center which you gasped in return. “You want it, my sweet little slut?” He taunted playfully, tormenting you further. His mouth found the shell of your ear, biting it gently.

“Yes,” You responded in a breathy whisper.

“You’re mine.” He went further. A strong arm circled your waist, silently taking you with him as he strutted forward, your feeble strength easily allowed him to push you into the long tuxedo couch far across his furnished table. He spun you around and coaxed you down so that you’re kneeled on the cushion, your arms instinctively planted on top of the inside back for support, anticipating his move. He remains where he stood, right behind you.

“Namjoon.” Whining, disregarding his claim earlier when he seems to have no plan to take you yet.

“Right, sweetheart?” He attempted, fishing for your submission. You felt his fingers hooked on the thin waistband of your panties, then harshly pulled it together with your pajama bottoms. His moves are precise when he nudge your knees up one after the other using his hand to fully remove the material off of your feet while you’re slightly trembling from the prolonged anticipation. His hand went in between your ajar thighs to part them further, caressing the inside of your thighs and teasing you more.

The new position gives you no opportunity to see see him clearly. And even though he is close, by the way he has his hands are rubbing softly on the skin near your center, it was not enough. You want to watch him—observe his features while you two are intimately connected.

”Did you say something, baby?”

What? You were uncertain what he’s referring to.

And then he pressed his hips behind you, grinding his crotch into your bare, leaking core. His hand sneaking past for your stomach, flicking your clit in a circular motion.

“Oh fuck yes yes.” You moaned, not minding how desperate you sound.

“Oh my—“ His thumb rubbing your clit mercilessly. Two long digits from his unused hand once again found its way inside you, “Namjoon!”

You became too sensitive that you’re sure you can come any second, now.

Your high-pitched voice echoed through the room when he withdrew his hand for the second time of the night. Crying out, “No, please… please…” Attempting to peer behind your shoulders to look at him, his hand on your shoulder firmly kept you in place restricting you from doing so.

Then you heard a belt buckling. That was the only your senses allowed you to know and then his hand is back on your skin. This time it was on your waist that he is clasping tight, keeping you securely close to him.

“You want to cum, y/n?” He asked so suddenly. You didn't know why he still needs to wring it out of you when the mere sight of you already provides the answer.

You vigorously nodded. “Yes, please.” If it weren’t for your clouded mind, you wouldn’t be so vocal about your desire towards him.

The cushion beneath your knees dipped a little as he placed his foot up near your right leg. Your core clenched and your head thrown back when he unexpectedly rubbed his hard length into your center. Sliding it painfully slow. Wanting more, wanting it where you ache the most. Please...

“Then who do you belong to?”

“Namjoon, please.” You. The intention to verbalize the word was restricted down your throat. Choking, when you felt the head of his cock at your entrance. He stilled when you left no respond from his question.

“Answer me!” He demanded dangerously.

You gave him what he wants to hear, hoping that he would give in.

“I’m yours, only yours—fuck!” The moment Namjoon heard the magic word, he bucked his hips, ramming his dick inside you in a ruthless pace making you scream from the excruciating intrusion. Your back arching, your eyes rolling from the back of your head from the severe stimulation. Too much of what you can take. His hard and thick length filling you so full, being extremely stretched that the pleasure was overpowered by pain. But you didn’t mind. It has been too long since he last fucked you that you can take anything that he offers. On the other hand, the sounds pouring from your mouth indicates how good you feel despite the pain.

Your thighs trembling from the pressure of keeping you in your position, your body quivering from the endless pleasure as Namjoon brought you to your peak.

“Fuck!” He growled, “You’re gripping me so tight, sweetheart.”

His hands firmly planted on your waist and the faster he thrusts into you the tighter his fingers dig onto your skin that you’re certain they will leave a fingerprint on your skin. Meeting you halfway as his hands on your waist pull you back to him every time he slides off emptying your walls then quickly fill you again, stretching your walls deliciously.

He kept his pace fast and hard.

“Nam— shit! Oh God!” You moaned, loudly.

If there is energy left in your body, it probably lies in your hands and knees trying to keep yourself up as he pounds you relentlessly.

“That good, huh?” He said in between his thrusts, giving your behind a faint slap.

He feels good, knowing where to stroke, and when to go fast making your walls involuntarily convulse around his thick shaft. It hasn’t been long, but you knew you’re already close, you could feel the familiar building up at the pit of your stomach and spreading rapidly to your abdomen.

“Please…I-I’m…” You stammered, feeling too lost for words that you couldn’t find the the strength to finish your statement.

“You’re what, baby?” His tone is controlled, concealing any hint of desire in his voice.

His strokes were fast and deep. You could feel it coming down on you.

“Namjoon, please!” You beg deliriously for him to keep going as you feel it approaching.

The way his palms dug deeper on both of your sides indicates that he knows you’re close. His thrusts went abnormally faster that you stopped breathing, mouth ajar as you suck in oxygen but never releasing a breath out.

Despite feeling too lost from the intense pleasure, his sounds laced with pleasure didn’t escape your senses. His steady strokes on your walls and the grunts coming past his mouth pushing you further in the brink.

“Namjoon!” You whined before a scream ripped out of you as an intense orgasm hits you. The remaining strength you have suddenly evaporating as pleasurable waves wash through you, making your head fall forward on the inside back cushion.

He just fucked you. In his office. Is it a regular thing for him to do it here? It shouldn’t matter, because for you, what you two physically shared gives you something. Another memory to recall of. Especially when you’re yearning for him, wishing that things are different. That he sees you as someone he’s attracted to or someone he has genuine feeling with. And not someone he’s obligated to tend to, someone he can fuck only because it’s his right.

Your clenching insides stutter his strokes impedes him a little to go even deeper than intended, but nonetheless your convulsing muscles has put him on edge. Your walls choking his length tightly is enough to feel himself nearing the end. Few thrusts in and out after your orgasm and he’s already coming undone moaning your name for the first time and spilling his seed deep in your core. Wishing that you’re not on birth control so he could possibly make you conceive.

Feeling him intimately— it’s different. And it doesn’t matter if it’s not the same for him. You’re not asking for his feelings to reciprocate yours. For now, you can be complacent despite having no assurance that your emotions will be secured in the future.

Bearing your last memory, was when he urged you to lie down and wiped you clean, not realizing that darkness is already enveloping your senses. Unaware of what has occured after that.

Unknown to you, Namjoon carried you towards your shared bedroom.

When he came back to you after he disposed the used tissue, he expected anything but your figure sleeping soundly on the couch, with your head lying uncomfortably on its arm. If only the couch is appropriate to be slept on, he would let you sleep on it while he watches you across his desk.

When he has placed you on the mattress, covering your body up until your shoulders with the thick cover, he discarded his work attire which he was unable to do so when he has ravished you earlier.

His hunger has been long overdue that even the sense of unbuttoning his dress shirt was disregarded as he could wait no less than a moment.

He proceeded to the large bed beside you after putting on a sweatpants. To watch you for a while before sleeping.

There was never a night that passes without him watching you while you sleep. It was always you who sleeps first and he makes sure you are when he enters the room late at night. His days and nights are always spent at work, intentionally. He permits no time for himself to see you or talk to you longer than the simple greetings, because your presence —he craves for it, despite showing no emotions every time you’re around. The least he could do is to pretend.

It was four years ago—the first time he saw you. At a coffee shop. He knew there was something extraordinary with you aside from the fact that you seemed unfit to be there despite wearing the same uniform like the rest of the baristas. Out of place. To be behind the counter, taking orders from strangers, customers.

He was infatuated, even though the only thing he knows about you is your name and the coffee shop you work at. He has all the connections and sources to dig information about you, but he restricted himself from touching your life—even as having a glimpse of it. For several months—ten months to be precise he complacently watch you from afar. Stopping by on the cafe for a few minutes on his way to work. Time passes so quickly because when you’re gone, nowhere in sight inside the establishment, months seemed only days. He has the means to search for you, but it would be useless. He wouldn’t have you, anyway. Someone like him does not deserve to have you in his life.

He was only infatuated. That was what he kept reminding himself of whenever an image of you regularly visits his mind. It was nothing but a mere admiration.

None of his wildest dreams of you have prepared him for what was offered to him years after. Merging of companies he does not need, thus, all that attempted to offer him have been turned down without taking a first look on the proposals. 

But one among all those stood out.

It was you having his last name— if he accepts your father’s business deal.

The infatuation has gradually nurtured the longer he has you in his life. Yet, until now, he’s not making a move that could, perhaps, get you to like him. Or at least, will make you comfortable around him.

What did he to deserve this life? To have all the things his money could afford, and to have the woman of his dreams. Although the latter holds the much more relevance than the other.

He scooted closer so he could reach for your hair and cheeks. Stroking light caresses as not to wake you up. You look so peaceful, so pure, like an angel, and small compared to his figure. He was rough. There was no he couldn’t have physically hurt you. If there was any indication of any pain you’ve felt while he was ravishing you raw, he’s certain he didn’t see or hear one. You took all of it, responding only with pure bliss.

His heart skipped a beat when you stirred, whispering his name as your brows furrowed like you’re calling for him. Although out of conscious, you have found him through your searching hand and snuggle deeper into him burying your face further in his chest.

He stilled in his position for a second, before hesitantly circling his arms around you.What would you think when you wake up with him cuddling you like this? He has no idea. And he shook his conscience away, embracing the chance to touch you. Twice of which he only got when he initiated an intimacy with you. His lips pressed softly against the top of your head before closing his eyes shut.

You woke up at the unfamiliar sound of a phone ringing. It must be his phone. Your intention to stir, to turn to the other side halted from something hard and warm wrapped on your waist. The object is warm and seems like a human—is it...him?

The blaring noise rings your ears as it was kept unanswered. Your eyes fluttered open, momentarily seeing nothing, as your nose is flushed against his warm neck. Tilting your head, you recognized the familiar room. The master’s bedroom. Your last memory was in his office. How you got here remains a mystery to you, yet. You wiggled a little in an attempt to pry his limbs off of you.

And while you attempted to move, you heard him groaned. Is he awake? Your cheeks heat up when you realized he’s half naked. However, you made no move to push him away. Although your head is now on the pillow next to his, while your body remains locked in his arms..

You crane your neck to see his face. With his eyes closed, he reached out for the device in his bedside table as if he knew where he placed it before he slept last night.

He pressed the phone right on his ear. His eyes traveled to your figure the moment he peeled them open. A flicker of surprise hinted in his eyes before it disappears.

You heard him spoke briefly then put his phone back to where he got it from. It was unclear what it was about and why he seemed to abruptly cut the call short as your mind is still clouded from being forcefully woken up by the loud ringing of his phone.

His bare chest giving you a silent reminder about what happened last night. You’re even scared to discover whether he wears something to cover his bottom or it’s just the duvet doing the job. You hoped it’s the former.

“Good morning.” He greeted softly with his morning voice. Raspy and low.

You didn’t know how to act like you normally used to, especially after what happened last night. The things you did last night—there’s one thing to sum it up. You’re desperate to be fucked. It gets much clearer now, further recalling all the details that occured. The tinted crimson visible on your cheeks never fading. You’re ashamed, does his perception of you change now?

“Good morning, Namjoon.” You replied shyly.

Hesitantly, you spared him a glance and created a little movement to give him a signal that you’re getting up. His arm that’s securely wrapped over your back fell on the bed to give way.

When you have stood up and is on your way towards the bathroom, he spoke not to your expectation, “You have classes today, right?”

“Yeah.” You turn on your shoulders to peer at him. He was already sat up on the edge of bed. A sigh of relief past your lips silently as you notice a fabric poking through the duvet that is covering his lower body.

“I’ll be working all day here in my office.” He casually stated.

Your eyebrows forming a line in confusion. Why is he sharing this information all of a sudden?

“Okay? That’s...good I g-guess.”

He chuckled, “What I mean to say is, maybe, you want to go out tonight?”

Your eyes remains at him, “Like...dinner?” You trailed.

“Yeah, if you’d like that then we’ll have dinner.” He nodded.

“Uh...I’m fine with that, if you’re not busy?”

He gave you a smile one that showed his dimples.

You clearly don’t understand what just happened. He asked you out? He never did that before. What has changed?

Hope you enjoyed reading the first part.

mintseesaw © 2019

[glasswingsndreamz]

(Sexual) Frustration

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Felix x Reader

Rating: NSFW

AO3 Link

Summary:  The cold hearted, poison tongued Felix ends up at your door past everyone's bed time. You have no idea what he's doing there. He's not about to confess why either.

Felix was a warrior. His heart belonged to his sword if he even had one at all. While Sylvain flirted with girls he studied the blade. Repeatedly Felix had denied having any attraction or interest in anyone regardless of gender. It didn’t matter if someone had feelings for him. He’d reject them without batting an eye. In fact he had broken countless hearts of both boys and girls who were unlucky enough to fall for his looks. They certainly wouldn’t fall for his charm or lack thereof. 

You knew better than that. Having watched him throw away countless love letters without opening a single one. So when you felt that butterflies forming in your stomach you quickly crushed them. Felix would make a better partner in battle than one in life.

Maybe that’s why it was so easy being his actual friend. At least you considered him to be a friend. It would be no surprise if he didn’t return the sentiment. Most likely he saw you only as a sparring partner. Knowing he was incapable of having romantic feelings toward you made it easier to squash your own. That didn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat when he decided to remove his shirt during training when it was especially hot. Nor did it stop that spark of arousal coursing throughout your body when he pinned you down during hand to hand combat, a smug smirk on his face. Instead of giving into the urge to drag him down and slam your lips against his you make a move to knee him between the legs. As always he is quick to stop your advances before you can follow through.

What you felt wasn’t love. Of that you were pretty sure. Lust, however, was very plausible. 

Guiltily you had played around the idea of giving into Sylvain’s advances just to get rid of some of the pent up desire building up. It wouldn’t feel as bad if you were knowingly using each other. Still you weren’t that desperate. Yet. The idea that Felix would find out was also a worry in the back of your mind. Not that he would feel jealous. No you suspected his view of you might change. That he’d come to the conclusion that you’d rather spend your time with a hand down Sylvain’s pants rather than sparring.

Never in this life time did you expect Felix to show any romantic interest in anyone. Not when he cherished the company of his sword over that of a companion.

So it came as a big surprise when Felix came to you outside of the training grounds. When you heard a knock at your bedroom door you had been expecting Annette, Mercedes, Ashe, Sylvain, anyone but Felix. 

At first you thought you must be asleep. It was late after all. Too late for anyone to be wandering the monastery. Only in your dreams would Felix come to you first, to your own bedroom. It was hard to really make out the expression on his face with only the moon shining outside. You hadn’t even bothered to light a candle with your brain still clouded with sleep. When Felix remained silent without bothering to explain why he was at your dorm in the middle of the night you began to feel a lot more awake. At that point you were wondering if perhaps you might need to assist in getting rid of a body tonight.

For a good three minutes you waited in silence until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“It’s a little late to want to train isn’t it?” you said, head tilted in curiosity. Despite the worry flooding your mind you kept a calm, outward appearance in case it only pushed him away. 

“...That’s not why I came,” he finally spoke. Patiently you waited for him to continue only to be greeted with more silence.

“Felix?”

“Can I…. come in?” he gritted out the words as if it was painful to speak. Without a word you opened the door further to let him in. Silently he entered, entire body tense as you shut the door behind you.

With eyes adjusted to the darkness it was easy to find and light the lamp on your bedside table. It wasn’t intense enough to light the whole room but now you were able to clearly see the expression on the swordsman’s face. His eyes wouldn’t meet yours which wasn’t unusual. It was the light blush dusting his cheeks that caught your breath. It had to be the lighting. There was no way Felix Hugo Fraldarius was blushing right now. Not in front of you.

Cautiously you watched, not making a move so you didn’t spook him. As curious as you were to know why he was visiting your room in the middle of the night, you were fully aware that he would just as easily leave and deny this ever happened. You might even believe it too. It could easily be a dream.

“Fe-”

He cut you off. His lips were rough against your own and you decided this must be a dream after all. Just as quickly he was pulling away, seeking out your expression to gauge your response. Too stunned to move, you could only stare back in confusion. Apparently this was not what he wanted to see. Without a single explanation he was turning to take his leave.

That would not do at all.

Grasping the back of his shirt, you turned him back to you. He looked surprisingly vulnerable as he faced you again.

“What?” he snapped. If it were anyone else maybe you would be offended, but you knew Felix. Or maybe you didn’t considering how badly he had taken you by surprise.

Bracing yourself both physically and mentally, you gripped at his shoulders to keep him in place. Felix looked like a feral stray, alarmed and ready to claw your face off before bounding away. You didn't take the time to really consider the consequences. In fact you couldn't think at all as you slammed your lips against his. For a moment he was frozen, seemingly surprised with your choice of actions. Quickly he recovered, arms wrapping around and pulling you tightly against him as he returned the action.

His kiss was clumsy, so unlike his precision with the blade. You suspected that it had to do with the lack of practice in this specific field. Even the way he reached down and grabbed at your ass seemed so uncertain. Offering some guidance, you pressed back against him, urging him to be rougher. Felix responded in kind, squeezing hard.

It was difficult to move with his tight grip keeping you in place, barely allowing you to grind against his hips. The guttural groan he let out in response had you grinding even harder. It had him tensing up and pulling his lips away from yours to bite back any more noises that tried to escape.

Of course he couldn’t let you have control. Not for very long anyway.

The high pitched noise you made when Felix picked you up was downright embarrassing. Even more embarrassing than the way you clung to him, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. There was amusement on his face which did not help the blush on your face. It only grew a darker shade when he carried you over to the bed and pressed you down onto the sheets. There was no time to gain back control. Not when he immediately had you pinned down and straddled. It would have been less humiliating if your skirt hadn’t ridden up to reveal the color of your underwear.

He stared down at you, really taking in the sight before him. You watched as his eyes met yours and slowly trailed down. They lingered on your lips which were most likely swollen from his earlier attack with his own mouth. It had you wondering if he was going to kiss you again. Not that you would complain. However, his amber eyes continued their trail down your neck to your chest that rose and fell faster with your growing arousal. There his gaze stayed, as if he could see right through your blouse and flesh to the heart beating fast beneath.

He looked like he was going to devour you whole.

“What do you want?” you asked as if you were in any position to be asking questions. You didn’t care. You needed to hear him say it.

“Isn’t it obvious? I didn’t take you for an idiot,” he said, pressing his hips down and goddess. You can feel him through the layers of clothing and you can’t even begin to comprehend that he is this hard already. You swear you must be dreaming. There’s no more hesitance now. Instead it has been replaced with his usual confidence and arrogance because he knows that you’re as badly affected if not more so.

“I can’t... understand you,” you managed to get the words out in between gasps when he grinded down against you. He’s rubbing right against your clit and it’s so fucking good you can barely think. At this point you’re sure you must be so wet that you’ve soaked right through your underwear. Fuck you can smell how aroused you are and there’s no doubt that he can too.

“You don’t need to,” and then his lips are upon yours.

It’s shameful, the way you’re clawing at his clothes. You’re absolutely desperate in your attempt to remove him of his clothes and he’s not being very helpful either. The man barely removes his mouth from yours to pull the shirt over his head while you’re working on his belt. He even has the nerve to growl at you when you attempt to pull away to do so, which is incredibly hard when he already has you pressed into the pillow.Those next few minutes are a blur of tearing clothes until you’re both remaining in your underwear. His reaction when he removes your shirt is hilarious. For whatever reason he seemed to be under the impression that you’d be wearing a bra to bed. Instead he was flustered and unprepared for the sight of your bare breasts. You resisted the urge to tease him and instead pulled him in for another kiss to distract him. It’s at that point that he begins to hesitate. His hands, which were so eager to rip your blouse off your torso, paused when the only thing left covering your body was your panties. You save him the trouble and remove them yourself.

Despite the bold move, you can’t help the way your face burns when he stares. His amber eyes widen a fraction as he just stares down, not moving a muscle.

Several seconds pass by and you can’t help the feeling embarrassment flood your mind as you consider pulling your underwear back up and pretending this never happened. 

Then he finally moves.

His hand reaches out, fingers experimentally running along your slit. That has you shivering and arching forward.Curiously he pushes your lips apart, still staring in that scrutinizing way that makes you want to bury your face in your hands and hide from embarrassment. Then he’s pushing a finger inside and you can’t help but moan. It’s easy, so incredibly easy for him to push in until he’s knuckle deep inside. The slick noise it makes upon entry has your face burning. When he pulls it back out you can clearly see that his finger is covered with your arousal. He seems to be studying it just as intensely when he pushes it all the way back in, this time curling deep inside. You have to bite down on your lip hard to keep back the moan. The pleasure is clear on your face as well as in the way your body arches towards him. He takes it as affirmation to continue, pumping it in and out of you at a faster pace. It’s extraordinarily easy to add a second finger to the mix with how soaked you are.

“Get on with it already,” you finally snapped. Not that you weren’t enjoying what his fingers were doing to you. However, you would much rather prefer his dick at the moment. Especially when you’re not entirely convinced that this isn’t a dream. If you’re having a wet dream then you better damn well get fucked by his cock before you woke up.

It’s odd to see someone so confident falter for once. It lasts only a second before Felix is shedding his own underwear and let it drop onto the floor beside the bed.

You can’t help but stare, leaning back onto your elbows to really settle in and get a good view. It almost pisses you off that his determination to beat anyone in battle isn’t a compensation for this. You are, however, entirely grateful that you’re wet enough that it shouldn’t be too painful to fit inside. The smirk on his face showed exactly how proud he was of his own size. You’d probably smack that look off his face if you weren’t so eager to have his cock buried inside you.

Thankfully he didn’t keep you waiting for too long.

Settling down between your legs, he gave a subtle buck of his hips. Your head is thrown back against the pillow when he glides between your lower lips. Your arousal coats his length, making the movement even easier when he does it a second time and then a third. You’re not entirely sure whether he doesn’t know how to put it in or if he’s teasing you. Most likely the latter but it could still be both. 

You take matters into your own hands. Literally.

Not wanting to wait any longer, you grab his cock. Before guiding it towards your entrance, you give it a few swift pumps which has him growling. However he does seem grateful for the guidance as he finally pushes his hips forward, his cock sinking into you. Both of you moan at the same time as he fills you up. It’s faster than what you’re ready for and there’s a dull pain accompanying the satisfaction of being filled. Without realizing it, you’re clinging to him, the palms of your hands flush against his back.

Felix’s hands grasp at the sheets on either side of you and you swear you can hear a tearing sound when his nails dig in. There’s no way to read his expression when he presses his face down against your neck. You can tell it’s gotta be a sight with the way his body slightly trembles beneath your hands.

Seconds pass and finally he moves again, drawing his hips back only to slam back into you. You hiss out in pain, still not fully adjusted. As retaliation you dig your nails into the flesh of his back. The action does nothing to deter him as he bucks into you again and again. He’s quick to find a rhythm that fits him well. Hard and fast. The pain quickly turns to pleasure as you grow used to the rough movements. One of your hands slipped between your bodies to furiously rub at your clit. If this was a normal occurrence maybe you would have turned this into a challenge, determined to hold out until he came first. Right now you were too desperate and so damn close that you couldn’t find the time to care. The closest thing was the way the two of you muffled your own noises. 

One especially hard and deep thrust was enough to shove you right over the edge. Your nails dug down further, practically clawing down his back as your orgrasm wrecked you. Your vision blurred as the sensation of Felix pounding into you only intensified your own climax.

Even after you came down from your high, he wouldn’t let up. If anything he seemed even more determined. Only for a few seconds did he pause just to pull your legs over his shoulders. Finally you could see the way his face flushed in pure pleasure. His eyes were narrowed in focus as he returned to his previous pace. Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head at how deep this angle allowed him to go. The sound of skin slapping against skin is too damn lewd and has you growing even wetter than you already were. Already you could feel another orgasm rising to the surface. The way you had soaked his cock in your cum only made it that much easier for him to slip in and out. 

This time it was his teeth sinking into the spot where your shoulder and neck met that sent you crashing over the edge. Tears pooled at the corner of your eyes as you cried out. It only got better when he gave a few more quick thrusts before spilling inside you. That’s when he broke the skin with his teeth.

Both of you are breathing heavily when he finally pulls back to stare down at you. You’re sure your hair is an absolute mess and that blood has begun to form where his bite punctured your flesh. There’s probably a blotchy, ugly blush on your face, but the way he’s looking at you right now makes you feel like the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“You know. I never thought you’d need help training with sex,” you attempted humor when you could no longer stand his quiet stare.

He pulled the pillow from beneath your head, letting it thump against the sheets only to smack you over the face with it.

“Shut up.”

[babyybitchhh]

Okay ... episode 82 really fucked me up there at the beginning and I kind of figured it would. I’m really glad I didn’t watch this last night. The emotional whiplash between Asuma dying, Naruto doing his stupid, inconsequential clown act and then Shikamaru struggling to process what happened would have pissed me off ten times more if I hadn’t spaced these episodes out. I don’t know who thought it was a good idea to squeeze Naruto’s godforsaken training right into the middle of this heavy, emotional shit but I hope he got fired.

The guy who directed “Team 10” though? Fuck. I’d kiss him right now if I could. And I’m not just saying that because I’m rabid over Shikamaru. This episode was a full on experience, especially the first half. The directorial choices were just consistently on point; the lighting, the camera angles, the pacing. This is the first time throughout the entirety of Naruto that I’ve watched so far where the mood was unhindered, uninterrupted, unburdened by whatever stupid shit is going on with team 7. It felt decidedly raw and the emotion throughout was palpable. This episode was a directorial masterpiece as far as I’m concerned and I will revisit it again at some point, without a doubt.

I’m sitting here trying to figure out which part was my favorite and I just can’t come up with an answer. Everything leading up to the break was simply fantastic. The opening scene with Shikamaru and Kurenai? The abrupt reminder that Konohamaru has now lost his uncle in addition to his grandfather? Shikamaru just coming right out and telling the bbq lady that Asuma is dead, like he wasn’t silently suffering under that cool facade? The shogi scene??? Fuck. That was intense. Watching Shikamaru gradually become more and more restless and irritated while his father talked was moving - at least for me, because I’ve definitely been there. Struggling to keep your feelings in check, trying desperately not to let the dam break when you’re so dangerously close to reaching critical mass, and the inevitable explosion. The way he really stepped up to Shikaku like he was going to do something. Just looking for that fight because it’s the only safety net you’ve got to fall back on when you’re literally incapable of comprehending your own heartache.

And then the cathartic numbness that comes after you scream and cry and allow yourself to actually feel the helpless anguish you don’t know what to do with. When you’re lying there, weak and spent and gross with dried tears on your face and aching puffy eyes, and you finally just stop feeling. It’s a blissful moment of internal quiet and you could see the moment where Shikamaru started to mentally pick himself up, trying to put the broken pieces of his psyche back together again while running completely on autopilot, and the accompanying symbolism of him picking up the shogi pieces was just ... nut. Like, it was real shit. I felt that entire scene deep in my bones tbh.

Actually this episode made me feel a LOT of things and I’d absolutely label it the best the series has to offer at this point. And what’s funny is you can tell it still didn’t have a very big budget but the director skillfully made due with what he had to really convey a very poignant and, imo, heartfelt message about the profoundly personal experience of loss. It was very human in a way that Naruto as a series has up until now failed to deliver on and, honestly, my love for Shikamaru has only grown because of it. I’m honestly weak right now. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually.

I would die for Shikamaru and that’s not an exaggeration. Lol

But also can I mention how much I love Shikaku. He doesn’t get to show up very often but it seems like every time he does, he leaves an impression. I get this vibe from him that hes just slightly more empathetic than his son but he sort of coats it in a tough, hardass, masculine way that makes him come off as very blunt and almost cold. Which is exactly where Shikamaru got it from but (imo) his virtue as a Virgo sort of softens the bite. Whereas with Shikaku it feels borderline antagonistic, almost like he’s being purposely mean, but if you listen to what he’s saying he’s actually telling you exactly what you need to hear. It might not be what you want to hear but it will help you in the long run. This is not the first time he’s served up some cold hard truths and, in all honesty, it seems like every time he does make an appearance it’s specifically to kick Shikamaru’s butt into gear. I know I’ve seen people say that he didn’t really seem that bothered about his dad dying (which I take offense to, I haven’t even gotten to that part and I know that’s wrong) but I think we have to acknowledge the inherent difference in his relationship with Asuma and his relationship with his dad.

They BOTH played a huge role in shaping Shikamaru into the person he is but in completely different ways, drastically different roles. Asuma was almost like the cool, rough and tumble older brother he never had and Shikaku was the immovable rock supporting him throughout everything he did in life. This is why I so badly wanted the other characters to be satisfactorily fleshed out and explored because, based on what little tidbits of detail we’ve gotten about Shikamaru’s home life, it seems that even though he comes off as almost stern Shikaku never actually pushed him in any one direction. Nudges sure, I have no doubt. But even when his son was putting in the absolute bare minimum with no real goals or drive, he let him be. Like, I have this nagging thought in the back of my head that Shikaku knew Shikamaru would find his own way in life without his intervention, because he both loves and trusts his son, so he simply watched over him instead of trying to force something out of the boy. Protective and supportive, but at a healthy distance, yknow? Which is another thing ... I’ve also seen people say that Shikamaru was spoiled growing up and honestly? That’s not wrong. I don’t think he ever experienced real hardship until Asuma died and the growth we’re seeing in him as a person is just ... ugh.

Anyway, I word vomited all that just so I could say: my heart broke when Shikaku started talking about how he’s proud to be Shikamaru’s father and that he knows he’s not stupid enough to run off and get himself killed. I know what he was doing. Indirectly saying he loved him and would support whatever choice he made at this crucial junction. He let Shikamaru make his own decision and he was clearly proud of the path his son ended up choosing. But fuck, if the morbid irony didn’t pull at my heart strings. 😭 Knowing what’s coming at some point in the future, I look at scenes like that and I just ... it makes me real fucking sad, fam.

I’m just so weak for father figures anyway, even if they’re not good fathers. But when it involves a character I’m emotionally soft for AND he’s got a good dad .... god. Imma need a box of tissues here in a second. I wish Shikaku was my dad. 🤧 And I mean, I’m just saying, but I have this very distinct feeling that the Nara men - both Shikaku and Shikamaru - would treat a girl child different from a boy so honestly Shikadai is real fucking lucky he didn’t get that sister Shikamaru was talking about during the Chunin exam because he’d be all up in his feelings about it. He’s probably got it bad enough with Mirai tbh. But also how absolutely beautiful would Shikamaru’s hypothetical daughter be, hnnng.

Y’all thought my mans was spoiled, wait until you see what daddy Shikaku’s got to say about me.

💅

[whatiswhump]

Bucky Alternative Civil War

This takes place right after they capture Bucky in Civil War, an alternative version if he had been sent to an American psych facility. Sorry it’s super long but idk how to split it up and do it justice.

-

“What’s going to happen to him?” “He’s going to be sent to an American psych facility where they will evaluate him. Steve, he doesn’t even know who he is. How can he trust you when nothing anyone has told him for the last 60 years was true?”

-

The case... or containment unit? They were keeping him in was unpleasant but nothing compared to what he knew- or he thought he knew. These electrical charges periodically went through him, while he could feel it in his jaw, hair, teeth, toes… it was worst in his arm. They were clearly meant to render him- and his arm- incapable. They didn’t feed him, not that he noticed nor cared, they didn’t personally address him either, not that he cared about that either. Really, this was more or less the drill he already knew. He was already retreating back into the depths of himself. He had new masters, he didn’t know much but he did know how this went. Even if they said they were the good guys, first the Russians, then Hydra…. Every bureaucracy was capable of whatever it took to accomplish their mission. Bucky didn’t know what they wanted with the soldier yet, but he knew that they were going to get it, regardless of what he wanted. So he let them strap him into this box because he was never going to win. He let them take him wherever they wanted to take him. They didn’t tell him- all as well he supposed, it’s not like he had any effect over it. He tried to sleep or feign sleep whenever possible, squeezing his eyes closed. He could feel the stares, the fear, the fascination, the disgust, the superiority. No matter how accustomed he had become to being gazed at- no privacy whatsoever, it was the one thing that still bothered him the most. The way they looked at him- as a thing to be evaluated. He was a rabid animal- one most would like to put down- but the few were intelligent enough to realize he may have use yet. Those few were the ones that scared him.

There was a plane at one point. He knew that. There were trucks, on freshly paved road. And then finally a stronger volt of electricity and blackness.

He woke up slowly, very slowly. He waited for the soldiers to lift him out of the cryo tank. Who was the newest target? Not that it mattered.

But wait, he wasn’t in cryo? The cold he felt was a floor.. A concrete floor. Why was he on the floor? The details came at an excruciatingly slow speed. He forced his eyes open, to his relief it was dim- he had always hated to wake up to bright lights- how did he know that?

He was curled closely into his side. He wore only a thin hospital gown. He was in a ten by ten room, concrete, one extremely reinforced window in the steel door. His mind flickered back to a Hydra holding cell- where they kept him if missions were short enough times in between to not go back into cryo. But something told him this wasn’t Hydra... But he couldn’t remember what. He tried sitting up but only managed partially against the wall- every muscle in his body ached. This is when he noticed an addition to his metal arm- a disc, a slightly different color but slim and unobtrusive. What was it? With his other hand, he tried to see if it would click off, it didn’t. Maybe it needed to be pulled off? A shock started in his fingertips and traveled and then black.

When he woke up again, he didn’t remember. He tried the same course of action with the disk. His handlers thought that he was being impudent and rebellious. He needed more sedation.

When he woke again, he didn’t remember, but this horrible sluggishness arrested his movements and thoughts more than the previous confusion and soreness. He couldn’t move from his side on the floor. He couldn’t figure out what it was but it reminded him of something unspeakable, some kind of mental anguish that couldn’t be described. He noticed the disk and did not know what it was but he knew it was bad, he knew to be afraid of it. He began to cry. Quietly at first but he began to forget himself and sob, he couldn’t control it. He didn’t know how long he had been heaving and panicking on the floor but at one point there was a buzzing and a click and he knew they were coming in to get him and true panic set in. But he couldn’t control his limbs- not well enough, they were too heavy and lumbering. So he shrank as much as he could into the corner, sobbing harder, trying to brace himself. They were going to take him. They were going put him back into the halo and they were going to make him do unspeakable things.

But instead of dragging him off the floor the hands held him down. There was just a prick of a needle and a slow fading of consciousness, like falling beneath the waves of an ocean. He drowned in the mess of his tears.

But he woke again. But he wasn’t on the floor, he was in a bed. When was the last time he was in a bed? Never? He couldn’t be certain but he couldn’t think of a time when anyone had ever put him in one. He either slept on the floor, the table or was put in the cryo chamber. But he knew this wasn’t the way beds were supposed to be- he was strapped in. Not that he was surprised. When was he not restrained? The answer to that was when they wanted him to kill someone.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

He jolted, he hadn’t realized there was someone else in the room. Why was that name familiar? One of his handlers perhaps- one long dead from many cryo sessions and wipes ago?

His mind was foggy, frustratingly slow, how did they expect to send him on a mission when he was like this? He couldn’t make tactical decisions in this state. But then he realized. Oh god. They were doing more experiments, they didn’t need him in working order this time. Where was the Nurse? He thought she said they wouldn’t experiment on him anymore. Was the Nurse gone? He had a vague recollection that maybe she had left. But he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything.

“Sergeant Barnes, are you with us?”

His eyes landed on a man sitting two and a half feet away from the bed in a chair. A doctor or a scientist? Or both? He was wearing his coat and a clipboard.

He nodded because the question was clearly directed at him.

“Good, you were pretty touch and go for a while there.”

He just stared back, not comprehending that the doctor was attempting to engage in a conversation, they rarely talked to him. If they did, it was to gauge pain or sensations or if with a handler for a mission report. Short questions that expected shorter responses. And rarely in English. It disrupted his programming, he didn’t know why but they avoided English.

“Okay, well let’s start with this, would you prefer my staff and I address you as Sergeant Barnes or James? Which makes you more comfortable?”

He hesitated to speak, knowing that it was not normal protocol, he vaguely remembered a punishment may be the last time he had spoken? He was the Asset? Or the soldier? He didn’t have a name. But at last, when it seemed that the doctor was truly expecting a response, he said, “Who is Sergeant Barnes?”

The doctor looked back at his clipboard, “We were told that you remembered parts of your past...”

He did? Well- he thought he did? Maybe?

“Well, then we will rewind further. Your name is Sergeant James Barnes. Do you know where you are?”

He shook his head no, preferring that to using his voice.  

“You are a supermax security military psychiatric facility in the United States of America. You are here to be evaluated and to receive care.”

That didn’t seem right. He was lying. What use for they have for the soldier here? Was he undercover perhaps?

“James, we are here to help you. But that is difficult for us to do if you do not cooperate. So your bionic arm has been adjusted- with that disk- so that it is normal strength, if you try to pull it off, you will be shocked. Additionally, you are on a course of sedatives, which is why you may be feeling a little odd…. It is to reduce your strength to keep yourself and my staff safe. As well as your panic attacks under control.”

“Panic attacks?” It slipped out before he even knew he had spoken, his voice was sore from disuse.

“Yes James, you have been in our facility for two months but this is our first real conversation. You have been unreachable, either sobbing and hyperventilating or distant and nonresponsive. It did not help that you kept attempting to remove the disk. But there will be no more of that. Will you cooperate now?”

He nodded yes. Did they realize that he would do anything he said? It was in his programming. Maybe they were just testing him? The way Pierce had?

“Okay then let’s start with these.”

Where had that other man come from so suddenly? Had he always been there? The second man in white held a paper cup of pills in one hand and a plastic cup of water in the other. He was bringing them to him. The man’s hand was moving faster than he could track suddenly they were hovering right in front of his face? He felt dizzy. There was another set of hands, where had those come from? They were forcing his mouth open, he didn’t resist. Why would he? The cocktail of pills was tipped into his mouth and his forehead was forced back so that they went to the back of his throat and he swallowed as they held his jaw closed. “Good job, well done James.” The doctor that had not introduced himself said somewhere out of his periphery.

Then things faded again, back below the waves.

Light, subtle.

Something soft? A blanket.

Exhaustion.  Food? No.

No food.

Hands. Grabbing at him. Restraints. Water? Shower. Strong deft hands scrub him. He can only lean against the tile wall his hands are secured to. Too tired. Strong hands guide him to step into thin cotton pants.

He is back in a room alone. Food? No.  Pills? Strong hands. Sleep.

Food? No.

Chair. He is tied down to it. Like Hydra. Like Hydra chair. Where are the scientists? Where is the handler? Only men in white. Something is being forced down his nose.

“You need to eat James.” He hears far away.

No eating. Too tired.

Back to room.

Dreams, terrible dreams, they force him, he has no choice. He fought and he fought and he fought but he cannot win. He completes his mission. The family is dead. Quickly and quietly. Then they scrub the blood off his hands and put him back away.

He is awake, he is screaming. There are hands on him. There is a jacket with sleeves with no ends. There is a prick. He lays there comforted by his arms forced around himself. He feels warm and empty. He does not know who he is.

He wakes up. Pills? Good boy. Get some more sleep.

Food? No. James, we have no other choice.

Bright lights. Table. Restraints. Hydra? He screams. Begs them to stop. They ignore him. He screams louder. He tries to break free. Not again, no more blood. Then a needle, the ocean swallows him again.

He doesn’t remember waking up. James, be a good boy.

Who is James? James needs to swallow his pills. Instead, he swallows James’ pills.

A door unlatches. Footsteps towards him. He shrinks to the wall. Please don’t make me. Please, no more blood. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to. Strong hands. He lashes out. He won’t. He won’t go. Don’t make him. He lashes out again. Then no hands. Open door? He ventures through. A hall? He begins to run. To where he doesn’t know. He runs. There are alarms. They aren’t in his head. They’re loud, too loud. He needs to get away from the alarms. He comes to a door, it’s locked. He breaks the lock. He keeps going. He breaks another lock. He is outside? There are fences. He is scared. There are people. They have guns. They are all yelling. He falters and falls and gets up to run in the other direction. There are people on the other side. He stops. He tries the other direction. They are all yelling. There are so many guns. He falls and feels the biting snow. He begins to sob. He doesn’t know why they are doing this. This is the way it’s always been. It always ends in a fight. They are yelling but he can’t understand them. He begs no. He doesn’t know what he is begging for. Then there are tasers. He convulses in their grips. His teeth bite through his tongue. It will grow back. His tears are hot. Then the tasers are gone. There are hands on him, strong, too rough. There are restraints. He is forced deeper into the snow. Is he wearing clothing? No, he doesn’t think so. Something around his neck. He is being dragged. His head lolls. Please no more, don’t make him. No more blood. Please.

He wakes strapped down. Everything hurts. He cries. He can’t stop. There are hands on him. He doesn’t care. Everything goes black.

He wakes again. He is numb. He cries. He can’t stop. Why is he crying? He doesn’t know. More hands.

He dreams so much that he doesn’t know when he is awake.

He wakes? “James, that was quite the escape a few days ago.” The man in a white coat says. He knows this man.

Snow, he remembers snow. Outside. He was outside. He runs cold when he remembers the guns, the yelling, the tasers.

“James, that was unacceptable behavior. You are lucky they didn’t shoot you.”

He has been shot before. Lots of times. But he is still here. Why is he still here? But this time he doesn’t think he meant to do what he did?

“James this is your home now. You need to cooperate. If you keep hurting our staff like you did, things will get much much worse for you.”

He hurt someone?

“Do you understand what I am saying?”

He sees the man looking at him still and nods.

“Good. Something to help you understand is your new behavioral collar. If you behave, we won’t need to use it all. We feel we have no choice but to use it since you are so unstable and dangerous to my staff. We cannot risk another day like our most recent.”

He paused, maybe he expected a response from the soldier.

“Well anyway, if your behavior needs to be corrected, a small shock will be administered from the device to encourage you. Do you understand?”

Yes, he did understand this. With his gaze far away he nodded minutely.

“Dr. Ward, can I talk with you more about Sergeant Barnes?” The younger doctor, trotted a couple of steps down the hall to catch up with his colleague.

“Of course, we can go ahead and step into my office. What seems to be the matter?”

“Well, sir, I don’t know if our current action of treatment is getting through to him. We know that Hydra completely hard-wired him into what he is now and as a result he seems to be so confused. I’ve only spent limited time observing him but that combined with the notes, I don’t know if he even knows how to be human. He can’t dress or bathe himself. He doesn’t ever want to eat but he also willingly takes his medication every time. When he is left alone he seems to forget himself and zone out completely if he isn’t sobbing afraid of and overwhelmed by his own emotions. Sometimes I think if he were left on the floor, he wouldn’t move until someone lifted him from it. I think Hydra made him completely dependent so that he could not run away. He has no idea how to process things if people don’t tell him how to and even then he doesn’t seem to understand or remember much-”

“Well, Doctor, if you seem to know so much from your limited observations then how do you suggest we continue?”

“Um. Well I think the first step would be to lessen his sedation and take off the behavioral device, he has been trained how to behave almost his entire life, I’m not sure if this would be an improvement. He also needs to be able to form proper thoughts if he is going to start healing, he can’t do that with what he’s on.”

“Dr. Hall, you are forgetting something very important. He is a trained assassin with super strength and a metal arm. He is one of our most dangerous patients. He might be clueless but he could just as easily be still under Hydra’s thumb. But... I agree with you in one respect, our current treatment plan is not working. I was hoping that by giving him time to adjust to his surroundings and let the medication take full effect that he would be in a place where we could reassess and go from there in a more gentle way but now I am beginning to think he requires a stronger approach.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure-”

“Doctor, are you questioning my professional opinion? One with many more years of experience than your own?”

“No- no sir.”

“Very well, then I would appreciate your support in this. I was planning on starting a speech based therapy among other things and I was hoping that you would be the man for the job.”

“Yes, sir.”

[enjoylove42-blog]

The Will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not Protect you

God’s Will… What is it? Why is God’s will sometimes so damn hard to figure out? How do we as mere mortals even begin to determine what His will for our lives is just for today, much less for our whole life?

A few years ago I did some real bad shit. I was stuck in a chaotic life running rampant in My Own Self-Will. I woke up one day, went to breakfast with friends, laughed, enjoyed the beautiful warmth of the sunshine, and was enveloped in God’s beautiful world of love and joy. Later that afternoon, I shot up heroin for the first time. It was actually the first time I put a needle in my body. Unfortunately, it would not be the last. I was 35 years old. It was a good day up to that point. I thought I was living a purposeful life. I had joy in my heart and wanted to share my inner peace with others. I was happy. I had absolutely no valid reason to put the poison in my veins. Or did I?

Back up to those three words, “I was Happy.” My sick demented mind probably assumed that if I was happy and life was good , how could anything possibly go wrong? Boy, it was the beginning of a lifestyle full of the three D’s. DECEIT, DESTRUCTION, & DESPAIR. I’m not sure if it was the drug or the needle, but I immediately spiraled down the rabbit hole. I was hooked instantaneously. I couldn’t get enough. I couldn’t get high enough, stick myself enough times, or just attain the level of out of body freedom i was desperately searching for every minute of every day. The level of insanity and chaos that ensued from that day on until I went to jail can only be described as pathetic, disturbing, deplorable, disgraceful, and wretched.

Within one month of the first rush, I had lost every morsel of inner peace, joy and rays of fucking sunshine I previously described to you. I lost all sense of ME. The woman I had known for 35 slipped away. All of the core values instilled in me since birth vanished. I no longer had the capability to differentiate between right and wrong. The only thing I could comprehend was, “I have to maintain. I HAVE TO do whatever it takes to pull that red rose bud back and push the enervating drug into my dwindling dehydrated veins. Be damned laws, morals, or spirituality. I had to invite the toxic venom into my body as many times a day as I possibly could.

I loved the venom, but I also loved the point. The repeated pricking and sticking of my skin. My track marks were like a map of misery no one seemed to even notice. I was bruised black, blue, green, and purple. A mental and physical avow of what I had to endure to remember I was still human. The pain was good. When all my veins knotted and dried up and the only place left was my neck to inject the forbiddenfruit, I welcomed the misery with open arms. Just one more stop on the road to my madness.

During this time I did the most selfish act of my entire life. I ABANDONED MY CHILDREN. It wasn’t until five years later in rehab, that I stepped out of denial and realized just how shitty I was to my own flesh and blood. My Babies!!! They needed me to pull my wicked shit together and be their mother, but my sick fucking mind convinced myself, they were better off anywhere on this planet but with me. Until the day I die, the look of disbelief and fear on their faces, as well as, the huge crocodile tear that rolled down my youngest son’s beautiful cheek as I dumped them off, will forever be embedded in my mind and heart. In that moment, i honestly believed I was doing the best thing I could for them WAKE UP LINDA!!!!! What would have been best for those precious innocent children was for me to quit fucking up our lives, quit banging dope into my veins, get over myself, turn around scoop them up, and be their fucking Mom. I cannot ever begin to express with words the guilt and shame I carry within myself for this inconceivable action. Yes, it was an action. I drove away that day impregnated with two feelings: grief and relief. I was full of self loathing and self pity. However, I was also discharged from a duty I was no longer capable of performing. As long as my children were with me i was not able to fully bow down to my selfish obsessions and compulsions. I was required to feed them, clothe them, keep utilities on, and provide a seemingly stable environment for them. Finally, I was able to think only of My next attempt to mainline my newfound god. I could feed my desires and fuck whoever dared step onto the pavement leading me down the highway to hell. If you have ever been in full blown addiction, you understand that I was incapable of providing them with their needs for very long. I didn’t love myself anymore and no longer required anything other than my next dose of smack. I was as previously stated, deplorable.

At this juncture in my life, there were absolutely no holds barred. Please understand, I was beyond help. I was in the inner rings of hell and my life point blank fucking sucked. No amount of prayer, tears, or pleading could relieve me of ME. I stole from every single store I walked into. I slept with men for crumbs of dope, I lied to every single person who crossed my path. I was so diabolical in my methods that when someone encountered me, they were meeting a twisted sick chameleon who could and would convince you that what we did was your idea and that it was critical for everyone’s survival in the world. People gave me money, drugs, food, a place to sleep, etc.. and I always made them believe whatever they did for me was actually for them, and it was in their best interest to do it. I was a conniving incorrigible cunt. I hated myself. I hated you. I hated God, I hated the fact that I had to work so hard at being a constant mastermind of corruption. Inside my head, I honestly believed that I deserved to have whatever it was my addiction desired. I believed I was an entitled HBIC, but truthfully, the only thing i really deserved was contempt and mistrust. I had become what my father once said, during my childhood, he hated more than anything: A thief and a liar.

I will never forget the night before I went away. I was lying on some asshole’s couch, and in an instant complete and total desperation engulfed my entire being. Deep down in the core of my soul the real “Angie” cried out a long and sorrowful plea. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I commenced to pray. (Some individuals would argue this fervent prayer to be a foxhole prayer.) That being said, It was as if I had split into two people during that time and the evil diabolical “me” had taken over my body and suppressed the real “me” deep into the depths of my bowels. I had been trapped in the darkness and my spirit broke free with a mighty jolt. I wanted all of the irrational absurdity to end. I prayed for God to help me. To relieve me of the demons that controlled my spirit, for God to take me into His arms and hold me close, to save me from me. I prayed that he would get me out of the situation by any means necessary, but not jail. I didn’t want to go to jail. (At this point I had no idea I was a wanted woman.) I felt in that moment a spiritual awakening, because i felt, for the second time in a few short months, RELIEF. I had just admitted to myself that I was powerless over the drug and lifestyle I had designed and my entire life was undoubtedly and undeniably unmanageable. It was like the ceiling of that crusty one room hole I was sharing with three other people, opened up and God covered me in a hedge of protection for the night.

Do not ever doubt that the God of my understanding has a sense of humor. He does. He also knew the only way to remove me from that “modus vivendi” was to lock me up and sit my junkie ass down. I had charges pending in four mid-Tennessee counties. I had been on the news for theft at multiple large retail stores in Nashville and the surrounding areas.

Please understand, I deserved to go to jail. I had been doing ”the Most” with all disregard for consequences. It was as if in my mind I didn’t comprehend that “I” was breaking the law. I was doing what I had to do to maintain. I couldn’t work with track marks all over my body, I could not pass a drug screen, and first and foremost had to keep myself off sick every morning. How could I possibly maintain the requirements for an honest job during this time? I could rationalize every despicable behaviour until all the king’s horses and all the king’s men figure how to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. I was, as so straightforwardly stated in the rooms of AA, in a state of spiritual, moral, and physical bankruptcy. In order to help relieve me of my will and help me better do HIs, God saw it fit for me to do 15 long months in various county jails. I took this time and severed myself from a sick toxic relationship I had been in for years. I took every class the jails offered. I did two rehabilitation programs in two different county jails. I reconnected myself spiritually and slowly regained my morals. God began providing me with miracles. My father and I reconnected through letters during this time. I did not get visits like all the other inmates, but I got mail everyday. I began to walk for at least a couple of hours each day in the small pod we were housed in, and my body started to feel better. After a whole year of incarceration my track marks healed and my obsession for the venom of heroin left my mind. When I was finally released on November 7, 2016, i returned home physically, mentally, and spiritually healed. Not cured, for a true mentally disturbed sick addicted individual like me, there is no cure. Only a daily reprieve that is dependent on my spiritual and emotional well-being. At the end of this chapter of my life I learned that God answers prayers. He gives us exactly what we need when we can and will receive it. Ultimately my self will run riot led me into a cold dank jail cell where God’s will began to take over my life and send me down a path I would not believe I deserved, at that time. WIth that being said, I will end this period of my life with one last thought: “Be ok with not knowing for sure what might come next, but know that whatever it is...YOU will be ok.” -author unknown.

[benwitko]

I smiled through everything

The mood sets the experience… I want to share a portion of my life. A recent portion that I learned so much from, but not at all proud of. I am proud that I made it and have recollected myself, but I never look back without questioning myself for the choices I made and how I allowed myself to fall so far. But through it all, I smiled through everything. I want to share this recent chapter of my life vaguely, but as a platform for other people struggling. Because there is an end in sight and I am a firm believer that anyone can change the life they live for better or for worse.

I embarked on a life changing experience almost three months ago. I came to Spain to study Spanish and business. I made it here… after grueling hours of planning, making deadlines that seemed to never end, juggling school and the requirements of life, it had finally paid off. I had tunnel vision, and Spain was the promised land waiting for me as the beacon of light. The angelic glow was waiting, patiently, through a tunnel of priorities. A tunnel that brought me to my knees at the end of it and left me crawling, with zero motivation or energy to make it out of the tunnel, but I did. I succeeded.

I smiled through everything.

During the grueling semester at school, I occupied myself with far too much. I never stopped moving— Monday through Sunday, I was busy focusing on everything and everybody but myself. I was intent on becoming involved in everything I possibly could, and that was the biggest mistake I had ever involved myself in. 18 credits, pledging to a fraternity— which I then assumed the role of secretary for my pledge class—taught classes and tutored for math 141, submitted notes for people with disabilities in two of my classes that I had shared with them, worked weekends at Best Buy, and to top everything off, beset before myself were obligations necessary to studying abroad in Spain. The stress basking before me, I coped in ways that I currently have promised myself that I will never take part in again so that the stress would never be around me— I really don’t want to go back, my body and brain are both on board with this. It was all a hoax, the stress was around me the whole time, and I was suffering. I lost touch with myself and everyone around me.

I smiled through everything.

Marijuana, cannabis, weed, pot, hash, ganja, doja, bud, Mary-Jane. Whatever you call it, the names all belong to a green plant that began to control my life. My first time ever consuming marijuana was my sophomore year of high school, but I never really thought anything of it; I enjoyed it a couple of times here and there, but it never gained the favor in my life as it did during the beginning of freshman year of college. Doobies, bongs, joints, blunts, pipes, edibles, drinks, rigs, you name it, I was consuming it daily, and wow did I love it. It was the best way to come down from a long and hard day at school. At first, I never let it cross with education or social life at all; I strictly consumed it at night after all of my school work was accomplished and had zero obligations to fulfill, other than making it to bed at some point before the next day. It remained this way for the entire first semester, but then I decided to enjoy it during the day in my second semester, but never during class. It was fun, it was bright, it was exhilarating. The thrill of being around my friends, completely inebriated—“completely shredded,” as I liked to consider myself—hiding my current mental state through an allusion of my regular self. It was fun, because no one knew I was high, and the thrills I received were from constant thought of someone knowing my secret. A secret I was able to keep well hidden, a secret that made me feel powerful, a secret that made me feel invincible.

I smiled through everything.

I became infatuated with a plant, and that plant began to take control of me. It was a one way relationship, one that I could never satisfy by giving it attention or ignoring it because it continuously prodded and poked at me in both circumstances. So I obliged and continued doping myself all day and everyday, because I didn’t want to perceive the world for what it really was. I wanted nothing to do with my boring obligations sober, so I thought to experience them in a different perception in the world. But cannabis tends to have side effects, cumbersome side effects such as drowsiness, lack of concentration, munchies, and fatigue. But, I did my research, and found a ‘wonder drug’ that could counteract those affects while still enjoying the psychoactive properties. Ingesting adderral and focilin became a part of the morning routine. If it wasn’t for them, I would have failed arriving to class or simply exist as a functioning student or employee at work. I became addicted to the stimulants.

I smiled through everything.

I ended up loving the rush of focilin and adderral. It made me feel smart, it made me feel productive, it made life feel blissful. Consuming these drugs is best explained like this; imagine picking an instagram filter that resembled hues of gold and glitter for your vision. Imagine having the energy that makes you feel like you could take on the world. Imagine having the concentration of a brain surgeon amidst a life or death situation, but not needing to think hard about anything. Imagine having access to all the information in your brain faster than you’ve ever had it before. Imagine the possibilities that could stem from a productive drug; but it was nothing like that. All great things must have some side effect, right? Because once 8 hours had passed and the ’superman-like’ state of perceiving the world had vanished, the royal and beautiful filter that once encompassed my vision had vanished and the world was black and white, everything melancholy, somber, and quiet. Thoughts would tremor, I felt mentally incapable of feeling, and the only thought in my head was how soon it would be before I could get high again.

I smiled through everything.

After the come down from consuming the focilin and the adderral—which I never mixed together— I found respite in sparking a freshly packed bowl of green herb. The bliss was restored, but the filter was different. The world would be a hue of over saturated bright lights and deep shadows that appeared to be the void of nothingness. My focus on the issues at hand were gone. The world was bright. I was happy again.

I smiled through everything.

My routine carried me through summer and into sophomore year of college but I had done away with the stimulants, as I saw no need in them until school started again. The summer, well, as much as it was a big portion of my life, I had very few obligations to myself other than working out, smoking pot, making money, and sleeping. Something that I started to notice was that the ‘munchies,’ a common side effect of smoking that makes someone want to consume copious amounts of food, became terribly worse. To save a long story and make it short, I had developed a binge eating disorder.

I smiled through everything.

Eating food used to be an aspect of life that I would do only when my body needed it, as I used to be an overweight child uncomfortable in my own skin. But now, I had no control. I would eat until I passed out, or even puked. I would wake up the next morning from a night of overindulging and say that I would never do it again… but it happened almost every night. I felt guilty. I felt fat again. I no longer had the confidence and moral that I used to be so proud of. I mentally compensated by exercising more intensely, more rigorously, and for longer hours, but all health gurus know that it is impossible to outwork an unhealthy diet. During the day I ate as clean as possible, as little as possible, and as early as possible in my schedule because I knew there was always a high chance of me binging late into the night— I wasn’t wrong. I spat at my reflection in the mirror. I hated what I was becoming, but I couldn’t stop it. I was a train derailing slowly and still managing 75 miles per hour off the track. Let that analogy continue to not make sense or let it be comprehendible, because when you understand what I mean behind it, then you’ll understand how fucked my thoughts were at the time.  

I smiled through everything.

Bringing with me the dreaded eating disorder into second semester with me, I started consuming nearly nothing during the day, with the exception of a leafy green salad for lunch everyday and a coffee to sip on in the morning. I wouldn’t eat dinner because I had too much to do. If it wasn’t school it was the fraternity, if it wasn’t the fraternity, it was work, if it wasn’t work, I was rigorously completing my obligations to study abroad. To reward myself at night, I would get high—nothing new here— and binge until I passed out and could wake up to forget the day that had just happened. Half a pill for the morning, and then snort the rest around 2pm. That was how everyday went. I would let that carry me through until I was able to spark up at night. I ingested some form of cannabis every night, and then I decided to get ballsy. I became a stereotypical wake and bake stoner. Someone who would start his or her day with the consumption of weed. I kindly adhered to this, and gave me another exhilarating adrenaline rush, now that I was actively engaged in classroom discussions and group work projects while inebriated. But I still had the focus of a doctor, thanks to the stimulants. I knew, for a while, that what I was doing wasn’t who I wanted to be.

I smiled through everything.

That first night over that summer, when I looked in the mirror and spat in it, something malignant began to fester inside of me. It was early in the summer, I think it was maybe late June, but it was when I knew I needed to stop. But I hadn’t a single clue how. So I continued to walk down a gloomy path. I felt that I was in too far, and so I needed to keep walking. I never was diagnosed with it, but I truly believe that I started to suffer from depression and anxiety. I am a firm believer that I did become depressed. I cried almost every day, I longed for a life of health and fortune, but my hopes were quickly doused with the reality of life. I am only 19 and at the time 18. Such an early age to be thinking that was what my life would succumb to. I never came close to suicide, but at many points during the summer and my semester, I contemplated what life would be like if I wasn’t living anymore. I measured the pros, the cons, the many avenues of approaches, but I never acted on anything. I remained positive around everyone and everything. I still was the first person for someone to cry to. I was still the first person to offer help to someone in need. I still am that person, but at that time, I really don’t think I was in any mental state to be helping others before helping myself. But I gladly helped others, because seeing a smile on another face somehow managed to spark a smile on mine. It has always been that way—helping others both emotionally and physically gave me a sense of belonging to the world. It still does to this day fulfill me more than any other way of life.

I smiled through everything.

I was sick, I was scared, I was sad. “Just make it to Spain, just make it Spain. Just. Make. It. To. Spain.” Is what I continued to tell myself as I wreathed through a semester of hell. I was unhappy everyday, even with the drugs. I started to drink on weekends. I kept drinking until I wouldn’t feel anything, so that I would forget what needed to be accomplished. At night, that was the best option for me: Forget the day and start new tomorrow. There was a feeling in my stomach, the feeling that wallows in your gut when deciding the correct answer on a multiple choice question, and it was the answer to stop. To stop everything that has abutted me. To stop this torrential lifestyle and begin anew. Spain, that place, that name, that idea continued to fester and motivate me. It hardly motivated me, but it did. Whatever small amount of light it had shed on me, it worked.

I smiled through everything.

“I smiled through everything,” is the title of this, and is represented in this part of my life because even deep down, through the tears and the cries, I continued to smile. Ask anyone about me, and they would say something about me always being happy and enjoying life. They would say that I always had something to say that was positive, or something to contribute in an uplifting and friendly manor. That, that is me—A happy individual that loves life, even sober. That is who I am as a person. I should be loving life naturally, but at the time I wasn’t. Yeah, drugs are pretty fucking awesome, but I let them control me. I don’t ever want that to happen again… I won’t ever let that happen again. I know how much I appreciate being sober and I enjoy the very nature of physically and mentally challenging myself, but I can’t do those to my absolute best ability with the addition of narcotics and plants that alleviate my pains and ailments for a temporary time. It isn’t natural.

I smiled through everything.

The story I am sharing is in lieu of me slowly slipping, even while here in Spain. The place that I thought would be my ‘holy grail’ and save me from myself. But here I am, trying to understand who I am. I think that after having written this and sharing it, I know what I need to do and what activities that I need to take part in. I really think that much later down the road, when I can’t be active, then I’ll consume cannabis products again, but for now, I’ll spend my time and money on other aspects of life that I find more enticing. I think about running everyday. I think about how much I miss being with a team of friends, friends that I could never forget. I miss racing until my legs and lungs didn’t function correctly, but I also miss the competition with my classmates during class. I miss being sober enough to care. I miss the challenges of life from a sober perspective; parts of life that I can truly remember and think to myself, “Damn I did that,” and not have a second thought about it. I think now I know what I must do. I think I know what needs to be reincorporated in my life.

From the person who smiled through everything,

Benjamin C. Witkowski.

P.S. Mom, Dad, Elisabeth, Family, if you’re reading this and concerned, I am in full control of everything in my life right now. I stopped the drugs. I regained my love for running. I regained my love for life. I am sorry, I truly am for not bringing this to your attention in complete detail, but I wasn’t able to bring words to my mouth when I would want to initialize my plea for help. I love you guys so much, thank you for dealing with my antics.

[seigyokus]

6.1 - A Brutal Room

Idolish Seven - Part 3, Chapter 6.1 For more Part 3 translations, click here!

Translation below the cut!

Ogami Banri: Yuki and Momo-kun, huh? Nikaidou Yamato: Yeah. They've been doing a lot for me....... Nikaidou Yamato: I was really cheeky towards them, but....... But now, I can't thank them enough-- words won't cut it. Ogami Banri: Haha. I see. I get happy whenever you guys praise those two-- as if I'm the one getting praised. Nanase Riku: Both members of Re:vale are really good people. Have they always been that way? Ogami Banri: No, uh....... Momo-kun's always been a good kid, but Yuki's personality has mellowed out quite a bit. Nikaidou Yamato: You call that mellow? Izumi Mitsuki: Your inner thoughts slipped out just now, old geezer. Ogami Banri: He used to be really quiet and was pretty presumptuous. He wouldn't even try to establish interpersonal relationships with anyone. Yuki was a real troublemaker back then. His face was his only redeeming point. Izumi Iori: Ogami-san, you really aren't holding back. Ogami Banri: All of his enemies religiously hated his guts. That's the kind of guy he was. He's always been stoic when it comes to music, though. Yotsuba Tamaki: I wanna hear one of Ban-chan and Yukirin's songs. One where you guys are singing together. Osaka Sougo: I am interested as well. Would it be possible to listen to one of those songs? Ogami Banri: Ah..... Yeah, sure. It's a little embarrassing, but I'll bring one of our CDs over next time. Izumi Mitsuki: Yay! I can't wait to hear! Nanase Riku: Yeah, Banri-san's really cool! It's such a waste that you work behind the scenes! Ogami Banri: ....... Ogami Banri: So I'm not very dependable in the office, then? Nanase Riku: Huh!? No, that's not what I mean! Rokuya Nagi: Why did you come to Takanashi Productions, Banri? And why did you decide to become an office worker, of all things? Ogami Banri: Because I reached my goal, I guess? Nanase Riku: Goal? Takanashi Tsumugi: It's almost time to go to the next location, everyone. Nanase Riku: Okay! Well, we'll be on our way now! Please let us listen to it when we get back! Ogami Banri: Alright. Have a safe trip! Izumi Mitsuki: I'm glad you're back, Manager! Rokuya Nagi: Yes! I feel energized after seeing our Manager's adorable smile! Izumi Iori: The sun is awfully bright.... It's summertime already, I see. Our 1st Anniversary Tour is going to start soon.

Okazaki Rinto: Good morning! Please take good care of Re:vale today! Hmm......? Staff: ......I peeked into Re:vale's dressing room just now, and it was super tense in there. I guess all those rumors about how they don't get along are true....... Staff: It felt like they were gonna start fighting each other to the death in there.... Okazaki Rinto: Huh!? That tense!? I wonder what happened to those two....... *click* Okazaki Rinto: Yuki-kun, Momo-kun, don't fight! Momo: ......We weren't fighting. Yuki: ......We weren't fighting at all. Okazaki Rinto: Alright, you guys were definitely fighting. I can tell just from the atmosphere in here, you know. So are you guys fighting about today? Momo: Sorry, sorry. It's nothing big! Yuki's really gentle, that's why. He was just worried about me! Momo: But then he was like, 'There's a certain limit to things'....... Yuki: You don't like that I went to meet Tsukumo. Momo: What I'm mad about is the way you went about it! Remember what you said to me when I tried to stop you from going? Yuki: I don't remember. Momo: You told me that if I didn't let you go see him, then you were gonna disband Re:vale! I can't believe you said something like that so easily! Yuki: I've tried to stop you before and if anything, you're the one who never listens, Momo. Do you remember what you said to me? Momo: I think it was, 'I don't know what Ryou-san's gonna do to you, it's dangerous......' Yuki: Not that. You told me that he was good at mental attacks, and because I have a lot of trauma, he was definitely going to send me home in tears. That's what you said to me. Yuki: You took me for a fool. Momo: I didn't! I was just worried about you, Yuki! And despite all of that, you threatened to disband......! Yuki: I figured you wouldn't listen to me unless I said that. I mean, I'd lose if it turned into a fistfight. But that's just how much I didn't want you to go-- Momo: Just hit me with your car next time!! That would've been better! Momo: After you said 'disband,' my legs froze-- I couldn't even move an inch. It was like I subconsciously trying to protect myself from danger, even though I was really worried about you....... I don't want to feel that miserable ever again! Yuki: Well, that's on you, not me. Momo: ....... Okarin, can you hit me with a tranquilizer dart real quick? Before the most bizarre incident to even happen in entertainment history goes down here? (1) Okazaki Rinto: I'm afraid I can't do that. I don't have a hunting license. Yuki: You wouldn't be able to do it anyways, Momo. Just to set things straight, I'm the one who's pissed here. Not you. Yuki: I can't believe you put up with that psycho. To think that I had believed you out of the goodness of my heart when you told me he wasn't really a bad person.... I could weep right now. Yuki: Listen. Don't ever try to fool me, ever again. Momo: We've talked about this before. We decided that you'd handle Hoshikage while I'd handle Tsukumo, and make sure things were going smoothly with them. Didn't we decide that together? Momo: We've just been doing our respective jobs, that's all. All this talk about whether or not I fooled you is coming from a completely different dimension. If anything, don't get in my way, ever again. Yuki: ....... Okarin, bring me tequila right this instant. I might go mad if I continue this conversation sober. Okazaki Rinto: I'm afraid I can't do that. You both have to work soon. Yuki: Did you really think you could control him by yourself? Momo: Ryou-san's really fickle and only wants to do things for his own enjoyment. Once he finds another thing to play around with, he'll give up on whatever he's currently doing. Momo: If you throw his plans off trajectory, then the next step would be to suck up to him.... Or at least that's what should've happened. You made Ryou-san mad, didn't you? Yuki: How did you know? Momo: He sent me angry stamps and disentanglement puzzle stamps for five whole hours, alternating between the two. What the heck is a disentanglement puzzle anyways? Yuki: Who knows? I haven't got a clue. Momo: Anyways, we gotta butter him up, get back into his good graces, and carefully steer him back on course.... I'll go apologize to him this weekend-- Yuki: What? Apologize? What was the point of me visiting him then? Momo: That's what I wanna know! Yuki: ......Why must you act like an animal incapable of comprehending human speech? Is this some kind of harassment? Momo: What do you mean by animal!? Also, why would I be harassing you in the first place? Yuki: Because I let Ban listen to the demo before you. Didn't I apologize for that already? Momo: ....... Yuki: ....... Is this the first time I've brought it up......? Momo: ......It is, and I'm shocked. But....... I'm more shocked that you'd think I'd harass you over something like that!! Yuki: I didn't think you would. It's all because you keep saying unreasonable things, Momo! Okazaki Rinto: Stop, stop! Stop right there. Okazaki Rinto: Yuki, you crossed the line by threatening to disband. You too, Momo. You also told me that Ryou-san was a good person too. Okazaki Rinto: That's why I've let it slide every time he made fun of how my hair is parted 7:3....... Please refrain from interacting with bad people. (2) Momo: But if I did that, then he'll only keep getting worse. Ryou-san's gonna be company president after this. Yuki: See, Okarin? Momo's being unreasonable. Okazaki Rinto: Yuki-kun....... Yuki: Do as you like. There's no point in saying anything. Okazaki Rinto: You don't have to put it that way.... Yuki: I would never stoop so low as to flatter someone I could barely stomach, just to maintain my position in the industry. And I'm sure Ban wouldn't either. (3) Momo: ....... You said that on purpose just now, didn't you. Yuki: I did. I wanted to believe you were the same, Momo. But I guess I was just forcing my ideals onto you. Yuki: Go ahead, wag your tail and suck up to him. Bet it feels great to sit on that big, fluffy ol' throne you've set out for me. Yuki: Except I won't be anywhere near that. Momo: ....... Staff: Re:vale, you're up next. ......Re:vale? Okazaki Rinto: Y-yes, of course. They'll be out in just a moment. Let's talk about this afterwards, alright? Yuki: There's nothing to talk about. Momo: Yeah...... Okazaki Rinto: I'll make sure you do! For now, concentrate on the work before you. Alright, go get 'em!

Mr. Shimooka: And now, the duo everyone's been waiting for! Re:vale! Audience: Kyaaaaa.....! Audience: Momo-chan! Yuki-san!

To be continued....

TL Notes/comments:

thank u kuri for proofreading!!!!!!

(1) technically said tranquilizer gun but i hear this more often so yea.  (2) here is a visual wrt the 7:3 hair part thing LOL  (3) 'in the industry' is assumed since that was the entire pretense of the whole ryou-momo deal (protect yuki's place in the entertainment industry while ryou tore down everyone else, in exchange for a recording of yamato confessing that he's chiba shizuo's bastard child). p sure that's what's being referenced here too.

As usual, if you see any mistakes/mistranslations/etc, please message me!

Thank you for reading!!

[ivycali-blog]

Musical Ideas From My Notebook Pt.4

Pace: Straight-time, accelerating, decelerating. Combinations: Staggered, Clustered

Shape: Ascend (Types? Stairsteps, Back & Forth, straight, etc.), Descend (Stairsteps, Back & Forth, Straight, etc), Linear Cominations: Staggered, Clustered

The music is a symbolic representation of the message/vocals

Pop songs are more mathematic/artificial than drug-out/speech-like songs.

Build the song up to meet the imagined/intended outcome.

Repetition, solos, & breaks aid absorption.

Aesthetic sounds have lots of texture.

Megan Thee Stallion (Feat. DaBaby) - Cash Shit: “Slurp” sound - highly aesthetic, “lack of concern” vibe

What would you be doing in the situation the song is portraying? Sipping while driving or grinding (Cash Shit) (Song is about grinding, then you get a relaxed “slurp” every now and then to give it a confident/relaxed feel.)

What elements do I want to include? Then how and when do I want them to play out?

Pattern: Comprehendible variation/Texture: Blended/rapid/incomprehendible variation

We learn through association. The more things you can relate/associate with a concept you’re trying to learn, the easier the process will be.

What are your repeating motifs? What do you want (them) to absorb?

Create a cheat sheet of helpful songwriting tips to set at your desk. (Plug n’ go)

What media/influences surrounded you during your youth? (1995-2007) Use aesthetics/associations from those sources.

The lyrical message could be like a dream/fantasy scene. (Erotica lol)

“Does this song sound “insert intended vibe” enough? Create a convincing soundtrack of tones, feelings, & dynamics to frame your “intended vibe” song.

Gunshot=gangster, so overtime the gunshot goes off, you’re reminded what type of song this is. Your brain goes “gangster!”

Write a “_” <-- (vocal attitude overtone) song about “_”.

During writer’s block moments, listen to Post Malone, Travis Scott, or any other artists that keep it simple & to the point.

Post Malone - Rockstar (”I feel just like a rockstar”<-- Main point)

Variety, contrast, rhythm, & melody<--incorporate these wherever you can

It’s all about where the lead melody is in relation to the rhythm melody/bass

Setting=context/vibe component

“Roots in the ground” song: Short motifs (at end specifically) -->Short, playful notes, not emotional

Straight-time beats vs groove beats

Rhythmic simple melody/note vs. complex melody

Complex vocal melody vs. simple vocal melody <--contrast

Where would you hear this song being played at?

Come up with/imagine a prompt melody to start your lyrics. From there it’s not hard.

Get into character when writing. If it’s gangster, dress/act gangster when you write. Method act.

Story (vocals) vs. context (Instrumentals), which is easier to start with (writing)

Songwriting is equivalent to painting mental-pictures.

Start with a sentence about something, then repeat, alter subtle aspects, or elaborate.

Play with small clusters/multiples (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)<--Seconds notes/chords are being held, or number of times within a section/cycle notes are being played in a motif.

1/4=Straight-time, 3/4=Exponential Cycle? (Fibonacci Numbers)

1, 2, 3, 4 or some rhythm in 1/8 time, then the same rhythm in 1/4 time creates more complex rhythms

Mismatching (right-hand) chords with their (left-hand) bass melody is fun

Music is constantly diverging and converging.

Post Malone - Rockstar main vox melody: D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D, D, D, D, D, D#, D, C (Anchor notes used: D#, D, C)

Secondary vocal melody: G, F, G, F, G, F, G, C, A#, A#, A#, A#, A#, A#, G#, G, F, D#/A#, A#, A#, A#, G#, G, F, D# (Anchor notes used: G, F, C, A#, G#, D#)

2-chord songs pull you from where you are (home base) to the feeling they want to put you in.

3-chord songs pull you & throw you in the air to a new feeling

4-chord songs are an emotional dance with multiple arch/climax points

5-chord songs add stair steps to these arch/climax points

The first note/chord/rhythm is your center/baseline emotional place. The song will take you from there. This prompts specific contrast in relation to the starting point.

Start with the showcased instrument - for hip-hop, it’s the bass & 808′

What’s the minimum amount o times you need to create variation? (Example: Sectional changes, key changes, beat changes, etc.)

Music - an ordinary message for an extraordinary frame

Essential component: Change of pace, focus, & emotion

Hum/beatbox something good, then input the lyrics

For a Post Malone/Tank God - Rockstar type song, describe the massive party/scene and shift the focus to different events/scenes within. (Why you got a 12 car garage? Been fucking hoes and popping pillies, don’t give a damn, it was legendary threw a TV out the window of the montage<--all fit the mood & describe different aspects of the rockstar life)

They’re gonna take your word for it, whatever you say/describe in the song.

Even if you’re trying to portray a different character, it’s still coming out of YOU.

When listening to music, you want a specific feeling to move you.

Jump into the song’s portrayed character when singing.

Simple to complex ratio: Amount of time:number of notes/chords

Is the melody accompanying the beat? or vice versa?

For each instrumental/vocal motif, write something that screams the vibe you’re going for.

“Ooh, that feels “_”.

If you can dance, vibe, & laugh, you’re in the correct mindset to write music.

Take the process 1 section at a time.

Create as much non-clashing variety & motion as you can while maintaining some ground.

Vocal rhythm matters more than melody. Even rap has annunciation/phonetic melody.

Rapping flow rate usually sits between 1/8 & 1/16 bpm, or 1/16 & 1/32

All of the chords in a chord progression don’t need to be different. Try repeating previously used chords.

Repetition & accentuation/emphasization

changing a 2-note motif into a 3-note motif at the last note (Lizzo - Truth Hurts “Minnesota Vikings”)

Music is metaphorical. Metaphors make the mind think.

Your audience wants to belong with you, and you want to belong with your audience. Most of your ways are common to all.

Travis Scott - Skyfall: Just frame the song with vocals that would do it justice. Clear emotion & rhythmic variation is what matters most.

Songs are collages/symphonies of separate dynamics and aesthetics diverging & converging.

Bass/rhythm - Environment/ Leads - Subject

Label, or call, something by it’s adjectives. It’s not “weed”, it’s “that sticky sticky”

All of my songs are within “Ivy’s world”. I’m welcoming the audience to my reality.

Put the listener in a certain space.

Pick a topic/flow/melody/rhythm/harmony/etc. & stick with it, then elaborate again and again until satisfied with what has unfolded, then pick a new center of axis.

Tempo - The ground/song’s heartbeat

Art says what words are incapable of saying. To illustrate a point effectively, explain it in doodles, in a song, or in a sketch.

What sounds/noises/instruments rise & fall? Motors, The waves, Voices, Sirens, etc.

Common patterns in our world: Increase/decrease, back & forth, bouncing, swinging, rocking, tapping, etc.

Contrast draws attention: Dawn Golden - Still Life (last note differs from the repeated notes before)

There’s a lot of simple melodies that say what you want to say. You just have to find them. Clear minds can carve through the possibilities quicker.

Miniature motifs can be combined to create more complex motifs.

Ad-libs are like your “crew”. They’re the voices of the people hanging out with the character during the song.

The better a motif/part is, the more you want to present part of the motif, and tease the possibility of completing it.

You gotta be cocky in order to effectively write music.

The key to slipping on another persona is complete and utter External AND Internal) confidence.

Who are you portraying? Who are you speaking to?/Where/who are you vocals being projected to? Drake speaks to his bodyguard/whoever’s next to him most times.

Transitional baselines/chords/notes* (Basslines/chords/notes between the main basslines/chords/notes)

Songs are literally just as important as any audio file or soundbite. Perceived value is placed by our own hearts & minds.

“Give me something I can “_” to!”

[in-paradox-space]

That dream keeps coming back to me.

Everything I do, I think of it.

I was in an evening class that I’m taking this year. I was late at usual, I always miss education. I don’t show up half the time. So I had to write down and retain every single thing that was being said. 

I have to catch up from what is implied in the context. I also have to work to compensate for what I’ll miss in my next absent lesson.

Quickly jotting down and scribbling. In pencil. It’s messy. Watching the teachers movements, she didn’t want us to write at that point but I had to retain it. 

This girl next to me, she was crying. I must’ve known for a while but it’s all hazy. 

Fat girl, same age, wearing a white shirt. Kind of like a school shirt. 

I didn’t even process the fact that she was fat in the dream. Maybe the subconscious of my subconscious picked it up but I wasn’t acknowledging it for a second.

I knew I had just 5 minutes to quickly write everything I had to and more until the lesson began properly. Comprehending it and shortening to keywords, underlining the pieces that I’d need to learn later.

 I knew she was crying. She was at my right side, next to me. She was on the end of the long extension of 2 person table/desks. Typical white classroom, those curved, hard plastic chairs. It’s like a white, hard, wooden/plastic table with that little pebble-dashed pale grey pattern on it. The window was to the right, behind her. It lead onto a kind of road, in my dream the room for the classroom was in an industrial area but that’s just how it goes.

That’s just how it goes.

So, I knew I needed to do my work. I also knew it was my duty to try to make sure she’s alright.

I ignored her for about a minute, tried to prioritize what I wrote. I was thinking, I’ll speak to her afterwards.

The classroom kept going on, I felt guilty, sort of conscious that other people may notice that I’m just ignoring this girl who is in tears, in tatters.

I glanced at her to assess the situation.

White shirt collar, open kind of wide in a comfortable, unrestricted manner. She had some bits of pink fleece and grey kind of high school jumper material, mixed together in dream fog. I don’t know if I saw her with a white shirt on because it’s an association from high school or if that’s just what her style is like.

She had lightish brown hair, the kind that looks like a matte, disheveled grey. It’s not technically grey, it’s brown. Not like old grey. I would tell everyone that their hair is grey - when I was younger - because to me it only looks like grey. If you put them next to someone with brown hair they look different. They didn’t like it when I said their hair looks grey. They said it’s brown; that baffled me. I didn’t understand why nobody acknowledged it

but yeah, in that sunlight it looked grey; a little greasy and sort of held back in a bobble.

She was absolutely balling her eyes out. Folder and papers on a desk, her face is slipping in and out of her hand, bottom lip opening and closing in the air to make way for the sound of her incessant crying.

I knew I couldn’t ignore it, but I went back to writing it down. My undereyes kept tensing, it was maybe painful. Knowing that I’m actively ignoring her while I hear her cries meshing in to the humdrum of the classroom.

I dropped my pen onto the desk; I couldn’t ignore it. I asked her what’s up?  She kept on crying. Normally I wouldn’t do this but it was a dream, I put my arm around her, let her know she’s not alone through human contact. I asked “what’s wrong? Are you okay?” (something like that) my arm resting into the light squishiness of her back, hand growing warmer on her shoulder. She couldn’t really get the words out, ‘its just’, still sobbing and hiding her face. I was telling her its ok, trying to comfort her. My chair was touching hers, I was embracing her from my side. 

So she told me something like: ‘your writing. It’s so perfect. The grammar. There’s not a single problem with your grammar, how is it so flawless. You know just what to write, you’re so smart’. My handwriting was a total mess. It was like a bomb hit the page. Like I was writing it on a bus. Just some keywords, messy underlinings and a couple of quick half-sentences. There was hardly any grammar there. I think she was referring to the Korean writing though (it’s a Korean class I go to at uni once a week). I’m a fresh beginner. I had a tiny bit of practice from home, like 2 months of here and there home studying before the course. It’s a little more familiar to me than most of the others and I’ve picked up on that. 

I don’t exactly know what she was implying, but I was embracing her to the point where it was basically 1/3 of a hug. I do think, however, she was implying she’s absolutely terrible at it and that was the reason she was crying. She must have had very low self esteem and felt more insecure and hopeless that she wasn’t picking it up that easily. Now that I think of it, she reminds a little of, my older sister, just a bit, a girl called Catherine I used to go to college with, who liked Minecraft lets plays, FNAF and was quite autistic. She struggled with studies and had super low self esteem. She could work untold wonders with a passion and uniquely shaped mind like hers though.

well, I was taken aback by that. I wasn’t sure what to say, ‘uh no it isn’t.’ ‘yours is a lot better’, I know nothing about her so I cant say that. I didnt know how to ask if thats the problem, I was thinking what to say. I couldnt use icebreaker questions and small talk because it was an awful time for it. She was devastated, I was slightly wondering if she went through something awful recently. It seems like her perception was telling her she had no use in the world.

I was looking at my book, at my desk, attention divided towards her, wondering what my next move would be. I was trying to comfort her, but failing. She was going into panic mode, gasping on her tears, she pulled out some herbal supplements from her bag. I recognized the bottle as Nature’s Best,  I thought they was 5-htp which I bought. People use them for depression and anxiety because they turn into serotonin. It was something else, the tablet was a see-through grey like cod liver oil pods but not orange. She drank it or put it into some cereal looking travel mug container idek its a blur whatever. It was a response to her attack, it seemed, anyway.

I thought great, that’s something we can bond on in order to get talking. I was like hey, I use supplements from them too. Natures Best, right? She got her red bag and said I’m sorry, wiping away her tears, she swiftly walked out of the door behind us, down the classroom. Then left, with her pinkish smoky coloured fleecy top. Walking and jogging slowly into the empty road, grey skies, damp from previous rainfall, in the industrial zone. The ones where there’s still houses and buildings to rent but the view is just of grey spiky fences and overgrown abandoned lots.

I was going to chase her, I looked at the teacher, asked if I could go. She looked frustrated said no. dont go. I decided teacher knows best and it’d be foolish not to listen to her.

looking back, I think the girl was a metaphor for my sister, or all the girls I’ve hurt. Hurt with my ignorance, with, idk just how I am. Maybe because I try so hard to look good and impress people, so I dont feel embarrassed or ashamed of myself or whatever, it works. Maybe they believe I’m actually as amazing as i try to seem and that makes them inferior. Maybe I don’t notice because im just trying to make sure I dont come off as sleazy, maybe i dont notice how they actually feel bc im just thinking of myself. I’ve also been fairly abusive to my sister as well. She was on the chubby side, kind of looked like that in school, cried a lot. I mean, I had my reasons for being that way, she was hard to live with but, if we actually need to blame anyone which we dont, my mother should have resolved the issues we all had with each other. Now, they’ve lived on into adulthood and we have to assume how to fix them ourselves.

or, when I’m asleep at that time, my baby nephew, one and a half, is always crying and crying AND SCREAMING AND SOBBING AND EXCLAIMING A CRYING SCREAM OF DREAD, ANGUISH, PAIN AND SUFFERING. It’s Hellish. I was at a friends house, sleeping in a comfy, cozy, quiet bed away from any noise. There was no babies crying but, every single morning without dread, I hear him screaming and howling like a jackal. So when I’m in that deep sleep state of mind, the pathways of my brain must now be wired to accommodate for the tormented squealing of his tire-screeching wails.

So, idk, there was crying, in my subcionscious and it was associated with my sister. Associated with idk, chubby girls with brown hair, who i probably see as struggling with mental tasks such as academia. Whether they lack the knowledge and capabalities or not, they certainly lack the mindset, the self belief and perseverance to keep trying... which in turn yields the same result as being incapable, if not to them then to their perception of self and world. . So, she was crying, and I think it’s a metaphor for both what my negative impact is on my baby nephew and thus, his mother, my sister. She walked out the door, she left our moment together because she idk, she didn’t want to experience any of that. She was hyperventilating crying and just wanted out of the situation; maybe to cry and be sad. Or to do something she realized she had to do, for herself or whatever. 

I basically saw that as her quitting the course and giving up for good instead of trying. Then, I knew I had to chase her. I was fully ready to go run out that door, go through a very emotional chat and get to the bottom of everything. Inspirational speech, help her with whatever troubles. Assure her that she’s great, reflect her good side to her. Calm down her breathing rate, crack a quick joke to remind her what laughter feels like and walk her back into class. 

Yet, the teacher was cross, sternly shook her head and briefly instructed me not to before continuing her lecturing. She knew I’d missed enough already and wasn’t going to just tell me to miss more because one student has disrupted the workflow. Rightly so, I understood and respected her judgement, yet my heart still felt for her. I kept peering out of my window, into the light glowed up in the poofiness of the lighter clouds, covering all trace of blue on the horizon.

So in conclusion, the crying girl was a metaphor for my family, all of those I need to look out for, compromise with and help move forward. The teacher instructing me to use mind over mood, discipline myself and focus on work is my ambition. My desire for a better life, the knowing that I need to sacrifice my desires, my relationships and even often my conscience for the greater good of my future. Of my ambitions, of my businesses, of my legacy, of what I’ll leave behind, for my self. Otherwise... I’ll be stuck crying with them, gawking at the more admirable traits that others have as opposed to myself. 

If I was to chase her, I’d be walking away in the same direction with her. All you can really do is hope she straightens up herself, otherwise, the other option would be doing nothing.

So, that’s what I think that is. I had that dream when I drifted back to sleep after 1pm, monday, 21st Oct 2019. It’s all I could think about all day that day. A fat girl crying. I was jaded all day. Contemplative, even when I got home, I lay in bed, i felt ill after being around pets the whole weekend, eating literally uncountable masses of junk food. I kept sighing mentally, thinking back to the girl who kept sobbing to my right, I didn’t notice she was chubby until after when I reflected. I felt responsible. Then the day after (today) I was thinking of it. 

Then, this evening, just today. I was in the classroom, late as usual. I creeped in, teacher talking about many points. Straight away my pad and pen was out, scribbling. I noticed after a while, a kinda chubby girl, brown hair (actually vibrant in colour though), colorful fleece, was to my right. She was on the corner part of the table, no more chairs to the right. She seemed completely emotionally intact, however.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every note I made I felt bad. I felt guilty. I felt scared, that maybe I’d upset her. I didn’t want to dominate her subliminally. I did know a little extra stuff like conjugations that hadn’t been taught yet and I was writing those down, wondering if she’s noticed. I couldn’t handle it, I looked at her pad, I had to compliment her. It must have been a sign, a vision, that came in a dream. I even considered asking her what she was doing at that time, when the dream occurred, I considered telling her about the dream. All sorts of forward things to strike a conversation with.

In the end, at breaktime, I asked her name. Straight away told her “your writing is so neat. Oh my God. How is your handwriting so neat? That’s unbelievable, wow!”. It was actually incredibly neat by the way I’ll proclaim that right now. Especially the hangul characters, they’re unfamiliar for us pretty much. They was small, spaciously together, in correct proportions, no lines bending the wrong way. When I write them wow, one is too big, a middle vowel will take up the bottom then i sort of squash the last really big consonant underneath, overlapping to the below line. It’s all disproportionate, just a mess... and thats just the English writing. 

So yeah, I didn’t tell her any of that dream stuff or whatever. We got talking. She’s doing third year maths at the uni. Took the course to bump her credits up which improves her overall grade. So she’s been taking it very seriously, she said she went over every single word in the textbook last night. She wants to pass. She’s clearly strong willed, intellectual, all the admirable treats. Very admirable indeed. Her favorite number is 7, mainly because she’s born on a 7th day. She enjoys graph theory in maths, dropped mechanics but did pure and statistics, then told me a bunch of stuff about maths i didnt understand but im the one who inquired so it’s kind of what I get. she also knows her runescape fairly well, but we both grew ambitions in the real world which took over, it seems.

we certainly broke the ice a little bit. I probably wouldn’t have even chatted to her without that dream. I’ll get to know her more again next time. 

[fitnesswomenshealth-blog]

If your ‘suicide prevention’ isn’t talking about the mental health system, you’re missing the point.

New Post has been published on https://cialiscom.org/if-your-suicide-prevention-isnt-talking-about-the-mental-health-system-youre-missing-the-point.html

If your ‘suicide prevention’ isn’t talking about the mental health system, you’re missing the point.

As both a suicide endeavor and decline survivor, I require to climb up onto my soapbox for a minute.

Suicide attempts, from a “preventative” standpoint, are almost never, if at any time, as quickly prevented as calling a hotline or a cherished one. “Reaching out” — though incredibly crucial — is not the be-all-close-all of preventative approaches.

Specially thinking about the reality that lots of of us have a background of inquiring for assist, and not receiving the treatment that we required.

I have an understanding of the impulse to question, “Didn’t they know they could phone me?” I questioned myself that several instances when I misplaced a person of my most effective buddies before this 12 months. But this shows a extremely large misunderstanding of the emotional experience that numerous suicide try survivors have described.

Talking from my personal expertise, when you are in a very acute amount of psychological distress, your thought method is not as linear or composed as you may believe.

The soreness in that moment can eclipse every thing else — past, present, long run. It is a kind of tunnel eyesight in which the soreness will become way too fantastic in all those times, I’m cognitively incapable of stepping back again to get the form of standpoint I could normally have.

This is why I generally try out to remind individuals that suicide attempts really don’t essentially replicate a person’s total state, as a lot as it does their degree of suffering in that certain minute.

To set it as a metaphor, suicide makes an attempt remind me really a little bit of coronary heart attacks, in the emotional feeling.

Soon after a specified level, the body’s assets can no longer fend off a really acute and painful party. It is so pronounced that your brain’s reaction is to scramble and do whatever is essential to beat that discomfort, as straight away as doable.

We have some autonomy when we’re in that type of soreness. But so lots of of our actions are finally pushed by the visceral agony we’re in. Our units are flooded and overcome, manufactured worse by the adrenaline, the worry hormones, and for numerous of us, no matter what substances we could possibly be abusing — like liquor — in a misguided attempt to cope.

But far more frequently than not, as opposed to a heart attack, it is also a discomfort that’s been setting up for weeks, months, or even a long time.

When we converse about “suicide avoidance,” we concentrate also substantially on hoping to comprehend the real endeavor, and not more than enough on accessibility of care.

We do not do considerably to guarantee that the pain does not become that acute in the first area. We don’t concentration plenty of on good quality of lifetime afterward. And most importantly, we almost never interrogate the programs in place that have failed to help them lengthy just before they reached this put.

It is as however we have witnessed anyone acquiring a heart assault, but we get started asking what they had for evening meal the evening just before, or kicking ourselves for not giving them aspirin that early morning.

When we communicate about addressing coronary heart condition, we’re not just striving to intervene in the mere moments prior to they come about — we know that is not sufficient, which looks like frequent feeling in this context.

We talk about the complete individual, and all of the strategies in which their wellbeing requirements to be prioritized perfectly prior to they reach a disaster position.

But suicidality is continue to not considered this way. We address suicide makes an attempt as really deliberate alternatives, somewhat than elaborate reactions that we know are much better resolved faster, not just puzzled about later.

The issue is, our psychological wellbeing method isn’t set up to intervene at the minute when it is necessary.

Therapists and psychiatrists are still wildly inaccessible. And if you can find one that has availability and is coated by your insurance (assuming you have insurance policy), it usually usually takes months, even months prior to you can in fact see them.

If that clinician is not proficient or a superior suit? That is supplemental months, months, and even decades until eventually you locate somebody who satisfies your wants. Which does not include the months it normally takes for these solutions to begin yielding true effects.

I lately wrote a described piece about a veteran with PTSD, for whom the nearest mental health company that took his insurance coverage was a staggering 4 several hours absent by car or truck. And if he hadn’t experienced obtain to a car? I’m not guaranteed he would however be alive ideal now.

And all this assumes that psychological wellness care isn’t so stigmatized in your neighborhood that you sense empowered to get assistance quicker instead than later, which is merely not the lifestyle we stay in.

This bureaucratic nightmare, combined with stigma, is why lots of folks with mental well being struggles usually really do not seek out assist for virtually a decade (or more) following their symptoms set in, if they seek assistance at all.

And that’s why I bristle at the thoughts I so usually listen to just after a suicide endeavor. “Why didn’t they talk to for assist?” is the erroneous question to request. “What had been they wondering?” is the improper question to inquire.

“What did WE do to support them, as a culture?” is the concern right here. And additional precisely, what were WE thinking, when we set up our mental well being program to be so inaccessible?

I want to challenge us to think about what we’re executing to alter this on a substantive, systemic degree. This isn’t about reaching out. This is a contact-to-motion.

My own suicide notice yrs ago simply just read, “I’m sorry. I just can’t do this any longer.”

Not, “I don’t want to do this.”

Not, “I do not have any other options.”

Not, “I really don’t treatment about my cherished ones.”

I simply just mentioned, “I just can not.” I experienced achieved a position at which I genuinely considered that I could no extended physically withstand the pain that I was in.

This led me to the unexpected emergency space and, even there, I noticed men and women desperately making an attempt to hurt themselves by any suggests they could, staying stopped only simply because they were being restrained by hospital workers.

And this was not because they didn’t have “help” or “options.” It was not even because they weren’t inquiring for assistance. They were in the healthcare facility — they ended up surrounded by people who, in principle anyway, desired to support them.

But their pain was that unbearable, that all-consuming.

How do you carry another person back from that? And more importantly, how do you make sure they really don’t return to that area?

Over and above stopping the act of making an attempt suicide, I want to know how we can assure them that the life they’re returning to is one in which they are truly supported.

No a single ought to ever get to a stage of going through that substantially ache. And if they do, there must be no problem of what resources are in spot to manual them by means of restoration. But our procedure isn’t developed to intervene quicker relatively than later on. Our process isn’t constructed to produce a trustworthy, consistent basic safety internet afterward.

It’s absolutely not intrigued in setting up any real good quality of lifetime, so significantly as it focuses on just preventing dying.

We have a “worst case scenario” mental wellness program, and it is failing. Its efficacy is a sport of luck at very best, a roll of the dice.

If you have coverage entry to transportation the ideal mixture of clinicians, inpatient or outpatient programs, and/or prescription drugs the time to commit to recovery the persistence to continue to keep next up with companies the assist method close to you to assist you when this gets too much to handle and the sheer vitality to navigate the method that is presently overburdened — it’s possible, just probably you will endure.

No one’s livelihood or excellent of lifetime ought to be left to likelihood.

I’m not making an attempt to paint a bleak image. Individuals can and do prosper, and I’m totally an illustration of that.

But not because our system is actually productive at what it does — it is for the reason that I am just one of the fortunate ones that eventually, immediately after quite a few decades, found my way through it.

I can explain to you why I attempted suicide yrs ago, and it is basic: the amount of money of time it took to “recover” exceeded the amount of money of methods I had to cope.

It took eight many years to get the appropriate diagnoses for my mental wellbeing conditions from the time I started out remedy at age 17.

Which indicates it took 8 yrs to discover the suitable medications to handle my OCD, PTSD, and ADHD. And it took 8 decades to discover a therapist that specialised in those places — a therapist that I had to pay out-of-pocket for, simply because my insurance coverage was not taken by any therapists in the space who had openings for new shoppers.

I’m considerably less interested in stopping the act of suicide alone, and additional intrigued in being aware of why our procedure is doing this kind of a terrible job of caring for people who are having difficulties in advance of, throughout, and just after.

When we know before and more compassionate interventions are so crucial, and when we know top quality of lifestyle is exceedingly additional significant than just holding someone alive, we want to start out asking why our method is set up the way it is.

We want to start off demanding that some thing alter — simply because our life depend on it.

Hey there, friend. Just before you go, I want to share some assets with you.

If you are suicidal, contact the National Suicide Avoidance Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386, or achieve the Crisis Textual content Line by texting “START” to 741741.

This is not just a generic “here are some numbers” plug, I assure. This is a “I want you to remain, we need you below, make sure you really don’t go just yet” plea.

Are you a beloved a single that would like to arrive at out to anyone you feel is struggling? Extraordinary. You absolutely should.

I have a guidebook here for how you can offer guidance in concrete approaches.

One particular extra issue: I developed this useful resource totally for cost-free, but your donations aid retain this labor of really like heading.

This web site is not sponsored by any fancy trousers traders that are hoping to promote you stuff.

It is funded by visitors like you through Patreon!

Each and every donation counts. Assist continue to keep means like these accessible to anyone that demands them! And enable purchase me a cup of coffee, due to the fact I produce a whole lot of these weblogs immediately after function, late at night time, so I could absolutely use the caffeine.

  Some credits & gratitude go to… Picture by rawpixel on Unsplash. Artwork by Jessica Krcmarik.

Like this:

Like Loading…

Relevant

(operate(d, s, id) var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0] if (d.getElementById(id)) return js = d.createElement(s) js.id = id js.src = 'https://hook up.facebook.web/en_US/sdk.js#xfbml=1&appId=249643311490&edition=v2.3' fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs) (doc, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk')) Source link