#it's sure not going to be by experiencing my own thoughts. cannot make a life decision that way!

[loveindefinitely]

02 — 𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘐'𝘔 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘈𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘛

༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, angst, graphic violence, slight power imbalance, enemies to lovers, slow burn, betrayal

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

"You assaulted two Special Forces Operators, kid," Price says, a barely veiled grimace contorting his features. "That's not a good look."

You tug against where your hands are cuffed to the metal bars, your brows furrowing. "Kidnapping the girl -- whose dad you killed after taking her virginity -- isn't a good look either."

...Alright.

So, if you could go back in time, and never eavesdrop on the four men who have completely ruined your life, you would take up the offer in a heartbeat.

Between landing your fist to Gaz's jaw, and where you are now, your life has become a total shit show.

Like, complete, this might just be a fever dream level of crazy.

It started from the moment you saw blood trickling from your now late father's forehead, and in the glint of the moonlight, seeing Ghost holding the gun.

Then, you'd turned, without another thought, and landed a punch right to Gaz's jaw. The man who had taken your first kiss no more than two hours ago.

You can relive the moment even now, under the harsh neon lights of an interrogation room, as if you're experiencing everything for the first time once more.

༊*·˚

Gaz hisses, wincing as he brings a hand up to the aching pain radiating from the bone that'd taken the brunt of your punch.

"You guys -- what the fuck --" You stammer out, eyes wide and borderline manic as you gape at the man before you. "You guys just killed my dad!"

"Yeah, but," Gaz starts, before backtracking. You figure he has enough braincells to realise that 'rationality and reason' isn't going to work with you, not in this state, and especially not after you just witnessed the murder of your only living family member. "Ah. Well. He wasn't a good guy."

You really, truly, cannot believe the audacity of this man.

Your mouth opens.

Gaz grimaces.

Your mouth closes.

He takes a step closer, hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Take another step near me and I'll punch you again!" You threaten, with an aggressive point of your finger.

You're extremely aware that your punch had done next to nothing, and Gaz's reaction to it was more one of sympathy, but the threat lands nonetheless.

"Alright, alright, we're not gonna hurt you," he raises his hands further, eyes bouncing between your own. You're not sure what he sees -- maybe resentment, or horror, or fear.

Whatever it is, it makes his frown deepen.

He goes to say something else, when your bedroom door opens with a soft click. "Finishin' up, ya read--"

Soap pauses his whisper, ice-blue eyes meeting yours. His grimace isn't unlike the one Gaz is sporting, and it only worsens your mood. If looks could kill, he would be lying on the grass beside --

Oh god. Your dead dad.

"Steamin' Jesus," Soap mutters under his breath, looking up to the roof in some semblance of a last minute prayer.

There's a moment, then, for a decision to be made. It's as if your brain can only come up with two options, and one of them will lead to your untimely death.

So, really, it's not entirely your fault when you pick up the salt lamp sitting on your bedside table and throw it right into the arrogant Scot's face.

"Holy shit," Gaz's eyes are comically wide as Soap cries out, the heavy pink rock slamming into his nose. He stumbles back, and the sound of your lamp hitting cartilage even has you wincing, panicked state or not. "How the fuck have you survived this long with those kinda reflexes, Soap?"

Soap drops into a squat, cradling his nose in his hand as he tilts his head back, squeezing the ridge between two calloused fingers. His voice comes out nasally as he mumbles, "Mighta' broke 'gain."

Your entire body is trembling, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you creep to the window with soft, quiet steps.

Maybe, you think, in the back of your mind, I can make the jump into the garden.

It's not to be, however.

"You're smarter than that," Gaz directs an unamused glare your way, before grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you towards your door.

Digging your heels into the carpet, you attempt to wrestle out of his grip -- but a trained military expert and you are no match, not even with the energy overtaking your body.

"Let go of me!" You grit out, tugging and displaying your weight in the opposite way to his goal. He doesn't even turn around as he drags you out of your room, slamming your door shut behind you.

"What the fuck is goin' on," Ghost's growl comes from the stairs, heavy bootfalls following until he's standing, gaze drifting from you, to Gaz, to Soap, back to you again.

"Fuck, man," Soap whines, squeezing his eyes shut as he keeps his head tilted back, blood running down his lips and chin. You somehow find it in yourself to feel slightly bad. Not enough to apologise, and certainly not enough to stop fighting back.

They were going to kill you. Probably. Or, like, what's the skin trade like in your area? Oh god. Fuck. Shit.

"She saw," Gaz mutters to Ghost, and his eyes narrow, black face paint crinkling where it's been put on the upper half of his face, skin not covered by the balaclava.

There aren't any lights on, and it's the lights on downstairs that cast shadows and highlights over the men's' faces.

"Fuckin' christ," Ghost groans, before turning and walking back downstairs without another word.

You continue to struggle against Gaz's hold, but both of your wrists have been collected in his hand, and he's pulled you so your back is to his chest. If it were any other circumstance, you'd be blushing, most likely turned on from such an embrace.

Right now, however, you're questioning every possible decision you've ever made.

"Ye Dad treated ya like shit 'nyways," Soap says, too loud to be under his breath, but too quiet for it to be conversational. "Dinnae why yer freakin''."

"You're murderers!" You hiss back, lips pulled back into a snarl. Your muscles ache from the punch, the hefty throw, and now from struggling against Gaz. "And I don't exactly have any other family, do I?!"

Gaz makes a sound of agreement, before shaking his head and countering. "We're not murderers, not really."

You choke a laugh, but it's entirely too wet and sad for it to be threatening or cruel. "So you guys didn't just shoot my father?"

"Si pulled th' trigger," Soap pouts, almost like a child would over a lack of candy.

"Soap," Gaz exasperates, and although you can't see his face, you're sure it's dismayed and annoyed. "Seriously?"

"What?!" Soap counters, and when it comes out high-pitched, he squeezes his eyes shut and holds his nose tighter. "Jus' tha truth, dinnae why yer so shitty. Yer not tha one bleedin'."

Speechless.

You are fully, unbelievably, speechless.

What the actual fuck was wrong with these... men? And what was wrong with you for being more than ready to spread your legs for them not too long ago?

You needed therapy. And coffee.

And a time machine, preferably. If one was made available at this given moment.

"Get down here," the final man of the hour shouts up the stairs, and your blood runs cold. There's something about him that's not quite as threatening as Ghost, but somehow makes you even more fearful.

Gaz, with surprisingly careful and gentle movements, guides you down the stairs. The parallel of how Ghost's hand had been at your lower back as he invited you to the lounge room, mere hours ago, isn't lost on you.

His hand doesn't move from the tense grip it has on your wrists. You can't help but feel like it's a completely unnecessary gesture, considering the fact that any of them could take you down within seconds if they really needed to. Hell, they all had actual, military-grade weapons.

"Seriously, Gaz?" Price huffs, looking entirely like a disappointed dad in this moment as he stands, leaning against your kitchen counter, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed over. "One job, mate."

"You lot weren't exactly quiet," he retorts, but he slowly releases your wrists.

At this point, you know it's a lost cause to try and escape this situation, so you just ball your hands into wrists at your sides. You can't imagine it's an overly threatening position, considering how your entire frame trembles, and your lips wobble.

Your father was dead.

And the men that had made you feel so comfortable, so cared for, are the culprits.

Stupid, stupid girl.

They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.

"Peas," Soap's voice is practically a beg as he stumbles into the kitchen, opening the freezer door with no preamble as he scours it for... peas.

They're in the far right of the bottom shelf.

You don't tell him that.

"Have some water," Price encourages, holding out a glass cup full of chilled water.

Your eyes narrow, standing your ground. "Not accepting drinks from murderers. Dad taught me that, y'know?"

Gaz chokes a laugh, before covering it up with a fist to his mouth and a clearing of his throat. It fools no one, and you allow yourself the tiny bit of pride that fills your chest at the reaction to your taunt.

"Ghost," Price mutters, resigned and almost frustrated as he looks at you.

You understand why, as soon as the feeling of a needle imbedding into your neck has you flinching, pain prickling at the intrusion in your muscle.

"What --" you begin, before your legs fall out beneath you, your eyes falling to half mast as Price hefts you up, beefy arms holding you beneath your armpits as your body becomes dead weight.

"Sorry, kid," are the last words you hear, before black overrides all of your senses as drugged sleep takes you.

༊*·˚

Sometime between then, and now, you've found yourself in a white-walled room, blinding lights turning the throbbing in your head from a low pound to an echoing boom of a drum.

"We didn't plan for... any of it to happen the way it did. This was our only choice." Price shakes his head, hands resting at the top of his vest as he studies you.

Right. The virginity, kidnapping and assault thing.

...Great.

"I must've forgot the part where I resisted arrest," you retort, forcing your eyes to remain open, despite the heaviness to them. It's as if a weight has been hung from your eyelids, and every blink drags them down more and more each time.

"Jesus -- you're not under arrest," Price rubs at his eyes, head dipped down as if he's recollecting his thoughts. You're not sure if he's had any sleep, although your sense of time has been completely thrown out of the window.

"Then release me," you say, voice softer than you'd intended, more pleading -- a truer reflection of your current state of mind.

The air is crisp, cool, like that of a hospital. Chemicals and bleach are a potent undertone to the clean scent, and it makes you question what could've previously been done in this room to warrant them.

Your heart pounds almost weakly, and you know if there's any more heartbreaks to come, it might just give out.

How you've resisted a complete mental breakdown is beyond you, and frankly, you'd give yourself a pat on the back if you could. Although, that act might in itself be a sign of insanity.

"Not until we can be assured you're safe," Price insists. "And not until we can clear your name from the books. We have enemies, sweetheart, and those enemies were also your father's. They are not above punishing you for your father's sins."

Your heart is lodged in your throat, and it takes everything in you not to just burst into tears and pray. Pray that this is all some sick joke, some terrifying nightmare that you haven't woken from yet.

But you know it's a baseless hope. You know that this is real.

You're in a military base, somewhere, surrounded by the country's most dangerous men. The most dangerous men on their side, at least.

"So I'm not getting charged for assault?" Your voice is entirely too small for the situation, not for someone who's still cuffed to a bed, going through grief in the most ruthless type of way.

The worst part is that you don't entirely miss your father. You miss the comfort of having a family member, that's true, but he wasn't a good parental figure, and his treatment of you could be classed as abuse to most people.

And from what these four are saying, he wasn't a good man either.

People didn't often talk about how separate the two things were. It was possible to be a great man, but the worst of fathers, and the opposite could be true, too.

Fate had dealt you a bad hand, in giving you one who was terrible on both sides of the coin.

"Technically," Price leans back into his chair, his voice littered with exhaustion, "We... should report it."

Your stomach drops.

Price's eyes meet yours, and somehow, he must see the turmoil battling inside of your head, because he lets out a deep breath, deflating just a bit.

"No. You're not getting charged for assault, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that," you reply, too quick for your brain to catch up. The endearment is entirely too wrong, smarting on a chafing wound, a reminder of the mistakes you'd made, and the deception these men had pulled on you. "...Please."

You refuse to meet his eyes as he nods, slowly, as if in understanding.

"What did he do?" You don't mean to utter those words, to ask that question, but after you do, you can't find it in yourself to regret it. "What made him worthy of death?"

Price rubs a hand over his face, and for the first time, you register the lines of his face. Lines of a story having been told, proof of a life lived. It makes you want to learn, to find the origins of the small scars you can see, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"He broke many promises. Betrayed his team," Price states, and you can tell the millions of words he leaves out, the context better off left unsaid. "He did terrible things. Killed people who had made no faults."

Oh.

For some reason, it hadn't truly hit you, not before now, the truth behind his death. What hadn't you been told?

How hadn't you been made aware that he was -- he was part of the special forces. He was a dangerous man -- he was one of the men he'd warned you about. How blind had you been? For so long? Those business trips, when he'd come with bruises, brushing them off whenever you gained the courage to make attempts of caring, of forming a relationship with the man who raised you.

They weren't business trips. They were missions -- ones with impossibly high death rates.

And he just.

Hadn't said a word. Just continued to treat you like you were worthless, a nuisance, a pain in his ass. Something worth protecting, if only so your weight in gold wasn't minimised.

What were you to do, if he just. Didn't come home after a mission gone awry? If he died on the field. If you woke up one day without a single living family member left.

You only realise that tears have fallen down your cheeks when Price's thumb brushes them away, your nose scrunching with a sniffle.

Jerking back, as if electrocuted, it takes everything in you to glare at the man whose gentle hands had led you to this position in the first place. "Don't touch me."

He backs away. Doesn't argue.

It hurts your heart in a way you don't want to touch with a ten foot pole. Not right now. Not ever, maybe. Preferably.

You let out a deep, stabilising exhale, before weakly meeting Price's gaze. "Can I sleep? Feeling kinda shit after the drugs," you mumble.

Price's lips twist into a grim line, but he nods curtly. "'Course, kid. Call out if you need 'nything."

You just lay back, turning on your side, facing the white wall as the lights turn off, leaving pitch black in its wake. Your wrist smarts where the handcuff has left a red mark, your free hand rubbing at the small patch of visible skin.

If you were more aware, more... ready for the conversations you needed to have, you would've demanded all four of them speak to you right this moment.

But your head is heavy, and thoughts are few and far between.

Grief and confusion cement in your brain like a thick fog, your emotions like cars without lights in the thick mist.

No directions, no ability to brake before crashing into one another.

You're an absolute mess, and you have no one to blame but you and your sick curiosity, your reckless decision making.

But, you realise, this was a long time coming.

Because there's one thing Price -- nor the other three men -- don't know.

Your father wasn't the only one who held secrets.

And it was you who held the key to this force's undoing.

a/n. lol so like. who's ready for some enemies to lovers? sorry to everyone who wanted immediate hurt/comfort!! for some reason plot lines and depth hit me and i was like. i need to do it justice. so here we are!!!

thank you all SOSOSO much for the reception of the first part. it genuinely means a lot to have people excited about my stories??? like omg youre all SO kind. comments and reblogs make my absolute week!! mwah mwah mwah

taglist comment/msg to be added. @captainjamster @alfa-jor @simp4miguell @yaboibauldano @dreamaboutpinkk @guyser @lovewithasideoflust @redz0mbie @ghost-is-my-bbg @astro-ghoul99 @the-faceless-bride @casterousaudrey @cutiecusp @kit-williams @lilpothoscuttings @florabelll

[bloatedandalone04]

The Only Reason

➪the one where leon finally gives you some much needed closure after four months of feeling nothing but regret from what he did.

Warnings: angst, fluff, making out, swearing, mentions of cheating, cheating, toxic relationships, mentions of a bad past, mentions of weight loss, all the ada slander in the world because i actually cannot stand her, mentions of unwanted sexual attention (from ada to leon), unwanted intimacy (from ada to leon), eating disorders (implied)

Word Count: 5.2k | Part 1

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

The loud music and thumping of the walls were the last thing on Leon’s mind as he scanned every single room of the house. Chris decided to throw a housewarming party for Claire at her new place, and of course Leon was invited. 

Leon refused the initial invitation, but quickly changed his mind when Chris told him that you would be there. It seemed as though the brunet had long since grown sick of his friend’s moping and knew he had to do something about it. 

Pretty much everyone that Leon knew was here, yet he couldn’t seem to find you. The house wasn’t big, and it didn’t have very many rooms, but it seemed like it was still impossible to locate you. Not that he even had a right to. 

If he does manage to find you, what would he even say? “I’m sorry for everything, and for letting you leave without trying to fight for you. Also, I don’t blame you for ignoring my calls and not texting me back, I deserve that.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he sounded that desperate. Back when he was a dumb twenty one year old, he supposed. 

Leon has been here for over an hour now, and he still hasn’t seen you once. He was beginning to think that Chris lied to him just to get him out of the house he used to share with you. While he wouldn’t put it past him, Leon wanted to give Chris the benefit of the doubt and believe that he had good intentions when he invited him to this thing. 

Nearly giving up on his search, Leon heads back to the kitchen, where Jill hands him a bottle of beer. She leans against the counter and he does the same, his eyes still expertly scanning the room, just in case.  “Hey, Kennedy,” she greets as she sips on her own beer. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Been busy with work?”

Leon shrugs, his face almost emotionless. “Yeah,” he lied. Of course he had been going to work and successfully completing missions, but he hadn’t left the house outside of that. Work usually took up a good portion of his time, and the rest of it was spent thinking about how badly he fucked things up with you. 

It wasn’t even worth it. Ada. 

He hadn’t seen her since he broke off their little agreement a month before he confessed to you, despite her texting him and asking to meet up so he can fuck her in exchange for information he thought was worth more than you. 

It really wasn’t. 

He’s been ignoring her texts for months now, just like how you’ve been ignoring his. 

Leon had never blocked someone’s number ever in his life, but Ada was about to be the first if she didn’t take the hint and leave him the fuck alone. 

As much as he wanted to put all the blame on her, he knew it was half his own fault, as well. He couldn’t believe he had gone back to Ada Wong when he had you, his entire world, waiting for him at home. 

He knew he would never forgive himself, even if you somehow managed to move on and forgive him for the worst mistake he had ever made in his twenty nine years of living. 

Four months. 

It’s been four months and he was still beating himself up for what he did to you. 

“Yeah, Chris and I are looking into this new virus that is spreading down in Oxford. The cases have been going up daily, might be something you can help out with,” she offered, leaning closer to him so he could hear her better over the loud music. “You’re more experienced with viruses than anyone else I know.”

Leon gave her a tight lipped smile. “Sure, Jill,” he replied. “Whatever you need.”

“Great,” she says as she finishes off her beer. “You staying long? I never took you as the party type.”

He really wasn’t. He hadn’t been to a party since he was nineteen. Even the frat parties he was invited to were boring, so he never had the urge to go to anymore after the age of twenty. Until now, because he was told that you would be here. 

And he wanted to see you so badly. 

“I’m not, really,” he agreed and brought the bottle up to his mouth. “I just thought someone I know would be here-”

He wasn’t able to take a sip of the alcohol before his eyes landed on you as soon as you entered the room. 

All words had died on his tongue and the bottle was raised half way before his hand froze. 

You looked beautiful. Your cute white dress fit you well and showed off the concerning amount of weight you had lost. He hadn’t seen you that small since the beginning of your relationship, back when you didn’t know how to take care of yourself and listen to your body’s warnings. 

Leon felt his heart constrict at the thought of you going back to your old ways of ignoring the signs your body tried giving you. You were barely getting by when he met you, and you hadn’t gone completely back to that since leaving him, if your makeup and pretty hair were anything to go by. 

You hadn’t given up on yourself entirely, and that gave him enough hope that you would be okay. Even if he was given the chance to talk to you and explain things, he knew you weren’t completely broken like you were when you first started dating, and that you would be fine if you decided to never forgive him. 

Looking as shy as ever, you inch further into the room, seeming to have not noticed Leon yet as you ventured over to the bottles of booze that had been set out on the counter. “Oh, shit, is that Y/n?” Jill asked as she squinted in your direction. “I didn’t know she was coming, but that pretty much explains why you’re here. Are you okay?” 

Leon watched as you browsed through the drink options, dropping his arm back to his side and not caring about the beer that splashed onto his hand at the quick movement. He didn’t take his eyes off you as he slowly shook his head, a quiet “No,” leaving his mouth afterwards. 

Jill looked between the two of you, unsure of what to say. “Do you want to move to another room?”

Leon shook his head again. “No. You said it yourself, Jill. This is why I’m here,” he muttered and watched as a younger guy moved to stand next to you. He helped you pour a large amount of vodka mixed with ginger ale into a cup, and he quickly recognized the guy as one of the new agents Claire had befriended named Kegan. 

Kegan stepped closer to you and Leon could instantly tell that you were uncomfortable. He knew you like the back of his hand and could tell when you got nervous or anxious, like how you are right now. 

Leon stood up straight and placed the untouched bottle of beer behind him on the counter before making his way across the kitchen. 

Within four strides he is behind you and towering over Kegan, who noticed Leon long before you did. “Kennedy? Leon Kennedy is actually at a party? Wow, never thought I’d see the day,” 

Leon glared at him and it was then when you realized who was standing behind you. “You don’t know me,” Leon stated as you turned to face him, but he just kept his eyes on Kegan. Leon had quite the reputation at work, and he was well known as the guy who is more than capable of completing any mission, no matter how tough it may be. 

That being said, his superiority often annoyed the new guys as they tried to live up to the high expectations and standards of Leon Kennedy. 

“And you don’t know her, but I do, and I know she wants you to leave her alone but is far too nice to actually say that to you, so I’ll do it for her,” Leon continued and felt his heart skip a beat at the quiet gasp that left your lips. 

Kegan looked between you and Leon, and more specifically the protective look in his eyes, before backing away with his hands up. “My bad, man,” he shrugged. “Didn’t realize she was with you.”

He disappeared in the crowd as you turned completely to face your ex. “You didn’t need to do that,” you muttered and Leon could feel his face heat up at the fact that you were actually talking to him. You wore an annoyed look, but still, you’re talking to him. “I could’ve done that myself.”

Leon forced a grin to form on his lips. “But I bet you’re glad I did it, instead,” when you just shook your head and began to leave the kitchen, Leon stepped in front of you, refraining from grabbing your hand like he so desperately wanted to. “Wait, please.”

“What, Leon?” You asked and you sounded so exhausted, it made his heart physically break a bit. “What could you possibly have to say to me right now?”

“Everything,” he answered instantly. “I want to say everything I didn’t say the day you left. Please, give me a chance.”

You narrow your eyes and cross your arms. “It’s been months, Leon,” 

“Four,” he confirmed, watching the brief shock that flashed across your face. “And I’ve thought about you everyday for every one.”  

You give him a conflicted look that is quickly followed by a sigh. “There is nothing you can say that will fix what happened, just so you know,” 

Leon nodded and held his hand out to you, surprise filling him when you actually took it. “I just need you to know that it wasn’t your fault, and that it’s all on me,” he promised as he led you towards the front door, missing Chris’ look of relief as he passed him.

While he didn’t know the full story of what his friend did to you, he knew Ada had been involved in the reason you were no longer together. Chris was never a fan of Ada and how she treated Leon whenever the two crossed paths, and he was sure the blond felt the same way after being her little pet for years. He was sure the two of you would end up getting married, so he could not fathom how the fuck Leon had let Ada get in the way of what you and he had. 

All in all, he was sick of Leon’s bad moods, and wanted his friend to go back to normal. Well, as normal as Leon Kennedy could be. 

Leon led you out onto the front porch, and with one look from him, the two guys who were standing out there quickly scampered back into the house. Once you were alone, he turned back to face you with guilty eyes, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to figure out what to say to you. 

He had wanted the chance to talk to you again for months, and now that you are actually here in front of him he was blanking. 

But he wouldn’t let his inability to form a proper sentence be what cost him his once chance at explaining to you why he did what he did.

An apology would be a good place to start, right?

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly as he finally allowed himself to look into your guarded eyes. You looked at him as if he were a stranger, and he supposed he kind of is now. The person you both thought he was would’ve never done what he did to you, no matter how important those fucking files were. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

You nod and lean back against the railing, crossing your arms as you stare at him with a soft glare. “I’m really glad we agree on that,”

He knew he deserved that. He deserved worse, actually, but you were simply too kind to completely go off on him, and he simply never deserved you in the first place. “That’s fair, you’re being hostile,” he mumbled and felt his skin begin to heat up under his dark leather jacket. “I know I have no right to even be talking to you right now, but I just need you to know that what I did with Ada was the worst thing I have ever done, and I’ve done a lot of bad shit in my life. None of them cost me you, though, so they’re not very high on that list.” 

You tense up at the name you’ve hated since the second you heard it, and the mention of her sent your insecurities right back to the front of your mind. “Yeah, well,” you trail off, kicking a stone that was on the porch away from you as you avoid his stare. “I hope she was worth it, because I haven’t been able to wrap my head around the fact that Ada fucking Wong is the reason the best relationship I had ever been in ended.”

“She wasn’t worth it,” he said instantly, taking a cautious step towards you. “She was never worth it, even back when I was a stupid twenty one year old and trying to start my career. She never cared, and I wasn’t smart enough to see that. I’m not smart at all. If I had half a brain I would’ve never gone back to her ever again.” 

You shake your head. “You can say that now, but it doesn’t change anything,” you mumbled. “You cheated on me with the one person I’ve been worried about since day one. You promised me that she was in your past, and that you were over her. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to believe that. Guess we’re both fucking dumb.”

“No,” he said sternly. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Ada hasn’t had control over my heart for a long time now, it’s always been you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day we met, and that was years ago. I know I fucked up, but I’ve never stopped believing that you’re it for me. I don’t want anyone else, and that was clear after I met you.”

Your lip was quivering just slightly and you blinked back tears, trying to stick to your promise of never crying over the man in front of you ever again. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep that promise if you were to continue to talk to him. “Then why did you do it? Why did you ruin what we had?” You regretfully ask and quickly add, “And I want the truth, not some bullshit story you always seem to come up with. Be honest with me, Leon.”

Leon really felt pathetic at this point as he felt his heart jump a bit at the fact that you said his name. He missed you so much, he missed hearing your voice, and he missed the way his name sounded when it came out of your mouth. 

He knew his answer wouldn’t satisfy you at all, but he said it anyway, “It was just about work,”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” you say angrily, wiping under your eyes before he could see your tears. “Don’t waste anymore of my time, Leon. I refuse to spend another second with you if you’re just going to lie to me. You’ve done that enough.”

Leon shut up after that, shifting from one foot to the other and beginning to feel anxious. He shouldn’t feel this way around you. He had known you for four years and been with you for three, he should feel comfortable around you, but he supposed he lost that right, too. 

At his lack of words, you turn away and are about to head back inside when he grabs your wrist and pulls you away from the door. “Y/n, wait,” he begs, blue eyes clouding over with desperation as he stares hopelessly down at you. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. There are no words that could ever describe it. I hate that I hurt you and I hate that I fucked up the best thing I had going for me. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

You fell silent as your eyes flickered from his lips then back to his eyes. 

What if….for just one more night…what if.

“I should’ve never let you walk out that day without explaining to you that it was all my fault, just like how I should’ve never let Ada come anywhere near me. But I’m weak,” he was saying all the words he should have said to you the day he confessed that he had been seeing Ada. God, even her name made a feeling of disgust creep into his bones. “I’ve always been weak when it comes to you and my job and everything. I’m not cut out for this kind of thing, but you made me feel like I was. I can’t believe I took that for granted.” 

Your eyes burned once again and you moved to lean back against the railing when he inched closer.

“You’re everything to me, sweetheart,” he sounded so genuine, you almost thought you could believe him. He placed his hands on the railing behind you and leaned down so his face was close to yours. “You always will be. She is, by far, the biggest mistake of my life and I promise that I haven’t seen her since. I can’t stand even thinking about her-”

He wasn’t able to finish that sentence as you leaned in and pressed your mouth to his.

Just one more night. 

You just needed one more night with him, one where you could pretend you were still happy and still in love. One where you were still oblivious to the affair he was having with his ex…or whatever the fuck they were. 

Just one more night to fuck him out of your system, then you’ll never have to see him again after this. 

Leon got lost in the feeling of having your lips on his for the first time in months. His hands immediately grip your waist and his body presses right up against your own. 

He missed you more than anything else in the entire world. Every single inch of you, he craved it everyday. He was so fucking angry with himself for how he destroyed your relationship and for how he hurt you after he swore he wouldn’t. After he swore he was different. 

Really, he wasn’t far off from the assholes you had given your heart to in the past, even though he tried so hard to be. 

His fingers bunch up the fabric of your dress and he wanted to take you right there, right against the railing of his friend’s new porch, but you deserved more than that. He wanted to give you more than that. 

Your hands slide up to tangle in his hair and he never thought he’d ever get to feel your soft yet firm touch again. He couldn’t help but melt into it. 

Your lower back pressed against the cool metal and the contrast of it had you gasping against his mouth. 

Leon groaned at your quiet sound of pleasure and couldn’t deny how it went straight to his dick. Sometimes he really hated being a man who had no control over that part of his body. “Missed that sound,” he mumbled against your mouth. “Missed everything about you, pretty girl.” 

You moan into his mouth and he swallows it like the greedy man he is. “Take me home, Leon,”

It was like a switch had been flipped. He pulled away but kept his hands on your hips. Now that he had gotten a taste of you again, he never wanted to let you go. But he needed to focus on why he sought you out tonight. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he trails off, noting the brief look of embarrassment that flashed in your eyes. “I don’t want you to think that this is all I wanted out of-”

“I want it, Leon,” you cut him off, pulling him closer by his jacket. “I want you. I know you don’t want me anymore, but-”

He shook his head and pressed another kiss to your lips, against his better judgment. “I do still want you, baby,” he promised. “I want you, always.”

You bite down on your lip and don’t miss the way his eyes flicker downwards when you do so. “Then take me home,” you pressed, watching as he seems to have an inner battle with himself. 

You weren’t sure what result you wanted out of this; him agreeing and getting you off one last time, or him rejecting you of what he so gladly took from Ada. 

 Either way would provide you with some closure, you’d hope. 

A few more seconds pass before he’s moving away and taking your hand. He leads you to his car and drives the familiar road to the house you lived in with him not too long ago. 

As he guided you through the very door you walked out of the day he told you what he did, he gave you a conflicted look as he said, “Just so you know, this isn’t all I want from you. I meant everything I said before,”

You give him a blank look as you move closer to him. “I don’t care,” 

Leon looked like he was in agony as you grabbed his jacket and pulled it from his body. “Don’t say that,” he begged. “Please.”

You don’t say anything else as you pull on his hands and walk backwards until your knees hit the edge of the couch. Sitting on the armrest, you run your fingers down his toned chest and try to remember that this will be a one time thing. He wasn’t yours and this wouldn’t be like all the other times you and he had been intimate. 

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” you whisper, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand to your chest. “So please, don’t say anything else.”

Leon could only nod, regret filling him at what he knew he made run through your head. You thought this was all he wanted, when in reality he just wanted you back. 

He leaned down and gently grabbed either side of your face as he kissed you deeply, pushing you back against the very couch you broke up with him on four fucking months ago. 

It was too much, but he couldn’t stop. He was too afraid you’d leave him forever if he did. He really was fucking weak when it came to you. He was selfish. 

He wanted you back so badly, his brain couldn’t keep up with his body. His lips were placing kisses desperately to your mouth as he felt your legs wrap around his waist. 

Leon wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to function again if you were to never talk to him after this. He didn’t even want to think about it. 

But it seemed as if you were doing the opposite. 

He kissed along your neck for a few seconds before hearing a sharp intake from you that was followed by the push of your hands against his shoulders. “Wait,” you nearly gasp, sitting up when he instantly pulls away from you, proving to you that he is at least a little better than your past boyfriends. They would have ignored you and continued touching you until they got what they wanted. 

Leon stood back and put a bit of distance between the two of you, his eyes guilty and his heart on his sleeve. “I’m sorry,” he says and you just shake your head, straightening your dress back out. 

“No, I initiated this. I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me,” you apologize and stand up. “I should go. This was a mistake.” 

Leon felt his heart break as you quickly stood up and made your way to the door. He got flashbacks to the day you left him, and he knew he wasn’t prepared to see you walk out that door for the second time. 

Maybe he didn’t have to.  

You passed by the counter and abruptly stopped, your eyes fixated on something on the granite. Leon held his breath as he watched you move towards the island, your hand reaching out to grab his keys. “Leon,” you gasped quietly, your fingers gently moving something on the chain. He knew what was on it. The ring haunted him every time he used his keys, and that was the exact reason why he attached it to the chain in the first place. 

He stayed still when you turned to look back at him, his keys held tightly in your hand.

“You kept it?” You asked in a hoarse voice. You would recognize that ring anywhere, even after only seeing it one time. You couldn’t believe he kept it instead of selling it, and you were heartbroken to discover that he saw it every day whenever he entered or left his house. 

Your question offended him, but he’d never show it. “Of course I kept it,” and yet another flashback flickered in his head. 

You weren’t sure you wanted the answer, but you asked, anyway, “Why?”

Leon hardly moved as he answered, “As a reminder,” 

And it was the truth. 

And then you broke your promise as the first of many tears began to fall. 

You wished you never met him. Never said yes when he asked you out on a date, said no when he asked you to move in. You wished you didn’t agree to come to that stupid housewarming party, because now you felt lost all over again. 

Setting the keys loudly on the counter, you turn to face him fully. “Why?” You asked, your voice angry and shaky as you tried to keep your cool. “Why did you do it? I loved you more than anything else. You saved my life, Leon. Why didn’t that mean anything to you?”

Leon felt his own eyes burn as he stepped away from the couch but made no move to walk over to you. “It means the world to me, Y/n,” he promised, his heart begging his body to take you into his arms, but he held back. “So do you.”

Your lower lip trembled as you moved to stand in front of him. “Why?” You ask again, much quieter this time around. You reach up and push on his chest just slightly, knowing damn well it wouldn’t faze him one bit. And it didn’t. “Why did you go to her?”

Leon refrained from taking your hands that were still on his chest in his. “Because she had something I needed,” he regretfully answered. 

Your brows furrow and he knew he accidentally offended you with his poor choice of words. “What, I wasn’t good enough? Didn’t put out enough for you?”

“No,” he said immediately, going against his better judgment again and wrapping his fingers around your wrists. “You’re more than enough for me. You always have been and you will be forever. The thought of doing that with her made me sick and I hate myself for it, but it was the only way she would give me the information I needed for my job.”

Your eyes softened a bit but your whole body was still guarded. “Your job you can’t tell me anything about?” 

“Yes,” he whispered, his face twisting up in agony when more tears fell from your eyes. “That’s the only reason I went to her. She had something I needed, but if I ever had to do it all over again, I’d tell her to fuck off and I’d get it some other way. I can’t stand the fact that I hurt you like that.”

You tried to process his words, but you didn’t know what to think anymore. 

You believed him, and it was clear he felt awful about all that came out of his encounters with Ada. But you also weren’t sure what he wanted out of this encounter with you. Yeah, it appeared he wanted to fix things, but who’s to say he won’t shatter your heart again? 

You couldn’t take much more. You knew that. 

“It was just for work?” You asked quietly, avoiding his eyes as he pressed your hand flat against his chest. “You’re not in love with her?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head to further get the point across. “No. I don’t love her, not anymore. Maybe I never did. She never made me feel the things you did and still do. My heart was never hers. It’s yours. Even after tonight, I’ll still be yours, even if you aren’t mine.”

Your eyes were begging for a break, but the tears kept coming. “My heart is yours, Leon. It’s yours to break,” you whisper. “And you did.”

He couldn’t stop himself from taking you into his arms. He wrapped you up and let out a sigh of relief when you let him, and even held onto his waist. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he says, kissing the side of your head. “So fucking sorry. I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I’d use my last breath for you, baby. You’re my entire world. You’re everything.”

“Leon,” you beg, bunching his shirt up in your fists. “Don’t do this to me again. Don’t hurt me again, I-....I can’t take it.”

“I won’t,” he promised, cradling the back of your head in his hand as if you were the most frail and fragile thing in the world. “I love you so much. It’s you who I want for the rest of my life. I never doubted that. I never want you to doubt that.”

You nod and press your head to his chest. “It’s going to take some time,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe a lot of time-”

“I’ll wait forever for you,” he swore, leaning back and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He was shaking now, disbelief filling his entire being at the fact that you were letting him hold you like this again. 

You look over at his keys before meeting his eyes again. “I won’t forget about what you did, Leon,” you murmur, watching the guilt seep back into his blue orbs. “But I’m willing to forgive….I just need time.”

Leon nodded, wrapping you back up in his arms. “I’ll give you all the time you need, I promise,” he rasps. “Just don’t leave me again.”

He had no right asking you that, but he also had no control over his words at this point. 

But you just pressed your lips to the side of his neck. “Don’t give me another reason to,”

[bestlilithian]

Home is the first grave.

[ Moon-Pluto, Pluto in 4th house culture ]

tw for various mentions of abuse and death as well as mental problems, sh and su!cide, also needles (dont ask)

- may have experienced a lot of death in thr family or in the close neighborhood

- feel more connected to your dead relatives than your alive ones

- there mightve been a death in your family before you were born

- feeling peacful in graveyards

- may have fantasized about death/su!cide, might percieve death as something that brings peace (hence the fantasies, because really all you ever wanted was peace)

- wanting peace but knowing you cannot have it because of your nature; feeling like theres just something in your blood in your soul that is uncontrollable and overwhelming

- your household was always a house , never a home

- being raised by very old people, enjoying the presence of much older wiser people (like, literal elders not hot teachers 💀)

- enduring literal psychological warfare in your home (usual your mother waged war on you as soon as you were old enough to form a coherent critical thought)

- "I hate you, dont leave me" (might be the attitude of your mother towards you, or yours towards others you love)

- Your mother always knew when you were lying or hiding something. Especially if she had a scorpio moon or moon/pluto aspects herself. You grew up extremely fearful of her.

- moon pluto culture is hearing your mother talk lovingly about her own fucked up mother, she never accepted the severity of her own abuse, until of course she needs to use it in an argument against you "Im a great mother, my mother was so much worse"(basically Im good because I abuse you differently than I was abused 😍 same shit different package)

- not liking motherly women or women who try to be mother figures to you, feeling uncomofortable around them; youre uncomfortable with how much you crave motherly love and people who can provide you that become threats because of the power they could have over you if you opened up

- being betrayed by the women in your life, especially those who were much older and supposed to take care of you (teachers, tutors, family members, therapists, babysitters..)

- toxic female friends 😁🔫 bonus : really close but toxic female friendships in youth that feel like death when you end them even though you know it was necessary

- feeling pain so deeply you think you will drop dead or have a heart attack. (When I was little and depressed I wrote in a diary of mine "My body will kill me before I get to")

more on this : when you start crying because of immense emotional pain and suddenly your heart is burning and beating too fast and youre getting light headed and throwing up , and suddenly youre not crying because of the pain, youre crying because youre afraid youre about to have a heart attack and die

- fearing that your mother will k word herself or you if you try to leave her (harsh aspects mostly)

- learning what emotional violence is very early, how to wield it and defend against it

- turning your emotions off completely for a while and then having a nervous breakdown when it all rushes back

- reading up on psychology, psychiatry and works of psychotherapists so you can heal and never become your mother

- wanting to put a bullet in your head when you notice yourself thinking or behaving like your mother

- going home after you spent time somewhere where you felt good and safe is extremely dreadful

- your mother doesnt see you as a human being (harsh aspects especially), and may take you a while to figure this out

- extremely controlling behavior from your mother or other caretakers (for example my mother threatened to send people to stalk me when I moved to a diff city, to 'make sure Im not doing something bad')

- deeply grieving the loss of your childhood and your inner child

- almost choking while crying or passing out

- feeling like youre a horrible person and dont deserve your family [because youre in deep denial and are seeing the flaws of your family as your own and denying your own trauma]

- learning about sex early on, perhaps early sexual obsession but not like promiscuity more like craving for deep intimacy (also you were probably deeply ashamed of it)

- not telling your family (esp mother) anything because they will ruin it for you

- being accused of being a psychopath, uncaring, selfish for "not loving your family enough"

- not knowing how to feel about the members of your family that played a more passive role in your life because they didnt do anything wrong but they didnt do anything right either; surely they knew , why didnt they stop it? why didnt they save you? (Im talking about adults obviously)

- your parents mightve been much older when you were born, you might have siblings much older than you

- doing anything to avoid your intense emotions and then when you break down and feel everything you realize how freeing it is and how comfortable you actually are with the intensity

- gutteral reactions to songs you deeply relate to (I hear 10 seconds of 'Slipping through my fingers' and I am dead on the floor)

- being afraid of your mother or just of your family in general

- you could probably kill someone with your bare hands if you were angry and hurt enough

- scary as fuck when you actually show your anger

- if you cry in the midst of a fight (verbal or physical) ... someone tell that person to make peace w God . cause thats you crying because of what youre about to do, because thats you loosing the last crumb of humanity you had for them and that can only end one way.

- you would probably kill for your loved ones

- your friends feel like you would help them hide a body (and you probably would)

- recognizing people by footsteps and breathing patterns (especially family members)

- deep deep eyes, people can see war and death them, and they feel like you see their pain too (because you do)

- reading people easily

- enjoying? cruelty (to yourself or others), like getting impulses to do something that would cause you or someone else that ugly feeling of facing cruelty

- finding comfort in the cold and the dark

- insane nightmares since youth, growing to be used to them

- its very hard to shock you

- you know when someones lying

- you might dread certain types of pain yet feel pleasure from them (personally I hate having my blood taken for a test but then I end up immensely enjoying the feeling of a needle pricking my skin and going deep into my vein)

- feeling the need to "kill" some your habits; most likely to drop things cold turkey and be extremely strict in breaking bad habits

- might enjoy really dark, emotionally and morally complex media

- immediately recognizing other moon pluto people and trauma bonding

- extremely good pain endurance. not necessarily tolerance , but endurance. you feel the pain and do it anyway.

- might not react to physical pain at all from a young age

- fantasies about drowning or slipping away peacfully

- either loving deep waters or hating them

- randomly breaking down in the middle of the day because of some pain you buried 5 years ago

- might self harm a lot because of your complex relationship w pain, it genuinely helps sometimes

- home feels like literal prison

- seeing the value in suffering, you might reject the idea that suffering is bad and should be avoided and prevented at all costs

- you might become religious as you mature (but usually in your own way, not necessarily according to tradition)

- forced to eat or denied food in your home, this mightve fucked up your relationship with food

And lastly, I need you to engrave this in yourself :

Wrong love is not love.

[bangfantanfic]

Our Own World: Chapter 12.

Warnings: Possible mentions of stalkingand yandere behaviour.

tags; @miss-jupiter @imagine-forlife @blaaiissee @millenniumspec @toughbook @darkuni63 @badbyeyoongi @iloverubberduckiez-blog @missseoulite @singukieee @potterbrooke @suhappysuho @doublebunv @sevenpersona @blancflms @childfmoonn @caffeineandreveries @cryingpages @gato-dumbo @xicanacorpse @devilzliaison

A/N; I am alive! Thank you all for being so patient, life has been life-ing and I cannot say it's been enjoyable lmao. I hope this update is okay, please let know! I am also currently going through Our Own World and my other works editing everything! So there may be some changes, so please bare with me while everything is a bit messy. If you would like to be removed or added to my taglists please let me know <3

Being holed up in Jimin’s room had surprisingly been a nice refresher. The only person coming and going from the room had been Jimin, taking clothes to his roommates, bringing fresh clothing to you, and meals whenever they were ready. He spent nearly every second glued by your side, chatting away like he had known you his entire life. He had millions of questions, wanting to know every intimate detail about the life you lived before finding yourself stuck here, although he worded it much nicer. 

In turn, you asked Jimin a million and one questions. You asked about his life, what it was like living with your brother, did he have hobbies, and of course, questions regarding life as a hybrid. You hadn’t ever spent much time around normal animals despite the never-ending line of pets your parents bought home, and so obviously hybrids were a whole new ballgame. Jimin had been thrilled by your interest, answering every question in length and always making sure you understood everything. The hybrid had shown you so much patience and care, more than you had expected or ever even experienced before. It had been a shock and left you feeling embarrassed and ashamed of the way you had behaved around them all. 

Growing up, despite your parents' interest in hybrids, they never got any. Nobody you knew had hybrids— well obviously other than your brother but his ownership over them had been a surprise! You had very little knowledge of them, only what you had learned through the media, which even you should have known wasn’t the most reliable source at times. All your information, the knowledge you thought you had? Useless. You may as well have watched Fox News all your life. Thankfully, Jimin didn’t seem to mind your lack of knowledge, in fact, he seemed thrilled to share everything he could with you. The two of you had started to form a surprising bond. 

For the first time in almost a week, you woke up alone. It had left you feeling strangely disappointed. The first night you had spent in Jimin’s shared bedroom, he had insisted you sleep in his bed, and you both had bickered for a ridiculous amount of time until you caved in. By the second day, he had rejoined you in his bed, being careful to keep his distance. It was sweet. By day four you were waking up to Jimin curled up around your body, his nose buried into your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin. Strangely enough, you weren’t bothered by the skinship. Your skin didn’t crawl at his touch, even the gentle brushes of his tail on your calf. It was almost comforting. Jimin had picked up on the change in attitude toward touch, slowly amping up his skinship. 

But it was strange to wake up to the disturbed routine you had so briefly experienced. Usually, you woke up before Jimin, the fox hybrid stayed up later than you and slept in longer. Today was different. Deciding to shrug it off, you rolled across the bed blindly reaching for your phone on the bedside table. The blinding white light from your screen caused the device to slip from your hands for a moment before you recovered from temporary blindness. Speedily scrolling through the notifications on your lock screen, your thumb froze upon noticing a familiar name. 

HY- U free today? Was thinking about going on a walk… u interested? 

Staring at the words, rereading, and then reading one more time, you threw the blanket off your body, throwing yourself upward. You still texted the man from the grocery store, Hanyoon, nearly every day, unfortunately, you hadn't run into him again since your first meeting. Covid’s lockdown rules had thankfully finally started to ease up. Whilst masks and international travel still hadn’t gone back to normal, you were allowed to roam the streets again... Exercising for a few hours outside of the house in the neighborhood you lived in was encouraged. Getting out of the house was just what you needed, even if it was with a man you had only met once. Keeping yourself cooped up like this was crazy, of course, it was. Jay wasn’t able to return anytime soon, and just because Hoseok and Jeongguk had scared the shit out of you, it didn’t mean you should close yourself off to the others who hadn’t done anything wrong. A day out was exactly what you needed to clear your head. 

Y/N- sounds great! Whenever you're ready :)) 

Dropping your phone back onto the mattress, you stumbled out of the bed, ankle snagged in one of many blankets that Jimin kept all over the bed. You made a quick mental note to fix his bedding when you got back. Digging through the pile of your dirty clothes that had been shoved behind the door, you found a decent enough outfit. Sure, you could go to your bedroom but the fewer stops the better. If you could avoid alerting the whole house of your departure that would be ideal. 

You were thankful for the one sink in the ensuite that still worked, getting to quick work brushing your teeth. Unfortunately, your hair was disgustingly greasy, but with no time to shower you would just have to steal some of Jimin’s dry shampoo and pray it could fix the cesspool on top of your head. Not bothering with makeup, knowing your unfit ass would sweat it all off, you were quick to ditch your glasses in favor of contacts. Deeming yourself presentable for the public, you quickly grabbed your phone from Jimin’s mattress. Hayoon’s contact alerted you to his arrival at the park nearby. 

To your complete surprise, you managed to make it out of the house without a single soul making an appearance. If you didn’t know any better, you would have assumed the house was empty. Knowing better than to test your luck, you had been quick to slip into your sneakers by the door, taking off down the driveway. Despite enjoying Jimin’s companionship the past week, you craved normal human interaction. Jimin was a sweetheart, but there was something that lingered under that sweetness that often left you feeling uneasy. It could just be you overthinking, subconsciously comparing him to his two packmates that had spooked you, but you weren’t going to completely ignore your gut. You had learned to be better than that. 

“Y/n!” 

A grin pulled at your lips as you locked eyes with Hayoon, your legs picking up pace to meet him faster. Hayoon looked good, dressed in loose black shorts and a baggy white tee. His hair which had been completely buzzed off the first, and last, time you saw him had started to regrow. Thick dark hair had started to flower across his head, making you wonder what kind of style his hair had been before it had been shaved off. 

“Hayoon, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting?” You asked sheepishly, keeping a little space between your bodies. 

He waved you off, smiling down at you. You forgot how tall he was, definitely an inch or so taller than Namjoon. You weren’t short, in fact, you were considered tall for a woman in your country, but Hajoon made you feel tiny, something you couldn't say happens often. 

“Nah, I haven’t been here long.” He assured you, gently bumping into your shoulder as he started to walk along the dusty path. The crunch under his shoes finally jolted your legs into gear after what seemed to be a moment of short-circuiting when the skin of his arm brushed against yours. 

The sun felt amazing on your skin, something you never thought you could say. Even the gentle breeze didn’t bother you. It was still early, the only other people in the park being an elderly couple walking with their arms linked up ahead. Despite how warm it already was, the couple were dressed in thick coats as if braving the city's harsh winter. Watching the way they interacted so freely with one another warmed your heart, they seemed so in love. Growing old didn’t seem as scary if you did it with someone you loved. 

Hayoon must’ve been watching the same scene as you, a soft smile on his lips as he admired the affectionate couple ahead. A comfortable silence had settled over the two of you rather quickly, and you were grateful. Something you liked about Hayoon was how easy it was with him. There were no forced conversations, no bitterness over slow responses. There were many similarities between the two of you, making it almost effortless to keep any conversation going. Any differences were discussed, debated, and settled. Those differences weren’t drastic, nothing that could end the bond that slowly was forming. 

A sound of disgust broke your thoughts, Hayoon’s eyes were still looking toward the elderly couple, only now a third person had appeared. A short woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties had been walking in front of them and now separated off to the left with her arm linked with the elderly woman, the two admiring a shrub of flowers. The short woman had pretty honey-colored hair with ears of the same color poking out– a hybrid. 

Hayoon looked down at you, an apologetic look on his face. His tanned cheeks had a cute pink flush to them. “Sorry– I didn’t mean to.” He stumbled over his words, his cheeks going brighter in embarrassment. 

“Not a fan?” You laughed, glancing back toward the elderly woman and her hybrid. 

Hajoon snorted, shaking his head. He kept quiet as you approached the trio, waiting until a good distance had been made before he answered your question. 

“It’s just.. Weird?” He sighed, his thick brows pulling together. “It’s not natural.” 

Humming, you found yourself agreeing. Hybrids were a strange concept, you found it incredibly difficult to understand why anyone would go out of their way to warp genetics in such a way. What was the real reason for creating such a mess of DNA? Only to ban them twenty years later? What was the reason for banning them? They were a hot commodity, every facility selling out within weeks, the waitlists being years long. The money the government had made from their creation had been staggering, and yet twenty years later facilities were shut down and forced to stop producing. The last few generations were sterilized, and the older generations were also encouraged to be as well. The government was trying to completely erase their creations without an explanation. As anyone could imagine, it didn’t go down well with the public. Hybrid trading has become a huge issue over the last few years, with huge rings being found and shut down every few days. 

What about Jay’s hybrids? When exactly did he get them, and where from? They were all born before the ban, that much you knew. So maybe he got them legally? Did he follow the government's advice, suggesting (demanding) to have all hybrids sterilized? Jay seemed to want to hide the fact that he owned hybrids, was it because of how many he had? Maybe there was a limit on how many hybrids a person could own that you weren't aware of. Seeing the elderly couple out with their cat hybrid, not a concern in the air, had you confused as to why the seven back home were kept under lock and key. Was it because of their breeds? They were all exotic animals, the laws might apply differently to different breeds. After the ban on hybrids, many laws shifted, and still to this day they are constantly changing, it is difficult to keep up to date. 

The topic of hybrids and Hayoon’s opinions on them piqued your interest. You were still clueless on the topic, no matter how much research you did into it you still felt uneducated on it all. Hayoon had been an excellent source of information, leaving you almost speechless on how much he seemed to know about them. If there was one thing you admired about the man, it was how educated he was on all topics. He always made sure to have himself as well informed as possible before making an opinion, he was a pool of knowledge. He never looked down on you for things you didn't know or understand and explained things as many times as you needed. It reminded you of Namjoon. 

A knot of anxiety pulled at your stomach. Had they noticed you were gone? Were they upset... Maybe you should have told someone, or at least left a note. You know Namjoon has a shitty old phone that's shared amongst the group, but you never bothered to get the number for it. You hadn’t seen a need for it, the only time you had spent away from any of them was to go get groceries. A part of you also just didn’t want them to have your number, the thought of them being able to contact you in the only time you had alone was distressing. Quickly shrugging off your concerns, you turn your attention back to Hayoon who had thankfully not noticed you spacing out. 

They’re fine, they’re grown men, and they can live without you for a few hours. 

“She’s gone!” 

Namjoon slammed his laptop shut, glaring up at Jimin for bursting into the bedroom he was temporarily residing in until Y/N was ready to go back to her own. 

“Have you forgotten how to knock?” He snapped, earning a frustrated hiss from the young fox. 

“Are you deaf!” He shot back, tugging at his hair. “Y/N is gone, I can’t find her anywhere!” 

Jimin’s panic was already distressing enough, the emotion suffocating the room the longer he stood in the doorway, but the anxiety that flooded his nerves was enough for him to feel bile rising in his throat. Namjoon had heard one less heartbeat when he woke up late this morning, but he had pinned it down to either one of the boys had gone walking at the back of the property, somewhere too far for his hearing to pick up, or Jeongguk was sleeping so deeply that his heart had slowed to almost nothing again– a common occurrence when the snake hybrid had a late night. The possibility of it being your heartbeat missing hadn’t even crossed Namjoon’s mind. You had been locked away in his bedroom for some time now, nobody but Jimin had seen you, and nobody would have suspected you leaving. The smell of your fear still lingered upstairs, Jimin would herd everyone downstairs before you would agree to go use the upstairs bathroom to shower. Going as far as making Jimin stand guard on the door until you were done. When did you lose that anxiety? 

Ripping the blanket, Namjoon’s laptop hit the floor as he jumped off the mattress. “Where have you looked?” 

“I’ve been through the yard, the kitchen, our bedroom, and all of downstairs. I haven’t checked Jeongguks room, I was on my way–” 

Namjoon was speeding down the hallway before the fox could finish his sentence. This was a new kind of fear he had never experienced before, his throat closing up and his eyes burning. His lungs were on fire, struggling to keep up with how quickly he was breathing. At the end of the hall was Taehyung and Jeongguk’s room, the door shut and only the sound of one heartbeat fluttering peacefully. Had you found your way into their room? Maybe you had gotten lost and ended up in the wrong bedroom? These things happen all the time! He’ll open the door and you’ll be curled up in someone's bed, and the crisis will be averted. 

With the force that Namjoon pushed open the door, he almost fell flat on his face. Stumbling into the room, his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, squinting as he took in two groggy men peeking out from their blankets. 

“Hyung, what the fuck?” Jeongguk groaned, his heart going from nearly stopped to racing. 

“Well, is she there?” Jimin huffed, shoving past his leader to look for himself. To his great disappointment, the room held no signs of you ever being there. Cursing, Jimin shoved past Namjoon, his usual gratefulness replaced with clumsy heaviness. 

“What’s his problem?” Taehyung whined, pulling his blanket over his head to shield himself from the brightness of the hall. 

Namjoon, for the first time in his life, couldn’t find words. You’re not here. There are seven heartbeats, not eight. The knot in his stomach tightened, the bile in his stomach rising higher and higher. When did you leave, how long has it been? Your car is still here, you couldn’t have gotten far. How didn’t anyone hear you leave? A house full of hybrids and not a single one heard you get up and out the front door? 

Impossible. 

“Did you hear anyone leave the house this morning?” He asked as calmly as possible, the shake in his voice far more noticeable than he would have liked. Both grunted out no’s, begging the elder male to close the door. 

It was Jeongguk, finally ripping the blanket off his head ready to start a war over the damned door still being open, that noticed Namjoon’s pale sweaty skin. He looked like he was about to projectile vomit. Frowning, the snake hybrid slinked out of bed and heaved his tired body toward his sickly leader. Pressing the back of his cold hand against Namjoon’s forehead, he sighed in relief. He wasn’t running abnormally hot, so it wasn’t a fever or some kind of sickness. Even with his less advanced hearing, he could still hear the erratic beating of his hyung’s heart. 

“Joonie, you okay?” He murmured, his hand cupping the back of the man's neck as he tried to get closer to assess him better. “You don’t look so good…” 

The concern in Jeongguk’s usually smug tone had Taehyung flying into a sitting position, his hair standing in every possible direction. His puffy eyes zeroed in on his pack leader, his brows pulling together in concern. 

“Is he sick?” 

Jeongguk shook his head, keeping his eyes on the wolf hybrid. Gently squeezing at the muscle in his neck, the snake hybrid was starting to get antsy. “Hey, come on. Talk to us, we can’t help if you don’t tell us what's wrong.” He cooed, the money hybrid making a sound of agreement from behind. 

Namjoon’s tongue pressed against his cheek, his eyes going glassy. He couldn’t get his tongue to work, he couldn’t get himself to say the words his packmates needed to hear. How could he admit to everyone that he had lost you? He could hear Jimin tearing through Jay’s room downstairs, Hoseok and Seokjin hot on his heels trying to calm the younger man down. They didn’t know what was happening either, nobody else had figured it out. 

“We can’t find Y/n.” 

[copperbadge]

RE watching thoughts: I’m not 100% sure, but it might be that the whole “I am not my thoughts” is about engaging and identifying with your metacognition MORE than your initial thoughts. Because I get where you’re coming from - what is a consciousness but a collection of thoughts and feelings? But you can also have thoughts about your own thoughts that are more useful for dealing with whatever situation you’re in, I guess. (Random aside - every time I start thinking about thinking about thinking my brain inevitably starts thinking about Tiffany Aching and The Wee Free Men.)

I really should have replied to this ask sooner because it's going to seem like a non-sequitur now (this was sent much earlier in March) but I'm kind of glad I didn't, because I've been chatting with people about this and I think I understand more why there's an emphasis in some therapies on the idea that we are not our thoughts.

(I uh, haven't read the Tiffany books so I'm not much help there.)

I am coming to understand that many, perhaps most, people judge themselves, comprehensively and harshly, based on their thoughts. Perhaps it's just a lot of people who struggle with mental health, but given the commonality of the sentiment I don't know if I'd confine it that tightly; generally it appears that people cannot conceive of themselves as anything other than a binary of good or bad. So many people I've talked to about this portion of DBT, the watching-questioning-identifying thoughts portion, say that it helps to snap them out of a spiral of "I'm a horrible person, I deserve to suffer/die, I can never be redeemed" after they've failed at something, or had a negative thought, or reacted poorly to an unexpected event.

That is not something I've ever experienced. I mean, jokingly maybe, but not in a real, internal sense.

And that's not to brag -- I'm not saying I think I'm a good person, either, because I don't think I'm a good person. I don't conceive of myself in terms of good or bad. I never cuddle my cats and think "I'm such a good cat dad" or forget to feed them and think "I should die now." I have a perpetual morally neutral attitude towards my own existence; my thoughts and actions might trend me one direction or another but I'm aware of the temporary nature of that. If I fuck up I'll worry about who I might have hurt or whether I'll be fired or what's going to happen as a consequence, if I am polite to someone who didn't deserve it I know I was acting kindly in the moment, but I don't make an inherent moral judgement of myself based on that. And it seems like the vast majority of people do. Which you would think would make me feel pretty good about myself, but honestly...I don't know.

A lot of people I know who have ADHD or are Autistic have talked about seeing themselves as other, as alien -- like that one webcomic artist who draws themself with little antennae to indicate they're strange and different. I've always understood why one might do that, but I never felt that way myself, before or after the diagnosis. After all, let's remember, I was The Normal* Child of my siblings, and if I was The Normal One before the diagnosis, why wouldn't I remain Mostly Normal after?

* As ever, I'm using "normal" as a cultural term, to indicate what we think of as mainstream, not because normal is a thing that really exists.

My life has been relatively solitary -- I have friends and family and I love them but I'm rarely part of a large group, I don't spend a lot of time out in public interacting with people, I'm not a big socializer. Before the Adderall, I really couldn't be, I took too much psychic damage from interpersonal interaction, so I chose those very carefully. And now my DBT class has been a rare moment when I'm encountering contradictions to a lot of my assumptions about the way human beings in our society interact, react, and behave. I just...don't fit that mold very well. I think of it as having crossed wiring, not in the sense that I'm faulty but just in the sense that I'm very, very different. Not Normal. It's not exactly a bad feeling but it's certainly not a great one, internalizing the sensation of alienness.

DBT is proving to be a mixed bag but not in the way I or my therapist intended -- it seems to be either things I was already instinctively doing or things that simply do not apply to me. In one way it's disappointing because it means there isn't much help to be had (we're a little over halfway through the course and I keep thinking "Maybe next class will be useful") but on the other hand it's validating that so much of what I came up with myself as unconscious coping mechanisms is literally what I would have been told to do anyway.

Sometimes it's a combination of both, though, which really blows. I guess most people, if they reframe another person's actions, actually find emotional relief in that, and I don't. An example from the class is that if someone is rude to you, you can consider how they might be having a hard day, and be polite in return; that's great, in terms of defusing a situation, and it's something I do a fair amount of. But apparently it's also something that for most people results in feeling less awful about the interaction, and that's not the case for me. Which is why so much of DBT feels to me like lying to oneself. It's not lying for most people.

So, yeah. I'm going to finish out the course and keep trying things with the therapist but I suspect given everything, I might already be at "as good as it gets" in terms of emotional work. Which isn't the worst thing in the world, and there is still the option to try medication that could help, but I think there will come a point where I'm going to have to deal with the fallout of just how different I am, and how that has impacted my life. Might end up a good thing; something I've really been trying to resolve is unhappiness over being unpartnered and highly likely to remain that way, and at least if this provides a better understanding of why, then perhaps I can process that and put it to rest in a way I've been trying to do but not succeeding well at.

So, we'll see. But I find it both fascinating and kind of horrifying how many people can believe they are irredeemably bad, even if the belief is only temporary, simply because they had an uncharitable thought or impulse. It makes me somewhat grateful for the crossed wires, at least.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello! In one of your previous posts you mentioned the game purposefully hiding the faces of figures who play a significant role in each OB boy’s trauma. So do you think this applies to Idia's parents as well (they have masks to cover their faces and they don't even have separate sprites but the default STYX members' sprites)?

[Referencing this post!]

There’s a lot to unpack here, so I’ve put my thoughts under the cut!! I hope you enjoy reading ^^

***Note: Many spoilers for books 6 + 7 of the main story!!***

I definitely wouldn’t put the Shroud parents into the same category as like… Mrs. Rosehearts, who was basically the origin from which other issues stemmed. The Shroud parents themselves were not the “root cause” for Idia’s trauma, the “cause” was Ortho’s death and Idia feeling immense guilt and shame about it. Not once has Idia blamed his parents or implicated them for this misfortune (not counting the Shroud curse, which is really the fault of their ancestors and not the Shroud parents in particular). I guess where some fans feel there is an issue is the implication that the Shroud parents did not seem to be there emotionally for Idia or offer him healthy coping mechanisms for his issue??

Before I give my thoughts on why the Shroud mom and dad obscure their faces (and how this does or doesn’t fit into the “purposefully obscuring the faces of those significantly related to each boy’s trauma), allow me to offer a different perspective to those who find fault with Idia’s parents. Firstly, consider that we know very little about the period of time between Ortho’s death leading up to Idia enrolling at NRC. Even then, most of what we know of this period comes directly from Idia, which provides us with a biased and limited perspective. Idia views most things negatively and does not seem close with his parents, so it makes sense that he would describe them in an inflated and unflattering way.

I think where a lot of the initial thoughts about the Shrouds being bad parents (a sentiment I myself had prior to their book 7 reveals) predominantly comes from them not being present in Idia’s post-OB flashback and Idia stating that his parents care more about results than their son’s feelings. We also learn from later that the family used to go out a lot as a group, but those trips stopped after Ortho died. These heavily imply his mom and dad were not there for Idia after the… incident. But let’s back up for a moment; where does the flashback pick up after Ortho died? Over two years later. That’s a large gap to not be knowing what the Shroud parents were doing during it. The STYX employees present also state that Idia has “completely withdrawn” ever losing Ortho, and this could be inclusive of the parents. So… we don’t really know for sure if, during this expanse of 2 years, the parents never made an effort to reach out. Even if they did, it seems highly likely that Idia rejected them. It’s possible that the flashback didn’t feature the parents because Idia largely shut them out of his life or did not deem them to be deeply linked to his trauma; he laments only the general family curse and the loss of Ortho, he does not direct hate at either parent in the flashback.

What we also have to remember is that it wasn’t just Idia that lost a brother that terrible day. Mr. and Mrs. Shroud their sons; Ortho literally (he passed away) and Idia figuratively (as he started to emotionally distance and isolate himself). That’s tough for any parent, but the world cannot stop for them just because they experienced a tragedy. Unfortunately, life moves on and the Shroud parents are in such important positions that they need to work. This is especially true of Mr. Shroud, who oversees all of STYX operations and is burdened with a curse that demands he constantly be surrounded by blot or else the curse will start to chip away at his own magical energy. They need to do this while juggling their own sadness over losing Ortho. There’s only so much time the Shroud parents can try to comfort Idia when they have work, their own emotional trauma to work through, and their surviving son who doesn’t seem to welcome any efforts they put in. You could even theorize that the Shroud parents (particularly the dad) threw themselves into work to try and bury their own feelings. The Shrouds do obviously have a responsibility to Idia as his parents, but parenting is not so easy of a task. They’re still individuals who have other things to balance alongside parenting and they realistically cannot dedicate 100% of their time or energy to Idia.

Now, please do not misunderstand me. I don’t want my words to come off like I’m pointing fingers or victim blaming. What I’m trying to say here is that it isn’t Idia OR his parents’ fault that they grew distant; to me, both parties were busy dealing with their own complicated emotions and their coping methods didn’t seem to align (because different people can have very different trauma responses) and ended up hurting Idia even more in the end. Making mistakes is human and normal. We've seen other characters also falter with their past actions and what they were or were not able to do at the time (Trey not standing up for or to Riddle, Lilia acting callously towards his children, etc.). This by itself is NOT necessarily a bad thing or something to hate on them for; I'd argue that what matters much more is how those matters were dealt with and what the results of those efforts have been. In the case of the Shroud parents, they do not appear to have bad blood with Idia or Ortho in modern day and the game has really done little to indicate that the Shroud parents should be viewed in a morally grey light. They've welcomed Ortho as a part of their family, openly refer to him like a third son, supported his official enrollment as a NRC student, and worry about his safety when Ortho tries to rush headfirst into danger. As for Idia, though he sometimes grumbles about his parents and tends to their actions as coming from a place of not caring, his peers have pointed out that being scolded is proof of his parents’ love for him. For example, Idia complains that his parents have sent him back to NRC so they don’t have to deal with a “nuisance” like him. He also says that there has been public interest in STYX and demand for accountability, which has specifically put his father under fire. We could view the situation like Idia has—that has parents wanted him out of their way. However, as Rook so tactfully pointed out, Idia’s parents must hold deep affection for him. This implies that the Shrouds chose to send Idia back to school for his own safety, and Mr. Shroud was willing to take the full brunt of the heat himself rather than let people suspect his son, whom Mr. Shroud must know is socially anxious. Idia has plenty of other stories about how his parents punished him for dangerous tech modifications he made, and how they’d take away his gadgets as punishment. Again, because they care about their children and their safety, even if they (especially his more stern and work-oriented father) may not show it in conventionally affectionate ways. Idia has pessimistic views that color his parents as annoying and isn’t as close to them anymore as he used to be, but this doesn’t condemn the Shrouds to the eternal hall of bad parents who never ever learn or refuse to change their ways.

Now, about their outfits! Mr. and Mrs. Shroud wear the same robes as NPC staff at STYX. This much is true!! … But I don’t think there is any deep meaning in this, seeing as Idia too wears the same robes?? I believe this is just the default work uniform for STYX researchers, regardless of the position they’re in (so this uniform detail does not technically contribute to the “intentional obscuring” of the Shroud parents’ designs).

We don’t really know what the reason for them wearing the helmets is, and nor is there very strong implication as to why. There have been plenty of fan speculations and theories including but not limited to: special personal protective equipment, magical enhancement gear, general Shroud family shyness, cost/time saving measure for the devs, etc. I can’t really say one way or another which is the “most correct” idea 🤷‍♂️

What I will say is that I do not think there was an intent to hide the Shroud parents’ faces for the same reasons that Mrs. Rosehearts’ face was. Why? Well:

Their faces are not censored in the same way as Mrs. Rosehearts was in the manga; she has her face shaded out by black, but we can still see the details of her outfit. The Shrouds, meanwhile are making the conscious decision to wear helmets—and highly personalized helmets at that. (Mr. Shroud’s helmet is different in colors and design than Mrs. Shroud’s.) This indicates individuality and wanting to make the Shroud parents stand out, not to homogenize them as anonymous black blots at which the OB boys’ trauma finds its roots.

To build off of my previous point, the comment about purposefully obscuring the face of the "source" of Riddle's trauma was ONLY said in the context of the manga, NOT the game. Therefore, in-game assets cannot be considered reliable for "the Shroud parents wear helmets to hise their faces; hidden faces = source of an OB boy's trauma" theory. If you doubt this, then please refer to each boy’s post-OB flashback. In the game, it is not just the sources of their trauma that are blotted out in black, it is literally every character (even the ones with positive memories or experiences associated with them). This includes Trey and Che’nya, whose younger form faces ARE openly depicted in the manga. So again, the “obscuring the faces of characters who are major trauma sources” thing only applies to the manga and the game does not follow this.

The Shrouds are largely depicted in a positive light. The negative aspects of them tend to come from Idia, who tends to have a pessimistic slant to his perception of the world and other people.

Idia’s personal accounts and even his post-OB flashbacks do not attribute or credit his parents for any aspect of his trauma. Much of the guilt and shame he feels is self-imposed and directed at himself.

As I’ve pointed out earlier in this post, we are assuming a lot of things about what happened in Idia’s life following Ortho’s death. The downside to this is that it doesn’t grant the parents any grace and takes everything we see (as little as it is) at face value without considering alternatives or how the parents could have changed in recent years.

Again, we don’t have a lot of information on why the Shrouds wear the helmets. I don’t think it’s wise to assume it’s for a bad reason when most of the canon has indicated we are supposed to “like” the Shrouds (or, at the very least, they’re supposed to be “redeemed” compared to the initially negative comment we were given of them).

In conclusion: no, I don’t think Idia’s parents are wearing their helmets because they’re associated with their son’s trauma. To me, the helmets feel like something they must wear for some in-universe purpose such as additional protection or to indicate their role within the organization.

[fruit-sy]

My personal thoughts on the major themes of Penacony 2.2

I was gonna make an entire Penacony retrospective and try to really dig into the whole story, but 1. I'm not that smart and 2. It has hours of footage and I don't think I'm strong enough to parse through that and form my own conclusions

so, just the things that really jumped at me and made me pause to think. I may do surface level research to make sure if a character really said this or that, but other than that, these are my thoughts fresh after finishing the quest.

Ok, to start off: Sunday and the road to hell

He's... god, he's such a complicated and interesting little man.

He is what I would call the embodiment of the saying "the road to hell is paved with good intentions". On the surface, he is trying to make a universe which is authoritarian-like. If you peel it back a bit more, he intends to make the universe a better place. But at the heart of it, I think he's just someone who is scared of pain.

There are 3 sequences I want to break down:

The Robin-Sunday exchanges before they meet Gopher Wood

This exchange has a lot of Sunday misdirecting Robin's points, but she calls out most of it.

Robin starts off with observing the dreamscape and concludes that dreamchasers shouldn't use penacony as a means of escaping entirely from reality. Because they won't overcome their demons. She asks if this can really count as "living"

Sunday at first seems to agree that things are not the way it should be. But there's a bit of misdirection on his part. He responded to robin's question by connecting "people using penacony as an escape" with (his opinion on) the way people currently "live" (which is what he was agreeing to in "things are not the way it should be"). He will then frame the narrative to show that people completely escaping through dreams is a good thing, and then will swerve to say how the "strong" should determine the future of the "weak".

Robin understandably does not agree with Sunday's narrative, because she believes that by staying in the dream (or MAKING dreamchasers stay in the dream), it will lock dreamchasers in stasis forever, making them unable to choose how to go about their future and overcome their difficulties. She then criticizes that no one has the right to determine whether a human deserves to live for a future or not.

There's a clear difference in ideology here. Sunday's devotion to Order is so strong because the experiences in his life had led him to believe that forcing his will on other people is the way to go. His ideology is rigid, cold, impersonal and is applied to all uniformly.

Robin firmly believes in choice and refuses to let an authority govern the way people should live. She wishes to unite people through her singing, and to inspire people to live. Her ideology is more personal, uniquely applied, and is idealistic and romantic.

2. The quiz sequence

An interesting thing about this sequence is the first two questions have quite reasonable answers. At the start of it, at least.

The first question is about nurturing and letting go. I think why most of the girls agreed to put the bird in a cage is because to do something great, you must first be equipped to survive. Maslow's bottom hierarchy, if you will. i think Sunday realizes this too, and puts it into some of his points to justify making decisions on behalf of other people.

"We must teach the weak how to live a happy life"

Though, the problem is that he twists this point so much and wants to force this on everyone. This is seen when he puts everyone on Penacony in Ena's dream. This disregard for other people's input kinda reflects how he sees the bird, in a way. The bird is something below Sunday, it cannot object his actions because it is merely just a weak, injured little thing.

It is here that he experienced pain of futility. The pain of putting in effort into something but have it crash and burn in the end no matter what. Afraid of that pain, he wonders if birds are meant for the sky if some fall before they can reach it. He has a very black and white mindset about this.

Either all birds fly and deserve the sky, or if even one bird falls then no birds deserve the sky.

The second question is about a person who is being pursued by the bloodhounds. Sunday is in a position of power, and has the influence to pardon the man. As a result, the man got away, forgot about his children, and hurt the people working under him in penacony.

Though, it's worth to mention that I think it's also partly the fault of the Oak family, who didn't try to discourage dreamchasers trying to find answers or solve their personal problems in Penacony. But I believe that's intentional.

Anyways, the crux of the question, if Sunday had known the outcome of his decision from the start and he had the foresight to think that Penacony isn't a place to search for answers, I actually think upholding the law would be the best course of action here.

I think this is where he developped his fear of... consequence. Because humanity has free will, they may use his pardon from the law to do awful things. This might be why he values upholding the law so much.

Another thing to note, I think Sunday hasn't gone off too far into the deep end at this point of his life. In a previous sequence with the same scenario, he actually questions what devotion to the Order would be like, and his doubts on its way of life.

"Who can judge the strong when their power hides their crimes?"

"Who can vouch for the weak when they will pay any price to survive?"

"Who can comfort the purest souls when even they get led astray?"

It's important to note that Sunday is in a position of power and emphasizes knowing the outcome of the first two questions.

The third question is the only question where he and the other party were of near equal standing. It's where he still hasn't made a decision, and which the outcome has not yet been decided.

Sunday cares about Robin's input and feelings. He cares so much he doesn't have it in him to force her to stay for the Order.

I think this is the crack in his belief of the Order. Because he cannot stop her from trying to fly. Because he cannot apply his law indiscriminately. Because it's Robin. His sister.

He has not made a choice, and Robin has not met her end yet like he's feared.

But he's so afraid of the pain of losing her. He's so afraid it haunts him in his nightmares.

After presenting the quiz, he essentially asks the main question of penacony: "Why does life slumber?"

He answers, "Because we are afraid to awaken from our dreams."

Interestingly, this is identical to Firefly's conclusion in 2.0. The difference is, Sunday thinks his answer is universal and will force his solution on everyone, while Firefly's is just her own personal answer.

Firefly asks what the price for Sunday's paradise is, and that made me stand up and point at the screen in agreement. Because what Sunday's aiming for is an authoritarian universe.

When an authority reigns supreme that it forces its will onto unwilling citizens, all in the name of the ideal society. That's a dystopia.

As Sunday said before, who will keep the authority in check? Who can ensure that the authority will not abuse their power?

That's what's so dangerous about an authoritarian government. You can't take the risk when it comes to this. You can't just give the power to one person, no matter how righteous or nice they seem. Because like the saying goes, give them an inch and they will take a mile. You cannot afford to cross the line, because when you do, who knows how far they'll take it.

Sunday clearly sees Firefly as someone weak, kind of akin to the bird in his childhood who needs his "saving". But Firefly does not appreciate someone deciding on her behalf whether she's weak or needs saving.

3. Ode to Order

I think it's important to note Sunday really frames Ode to Order in this angelic and holy way. Hell, the music even reflects this with a more bright and heavenly choir.

"Requiem aeternam" is a prayer for souls to reach heaven, eternal rest.

(A bit of a tangent, but when I saw this in the game I SHIVERED so hard. This is such creative story telling aughh- Like, using previously established game mechanics and twisting them to become something horrifying is SO COOL. What a delightfully terrifying way to illustrate what Sunday aims to achieve.)

This illustrates Sunday's paradise as a place where everyone is forcefully "tuned" to become a certain way forever. To be manipulated with Ena's strings without their consent like puppets into a picture perfect scene.

Though, I was confused why Sunday framed this ideal society as people abandoning the need for an authority, when it was something he was pushing so hard in previous sequences.

But my interpretation is that he will spread this message, of everyone being of equal standing, but leave himself as the true leader that will stay awake to ensure everyone else is blissfully asleep.

This really ties everything together for me. Sunday is someone so self righteous but self sacrificial that he's willing to put himself high in the sky, and be aware that he will be completely alone up there.

He is afraid of pain, and will do everything to avoid experiencing it ever again.

After experiencing pain, we shouldn't be scared of it. Sure, we can escape a bit to get some reprieve, but we must tend to our wounds so that we may not only survive, but live.

That brings me to the second major theme of Penacony : Nihility, and the feeling of futility

I will be breaking down Acheron's character first.

Self annihilators/Nihility emanators are so interesting, they are beings that slowly are losing themselves thanks to their own powers of Nihility. A predetermined end.

Living for so long + Nihility actively chipping away at her being is sure to make her memories blend in together. This is why Acheron values emotions so much, because it is one of the only anchors she can use to avoid succumbing to Nihility.

Her flashbacks with Tiernan are beautifully melancholic. Their exchange starts with Acheron pondering if the task Tiernan is doing is pointless, and if he should even bother? And if the end is expected, then should they change it? It's a bit muddy, but I interpret that here, Acheron is still searching for the meaning of Nihility, and Tiernan is the person who guides the souls to the other side of the river at that time.

In the next scene, Acheron states she's holding on to whatever she can to avoid succumbing to Nihility. She had journeyed with a Nameless girl once, who wanted to explore IX. But as expected, the girl ceased to be, but left with a smile. Acheron is scared of forgetting her memories with that girl.

The only other anchor she knows is of her promise to bring more warmth to other people, to a more hopeful future where she will cut off Nihility. She associates that promise and hope with the color of red.

The next scene mirrors the first scene. I interpret it as Acheron having found the meaning of Nihility, sorta embracing it, and is now guiding others to advance towards and depart the Nihility, with Tiernan having forgotten himself.

When Tiernan asks if what Acheron does is pointless, she gave the same answer Tiernan gave her, because some things have to be done. And she's come this far without needing a point, so why should she search for one?

"May death be the end of your boundless dream... guiding you back to the waking world."

I still cannot decipher the meaning of this statement completely. As far as I know, it's said 2 times. The first is after Firefly "died", and the second is in the above exchange with Tiernan.

In Firefly's case, perhaps the "death" refers to waking up from Ena's dream at the beginning, "boundless dream" is Ena's dream, and "the waking world" is Dreamflux Reef/reality.

In Tiernan's case, I can assume the "boundless dream" is his eternal unrest, as he's still lingering in the dead sea, not yet ready to enter the abyss of Nihility. The "death" may be referring to him entering the abyss, while the "waking world" is existence, as he finds his way out of Nihility.

To bring this all together, I think Acheron in this case represents and goes against Nihility. She presents Nihility as something inevitable and predetermined (death), something that awaits everyone, and something that everyone will have to embrace at some point of their lifespan (boundless dream).

But she also believes that one shouldn't wholeheartedly embrace Nihility. in the face of Nihility, we must do everything to take in the world around us and remember what makes us exist. She believes there is a way out of Nihility, and that is existence. (waking world)

In the face of futility, if everything really did have a predetermined end, I believe we should still try to make choices. Despite it being "pointless", I think that's what gives meaning to our existence. Otherwise, we risk succumbing to Nihility.

That's why when the trailblazer finally uttered their own choices, I felt shivers. One, because this shows the development of TB's character, and two because TB will do what they have to, they will never be content living in a dream, and they choose to continue in the face of "futility", despite the ending of their journey being predetermined.

In the face of futility, Sunday chooses to eliminate pain and choice out of the equation, only choosing to create a universe that's stuck in a mindless, blissful stasis. Because he is anticipating pain.

But sometimes, the anticipation is worse than the actual pain itself. He is also eliminating the element of choice, with the assumption that people will not be able to survive when they are facing futility.

But, Acheron's words really struck me.

In the face of futility, pain, and pressure humans may freeze in fear. But that innate survival instinct in humans might push them to fight and claw themselves out to save themselves. By removing the choice to fight for their lives, they won't have the choice to fight off Nihility.

To end this, I would like to go back to main question of Penacony

"Why does life slumber?"

And I think TB answers this beautifully.

"Because we will wake from our dreams."

Life slumbers to find reprieve from the harsh reality. But slumbering does not give us the solution to our problems, only recharging us to prepare for the waking world once more. And in the waking world, even if what we do is futile, we still have a choice in how we want to reach for the end.

[mae-i-scribble]

I'm doing a very slow reread of orv with some friends, but since I can't talk about my spoilerous rambles with them too much I have decided to make a post here to get my thoughts out. Up to chapter 25, I've been surprised by the amount of little hints we're already getting for larger plot points and the things that are recontextualized now that I'm looking with hindsight rather than experiencing it for the first time, which really speaks to how phenomenally written orv is on a fundamental level. By the time we get to the 3rd scenario, we've had Dokja mention his mother once, when he briefly worries over her safety. Then we get this line:

"I looked around at the people. The first scenario was original sin. Thus, none of the people here were innocent. That made it more disgusting. Those who trampled on someone else to survive, who couldn’t even bear responsibility for their own life."

Of course it's firstly talking about the lack of morality in this world, when faced with the truth that between the major and minor groups of Gumho station, one fact makes them equal: they are all murderers. The use of the phrase "the original sin" caught my eye because when looking at Dokja's life, murder is his original sin- the murder of his father. That is what sparks the events leading up to this point. It is the true original sin of this world. However, that being followed by "That made it more disgusting...who couldn't even bear responsibility for their own life," is rather hypocritical in that regard. We have no way of knowing exactly how much of that night Dokja remembers at this point of the story, so there are 2 ways to interpret this in regards to his father's murder. 1) Dokja does not remember that he murdered his father, but remembers that his mother had taken responsibility for her crime and served her sentence. In regards to here the people of the minor are far inferior because they cannot adapt the way Sookyung did to their crime. 2) Dokja does remember that he murdered his father, and this disgust is equally leveled at himself, because he knows his mother is innocent but that she took responsibility from Dokja. Thus Dokja of back then is just like these people, unable to take responsibility for his crime.

Then, later on, we see the text, and Dokja specifically, focus on this particular pairing in the minor group.

"The people started to move. All in all, they were people who had already killed. “M-Mother!” “Dayoung, come here! Do this! Just like what you did on the subway with Mother!” Children and mothers."

Then in Chapter 25 we have:

"I honestly admired that the mother and child survived the bloody fight. If she had that much strength, they might be able to survive without going with us."

The English translation doesn't exactly lend itself to identifying the gender of the child, and I am miserably monolingual so I'm not sure if the original text specifies Dayoung's gender, but for thematic reasons I'm choosing to imagine them as a mother/son paring. In that regard, Dokja choosing to notice them out of everyone else, when he's an extremely apathetic person in these early chapters who doesn't care much for those not directly related to him or the story/his survival is very notable. I can't help but think he sees himself in that, as both the son of a murderer and a murderer himself. It's also notable that when complimenting the pair, he only focuses on the mother's strength. Which like. The subconscious projection is so real. To Dokja the child didn't do anything it seems, it's only because of the mother's strength that they will be able to live on. I'm sure I will be back to add more info on this as I trudge through the novel because Dokja and Sookyung's relationship makes me mentally ill all the time but for now I shall simply lay down and ponder(tm)

[maruzzewrites]

magical touch.

Gale and Tav/Reader use the tadpole and the Weave to have a physical connection. n/sfw content!

It is a night like any other. Under the stars, spent at the campsite where everyone is either resting or taking the time to be friendly when the day is filled with perilous fights of all kinds.

Gale is by his tent, pacing back and forth with a book in hand as he recites another spell he is trying to memorize. So many variations to the same components, and each person may understand only a fraction of them. The way the Weave reacts to each individual is truly a sight to behold and he will never tire to sing its praises.

The only thing that can distract him from his studies is right about to come by. Gale notices them approaching, and he closes the book as soon as he is sure they are coming towards him. He smiles wide and welcoming as he finds a place for his tome and then goes to hold their face, kiss them tenderly in greeting.

The days are so packed with adventures, one may forget to cultivate interpersonal relationships.

He is about to offer to spend some time together that they raise a question that seems promising, “Do you think the tadpole along with the Weave can make us feel the same things, if we try?”

Many others would think the question odd or inopportune due to their circumstances, but Gale is on the same page about the inherent curiosity of learning more and more about magic and its applications. He ponders on the matter before giving an answer, “We can share thoughts and the Weave is powerful enough to blow away entire cities. It is my theory that we can assume magic could deepen the connection between two people infected by the same parasite.”

They nod, and they seem to contemplate the implications of that answer for a moment. They seem almost embarrassed, for some reason.

The cause of that, though, is soon evident when they pose another question, “Do you think we can use it for, you know… Physical matters?”

Gale, once again, ponders on the question. It doesn’t take much to understand what they are trying to imply with their wording, and he can understand the embarrassment linked to speaking of something so intimate where someone else could listen. Gale has to be honest and admit that, now that the idea is in his mind, he cannot really let it go without trying.

Sure, if the experiment would prove unfruitful it could be a bit disappointing, but the eventuality of experiencing something akin to magical intercourse with someone that is not the very essence of magic like it was with Mystra. To be able to overwrite even that small aspect of his past to compose another ode to his new, bright relationship is something that he cannot and isn’t intent on refusing.

“You’re thinking creatively, which is an important and laudable skill to have in life. I suppose we can say something like that could be possible if we enhance our connection,” he babbles and then stops. He thinks carefully before speaking again, “And I wouldn’t want to experience something similar with anyone else. If I can be so bold, would you like to accompany me on this stimulating attempt that could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the both of us?”

There is delight in their smile, a silent thanks for understanding immediately what they were talking about and the excitement that comes from a promise over a shared desire. Trying new things, together, is always an event that creates expectations and anticipation, despite one’s attempts to calm their own nerves, and Gale cannot help but share the trepidation that is bubbling up in his chest now.

He clears his throat before inviting them inside his tent, away from prying eyes. He knows their companions would never invade their privacy, but for good measure he does secure the closing of the tent. He hopes no one is too curious about their early disappearance, but he assumes everyone can logic the reason in their minds.

To light the space, now that they’re inside, he uses a simple light spell. Nothing he has to focus on as they attempt to create some sort of connection between their bodies through nothing but their own minds. He casts it on a stone that he finds on the ground, places it where they both can see, and then sits down in front of his partner.

They seems to follow every movement of his, and Gale can recognize something familiar in their gaze: want. It’s the same look he knows he has in his own eyes when he looks at them, but having it directed towards him is flattering and fills him with a warm sense of pride. There is always a sense of lacking within himself, there is always something to demonstrate and to reach, but to be looked at as someone to be reached and wanted is a sensation Gale will never tire of.

To be desired like a peer, how wonderful of a feeling it is. And to be proposed all sorts of new experiences not because it’s the only way things can be, but because there is a genuine desire to share and live through them with him. A feeling a man can hardly go without, once felt.

So they sit one in front of the other, silent for a while, looking at each other with longing.

Then, how he is used to, Gale speaks, “So. Do you want this to be a completely hands off experience or do you wish to hold hands throughout the whole ordeal?”

They seem surprised by the question, and think on it for a moment. Gale understands, because to act like they thought, they probably would have to not touch any part of each other’s body. However, sitting in silence in a small space without even letting their finger brush could be a bit weird at first. Gale supposes he can give his own opinion on the matter, “I would like the experiment to be as genuine as possible. We always have other occasions to hold hands.”

They blink. Then they nod, they say they can do that and sit up a bit straighter than before. It’s their turn to speak, “I’d say we close our eyes and concentrate, yes?”

“Yes. I will guide the Weave to flow between us, and you just follow my lead. Just do what comes naturally.” Gale clears his throat again, closes his eyes and raises his hands before opening just one eye to look mischievously towards his partner, “And no peeking while I do my somatic components.”

They giggle at the joke, a short and melodious sound that adds a touch of light to the whole situation. Gale observes as they also close their eyes, cross their legs in front of them, and then relaxes their body as the usual connection that comes from the tadpoles starts to be created between them.

Gale is a honest man, so he also closes his eyes and starts to motion in accordance with what the Weave asks him to do. His hands move through the air until he feels tendrils of its energy twist all around him, taking hold of his essence and slowly linking it with theirs.

He feels them shifting in front of him at the sensation, and the tadpoles seem to react to the new condition as well. They resonate and, enhanced by the power of magic, Gale doesn’t only share the same thoughts with them. Now, he feels it, he shares the same flesh and bones, the blood in their veins and the beat of their heart. He feels the sensation of the air on their skin, the hard earth under their legs, and the eagerness of a person who knows it worked.

Gale wonders only for a second what it’s like for them to share their body and feel his, before he has to bite his own lip to keep a moan in as something akin to a caress travels up his forearm, from wrist to elbow. It’s a languid movement that sends electricity up his back, not because he’s particularly sensitive in that area, but because everything feels amplified.

Every nerve under his skin reacts, and there isn’t even an actual hand on his body. He tries to do the same, to imagine his own hand reach down and push their body together by pulling his partner in, burying his head in their neck and inhaling their scent.

He feels it so clearly and vividly, so heightened by the connection that he fears he might lose his focus.

One step after the other, they touch and probe at their metaphysical bodies. And pure ecstasy pools up at the base of Gale’s stomach with each touch, with each movement he makes to brush against the shared body, and with the very knowledge that they are coming undone just like him if the little gasps and pants that arrive from time to time are any indication.

They are not even imagining anything complete, just tender and lovely touches that usually come before the event proper. Preparations, if one wants to call them that, and Gale cannot phantom what it would be like to abandon restraints completely and go into the depths of carnal (metaphysically speaking) desire.

But one step at a time. Perhaps next time they will venture further, but magic can be dangerous if one doesn’t learn with graduality and careful consideration of their own limits. Of course, Gale is a prodigy, but he wants to be sure his partner won’t be harmed by this kind of power.

So, for now, he lures them in with teasing touches as promises of more to come eventually. It’s a dance they make in unison, fingertips tracing each other bodies, an arm around the other’s chest, a kiss that barely touches the neck and leaves a wet trail behind. A lot of small gestures that accumulate into that heat that is building up in his belly, rising and rising like a fire ready to engulf him.

Suddenly, he feel the tension snap. A pleasing feeling, familiar, washes over him with a strength he never experienced before. It feels wonderful, to share such a feeling, and he hears from the other side of the tent a delightful noise of bliss in that voice he so dearly adores.

He cannot resist, he has to look. He opens his eyes just barely to look over. They are curling up on themselves, face flushed and sweat running down their forehead. They are still clothed, like he is, but there are the telltale signs of arousal that show just how much they enjoyed the little experiment.

Then suddenly, they also open their eyes and the connection wavers, then interrupts. They have a smile on their face, loose, lazy, and content. On their hand and knees, they approach Gale and throw their arms around his neck to push him down onto his back, playfully.

“Cheater. You said no peeking.”

They laugh together, and prepare for an actual night of passion with each other.

[mywitchcultblr]

Odd question for you:

So, the humor of Batstarion aside, do some people just elect to read their own biases into things involving Ascended Astarion. I recall being early in the fandom and assuming based on general commentary he just locked you in his basement and then molests you.

Then: when I actually ascended him and am looking forward to this whole fantasy I just get a goofy, camp vampire Lord who literally lets you live your life. Where do I get a refund? Where is my vampire daddy? lol

Am I alone in this???

No, you are not alone. I found a lot of people who have a strong negative opinion about endings for bg3 companion... How I should explain it in English? Playing the telephone game? Where they are only receiving bits of information and never really experienced the ending themselves or at least never really thought about it deeply because they already developed a bias from these fragmented information and encouragement from like-minded people who share the same bias. Thus, the truth and nuance became diluted amidst the buzz and discourse. For example, Gale endings

GALE HAS NO EVIL ENDING. YES, THE GOD ENDING IS NOT EVIL

People mistook his ambition and huge ego as evil? I think this rooted from "God Gale doesn't propose Tav/Durge unlike human gale, so God ending must have been bad"

"Gale become power hungry, so it must be the evil ending and a bad ending" and "Larian said power is bad"

Gale is a neutral guy, as a human he is neutral good and as a God he became a neutral aligned God. His ascension to Godhood doesn't turn him into Bane or Bhaal, developing an ego big enough to the point he became a god doesn't make him evil or this ending evil. You might dislike it, but objectively, this ending is not evil or bad...

Gale bad ending is him dying and never resurrected, never recruited or sacrificed to BOAAL because they led to his untimely death before he can destroy the brain, reach the crown, or determine what he wanted, how he will approach Mystra...

"But Mystra will kill God Gale because he challenged her!" That is a possibility in his origin ending, before the epilogue is even released, now we got to see new and improved epilogue Gale can take his lover to his realm where they will enjoy their life as Gods, and he has a lot of plan, and although he kinda insinuates that he wanted to challenge Mystra, maybe Tav or Durge can persuade him to not do it

"What if he has no romantic partner?" Maybe he will challenge her, or maybe he will not. I found the ending where Gale immediately going after Mystra to be frustrating, it feels like Larian insisting on the 'power bad' thing in such an on the nose and irritating manner

Gale might have a big ego but HE IS NOT AN IDIOT, he is not a barbarian with 8 intellect, even when he's drunk on power he is still a highly intellectual person/being, and surely he should know that it will take a lot of time and resource for him to be able to challenge Mystra, is it even a good idea to fight her? What would AO say?

He should just focus on his own domain and followers

Same thing with Wyll, this guy HAS NO EVIL ENDING. WYLL CANNOT BE CORRUPTED. Yet there are people out there who say that him becoming a Duke is an evil ending, HOW?!

Now, Astarion... God help us all with this guy. The moment I saw his picture for the first time, I know his fandom will be a disaster

White, sassy, morally gray, handsome, twink, vampire with a sad backstory... The perfect tumblr sexyman, I love him, but I knew the conversation about him will be a mess and headache inducing

Ascendant Astarion is NOT a bad ending, is it evil? Yes, is it bad? No.

It is bad for the city to have yet another vampire lord, an even MORE powerful vampire lord who has no vampirism weakness, but this is NOT bad for him. He enjoyed the power, he enjoyed the freedom, and he finally reclaimed everything that Cazador took from him and even more. I found the notion that ascended astarion 'is not truly free' to be baffling because Cazador is gone, no one can compel him and enslave him anymore, and he is freed from all vampirism weakness.

So long Cazador is dead, both spawn and ascended astarion will be free and have the choice to lead the life they wanted. An outsider moral interpretation of his choice is not his own opinion

"Ascended Astarion regret his choice." No, he never did. I didn't find a single conversation or scene that say he regrets his ascension

"Ascended Astarion is meaner and more evil, so this fate is bad." Your feeling about him doesn't translate to what he feels and how he sees his life and choice...

Or like you said about people claimed. "Astarion will lock Tav/Durge in his basement and molest them" Now, is ascendant romance more toxic and darker than spawn romance? Yes (although it is pretty tame by vampire/yandere standard) but how he treat his lover also depends on Tav/Durge attitude towards him, their personality, their goal and YOUR OWN ideas/ interpretation...

Baldur's Gate give you 'hard canon' and things that you can interpret on your own because it is dungeon & dragons! Hard canon or fixed canon is something like "Orin will die either way" and "If you don't spare nightsong then Last Light will be destroyed." and then there are things that you can decide and interpret on your own such as how your Tav/Durge fare after the last battle, their background, their family, and how their romance with companions play out

There are dialogues or scenes that hinted the future but at the same time there are several options and each dialogue option will lead to a different universe such as whatever you encourage Wyll to be the blade of avernus or becoming a Duke

What irritated me is that there's people who doesn't like his ascension romance, and they be like "Well I don't like this romance and i don't like him now, so I see your Tav/Durge WILL NEVER BE HAPPY WITH HIM AND IT IS A FACT!" NO, THAT IS NOT HOW IT IS WORK!

You cannot enforce your own narrative perspective into other people's. "What about the 'freedom' dialogue in patch 5?! If you clash with Astarion he will-" like I said each dialogue choice lead to a branching multiverse, just because one person have a conflict with ascended astarion doesn't mean my Tav who is very devoted to him have the same problem or will not be happy

Also, patch 5 confirmed the theory that Astarion turned his lover into a bride/groom instead of regular spawn. If you chose a dialogue option that hinted Tav/Durge feel trapped and doubted if they are truly flourishing, then Astarion will say something like (I'm paraphrasing here) "Well, I give you everything! And I will make sure that you live your best life, even if you don't appreciate it!"

A bride/groom has an emotional and mental link with their creator, if Tav/Durge is not happy then Ascended Astarion will feel unhappy as well. Mind you my Tav (Astaroth) doesn't say he feels trapped, he said that he is happy with Astarion and grateful to share everything with him and then Astarion said that he is blessed to be with Astaroth as well then he also said:

"I may have power, but it would be nothing without you. You complete me."

I don't do Karlach romance, and although I have my own thoughts that if Astaroth romanced her (tbh the guy is gay so he has to be bi/pan in alternate universe) in the end he will feel a bit disappointed with being trapped in hell, doesn't mean I have the rights to ENFORCE that Karlach/Tav romance in general will be unhappy and tragic just because of MY OWN interpretation...

People also shouldn't enforce their own choice for Astarion as

"THE TRUE AND CORRECT CHOICE FOR ASTARION AND IF YOU DISAGREE WITH ME YOU ARE DELUSIONAL AND DUMB"

[goingbuggy]

When you have time I would LOVE to hear your thoughts about post time skip buggy!!

Hi, anon! Sorry for the late-ish reply. I thought carefully about how I wanted to reply, but alas, here I am again, starting my metas in the strangest places. Anyways, here’s a seemingly unimportant question: Why is it funny that Buggy keeps failing upwards?

My answer also happens to be one of Pixar's 22 Rules of Storytelling:

"Coincidences to get characters into trouble are great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating."

You might be wondering why I chose this quote -- after all, Buggy manages to escape most conflicts by sheer coincidence. Take the canon-filler episode(s) “Little Buggy's Big Adventure,” for example; coincidence is the sole reason why he ends up on Gaimon’s island and eventually finds Alvida, one of his future allies. But for as much as Oda is guilty of using coincidences to benefit Buggy, he also creates coincidences to get Buggy into trouble. Sure, Buggy left on good terms with Gaimon/found Alvida, but only after:

Suffering a humiliating defeat at the hands of Luffy

Losing most of his body

Being chased by killer fish/eaten by a ginormous bird

Nearly getting shot in the head by Gaimon over a misunderstanding

Being chased AGAIN by a deadly crab???? LMAO???

Buggy’s “luck” functions like a pendulum -- for every good thing that happens to him, horrible things are guaranteed to follow. This core aspect of his character is what keeps the gag afloat. Buggy is never rewarded by the narrative without experiencing consequences. In order to earn moments of respite, he has to suffer.

I find it hilarious when people argue that Buggy doesn’t deserve to have good things happen to him. Because, yeah? Duh. Oda loves having his cake and eating it too. It’s not necessarily good to play both sides with the audience when it can cheapen emotional impact, but Oda will absolutely continue to make Buggy both a complete joke and a genuine character. He has fun that way. However, he’s not going to help Buggy without hurting him first.

But that's a very meta perspective. How does Buggy view his own beneficial coincidences? He’s now an emperor, and extremely close to the One Piece/Pirate King title that he so desperately wants. But why does he think he’s being rewarded, in-universe?

His facade.

His devoted followers, his influence, that billion-berry bounty, his emperor status -- all of it stems from his fake persona and its snowball effect. He’s well aware of this. In fact, I think it’s likely that he hates himself for being such a coward and hiding behind lies. But when he sees his true self as worthless, what else can he do except dig himself into a deeper hole?

Look at 1082. Buggy finally stands up for himself, claiming that wealth and power come from chasing after your dreams -- not grand schemes. Here, he’s talking to himself as much as he’s talking to Crocodile and Mihawk.

“This is wrong… This isn’t how I wanted my life to go…”

It’s a very depressing peek at the man behind the curtain. Buggy only ever wanted to follow his dreams, but he uses schemes to get ahead instead, because they're all he thinks he has. His lies are a crutch to depend on, so he doesn't have to face the truth: he doesn't believe in himself. 

To me, 1082 reads as a "Hail Mary" moment from a character at an emotional low. Buggy still doesn't believe in himself, but he is saying: Fuck it. If Shanks and I finally have an equal chance at becoming Pirate King, I at least have to try... Right? We can confirm his lack of self-confidence, because Buggy even admits he got here by “luck or chance or whatever."

He cannot entertain the possibility that he'd get this far any other way. Of course he doesn't see himself as Shanks' equal. It’s one of many reasons he didn’t want to go with Shanks at Loguetown; he assumed he’d be working “under” Shanks (even though Shanks only said “Come with me!"), because he truly believes he is lesser in terms of potential/greatness. ("You coward!" can also be interpreted as Buggy projecting his own insecurities onto Shanks.) Buggy's decision in 1082 is a desperate leap of faith. "Go for broke," "shoot for the moon," etc.

Post-Timeskip Buggy may appear more dangerous than ever before, but in reality, he’s just a small fish in a big pond. The farther he crawls his way up the ladder of success, the worse he feels, because the life he has built is not how he wanted to live at all. Based on everything we've known about Pre-Timeskip Buggy, we should expect him to be happier than ever. He has influence. Power. His monetary value in the eyes of the World Government has shot up exponentially. But look at the poor guy. He's miserable.

If you've ever seen Better Call Saul, I think this scene from S4E9 is very similar to how I feel about Buggy:

JIMMY: There you go! Kick a man when he’s down! KIM: Jimmy, you are always down.

Buggy is a character who is always down, even when you think he might be up. Until he stops maintaining that false image, he will always be punished by the narrative pendulum he's trapped himself in.

Unfortunately, change is hard, especially with the stakes he’s currently facing. If Buggy actually has to fight Blackbeard, Luffy, or Shanks... he can’t. Not alone. He needs people to believe the facade, because that's what got him here in the first place. He may look invincible, but he is quite possibly the most vulnerable character right now.

Crocodile and Mihawk would sell him to Satan for one corn chip (especially after that stunt he pulled in 1082). We haven't seen him improve his physical abilities (unless Oda pulls some off-screen bullshit). As an emperor, he has more people gunning for his head than ever before. Buggy’s last line of defense is his long-running gag -- if Oda decides to subvert our expectations, he’s a dead man walking.

And who would he have to blame but himself? He built his image on smoke and mirrors. Eventually, he's going to have to pay the price.

If Pre-Timeskip Buggy is a man defined by coincidence, then Post-Timeskip Buggy is defined by consequence.

[anxious-witch]

Part two of how Dead Boy Detectives shows different ways of love/lust/devotion throughout the characters' rs.

Part one

This part is gonna focus on Edwin/Monty and part three is gonna be about Crystal/Niko(bc I can't shut up, apparently)

So before I delve into Edwin/Monty dynamic, let's just take a look at Monty as a character in his own right.

He is quite literally a crow turned human and then turned back to the crow again. There is this tumblr post that describes the concept of madness in terms of eldritch horror. Basic idea is that madness is when you are an ant, but then for a moment, you can comprehend things as a human would, just to have it taken away again. You have a memory of understanding things far beyond your comprehension, but you can't understand them anymore. That is true madness.

And Monty experiences that, both with being overwhelmed with human emotions and it clearly taking a toll on him in the short period that he is human, and then gets turned into a crow again. Clearly there is still some recollection and understanding he possess, due to the fact he helps Charles, but we'll never really know.

Either way, the bits and pieces we see of Monty's life as a human, we can safely say he has very little to no agency of his own. He was created to fulfill a goal-to lead Charles and Edwin into a trap.

I am not usually a big fan of characters who were "born yesterday" experiencing romance and defining themselves through it, but I think DBD carried out that trope in such a beautiful and unique way. We can't know for certain, but based on Esther's reaction to seeing Monty flirt with Edwin, I think we can conclude she didn't give him direct instructions on how to get their trust. Which meant that Monty choose to pursue Edwin on his own volition.

It was at least a bit out of practicality, I'm sure, since Charles and Crystal had their thing going on, but there was also something that drew Monty to Edwin. I think what's so special in their relationship is that Monty seems surprised Edwin reciprocates his attempts-until the kiss that is. Edwin may scoff at astrology, but then he intently listens to Monty explaining his chart to him. He recommends a book to him, and discusses it with him. He even agrees to go on a night stroll with him!

I don't fully blame Monty for reading Edwin wrong. Up until that point, Edwin seemed very open to his advances. It's easy to us, as the viewer to know Edwin's focus is elsewhere, and that he sees what he and Monty have as friendship.

Anyway, I am derailing my point. What I think is done brilliantly is that the very few choices Monty is allowed to make are centered around Edwin, but they also tells us a hell lot about Monty himself! Monty sees love as a way of understanding a person. That's why he makes Edwin's chart, and whenever you believe in astrology or not, he clearly does. And he thinks he knows Edwin. Edwin is determined, stubborn, protective, but also kind and thoughtful.

Which is why it's such a blow when he completely misreads Edwin's feels during the swingset scene! Monty's idea of love, as naive as it, is shattered. Because it turns out he doesn't know Edwin at all. The whole meeting in the woods, where the Cat King appears only crushes him further, but he felt betrayed even before that.

"Charles is the one you have feelings for. It is so obvious!" Sounds quite a lot like someone who didn't find it obvious up until it was too late to take his actions back. Because it turns out you cannot know a person so quickly. They are much more complex. Too complex, for someone who is only few weeks human, like Monty is.

But then, Edwin admits that he still cared for him. That Monty was his first kiss and despite Edwin not reciprocating his feelings, he is still his friend and that still matters to him greatly. Because there is a more than one way to love and care for someone. Which, by the Monty's reaction, he didn't realize up until that moment.

Immediately upon realizing it, what does Monty do? He turns everything around. Yes, the Cat King stops him and exposes his secret so his attempt is moot, but let's not forget the fact that Monty was about to throw away everything for Edwin in that moment. His whole history with Esther, the threat of her possible vengeance, everything he is up until that point. All because Edwin cares for him. Genuinly, truly confirms he cares for him.

I think that's what makes it so powerful. It isn't romantic love that sways Monty. No, it's the thought of genuine care despite Monty's wrong assesmwnt of Edwin's feelings that changes him.

All Monty wanted was to be cared for. Whatever consideration Esther has for him seems more of the consideration someone has for a useful tool at her disposal. But not Edwin. Edwin cares.

It tells us a lot about Edwin too! Edwin, who says "I am not good with people", Edwin, who protested at Crystal joining the agency because she alive, Edwin, who insisted the living are messy. Yet, up until it's revealed Monty betrayed him, he clearly cares so much, taking his case despite it clearly not being top priority. Because he wants to be Monty's friend, even if he can't love him back.

I also think that, if it wasn't for Monty bringing up Charles and making Edwin feel defensive, Edwin would have forgiven him right then and there. I mean like, just look at his face when he asks Monty if he was just pretending to be his friend and Monty says: "At first, yes! But then, no."

Edwin sympathizes. Edwin forgives Simon for killing him and dooming him to Hell. I don't believe for one second he wouldn't be able to forgive Monty if he knew even a fraction of what he endured by Esther. About how little choice he had in the entire matter.

It's really unfortunate they don't get more scenes together because I feel like they changed each other sm in only a matter of days? Weeks? That they had together. Edwin learned to be more open towards things that are not purely rational, ie astrology, and more importantly, he was learning how to open up, and share his interests with people who aren't Charles. As much as I love Charles, he clearly isn't as interested in reading and literature as Edwin is and that's okay! But Edwin had someone to express that side of himself with, who could reciprocate and open new things for Edwin.

I actually do believe that, under different circumstances and with more time, Edwin could have returned Monty's feelings. Which makes the whole thing more tragic, but alas.

Another interesting thing that occurred to me is that both Monty and the Cat King die by the hands of Esther and her cane when they admit to their love for Edwin. Which, I think, once again symbolizes how those feelings are just too big for the state they are currently in. For the Cat King, that love tirns him more mature and somber. For Monty, it's too overwhelming, and he turns back to his old state, unable to handle them. And yet-even in that form, he cannot deny them, not when Edwin is screaming and he has a chance to help Charles free him. Because as much as we try to go back to how we were before, love, even through heartbreak, changes us.

And Simon-Simon also changes forms after accepting his love for Edwin. He quite literally earns his redemption after it. And Charles? Well, Charles comes out of hell, his shirt back to bright red, because Edwin's love uplifted him sm.

Edwin Payne, truly the man that inspires devotion in everyone he meets

[conditioned-to-obey]

Hello sir, I want to respectfully add some thought i have on the whole "Virgin kink" subject (For some context not a role play scenario but a real virgin which is how most of the community likes it and treats it).

sorry if it's a bit long, it's a topic that I think isn't talked about enough and I know how delicate and dangerous it can be.

The person who is a virgin (regardless of gender) will always be more susceptible to being manipulated, put into situations where they are unaware of the full implications of their actions or the risk of them, the oversexualization of our culture and the pressure to be sexually active "to prove something" is more present than ever, because of all this the age of virginity loss is low in all countries but mostly in less developed ones, in the united states is on average between 16 and 17 years, in uk between 15 and 16, in Ecuador it is in men between 14 and 16 in such a case at least 68% (approximate) of the virgins are minors.

With this in mind my second point is that unfortunately what it's seen as innocent (in this context) and virgin kink is mostly grooming, navigating the world of BDSM relationships or kink communities is not easy and in many cases not completely safe more when we talk  about people who are just starting their sex life, little they know about their limits and tastes (less n practice). 

That they will probably look for role models or mentors on the whole subject in more experienced older people who have a great  opportunity to take advantage of their vulnerability most do not havea support system other people with similar experiences to tell what is happening and they let it go believing that probably they only feels like this 'Cause they've never done it before.

Add to this that a person can lie about their own age really easily, both in real life and on social media (and if i'm honest, most of people are not interested in making sure they are of legal age, weird no?) and you get the perfect recipe for some nasty and illegal things.

The point of all this is that please take with great caution that someone has a virgin kink no one want other pepleo to be taken advantage of, no one wants some sub just started to be manipulated and put in harmful situations, take care of yourselves and your mutuals.

I love this community, it has helped me to meet wonderful people and get to know myself and be happier then ever with my sex life, but I understand that it leaves many people in a context of vulnerability that we have to express and take care of. 🌿

Great points. This and many more reasons are why I do not participate or enjoy the connotations of sexualizing virginity. It's harmful rhetoric that does in fact create a false sense that freshly 18 virgins should jump into kink and sex.

Explore yourself first. Become familiar with self pleasure and your body. Become familiar with vanilla sex first with someone who cares about you, that you are safe and comfortable with. Then branch out further.

Vanilla first, kink later. Always.

It's not going anywhere, you can always take your time. There is no need to rush. Besides unfair societal pressure to lose, change or sexualize virginity. There is nothing wrong with virginity, it's a social construct. There is no indicator to tell if someone is a virgin or not. It simply does not matter, it cannot be measured. The only people it should matter to is you personally. If you put value in it, first times should be special. Approached without pressure, with care.

There is however something wrong with someone who seeks out virgins, because they are usually seeking out inexpirence, naivety, and unsure individuals who don't have a lot of practice standing their ground.

Be safe out there, dolls.

[geniemillies]

Yearning For Spring | Ch. 5 | Tamlin x Oc

— Chapter 5 - Daydreams

Ch. Warnings: the usual KoH warnings

A/n: A twinge of Hybern worldbuilding mayhaps?

<<Ch.1 <<Ch.4 ___ Ch.6>>

Decades continue to pass. Then more still after I brought Velaria to Hybern.

She stayed with me though it wasn't her choice at first.. Despite all the reasons pointing for her to return home, she didn’t. She stood strong beside me, a pillar of unwavering support that kept me going when the world seemed ready to tear me apart. 

Words couldn't begin to explain how eternally grateful I am for her. Because if it wasn't for her staying I would've broke long ago.

With her insistence, I faltered and showed her everything. I realised early on that if she were to trust me I needed to be open with her and hide no secrets. So I showed her everything. I showed her the dying lands of Hybern and the territories that toiled away for the King's gain. Even going as far as taking her to the heart of my Father's Court, skillfully glamoured as my own servant, so she could see first hand the crown that controlled the island. And.. in time, I showed her the plans I'd been brewing underground. I took her to the Sidhe where centuries of my schemes accumulated, where I hid thousands of dissenters that I had supposedly captured and killed, all of them working hard to mold and shape a rebellion in my name.

A secret haven under the earth warded with magic I still don't understand to this day. Father doesn't seem to know about it's existence. The magic down there is.. erratic, seemingly ancient. While the rest of Hybern's lands are desolate and lifeless, the Sidhe is the opposite. Grass grows lushly underground and the water is pure, which is why the place is perfect for hiding the rebellion. I've long stopped questioning as to why the place is so strange and different. I've tried to search in history on the matter but I've been unsuccessful. Libraries are a rarity in Hybern and most books and tomes on history are hidden in the palace's forbidden libraries which none can enter. Not even me.

Despite the risk of trusting in magic I don't comprehend, the wards have held steadfast for centuries and many of the dark spells I've learned are weakened when used there if not entirely repelled, offering me a glimmer of hope that if my father ever discovers this sanctuary, his dark magic cannot hurt us so easily

To put it simply, it is a strange place. Nevertheless, the Sidhe is a safe haven, home to all the mercies I’ve spared, all the flaws in me that Father deeply abhorred. A second home to me besides the Lighthouse.

To say Velaria was stunned at every revelation I showed her was an understatement. As expected, she had always believed that Hybern was isolated by choice, convinced that the people of my land were pure evil, constantly scheming especially after we suffered losses in the War. It is.. a good thing that I could dispel such sinister perceptions of my people.

There was a kind of wonder in her eyes whenever I played with the children at the Lighthouse or when I showed her around the Sidhe. She told me I was.. a triumph. A flower amidst hellscape. And that I didn't deserve the life I was born into.

But she didn't pity me... I think. More often than not I see admiration in her eyes when she looks at me. 

Velaria showed me friendship like I've never experienced. I used to think I had many friends. But most of them are children who think of me as a maternal figure so Velaria deemed that they don't count, leaving me with.. less friends than I would've thought. Which is sad, sure, but Hybern isn't exactly the place to make long-lasting friends. Or any at all...

Velaria was someone I could confide in about problems greater than the occasional headache and sleeplessness I share with the children or the frustrations that come with planning military tactics with my lieutenants. She was someone I could trust to show the blight infesting my arms and the deeper burdens Father inflicts upon me.

Before her.. I never really had anyone to talk to about my troubles. My cousins, Brannagh and Dagdan, weren’t spared from Father’s ‘love’ either so one would assume they would understand what it feels like to be constantly tormented by the King. But they've grown to keep only to themselves in fear that we might read each other’s ill thoughts about him. I’d never read their thoughts lest they ask. But I understand their fears. I’ve become unmovable by Father’s side. I’ve become his most loyal pawn, his most blood-stained sword. Everyone believes so. I’ve worked hard to earn that reputation and I should be glad that I have it.

Still, I never expected it’d create such mistrust between me and my cousins that they too, would begin to fear me. That they’d think I’d ever sell their thoughts to the King in exchange for his praise. They couldn't know how often I let my gaze linger on them, searching for them in every corner of the room, desperate to ensure they were alright. Even when I was willing to take their punishments, to do anything to spare them from the wrath of the King when they did something that didn't please him, they still couldn't bring themselves to open up to me. 

I regret not attempting harder to alleviate their fears and suspicions. I should have divulged my plans and brought them into the fold of the rebellion.. But I’m ashamed to admit that I was also wary of them, that I was not spared the mistrust and fear that brewed between us daemati children. I kept my walls high and showed them only what they needed to see from me, in fear that they might find my secrets and sell me out.

By the time the rebellion was growing in number, they were already untrusting and I didn’t know how to approach them, to ask them to join me when I also couldn’t penetrate their minds. And I had no way of knowing that they wouldn't stray and betray me. I let the seeds of doubt fester too far that I deemed my only family a potential enemy. 

If I hadn't, maybe I could've protected them better. Now they're but mindless husks of their former selves, their souls beyond reach and their memories hazy and fleeting, like wisps of smoke that slip through my fingers every time I touch them. It only took one more torturous experiment to shatter them completely, for another failure on a task that Father was not happy with.

And I watched. Watched as the last spark of their souls left their bodies. What replaced it was dark magic I couldn't understand, merged into one sinister.. thing for Father to keep and shape into whatever twisted image of perfection he liked. Until they are just like him. Just as strong and cruel and… unfeeling. Obedient puppets.

Now they will not even speak to me unless necessary. They do not spare me a glance unless it's to prod into my memories. I know they're long gone at this point. Yet, my heart still aches for the days when Brannagh would reach out for my arm for support during her moments of weakness or when I would correct Dagdan's stance when we spar. Even when they push me away I cannot help but hope that there is a way to bring them back.. once this.. is all over.

And we'd all be free from him. Some day.

Velaria knows of it all. All my yearning, all my dreams and schemes. The weight of an entire country on my shoulders feels a little lighter when I share the burden with her. Velaria is the first friend I've ever made with whom I felt like I could speak freely without planning my words or worrying about keeping my mental shields up. Velaria is the first friend who made me feel like I could truly be myself without consequence, damn the masks and the glamoured hair, the titles and expectations that I long thought would be part of my existence forever.

Velaria feels like the tranquillity of a peaceful night's rest. And when she speaks about the city she's named after she's infectious with her dreams. We sit on the highest spot of the Lighthouse tower, overlooking the endless sea, our feet dangling over the edge while she tells me stories of Prythian. The more she does, the more I find myself yearning to see a glimpse of what a world like that looks like.

A world where the fog doesn't hide the light of the sun or the heaven's brilliant blue. A world where people don't live with golden shackles etched onto their wrists.. 

I long to see what living looked like. Even for just a moment..

|| Present ||

More decades passed still.

Then some more. But I never let go of the green handkerchief. It is with me now, tied around my wrist as the ashened curse continues to grow up my arm, like the roots of an ill-fated tree. The King planted it on the earth of my body and ever since.. it continued to fester. He calls upon me in his towers to this day, though not as frequently as he did when I was a child, he still does, and it still... hurts.

“Any side effects from this one?” Father asked, his voice cold and detached as I knelt on the cold stone floor, limp and tired, my vision blurred, pipes filled with bright liquid attached to my skin.

I shake my head, swallowing the lump in my throat as I gather my voice to speak. “It stings around the fingertips... I feel the power... crawling up my arm..” And it was. It was festering more and more and all he did was observe it like a child observing a toy work. "It burns.."

“Has your powers improved of late?” He asks as he paces around the room, a book hovering above his palm.

“I've been... using them on soldiers in training, prying out information. As you've instructed.”

“Any anomalies?”

“No..”

Father had amplified my daemati powers to an unprecedented, almost unrecognizable degree. While I could still read minds and feel the barriers of mental shields, he had altered- no, improved my powers of the mind into something different. My control over the mind can now be invoked through touch, hence the black that's tainting my arms. A perversion. Blasphemy. The Mother would churn at the sight of what I've been made into. 

Hours, days, and years I've spent on this tower while he worked to mold my powers to suit his twisted desires. I could now invade a person's emotions, thoughts, and memories through touch - without the need to break down their mental defenses.

This power isn't limited to just living things, I soon found out. When my fingers clung and clawed the stone-cold floor, I could hear the echoing screams of those who had endured torturous experiments before me. When I touched a piece of parchment, I could hear the faint whispers of the author who had written the words upon it. My senses were assaulted by a barrage of sounds and emotions, both past and present, with just a touch. To say that it drove me insane doesn't do justice to the reality. I hear everything, feel everything– so I hid the black that tainted my arms with gloves, only letting them disintegrate when I have need for my bare hands. For my own sanity.

A gift, he calls it. His gift. 

It's anything but. It’s a fucking curse.

He takes special pride in making me into what I am. He calls me a clairtangent, a.. one of a kind. His special tool. Yet, my enhanced abilities remained unstable, far from perfected. Which is why I often concealed my hands, why he continues to experiment on me, better me. I've long forgotten what my hands feel like without ancient spells forced into them. I look at them now and they're black, darker than the night sky, and infused with magic unknown to me. 

My own body is unknown to me most times. And it frightens me. More often than I’d want to admit. I’m scared of voices, of seeing things that don't belong to me. So much so that I can’t sleep because of it. They come back, the voices, my own and others, haunting me, never giving me a moment's peace. Which is why I have Manann brew me wakingdew elixir, to force my eyes open for a long time. A really.. long time.

Velaria tends to me and the wounds inflicted upon me during experimentation, away from the younger children's prying eyes. I do not wish for them to see me in such a pathetic state.. not when they look up to me.

She often tells me stories of her childhood, of her city, Velaris, the one she's named after. City of Dreams. Fitting, for someone who has many aspirations that fuel her very will to fight to see them fulfilled. She braids my hair and tells me all about the Night Court and how she wishes she could take me one day to see Starfall. I could only close my eyes and imagine what it'd look like and dream that one day... I might see it with her.

She braids my hair slowly, willing me to sleep with her stories but she already knows I do not sleep. I cannot. Not when nightmares await me on the other side of consciousness. So I sip my elixir quietly as she tells her stories, her voice proving to be just as soothing as any sleep one could take.

She tells me of Prythian, the neighboring island that I know so little of. She tells me of the Day Court, with its splendid cities and towering libraries. She tells me of the Dawn Court which she has not visited much. She said that I remind her of Dawn warriors, peregrines, with their big feathered wings, though colorful unlike mine. She tells me of the Winter Court, so bright in the morning that the light reflects the snow and blinds you. She tells me of Autumn Court, with their forests lush and orange, and in her words: “Smells like fresh afternoon rain.” She tells me of the Summer Court with its clear beaches and sandy shores. She tells me that she finds it funny that despite me living on an island, on a Lighthouse just above cliffed coasts, I do not know how to swim. And she threatens that if we ever get the chance she'd take me to Summer and throw me in the ocean to teach me how.

“Tell me about Spring..” I ask her and I feel her pause to think.

Velaria does not know that I'm mated to Tamlin. No one knows. It is the one thing I’ve kept from her. A secret that solely belongs to me.

She hums as she strokes my hair with a brush. “Spring is.. nice.” She said, “Full of.. flowers.. Lush green forests, pretty meadows. Lots of bugs though.” She chuckles. “I don't know much about the Court. But Tamlin is.. nice.” She looks down and I couldn't see her face on the mirror before me.

“He used to be friends with my brother. Though.. after everything that happened, I’d assume not any more of course.”

“Were you friends with him?”

“We spent time together when he was allowed to leave his Court to visit ours, sure. But it was Rhys who was close to Tamlin. Sometimes, he'd tell me about how he'd visit Spring without the High Lord knowing..”

“What is he like?”

Velaria thought for a while, perhaps confused. It’s the first time I'm asking her about a person and not a place.

“He's.. kind. Way kinder than his older brothers. Way kinder than his father. From what I've been told he's a great fighter. Rhys would always talk about wanting to spar with him. That is why Tamlin knew of the Illyrian camps. Rhys would take him once or twice.”

“Do you have anger towards him?” I ask. 

“I did. But now.. now I'm just conflicted..” She sighs. “You showed me what happened that night. While his father was cruel, he didn’t expect them to go so far as to actually.. kill my family. He protected me from his brothers. He begged you to take me away..”

“He did.”

“But my parents are dead either way.”

“Do you have anger towards him..?” I repeat the question. 

She looked at me through the mirror, a frown on her face. 

“I have no anger for anyone, maybe save for your father, Niamh.” She said, “Anger won’t change what happened, won't bring back the dead. And it wasn’t Tamlin’s hands that forced a blade to take my mother’s head and wings. On the contrary. It was Tamlin’s hands that trembled as he cradled my body and whispered his regrets, his apologies.”

Velaria sighs, a look of contemplation on her face while she continues to braid my hair. “And begged for you to take me to safety.”

“He killed your father.”

“And my brother killed his mother. They both suffered tragedies and let their anger and vengeance control them in those final moments before they ascended to their thrones, I have no doubt.”

“Which is a pity.” Vel looked down. “They were.. such good friends before. Rhys planned to reveal Velaris to Tamlin at one point, to show him the escape he deserved from his cruel home. Which meant he really trusted him. He must’ve felt so betrayed. I cannot imagine what went on that night you took me to Hybern, to avoid.. all that.”

She paused and tilted her head to fully look at me on the reflection. “You never really told me.. what would've happened if you stayed in Spring. If you had agreed to take on my Father's wrath. If you.. had finished the experiment they laid out for you.”

I paused for a moment to think, my hands unconsciously fidgeting. “I showed you the northern territories, didn't I?”

Velaria nods. “Yes. It's a wasteland. Nothing is left besides those who'd dare to live there.”

“Before my growing rebellion, that place used to be home to a secret league that planned to stand against the King. The villages were all in on it. Father found out and had them snuffed out.”

“Let me guess, he had you do it?”

“Yes. But I refused. Because I couldn't bring myself to wipe out an entire territory. I was still in my youth. Recklessly believing that I could defy him without being smart about it...”

My gaze falls to my hands free of their gloves. I still remember every second of that night.

“You had no choice..”

“I had no choice because he took control of my body and made me do it. When I gained back control, the territories were leveled into nothing. Just.. a huge chunk of land flattened because of what he made me unleash.”

“Niamh..” I felt her hands gripping my shoulders, their grasp firm yet comforting, like an anchor preventing me from being swept away into the currents of those memories.

“He told me that is what I should aspire to become. And that one day he will get rid of all the flaws in me that came in the way of that monster. For years he's been molding me so that I might summon that kind of power at will, without him forcing it out of me.”

“And for years, I've been suppressing it. Willing it to stay hidden. I never want to go through that again.” I never want to wake up like that again. My entire body was the same shade as the scarlet moon above me. I smelled death at every turn when he let go of my consciousness. And even when I cried and vomited on the floor of the earth, I still couldn't believe that my hands had done such atrocities.

I don't sleep just because of it. In fear that I'd open my eyes to that ever again.

“He agreed to send me to Spring in hopes that I'd be able to unleash that power. Lord Callan was curious to see it for himself and Father finally allowed himself to indulge him. Sending me like that... I don't know if I would've been successful in killing your Father. But I would've leveled Spring into nothing.”

My voice was reduced to whispers as I continued, “And I would have regretted it all my life...”

Velaria tenderly rubs my arms, attempting to soothe me. Her chin rests upon my shoulder, her gaze locked onto our reflections in the mirror, her eyes betraying a silent apology for ever bringing up the topic. I shake my head softly, offering a smile in response—letting her know silenty that none of my misfortunes were her fault..

“I cannot fault Tamlin for what happened. I know..” She mutters. “I know now how hard it is to have your life be in someone else’s control. To never be able to disobey their orders, to exist solely as a puppet, dancing to the whims of a controlling figure, even when that figure is your own father.”

She leaned back, gently resuming the braid she had momentarily stopped working on, her slender fingers deftly weaving my hair. “You two are similar in that regard.” She says, and I stop breathing for a second.

“Besides... the horrors of that night led me to meet you... So, it’s not that much of a loss, is it?”

“That is.. not a very good conclusion, Vel.”

“Meeting you is a very good conclusion. And knowing about your father's schemes to steal the Cauldron to break the wall and invade is very much.. a needed revelation to me. I told you my reasons before.”

“I know..”

“So don’t ever say that meeting you was a mistake or a waste of time. I’ll miss my parents dearly, Niamh. But I’ll forever thank the Mother for granting me a sister not a second after.”

My heart warmed at her words. “You hated me at first, I’ll remind you.”

Velaria grins. “No person could hate you. Not for long.”

“Amarantha would beg to differ.”

“I said person. People. Not the fucking she-devil herself.”

I laugh at that.

“I guess I have Tamlin to thank for handing me to you..” 

A warm smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Perhaps I ought to as well..”

There are many things I wish to tell him. So many. And yet, when I imagine him standing in front of me, words elude me. Not even a simple "hello" can find its way past my lips.

I looked to the side, remaining silent as I pondered. He must be struggling. Amarantha breathes in his neck, cornering him into submission. And yet, from what I hear, he does not falter, he does not submit to her. For that, I commend him. Admire him, even if it's from far away.

“You seem interested in him.” Velaria comments.

“I just wanted to hear your thoughts on him. He is the reason why we are where we are now..”

She hums. “He is. But you.. you look especially worried.”

I paused for a moment, finding the words to say. “You know I knew him. Way before all this. His father was allied to mine, they shared the same burning hatred for mortals. They'd attend Hybern balls and meetings. I'd see him by his father's side, tormented by his siblings, harassed by Amarantha way before she took over Prythian.”

I inhaled. “He was just a boy.”

“And that wicked female torments him still. I cannot stand it..” I mutter. “I can't even reach out to him, to comfort him and assure him that you're safe, that I've lived up to my promise. If he.. If he even remembers..” Does he even remember me?

“I'm sure he does..” Velaria reassures me, gently stroking the ends of my hair.

“And one day, when this is all over... I am sure to thank him and mention you. That by saving me, he has also given me a sister—one who is strong, kind, sweet.." She pulls back a strand of silver hair behind my ear. "–..and most beautiful.”

“When this is all over..” I close my eyes. “It is an optimistic thought.” A smile creeps on my face, a bittersweet one.

“It will be over, Niamh. And once it does.. You'll be free and I'll get to fulfill my promise and show you everything Prythian has to offer.”

“I will be counting the days, Vel..” I smiled as I felt her finish the braid, tying it with the green handkerchief Tamlin had given me.

Until then.. I will hold on to my daydreams, my small moments of joy.

     — —

A/n: They're honestly is so wholesome, can't wait to expand on them. Oh, the plans I have for Velaria 👁-👁.. Also, I will be doing more Hybern building, I'm really enjoying making up stuff for the place 👉👈

[screambirdscreaming]

I used to like saying "gender is a social construct," but I stopped saying that because people didn't tend to react well - they thought that I was saying gender wasn't real, or didn't matter, or could be safely ignored without consequences. Which has always baffled me a bit as an interpretation, honestly, because many things are social constructs - like money, school, and the police - and they certainly have profound effects on your life whether or not you believe in them. And they sure don't go away if you ignore them.

Anyway. What I've taken to saying instead is, "gender is a cultural practice." This gives more of a sense of respect for the significance gender holds to many people. And it also opens the door to another couple layers of analysis.

Gender is cultural. It is not globally or historically homogeneous. It shifts over time, develops differently in different communities, and can be influenced by cross-cultural contact. Like many, many aspects of culture, the current status of gender is dramatically influenced by colonialism. Colonial gender norms are shaped by the hierarchical structure of imperialist society, and enforced onto colonized cultures as part of the project of imperial cultural hedgemony.

Gender is practiced. What constitutes a gender includes affects and behaviors, jobs or areas of work, skillsets, clothing, collective and individual practices of gender affiliation and affirmation. Any or all of these things, in any combination, depending on the gender, the culture, and the practitioner.

Gender encompasses shared cultural archetypes. These can include specific figures - gods and goddesses, mythic or fictional characters, etc - or they can be more abstract or general. The Wise Woman, Robin Hood, the Dyke, the Working Man, the Plucky Heroine, the Effete Gay Man, etc etc. The range of archetypes does not circumscribe a given gender, that is, they're not all there is to gender. But they provide frameworks and reference points by which people relate to gender. They may be guides for ways to inhabit or practice a gender. They may be stereotypes through which the gendered behavior of others is viewed.

Gender as a framework can be changed. Because it is created collectively, by shared acknowledgement and enforcement by members of society. Various movements have made significant shifts in how gender is structured at various times and places. The impact of these shifts has been widely variable - for example, depending on what city I'm in, even within my (fairly culturally homogeneous) home country, the way I am gendered and reacted to changes dramatically. Looping back to point one, we often speak of gender in very broad terms that obscure significant variability which exists on many scales.

Gender is structured recursively. This can be seen in the archetypes mentioned above, which range from extremely general (say, the Mother) to highly specific (the PTA Soccer Mom). Even people who claim to acknowledge only two genders will have many concepts of gendered-ways-of-being within each of them, which they may view and react to VERY differently.

Gender is experienced as an external cultural force. It cannot be opted out of, any more than living in a society can be opted out of. Regardless of the internal experience of gender, the external experience is also present. Operating within the shared cultural understanding of gender, one can aim to express a certain practice of gender - to make legible to other people how it is you interface with gender. This is always somewhat of a two-way process of communication. Other people may or may not perceive what you're going for - and they may or may not respect it. They may try to bring your expressed gender into alignment with a gender they know, or they might parcel you off into your own little box.

Gender is normative. Within the structure of the "cultural mainstream," there are allowable ways to practice gender. Any gendered behavior is considered relative to these standards. What behavior is allowed, rewarded, punished, or shunned is determined relative to what is gender normative for your perceived gender. Failure to have a clearly perceivable gender is also, generally, punished. So is having a perceivable gender which is in itself not normative.

Gender is taught by a combination of narratives, punishments, and encouragements. This teaching process is directed most strongly towards children but continues throughout adulthood. Practice of normatively-gendered behaviors and alignment with 'appropriate' archetypes is affirmed, encouraged, and rewarded. Likewise 'other'- gendered behavior and affinity to archetypes is scolded, punished, or shunned. This teaching process is inherently coercive, as social acceptance/rejection is a powerful force. However it can't be likened to programming, everyone experiences and reacts to it differently. Also, this process teaches the cultural roles and practices of both (normative) genders, even as it attempts to force conformity to only one.

Gender regulates access to certain levers of social power. This one is complicated by the fact that access to levers of social power is also affected by *many* other things, most notably race, class, and citizenship. I am not going to attempt to describe this in any general terms, I'm not equipped for that. I'll give a few examples to explain what I'm talking about though. (1) In a social situation, a man is able to imply authority, which is implicitly backed by his ability to intimidate by yelling, looming, or threatening physical violence. How much authority he is perceived to have in response to this display is a function of his race and class. It is also modified by how strongly he appears to conform to a masculine ideal. Whether or not he will receive social backlash for this behavior (as a separate consideration to how effective it will be) is again a function of race/class/other forms of social standing. (2) In a social situation, a woman is able to invoke moral judgment, and attempt to modify the behavior of others by shame. The strength of her perceived moral authority depends not just on her conformity to ideal womanhood, but especially on if she can invoke certain archetypes - such as an Innocent, a Mother, or better yet a Grandmother. Whether her moral authority is considered a relevant consideration to influence the behavior of others (vs whether she will be belittled or ignored) strongly depends on her relative social standing to those she is addressing, on basis of gender/race/class/other.

[Again, these examples are *not* meant to be exhaustive, nor to pass judgment on employing any social power in any situation. Only to illustrate what "gendered access to social power" might mean. And to illustrate that types of power are not uniform and may play out according to complex factors.]

Gender is not based in physical traits, but physical traits are ascribed gendered value. Earlier, I described gender as practiced, citing almost entirely things a person can do or change. And I firmly believe this is the core of gender as it exists culturally - and not just aspirationally. After the moment when a gender is "assigned" based on infant physical characteristics, they are raised into that gender regardless of the physical traits they go on to develop (in most circumstances, and unless/until they denounce that gender.) The range of physical traits like height, facial shape, body hair, ability to put on muscle mass - is distributed so that there is complete overlap between the range of possible traits for people assigned male and people assigned female. Much is made of slight trends in things that are "more common" for one binary sex or the other, but it's statistically quite minor once you get over selection bias. However, these traits are ascribed gendered connotations, often extremely strongly so. As such, the experience of presented and perceived gender is strongly effected by physical traits. The practice of gender therefore naturally expands to include modification of physical traits. Meanwhile, the social movements to change how gender is constructed can include pushing to decrease or change the gendered association of physical traits - although this does not seem to consistently be a priority.

Gender roles are related to the hypothetical ability to bear children, but more obliquely than is often claimed. It is popular to say that the types of work considered feminine derive from things it is possible to do while pregnant or tending small children. However, research on the broader span of human history does not hold this up. It may be true of the cultures that gave immediate rise to the colonial gender roles we are familiar with - secondary to the fact that childcare was designated as women's work. (Which it does not have to be, even a nursing infant doesn't need to be with the person who feeds it 24 hours a day.) More directly, gender roles have been influenced by structures of social control aiming for reproductive control. In the direct precursors of colonial society, attempts to track paternal lineage led to extreme degrees of social control over women, which we still see reflected in normative gender today. Many struggles for women's liberation have attempted to push back these forms of social control. It is my firm opinion that any attempt to re-emphasize childbearing as a touchstone of womanhood is frankly sick. We are at a time where solidarity in struggle for gender liberation, and for reproductive rights, is crucial. We need to cast off shackles of control in both fights. Trying to tie childbearing back to womanhood hobbles both fights and demeans us all.

Gender is baked deeply enough into our culture that it is unlikely to ever go away. Many people feel strongly about the practice of gender, in one way or another, and would not want it to. However we have the power to change how gender is structured and enforced. We can push open the doors of what is allowable, and reduce the pain of social punishment and isolation. We can dismantle another of the tools of colonial hedgemony and social control. We can change the culture!

[chronicillnessfromateensmind]

i don’t know how to describe what the past few weeks of my life have been like. i don’t know if it’s physically possible to put into words just how much i’ve been dealing with.

i’ve been in a terrible flare since the weekend before my birthday. and i feel betrayed.

i feel betrayed by the american medical system, by the lack of compassion i’ve witnessed first hand. and while i’m no stranger to the judgment and gaslighting that’s in the medical community, seeing as i fought for two years for my pain and voice to be taken seriously before i got my amps diagnosis. i fought and fought, went to doctor after doctor, pleaded and begged, and only until something horrific happened to me did they take what i had to say seriously. and i don’t know if it’s the humanity in me or the hope that resides deep inside of me that thought this time would be different, that the doctors would take me seriously, that they would put in the effort or at least give me options on where to go or what to do to help me. but once again i was proven wrong.

i feel betrayed because i know that i can’t live a healthy lifestyle right now, i physically can’t do the things people my age can. and it’s frustrating and devastating because i know somethings not right with me, and i’m pretty sure i know what it is just through my own personal research and communities i’ve found during all of this, but everytime i go to my primary doctor she writes me off. in fact i was in such severe pain i screamed my head off the night prior, was convinced one of my collar bones had gone out of place, and was terrified. but when i showed up the the pediatrician she didn’t even look me in my eye, gave me the fastest work up ever before dismissing my concerns, and telling me and my mom that i should visit a pain clinic place that is a deep rooted sense of trauma for me. for they prescribed me so many medications that messed with my head and gave me horrific side effects. she also told my mom i should see a psychiatrist. basically saying idk what the deal with you is you’re probably just crazy.

the problems i’m dealing with, subluxations, joint pain, rashes, welts on my skin, gi issues, and a lot more i don’t feel the energy to share right now, aren’t symptoms a psychiatrist can help. i’m not crazy. i’m not insane. i’m not making this up. you can watch my collar bone move back into place after it subluxated. you can see the welt on my skin appear after i rub it. you can see the blood pooling happening in my feet and hands everytime i sit down or stand up. i’m exhausted and while my flare is calming down, i’m drained. and it’s disappointing that no doctor cares.

following the visits with my pediatrician, i was in such pain from the car ride and the movement that i was in hysterics that night. the pain in my collar bones and shoulder and neck were unbearable. it felt like my spine wasn’t being held properly together, it felt unstable, if felt terrible. i almost collapsed in the kitchen as i was in so much pain as i screamed and begged for any kind of relief. the next morning we went to the emergency room just to make sure everything was in the right place. and thankfully it was, but the er wasn’t really helpful other than that. they gave me some meds that made me sleepy and that helped distract my mind from the pain, but that was it.

we also reached out again to the cardiologist that’s been helping me with pots. and while the medication he gave me has extremely helped significantly lessen my pots symptoms, he was no help either. in fact we called multiple times over the course of multiple days and received no reply. only to find out, he was planning on sending me to that same pain clinic that i still am severely traumatized by. even though we specifically have mentioned that we cannot go back to that place.

me and my family have been left alone to figure out how to deal with the daily struggles i have experienced without any medical help. we got a shower stool so i don’t faint in the shower, we got a cane so on my rough days when my hips pop in and out i can still somewhat walk around, heating pads and pain patches to try to relieve the pain the best we can, tylenol and advil around the clock.

my body and mind are exhausted from being in a constant state of fight or flight from the pain. this flare was extremely rough. but i survived.

when you’re in so much pain that your body goes into a state of shock, you can only focus on pain. all you can feel is pain, all you can sense is pain, all you can breath is pain. it feels like you’re trapped in an eternal loop of never ending pain. the days seem longer, the hours seem to go on forever, the minutes feel like months. it’s almost impossible for your mind to comprehend that the pain will lessen at some point eventually. this time, it took over 3 weeks for it to lessen. but it did. and i survived.

i’m not alone in the betrayal of the medical community ignorance. my family has been betrayed as they are forced to witness me deal with all of these issues and receive no useful information or help. thousands of others with the same disorders and conditions i have, have been treated exactly as i have. i know this. i know not to get my expectations up when i see someone ina white coat. but i just wish one doctor could care a little about me. because all they see is the chart. they see my medical history, my files. but they don’t see me.

they don’t see how creative i am. they don’t see how compassionate i am. they don’t see how unique and intelligent i am. they don’t see my artwork. they don’t see my stories. they don’t see my voice. they don’t see me.

i wish they would though. because my symptoms and my pain has been limiting my ability to do the things i love. it’s pulled me out of school, which i love. it’s limited my writing abilities, which is my passion. it’s limited my ability to shop, which is my favorite thing to do.

even though i’m dealing with way more than most 17 year olds are, i know one day i’ll be able to say wow i did that. and i got through it. my story is chaotic and unpredictable to say the least. but it’s not over, i won’t let these disorders write my story for me. i will. this chapter is just darker than others will be.

if you take anything from me, don’t write off a person because they look “healthy”. or what society has painted the idea of what healthy on the outside looks like anyways. you never know what someone is dealing with. your words matter. they hold power. they can heal, but they can also damage. please be compassionate to one another.