#overwhelming sense of loss and accomplishment all at once

[femboty2k]

im gonna go insane about this game if I dont talk to someone about it but my fucking head wont fucking let me

[slxsherwriter]

Out of Trauma Comes....

Fandom: Don't Breathe

Pairing: Norman Nordstrom x reader

Warnings: Child death, loss of limbs, ptsd struggles

Word Count: 4,076

Author's Note: I have fallen down the Stephan Lang rabbit hole. This is the first in a series of Norman one-shots. Reader does have a military background. This decision was based off of the relationship that Norman had with Hernandez in the second movie. Hope everyone likes! As always, not beta read, so mistakes are mine.

You woke with a start, gasping for breath that wouldn't seem to fill your lungs. For several agonizing seconds, it felt like it would never happen before finally, your body kickstarted itself. The silence of the room was only broken by the brief choking gasps of air as you tried to regulate your breathing. Then your ears registered the frantic beeping of a heart rate monitor. Your own. Forcing yourself to take a few slower breaths, it calmed down as you managed. Stiffness below reminded you that you were stuck in a hospital bed. Right. The accident. 

With a grimace, you forced yourself into a seated position. The pain was a worthy distraction, taking your mind off the vivid flashbacks that played before your eyes. Like a bad horror movie that you couldn't pause. 

A nurse came in, far more quickly than they had the past three weeks. Must have been fewer patients on the floor for them to monitor. When you had first arrived four weeks ago, despite your status, it had taken time for them to show up. 

“Everything okay?” No, nothing was okay in the least about the entire situation. Swallowing down the words, you found yourself giving a shaky smile. 

“Yeah, fine. Just a bad dream.” PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder, that's what it was. You knew well enough to recognize the signs after seeing some of your closest brothers go through the same thing. “Sorry, didn't mean to cause any worry.” She gave you a softer smile, one that felt like pity. You hated every second of it. Of all of this, if you were honest. You wanted to be back home, away from the world and everyone in it. Why should you have lived?

 “Not a problem at all.” She checked over your IV line and monitor before moving to the door, taking her leave. But before she fully left, she looked over her shoulder. “From what I heard, you're getting out of here tomorrow.” There may not have been a God but that news could have brought you to belief. 

“Thanks…for everything.” 

*****

Using the crutches to get into your home, you grunted with the effort. The cracked ribs were healing and could bear the brunt of your weight with some protest and discomfort but you weren't hanging around any longer than absolutely necessary. 

A chill ran down your spine and the urge to look at the street was almost overwhelming. But you knew what you would find there if you did. Just repeated flashes of blood, broken glass, and phantom pains. Unconsciously, your jaw had started to clench, something you only realize when you heard a small crack. 

“Fuck.” The word bounced through the empty house. A slow sigh and you were moving to the staircase. Life now had a whole new set of obstacles and challenges. Ones that you couldn't have ever dreamed of if one were to ask you. Yet, here you were. “Don't have a fucking pity party now. Get your ass up the stairs so you can take a proper shower. Then, you can check on Norman.” it was the right thing to do. You had heard from your older neighbor just once in the entire time you had been in the hospital. Understandable, given the circumstances and what he had to be dealing with, but it didn't quell the drive to follow up. Having been a neighbor for the better part of five years now, you had grown close to Norman and Emma. Just the thought of the girl was enough to constrict your throat and threaten to have tears spilling from your eyes once more. 

White knuckling the crutches, you slowly made your way up the stairs. It was both painstaking and painful but there was a small sense of accomplishment when you hit the top landing. One thing out of the way, many many more to come. No use in getting too excited over it all just yet. The shower was the next thing to tackle. 

***********

Having only fallen once, the shower could be considered a success. Dressing wasn't as difficult as anticipated, the bed that you had easy to get on and off of with the wall right there that you could brace yourself against. Now, down the stairs? That was a whole other ballgame. Slow, very slowly, you worked down each step. It probably would have been easier to admit defeat and go down on your ass but that stubborness that often got you in trouble decided to rear it's head. This was life now so it wasn't like something that you wouldn't have to get used to. Might as well start that right now.

The shower made you feel a bit better. Something about being able to shower at home, in your own space, with your typical washes and shampoos just did something different than when you were stuck showering in a hospital. While you still were in tremendous discomfort that bordered on pain that was barely tolerable, you still felt better. Plus, being out of those hospital clothes just helped give a little mental boost. 

Tossing a jacket over your shoulders, you opened the door with a slow breath. The street was quiet, just as it often was. There were so few left in this neighborhood, the stranglehold of the economic crisis squeezing life out of Detroit day by day. Those that remained were too headstrong to go more than anything else. You and the man across the street had that in common. Not the only thing. The memory that came of the first meeting had you wanting to laugh. It was either laugh or break out into tears because the bad came rushing hard. Shaking away the thoughts as if the physical action could dislodge and remove those mental images. 

The walk across the street didn't take too long, though getting up his steps took a few moments. It seemed that Shadow knew of the presence on the porch before you could even knock. The bark that came from inside was excitement, something recognizable and in a way somewhat comforting. It was normal. Routine. Despite the fact that nothing about this would ever be the normal that you both once knew. There was no answer to the rap of knuckles against the wood. Not for a minute. Or five. 

A part of you wondered if you should just leave him be. You had your own trauma from the entire thing but his loss was so much greater than your own. A leg compared to a child? No comparison. Still, something rolled in your gut at the thought of leaving Norman to his misery, grief, and pain. You had been alone in the hospital. Being alone and isolated was never good. So, that thought made you knock again and call out. 

“Norman?” Your voice nearly cracked and you had to take a second to take in a breath. The situation called for composure. Letting your own emotions shine through wouldn't help the moment at all. “I'm sure you don't want to see anyone right now…” What words were supposed to be spoken for this sort of thing? Huffing out in frustration, you stared at the door. 

“Can you please let me in? You don't have to talk. I know you aren't alright, I wouldn't expect you to be but seeing you would at least settle my own mind. Please?” Maybe appealing to that part of him would get the older man to agree. Another few moments passed, bringing about a sense of defeat. This wasn't something to barrel through, to hit head on like a bull in a china shop. If Norman didn't want to see anyone,you couldn't force your presence upon him. At least not with his house closed up like this. Just as you were getting ready to turn around, locks disengaging rang out and the door opened. Shadow's bark was significantly louder, the thump of his tail against the door frame audible. 

He looked rough, like he hadn't been sleeping. Something that was relatable. More than that, it was in the way that he held himself. A man defeated had a certain posture after all. An awkward silence fell over the two of you as you stood there before the door opened a bit more and he stepped to the side, a silent signal to come inside. The crutches hopefully made enough noise for him to be able to keep his feet out of the way as you entered the home, as mindful of where you were placing them as you could be. The last thing that was needed was for you to cause a physical injury to the man. 

“When did you get home?” 

“Today.” A grunt was the response that you got and honestly, you hadn't expected much more. The house was dark, though it didn't matter much to Norman and you weren't going to say a damn thing. He led you to the kitchen, where he was having some coffee from the smell that lingered in the air. 

“They have her in jail.” That perked your ears up as you eased yourself into the seat. Crutches were kept close by just in case quick movement was needed.

“Good.” Your voice had come out firmer than intended. But really, it was where the young woman deserved to be. She had killed someone, not just someone but a child. All because she had been stupid about drinking and driving. Frankly, at this rate, she shouldn't leave. Two lives permanently altered in ways that could never be repaired by one decision of a third party. Maybe it would have been just injuries to you and Emma if you had moved faster. Hurling your body in the way of the oncoming car in an attempt to get the girl out of the way or at least shield her to some degree had been an instant reaction. If only it would have worked. 

Clearing your throat a little, you tried to shrug off the anger that had been growing in presence day after day for the last two weeks. “It's no less than deserved. The police hadn't been by to talk much to me besides that first week I was actually conscious. I've been a bit out of the loop on what is happening.” The idea of checking your phone had fallen to the wayside in the focus of getting ready to leave the hospital. He set a cup of coffee down in front of you without having asked. The warmth of the cup seeped into your chilled hands, causing you to close your eyes for just one moment. 

“She'll rot in jail.” She better. But it wasn't like a trial was going to happen any time soon. Those things took time. An extended amount of time, with additional suffering to come for the both of you. Norman fell silent for a long while, staring off in that unseeing fashion of his, eyes seemingly focused just above your right shoulder. What more was there to say?  “You're on crutches.” An observation without any real direction.

“Yep.”

“They wouldn't give you a prosthetic?” 

“I opted not to get one right away. Getting out of there and home was more important to me. I have an appointment set up in two weeks with a physical therapist and someone who can fit me for one.” Your voice grew softer for just a second, obvious to the both of you. Was it self consciousness that caused it? A worry of bringing up something that would upset him? 

“And your other injuries?” A wince that you were thankful could not see came before you could stop it. A feeling of guilt crawled the back of your throat, robbing you of your voice for a mere moment. 

“Things that will heal with time. Some medicines for the rest of my life.” And the daily reminder that you just hadn't acted quick enough. Something that would haunt you every time you looked down and saw the empty space where your right left should have been. “All things that I can manage.” He hadn't said anything about himself, about how he was dealing. Poorly. There was no need to put a word to it but hearing it would at least lead in a direction of knowing what to do to help him. He was deflecting, though you had pleaded with him to let you in on the basis of not having him talk. Silently, you were able to reach out and carefully curl your fingers around his hand. For a brief moment, tension wracked you as the expectation of him pulling away reigned up. Instead, there was a slight tremble and he was curling his own fingers in response, squeezing her hand tightly. 

*****

Daily trips over to Norman's became routine. It was good for the both of you, in all honesty. Getting out of the house instead of sulking around and wallowing, despite arguing that it wasn't a pity party, did you no good. And the same could be said for the older man. A familiar motion that helped dictate the day and forced the both of you to keep to a schedule. He was a little more open in talking about it, letting you know what the detectives had to say and where everyone was at with the case. You couldn't speak to the sinking feeling that rolled in your gut any time that it was discussed but it was shoved to the side and never mentioned. The man had enough stress. 

He was good for forcing you to talk about where you were at with your physical therapy and the prosthetic. You had been fitted for it several weeks ago. Things weren't one size fits all. The molding process had been interesting, with a reassurance that it would be correct once it came in. And finally, after a long wait, it came in two days ago. You hadn't realized physical stress that just the therapy would have you going through, let alone the entire concept of learning to walk again. Because that was what it was. Relearning to walk. Balance would be all new, weight shifts entirely different, and movement to adjust to when it came to walking. 

There had been an argument between yourself and your therapist that had left you stewing, in a rotten mood that was volatile at best. Norman had realized something was wrong when he ran into you while out walking Shadow. Shadow, as always, let out that excited bark and his tail started going a mile a minute. It was not acknowledged on your end and the silence was clearly enough of a tip off for him.

“Did it go that poorly today?” You jumped, startled by the comment, and the fact that he had engaged when you hadn't said a damn thing. A huff was the only response he got for a long moment. 

“I ended up in an argument with my therapist.” The words were a little sullen. Not typical at all. He waited patiently, not saying anything else, forcing you to elaborate. Pulling the information out of you without being too forceful but with the knowledge that he could be as stubborn as you. “They wanted to keep the prosthetic there until I properly learned to walk….” The words caught for a moment, not wanting to admit to struggling with it. Everything about the weight distribution felt wrong to your body. 

“I wanted to be able to bring it home so that I can work at my own pace, without all those eyes on me.” He hummed for a moment, not saying anything else right away, mulling over the information as his hands folded over top of his cane. 

“They let you?” 

“Yes.”

“Then why are you sitting here?”

“What?”

“If they let you bring it home, why are you sitting here and not walking?” The words that your therapist had said rang around your head. Coupled with the frustration over the entire situation, you had opted to sit and stew in the anger. It was easier. Mentally and physically. Still, Norman was right. And if there was one person in the world that you couldn't argue with right now, it had to be Norman. That sight less gaze seemed to settle on you, his head ever so slightly tilted, listening for your reaction. You knew the signs well enough by now. “Get your things and come over.” Now, that was entirely unexpected. Realizing that he was serious, you pulled yourself up and moved to grab everything into a bag.

*******

Norman knew his house intimately, which is the reason why he chose to do it in his space rather than yours. Every uneven floor board that would cause a balance shift, which wall would easily be reached as a brace if falling down. And how to move easily through the space, forcing you to move after him. Like a game of chase. An annoying game of chase.  

But there seemed to be a method to his madness as you were starting to get the hang of movement. It wasn't just walking in a straight line. No, this was actual movement, natural in hoe you would operate day to day. There were plenty of stumbles, sending you crashing down to the hard wooden floor. But the gruff responses demanded that you get back to your feet. 

Exhaustion began to tug at the edges of your consciousness. Muscles ached and protested each movement as they strained further and further under unfamiliar stress. The stumbles became more common and that sense of anger came rushing back, but along with it an embarrassment that you weren't picking up as fast as you wanted. That you were looking like a fool in front of Norman. 

He had demanded that you attempt the stairs. Well, more like a suggestion without room for any argument. It took effort to even think at this point how to shift your weight and the movement needed to swing your leg. Norman was close this time, closer than he had been while moving throughout the house. A brace of sorts, just in case there ended up being a tumble down the stairs. 

The first step was managed well enough, the second with a little more difficulty but by the third, your body had decided that it had enough. Thankfully, you want tumbling forward instead of backwards into Norman. Your fingers scrapped against the wood of the stairs, a shaky breath taken as your throat constricted for a moment. 

“I think that's enough for today. Come on, let's get you resting.” The raspy, grizzled voice of the older man was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality at this point; grounding you in a way that let the desire to scream, to cry, to throw things fade into the background. You were tired, hurt, and angry. But the warm hands against your hips helped to guide you back to a standing position. “Think you can get back down? Or do you want the crutches?”

“Might as well try.” The stairs were narrow, so Norman couldn't stand beside you. But, he stayed in front of you despite the risk of being toppled into, hands remaining against your hips to help act as an extra brace. The stabilization actually helped as you managed to get down the two steps, nearly sagging into the wall to your left. The older man had the audacity to chuckle. You wanted to be upset about it but found that you didn't have it in you. 

“We will work more tomorrow.” 

“Norman, you don't have to…”

“I'll stop by after my morning walk with Shadow.” You knew the routine well enough after all. When the man had his mind made up, he was all but impossible to deter. It was in that moment that you realized his hands were still pressed against you. A fact that you hardly minded. They weren't moving and neither was he as he was still crowded close. The presence was both exciting and comforting. You would be a liar if you said that he hadn't felt attraction to the man, had since you had first met. But it had never seemed appropriate. 

“Okay.” Again, it was an argument that wasn't going to be winnable. His mind was set. This close, you could see the way that his lips seemed to twitch upward, the hints of a smile present. And in response, you found yourself mirroring the expression. “I'll be ready.”

“Good.” With that confirmation, he pulled you away from the wall, as if you were nothing more than a feather in his grasp, one arm sliding around your waist to help you keep your balance. “You can take it off on the couch. Do you need to do anything with it now?” 

“Gotta make sure I don't have any blisters, pressure patches, or breakdowns in the skin.” That was easy enough to focus on, even as the warmth of his body beside yours was making it difficult to focus. “I'll clean up when I get home and use the cream that they gave me.” He helped you get settled down on the couch. 

“Can I?” His hands moved forward before hesitating. You hadn't had anyone besides the doctors and nurses touch the area. You hated having to do it yourself. But, as he waited for permission, you found that you couldn't deny the request. 

Carefully, you took his hands and guided them to the prosthesis. Norman moved his hands slowly over the entire thing, kneeling beside the couch to be able to trail them down to the foot before back up, all the way up to your thigh. 

“They did a good job.” Again, the touch lingered. For a second, you swore he could hear your heart racing, the almost unsteady beat loud in your ear. The moment was far more intimate than it had a right to be. Were you reading into it too much? Maybe. Norman hadn't exactly shown all that much interest in anything more than the steady friendship that had formed between the two of you.

“Yeah.” Finally, he pulled away and inched up to settle onto the couch beside you. The entire world felt off kilter, in an entirely new way. “Yeah, it's supposed to ultimately function better than some of the older models. I didn't exactly understand the technical stuff on how the knee hinge works but I know it cost the VA a pretty penny.” 

Carefully, the process of removing it was begun. The movements were still a little foreign to you but something you were getting the hang of; eventually they had said you would be able to do it in your sleep. Norman's fingers wrapped around your forearm, squeezing lightly. Actions paused immediately, you glanced towards him, trying to determine what the touch was for. 

“Give yourself a second.” You didn't understand what he meant. “You're shaking. And I can hear the little noises of pain.” You hadn't realized that you were even making noise, and now that he had pointed it out, you could feel the tremors in your hands and arms. He had noticed it all before it had registered. 

After a few moments, the process was finished and you tucked the prosthetic in the bag, along with the sock. The skin was a little red and there were some indentations along the pressure points but overall, nothing looked worrisome or terrible. Thankfully. 

“Better?” A rush of gratitude welled up. Shadow nudged your hand on the other side and in that moment, you realized that just as you hadn't wanted Norman alone, you weren't either. Swallowing hard to push back the emotion and chalking it up to the exhaustion that you were feeling, it took a second to respond. 

“Yeah, better. Thanks, Norman.” Unable to help it, you found yourself leaning into him just a bit as you scratched Shadow behind the ear. It didn't feel like it was too much or stepping over the line after the way that Norman had been close before. Hopefully, that wasn't too bold an assumption. For a second, it may have been when he seemed to tense before you could feel him relax. The final reassurance was when his arm curled around your shoulders, an unfamiliar but incredibly comforting weight that brought a smile to your face.  

[blissfullybloomed]

Consistency: OOF! Yup, that's where we're headed today. 

Literally this one is going to be rough all over the place. Buckle up!

Being real, this word alone gives me PTSD of a past relationship that I jacked up because I myself wasn't consistent. This is one of those relationships that forced me to learn who I was, because he didn't deserve me in that state. I know you read these, and I'm sorry to you, too. 

Side bar, man am I glad I did the work ... .I just did it a little too late for some partners. 

Anyway, here we go. 

Are you the type of person that gets overly excited about a new task or project and the excitement wears off in a week? Yeah, I used to be too. Until I learned a few tricky tricks. 

“Plan your work, and work your plan.”- Dale Vermillion.  Dale is an incredibly intelligent handsome man who works in realty and mortgage lending. 

This step is the most crucial. The planning, and the working of the plan. Start with setting some goals. Example: Weight loss, Work less hours and be home, Play your guitar more, put more legos together…and so on. 

Once you have a goal…set some timelines to it. Specific timelines. Deadlines if you will. Example: I want to lose weight by the end of the year. Great…now you have a deadline as to when this goal will be reached. Let's take it a few steps further though …let's get granular. 

Make SMART Goals. Smart, Measurable, Attainable, Realistic, and Timely. 

Losing weight by the end of the year is great…but how much weight are we going to lose per month? Per week? Per day? How many calories are we going to intake? See…lots of questions to drill this bad boy down to make it realistic to achieve. 

Speaking of calories…little tidbit. Losing weight is all about calorie intake - calorie outtake. 3500 Calories = 1 pound. Eat less calories…lose weight….eat more calories..maintain or increase your weight. 

Now listen, I'm not a nutritionist…so don't get your panties in a twist….I just know what I know. 

Tell everyone! Keep yourself accountable to whatever task you’re trying to complete. 

This will help drastically with your success or failure in my humble opinion. If you're the struggle in silence type…by all means, go for it. I would highly recommend journaling at minimum throughout that timeframe. It helps with the overwhelming anxiety that is caused when we put too much pressure on ourselves to achieve a goal. No shame in journaling. 

Prepare yourself mentally for disappointment and setbacks. There's a reason why companies forecast potential revenue loss….they know anything can happen and are ready with a plan if it does.

Example: I will lose 50 pounds by the end of the year. I will achieve this by eating less than 3500 calories a day and losing 1 pound every three days, which equals a 2 pound loss each week. Two pounds lost per week = 8 pounds in a month. So I can realistically lose 8 pounds in a month IF i dont over or under eat. So My goal would then change accordingly to allow flux .  Hopefully, that makes sense.

Keep it moving…don't Quit! Show up for yourself every freaking day. Do small things daily to build up to the end goal. Whatever that may be ... .if you need help with goal setting reach out to me. I can totally help with that confidentially. 

Consistency is hard. Really hard. Especially if you are in a mental or physical fog. You just don't have the will to meet your goals today… THIS is why we allow for flux. We can't be 100% everyday. Some days are going to be zero days. Nothing gets accomplished, laundry stacks, dishes in sink, kids in the same clothes as yesterday, reports for work haven't been written…and so on. It's okay, we planned for this to happen. Be easy on yourself…no progress is still progress. You have not chosen to completely stop. Keep moving. 

Some things that help me stay consistent: 

Calendars, Calendars, Calendars…for REAL! I legit have a consistent calendar I use in Microsoft Excel to budget. Yeah, a spreadsheet. 

Alarms and Reminders in any of my devices. I have reminders to shower, make coffee, do yoga, meditate, comb my hair( Yeah it was that bad at one point- my zero days). 

Affirmations EVERYWHERE! Flood yourself with hand written affirmations. I used to have them on chakra colored post notes all around my house. 

Journaling/Blogging. It gets the old out sometimes. Makes room for the new. 

Tea, Yoga, and Meditation…these are my Holy trinity. It's my safe space. 

Your environment. Look around you. Check your five senses? What smells? Sounds? Anything that makes you turn your nose up or cringe….get it out! Refresh everything! This is also making room for fresh new ideas, thoughts, and space. I use sage, incense, candles, aroma diffusers, orange himalayan lamps, meditation music, twinkle lights, artwork that makes me happy ...all the good things. 

Lastly, check the people you surround yourself with. Are they pushing or pulling you from your goals? Really evaluate that. Blinders off. Take stock. Maybe they need to go for a while, so you can focus on yourself? So be it. If they love you, they will understand and either wait for you or be supportive with you. If a person has an opportunity to rid themselves of someone or something toxic in their life, they should take that chance for themselves. If they don't…what self worth do they or YOU have? 

Alright, I'm done preaching today. Get out there and do some stuff! Love y'all!

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Super 119

Look out, it’s the Predator!

I wouldn’t go as far as saying this episode is bad, but it’s not very important, as it’s mainly about clearing some of the dead wood from the tournament.  Universes 2 and 6 were erased last time, which leaves us with the following...

U3: Dr. Paparoni, Catopesra, Biarra, Borareta, Koitsukai, Pancea (6)

U4: Xiangca, Damom, Gamisalas (3)

U7: Goku, Vegeta, Gohan, Piccolo, 17, 18, Frieza (7)

U11: Jiren, Top, Dyspo (3)

It should be pretty obvious by now that this tournament is building up to a big showdown between U7 and U11, so that means U3 and U4 need to go, and that’s not much of a loss, since all that’s left of those teams are a bunch of losers who didn’t matter much in the first place.  Which means eliminating them is more of a chore than any sort of accomplishment or milestone. 

Vegeta takes on Catopesra, who’s been showing up a lot lately, mostly because there aren’t a whole lot of guys left for Vegeta to fight with.  He powers up to his “Ultimate” mode, but Vegeta overwhelms him with a Final Flash.

To his credit, Catopesra manages to save himself from falling over the edge of the stage, so maybe this explains how he’s lasted this long...

... but then some unseen force sweeps his legs out from under him and he falls off anyway.

The U3 gods want to know what happened to him, but Catopesra is just as confused as everyone else.  Wow, he looks way cooler without the helmet.

Vegeta investigates, and nearly goes over the edge himself, but he manages to grab the stage before it’s too late.

Same with Gohan, except Piccolo uses his stretchy arms to rescue him.

The U7 guys on the bench try to make sense of it all, and Roshi deduces that it must be an invisible fighter.  They act like it’s such a stretch, even though they once encountered an invisible fighter in OG Dragon Ball.  Roshi even references it in this episode when he suggests Gohan nosebleed all over the place.

Beerus is skeptical of this idea, but Quitela, the God of Destruction from Universe 4, just flat out admits it, which seems like a dumb play to me.  “Yes, we have an invisible fighter.”  I thought these guys were supposed to be sneaky.

Piccolo tries to flush the guy out with explosive ki waves, but it doesn’t work.  Finally, Gohan starts shooting blasts, not to hit their enemy, but to kick up enough dust that it covers the invisible fighter, exposing his position.  Piccolo takes it from their, since the guy isn’t actually that strong when he can’t sneak up on anybody.

And Gamisalas has been eliminated.  Well, you’ll have to take my word for it. 

So now Xiangca tries to step up to the plate.  We’ve seen this little guy floating around before, but he hasn’t done much.  Now, he reveals his true power, which is to cast illusions.  Wait, didn’t Universe 4 already have a fighter with that power?

Suddenly the U7 team is confronted by spectres of the fighters they’ve already defeated.  They were supposed to have been erased, but now they’re back for revenge.  And even though they can’t touch these phantoms, they seem solid enough when they attack.

But Piccolo uses his ki senses to locate two enemies, one circling around them, and the other staying in one spot.  He tracks down the stationary fighter and it’s Xiangca.  He chucks him out, and the illusions vanish. 

That just leaves the last Universe 4 fighter, and Piccolo thinks he’s found him, and it’s another inivisible fighter.  I don’t think they state this in the show, but it seems like this guy, Damom, was attacking the U7 guys to make Xiangca’s illusions seem real.  But with Xiangca out of the ring, Damom has to fight alone. 

Fortunately, Piccolo has an easier time tracking Damom down, but when he finds him, he still can’t hit him.  But why?

And Piccolo gets knocked out of the ring before he can solve that mystery.

Eventually 17 figures out the truth.  It’s not that Damom is invisible.  The truth is actually much more simple, but Gamisalas earlier left them all convinced that they were dealing with a second invisible man, which kept them from figuring it out. 

Damom isn’t invisible, he’s just really, really small.  So even though Piccolo located his ki, he aimed his strikes like Damom was a full-sized fighter, and that’s why he missed.

But knowing Damom’s secret doesn’t make it easier to catch him.  17 notices that Damom isn’t flying, so if they can make it so that he can’t jump, they should be able to grab him.  Goku solves that problem by punching the stage, making it impossible for Damom to get his footing.

17 traps Damom in a force field bubble and Pele kicks him out of the ring.  And Universe 4 is done, just like that.

Quitela panics and threatens to get everyone, but he can’t escape his fate.  He gets erased along with the rest of his universe.  Good riddance.

This was another all-jobber team, like Universes 9 and 10, but it’s kind of annoying how they lasted this long, yet did so little in the Tournament.  I mean, Damom, Gamisalas, and Xiangca seemed to have a very effective strategy in this episode, one that could have been extremely effective in the early going.   So why did they wait until now to try it?  Why didn’t Xiangca and Damom lift a finger to save Gamisalas?   Why didn’t any of them take out Master Roshi back when he was dismantling their team?  I think U4 was trying to play a long game, staying out of sight long enough to reach the end, where they could sneak up on the opposition, but then why didn’t they wait a little longer, then?  At least let Universe 3 take their shot before striking. 

Well, no use in trying to make sense of it.  If Universe 4 was any good at this, they wouldn’t have lost.  Here’s KISS with “I Just Wanna.”

[riverdamien]

The Sacrifice of Listening!#

Sloughing Towards Galilee!!

The Sacrifice of Simply Listening!

Ash Wednesday, 2024

February 14, 2024

James 1:

23. Anyone who listens to the Word and takes no action is like someone who looks at his own features in a mirror and,

24. once he has seen what he looks like, goes off and immediately forgets it.

25. But anyone who looks steadily at the perfect law of freedom and keeps to it -- not listening and forgetting, but putting it into practice -- will be blessed in every undertaking.

26. Nobody who fails to keep a tight rein on the tongue can claim to be religious; this is mere self-deception; that person's religion is worthless.

27. Pure, unspoiled religion, in the eyes of God our Father, is this: coming to the help of orphans and widows in their hardships, and keeping oneself uncontaminated by the world.

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

    Ash Wednesday is a day in which ashes are placed on our foreheads and the words spoken:

"Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return!" Scary Words Indeed!

    The older I become, those words become very real to me, each time the past few years I have been hurt or wounded Lent calls me to reflect on my dying, as well as the death of Jesus! The ashes placed on my forehead will remind me to pay attention all around me, for we are all in the same boat!

    When death comes what are we taking with us--our position, our beautiful cars, houses. .?

    So this Lent how will we fast?  I suggest we fast through simply "listening" to another. I am told often I am "trained" to listen, they are not, and LOL, I learned to "listen" as a child sitting with my grandmother, mother and others. I learned to "listened", through others listening to me and finding healing simply in being listened to.

    The greatest sacrifice we can make this Lent is to close our mouths, leave our judgments at the backdoor, and simply let another talk and share their feelings and pain. Be present to another!

    I know individuals who pay $250.00 a week to talk to a therapist simply to be listened to; to share their fears, burdens, and struggles. A shrink friend of mine at Kaiser tells me how overwhelmed their therapists have become. Homeless services neglect "listening"!

    Recently I sat down with a person on the street and simply listened for an hour or so; which is mostly what I do. He shared of the loss of his parents and siblings in a fire, his turning to drugs in loneliness; ending he commented, "You really listen!"

    Listening is scary, and exhausting, truly exhausting, but it is so rewarding to truly "Listen"!

    This Lent let the sacrifice of yourself be to listen to another! Invite someone to lunch or coffee, and let them simply talk.

    As I hit thirty years here in San Francisco, the question has been asked of me do you feel like you have accomplished anything, which I laugh at. For as I move into the final year or years of my ministry, and look Angel of Death in the face, every day, I am going to simply"Listen"! To be present to others, to open my heart as much as possible!

    Listening brings its benefits, one of which is moving us from loneliness to solitude.

    Fr. Henri Nouwen tells us:

To live a spiritual life we must first find the courage to enter into the desert of our loneliness and to change it by gentle and persistent efforts into a garden of solitude. This requires not only courage but a strong faith. As hard as it is to believe that the dry desolate desert can yield endless varieties of flowers, it is equally hard to imagine that our loneliness is hiding unknown beauty . The movement from loneliness to solitude, however, is the beginning of any spiritual life because it is a movement from the restless senses of the restful spirit, from the outward reaching cravings to the inward--reaching search, from the fearful clinging to the fearless play.

Simply sitting with another, listening, is a way into solitude, away "from the fearful clinging (to ourselves) to the fearless play (with another)!"

Deo Gratias! Thanks be to God!

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

Thirtieth Anniversary Celebratrion

October 5, 2024

6:00 p.m.

Victor's Piazza pm Polk

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Ash Wednesday Eve, February 13th and Ash Wednesday, February 14th:

We will offer ashes to whom ever on the street wishes it; providing food, socks, and listening, as we move along Polk/Tenderloin/ and Haight Street! Anyone interested in accompanying me on our Ash Wednesday journey, you are welcome, please contact me!

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

Fr. River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min., D.S.T.

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

www.temenos.org

snap chat: riodamien2

415-305-2124

[sayheylulu]

What causes depression?

What is depression?

Let's explore the history and how depression was viewed by physicians and medical establishments and even dating back to centuries ago by philosophers. Let's learn the definition as well as symptoms and signs to recognize when a person is depressed and to know what needs to be done to get diagnosed and to get the appropriate treatment.

So perhaps you know the subject personally or maybe from somebody else or perhaps you want to work in this area of helping and caring environments.

Let's start with examples when a person could generally feel depressed. For example, separation and divorce or when someone is going through certain life challenges. Bereavement of a loved one is quite normal and acceptable. They might feel an overwhelming sense of sadness mixed with various emotions such as frustration and anger, feelings of being isolated, lack of cheerfulness and despair.

But if these feelings stayed with the person for many weeks when they're mixed with feelings of hopelessness and prevent that person to function normally then this condition may be classified as clinical depression and the person can seek professional help.

The condition that is manageable with the help of a professional psychologist or psychiatrist and or a counselor and can be treated with a mixture of medicine and therapy.

So let's have a look at the definition of depression.

Major depressive disorder is a common and serious medical illness that negatively affects how you feel, the way you think and how you act.

Depression causes feelings of sadness and or a loss of interest in activities that was once enjoyed. It can lead to a variety of emotional and physical problems and can decrease the person's ability to function at work and at home.

Depression or major depressive disorder or clinical depression is a common but serious mood disorder. It causes severe symptoms that affect how you feel, think and handle daily activities, the ability to relax and to sleep, to look after yourself, to eat and to enjoy life.

To put simply, depression is a loss of interest in the normal activities of a person and affects how the person thinks and feels.

Which means that this condition affects not only the person's feelings but his or her whole life, work, relationships, family, hobbies and possibly the physical health and even self-care to a certain degree.

There is no doubt that we shouldn't treat this condition lightly.

In worst case scenario, a depressed person can lose interest in life and starts questioning up to the point of leaving and have suicidal ideas or have suicidal thinking.

According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, 25 million Americans suffer from depression each year and over 50 percent of people who suffer from major depression will commit suicide. That's a large figure.

44% of Americans feel more stressed than they did 5 yrs ago, in fact 1 in 5 people in the US experience extreme levels of stress, and 3 out of 4 visits to the doctor are stress-related.

Depression affects around five to eight percent of adult Americans but on a more positive note they also report that depression is one of the most treatable of all psychiatric disorders and as many as 80 to 90 percent of people are able to recover.

Depression is a common disorder. And as the World Health Organization reports, three hundred and fifty million people around the world experience depression.

It is also known that it affects more women than men and that depression is different from emotional responses and short lived moods that we can experience even if they feel overwhelming to us.

So how is it different?

The positive type of stress (eustress) is the one which gives you enough energy to complete your project, to prepare for your holidays or for a wedding, to help you to overcome a certain challenge or to learn new skills. This type of stress can provide a buzzing and exciting feeling.

Eustress shouldn’t last for too long. It should help you to accomplish something you really want. But if it goes for too long, it can become destructive just as any other long-term type of stress.

The long-term stress (distress) could start as ‘eustress’ or it could start as ‘distress’ if for example something awful happened to the person. Long-term stress can easily grow into the major depressive disorder.

So what is an effective way to combat negative stress? It is possible to build a certain level of resistance to stress and even to depression. For example, engaging in some form of exercise on a regular basis, having a diet that is rich in nutrients, having strong supportive relationships with family and friends.

Participating in activities that are relaxing and enjoyable such as meditation, yoga, and even visiting a counsellor can really make the person resilient to stress.

Also, abstaining from ‘bad habits’ and making time for oneself, finding an enjoyable hobby and going to weekends away and vacations can also make a significant difference to how the person deals with the challenges of life.

Now, what are the signs of depression that the person needs to have to get an actual diagnosis and treatment?

I'll talk about that in the next episode. Thanks for your interest and see you next time!

Here are some RECOMMENDED WEBSITES to explore on your free time: ‘Why stress turns into depression’ by Psychology Today, available from: https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/in-practice/201303/why-stressturns-depression ‘Stressed or depressed? Know the difference’ by Mental Health America, available from: http://www.mentalhealthamerica.net/stressed-ordepressed-know-difference RECOMMENDED BOOKS ‘Stress and Depression’ (2004), by Lennard-Brown S. ‘Psychotherapy and Counselling for Depression’ (2007), by Gilbert, P.

[grieverled-moved]

➤ BEHAVIOUR HEADCANONS [ ; ] LAUGHTER ( 2 / ? ) © In this instance, it’s one of those cold, not quite hysterical but bordering close to it kind of laughs? More of an example of how Squall will occasionally laugh in a more cold, sudden manner when he’s under pressure or overwhelmed.

Makes sense after what happened. Their first SeeD mission had a rocky enough start, no clear direction or plan to follow, the contract details being so vague they’re essentially stuck until they accomplish said vague goal — & to top it all off, one of their own ; even if he was a bastard, is presumed to be dead via execution from the hijacking gone wrong. Garden was also accidentally named for being behind the whole thing & there’s nowhere exactly safe to go in that moment. It’s all a lot for him to deal with in that moment. With a second of calm to breathe before they have to hit the road to find their next destination, it makes sense he kind of collapses & closes off all at once under all the pressure & stress.

He doesn’t take loss well — especially when it’s someone who is close to him, ‘enemy’ or otherwise. I am struggling with words today but best I can chalk it up to is he associates it with the hollowed feeling of abandonment / loss, so it’s a wild scramble to approach things coldly with enough distance to stay logical & closed off for defensive / protective purposes, but it backfires cause he still reacts how he does.

[fruggo]

the boys x tough f!reader (part 2)

requested by : @dranonymous

i love this idea and i hope you all enjoy part two! :D here’s part 1 with the original request.

warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence, dwight is really cute, danny is an asshole, jake is that cute “stoic man who is actually caring and thoughtful” trope because i say so

𝐃𝐖𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃

you are so cool. like ,,,,,so cool

dwight admires you so much. you just got here and yet you are breaking pyramid head’s ankles—dodging his trail of torment left and right, the killer just can’t touch you.

and how did you feel about everything? terrified, honestly, but nobody would ever be able to tell because you didn’t let it get to you. it was like you had already been here before, because the second you learned how to do something, you had it down no problem. fixing generators came naturally, and you could also run the killer for the whole trial if you had to. teammates could easily rely on you to do whatever needed to be done.

that was what made you and dwight such a powerful duo. from the moment you met, you knew you felt comfortable around this guy. he was sweet, maybe a little timid sometimes, but he knew how to step up and be a leader for everyone despite his fears.

you both knew what to do, and you fit together like a glove. your minds worked in very similar ways, which made communicating that much easier and efficient; the second a decision needed to be made, dwight was on top of it, encouraging the teammates and helping them get on their feet. you were already ahead of them, so dwight would just nod to you, knowing you could do your job well.

of course, there were times when dwight’s anxiety got the better of him, and you had to be the one encouraging him.

dwight hated the hag. despised her. he could not stand her jumpscares when a trap was triggered, he would swear he was about to have a heart attack. he couldn’t admit this at first, but you figured it out when feng min was hooked and dwight stuck to the generator, nervously glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. he always went for the saves, so something was obviously wrong.

“dwight? why don’t you go save her?” you asked, eyeing him from your side of the generator.

he didn’t respond, looking over his shoulder again.

you decided to rescue min, but when you got back, you were going to chew dwight out until he gave you a straight answer.

you crawled up to the hook to avoid triggering a trap and gently lowered min to the ground. the two of you inched away carefully until you were far enough away to patch her wound.

“dwight, get off your ass and answer me,” you demanded (affectionately) once you were back at the generator, which was nearly finished. “what’s wrong?”

his eyes conveyed nervousness in every sense of the word; they darted all around, searching for any incoming danger. this was your first time seeing him like this, so you were confused. was he alright?

“it’s just…the hag,” he started, still fiddling with the wires. “her traps, i can’t…”

oh. was he anxious about the traps?

“i just can’t deal with them,” he finally said with difficulty. that was understandable; when they caught you off guard it definitely made you leap out of your skin.

“dwight, listen,” you said. “you’ve dealt with every other killer in this realm, haven’t you? you’ve bested the nurse, the huntress, micky myers, and even the spirit, who’s a bitch. i know hag’s traps are fucking terrifying, but you’re dwight! you are a leader, and you are good at being a leader. you can get out of here, i promise. and besides, with me here, you have nothing to worry about. i’ll kick that witch’s ass, got it?”

your very inspirational speech got him to smile. you were right, anyways—you could definitely kick the hag’s ass. what could go wrong?

nothing, actually. genuinely nothing went wrong. you took chase for the rest of the trial so that dwight didn’t have to worry about a thing, and everybody escaped with no problem. he didn’t understand how you were so good at evading capture—but perhaps you would tell him about your past eventually. you hadn’t yet decided.

back at the campfire, you and dwight comfortably sat side-by-side, patiently waiting until your next trials.

“thanks,” he said.

“for what?”

“for that very motivational speech you gave me,” he laughed.

you wiped imaginary dust off of your shoulder, giving him a confident smile. “i got your back. and man, that hag lady really is a bitch, huh? i can see why you hate her.”

that comment unintentionally caused one of dwight’s long, angry rants about his least favorite killer, and all you could do was watch him and listen with a soft grin on your lips. you’d never seen him angry before—it was adorable. made you wonder if you should just piss him off for fun sometimes.

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊

this guy has hella respect for you

you’re independent and easy to teach, and that’s everything he could ask for.

now and then, the other survivors basically gave newbies to jake to teach them everything about the realm—they considered him the expert on all things survival. you were one of those newbies he was forced to take care of.

jake normally hated teaching new survivors more than anything, because it was never his choice and they were all so difficult. but you were different. you were responsible, reliable, and smart, and it made his job so much easier. as time went on, he grew to be quite fond of you.

word eventually got out that the new girl had managed to charm jake out of his “hermit ways,” but he insisted that it was not true (he also disagreed about the “hermit ways” part). it was never spoken of between the two of you, but it definitely floated around in the air waiting to be addressed.

it really couldn’t be ignored any longer. anytime you were seen anywhere within 24 feet of each other, the other survivors would give you looks and wiggle their eyebrows or shoot you a thumbs up—all of which were unwanted. it created a weird tension between you and jake that wasn’t there before, and you really didn’t like it.

you missed when you were first starting out, and jake had just realized how competent you are. those days were fun—he respected you a lot; you could see it in his face when he looked at you. you always knew when he was pleased and when you did stuff right, because he would have the tiniest, most subtle grin on his face, but you could see it, and it made you feel accomplished.

you knew he still respected you, but you had basically jumped the learning curve of the realm and quickly adapted to every killer, every challenge, and every task. how you did it, nobody could ever know. but you were almost sad, because there was kind of no reason for you and jake to spend a lot of time together anymore. if you did, then everybody would freak out for the wrong reasons, and it would ruin your friendship.

so what if you had a few small feelings for him? no one gave a shit—you knew jake probably wouldn’t give a shit. to him, you were just another annoying survivor he was forced to teach. besides, you didn’t have time for that kind of thing.

man, were you wrong, though. he really, really wanted to be around you, but you already knew everything, so he didn’t know what to do to spend time with you. his way of initial bonding was sharing knowledge, but that had already been done, so…what now?

then came the one trial that changed everything.

it was normal at first. the killer, blight, was doing well, so you had to step up your game. one generator was completed and he had 4 hooks on three different people—you were the only one not hooked yet.

he was after you, and you were expertly dodging every rush and swing he threw your way. unfortunately, you accidentally ran to the generator that jake was working on, and things got a little complicated.

when the blight rushed at the wall, then at you, jake ran towards you while you ran towards him—you were both looking over your shoulders—and alas, bonk. you crashed into each other.

oh, no!! how terrible!! looks like jake fell on top of you :/ what an unfortunate situation to be in /s /s /s /s /s

wowwww near proximity ! you’d never been so close before and it was awkward but nice (?)

then you remembered there was a crazy drug addict or whatever over there and he was chasing you, and the moment was ruined. jake quickly rose and pulled you up with him, and you went in opposite directions, both nervous and wide-eyed now.

lol

after that, the trial went quite south. everybody was sacrificed. perhaps the loss could be partly attributed to you and jake avoiding each other like the plague. but who knows, right?

back at the campfire, you began feeling overwhelmed by all the weird stuff happening lately, so you excused yourself to the edge of the woods to have some quiet time to yourself. a few minutes later, jake came to check on you bc he is a fucking gentleman and yes i will die for the “stoic man who is actually caring and thoughtful” trope. fuck you

it’s slightly awkward at first, but then you start talking like normal and things feel a lot better. a little bit of the tension eases away, but not completely. what the fuck do you do with feelings like this?????

you simply composed yourself as best you could. it would have to do.

now that you felt a little more normal (lie), you trekked back to the campfire to wait for your next trials side-by-side. there was no one you felt more comfortable with or more respected by than jake. he appreciated you for your competency, and that was one of the best things you could ask for.

and to your surprise, jake actually took your hand and laced your fingers with his own. and it felt nice. never in your existence would you have thought he would be okay with displaying public affection, but you smiled up at him and gave his hand a light squeeze.

maybe the entity gave him drugs.

or he just liked you that much. either one would make sense.

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

danny hated you. he really did.

you were so unbothered, so calm, so good at knowing what to do. it really pissed him off.

you got so much attention from the other survivors for your skill and that really pissed him off too. it’s not like you cared or wanted it or anything, but how dare they even touch you when you so clearly belonged to danny?

…who knows wtf that even means. so anyways-

when you realized how much time danny spent chasing you in trials when he should have been patrolling generators, you began to get suspicious. especially when he would take you to the hatch and then close it in your face, watching you die to the entity. he obviously had some kind of beef with you.

you were determined to find out what he had against you, so you began to tease him a bit in chases. your favorite and most frequent phrase was something like, "can't catch me? lil baby man? lil baby? lil baby man gonna cry?" you were really testing your luck with that one, and that's why you loved it.

once, you told him his fly was down, and he actually fell for it, making you nearly keel over in laughter. you got moried without even being hooked after that.

despite the horrors that frequented this place, you were never in a crisis about it. you simply learned what had to be done, and then you did it, much to the chagrin of danny. you had skipped the big "useless baby survivor" phase, and that one was his favorite :( he loved trials with new survivors because it was so easy and fun!

but alas, from the beginning, you were always on top of things, always slamming pallets onto his head or saving teammates with a flashlight.

oh, don't even get him started on your flashlight usage. you were the absolute worst to go against--every pallet stun, boom: danny's eyes fucking burned out. every time he picks up a survivor, boom: danny's eyes fucking burned out. you were a bitch with that item.

he finally began to get so fed up with your behavior that he decided you must be taught a lesson. somehow, countless mori and tunneling and camping incidents had not even managed to bother you. you literally did not care. but he had something different in mind this time.

the realm was haddonfield, of course. all of the killers despised this map, and for good reason--you ran danny around the entire neighborhood for three generators. did he have to chase you? no. but he needed to for himself.

he finally caught you in a dead zone, rejoicing to himself as you fell to the ground in defeat. "wow, that was a good chase," you mumbled under your breath, feeling accomplished. one of your best against danny, probably.

you were expecting him to pick you up, but instead he snatched the flashlight from your grasp and chucked it as far away as he could. and before you could protest, he pulled you up to stand again and yanked you towards himself, gripping your wrists so tightly you swore it left bruises.

"what's wrong...lil baby man?" you said with a pout, trying not to laugh. "is baby man angry?"

you were slightly scared if you were being honest, but you couldn't let him know that.

danny sighed. you really didn't know when to stop, did you?

"bitch," he spat, voice dangerously quiet. "cut that shit out."

"what shit?"

he squeezed your arms tighter, provoking an "okay, okay, i get it!" from you.

"do you?"

"sure. what's the worst you could possibly do to me anyways?" after those words left your mouth, you got a weird feeling that the killer was smiling behind his mask.

"listen, uhh, danny, is it?" you said, putting as much nonchalance into your voice as you could. "i just wanna know why you hate me so much. remember that time you closed the hatch in my face? the fuck was that for?"

he frowned at the use of his name but responded regardless, "you're a little bitch, and you deserved that."

you gasped dramatically, feigning offense. "ouch. that one hurt."

"i can make you hurt a lot more," he said darkly. you probably should have been scared, but you just really couldn't take him seriously.

so you laughed. it shouldn't have been funny, but it just was and now you couldn't stop. "you're just--you--i can't--" you wheezed, shaking from the laughter. "i'm sorry, it's really not funny."

danny didn't understand you. anybody else would have been sobbing if he so much as touched them, and here you were acting like it was a joke.

what could he do if you truly were not afraid of him?

perhaps it was time to let it go.

while his guard was down, suddenly you reached above his head and plucked his mask off, revealing his face and continuing your bouts of laughter at his shocked expression.

you threw the mask in the same direction as the flashlight, composing yourself and putting your hands on your hips. "you look pretty nice," you said, nodding.

wow. what the hell was danny supposed to do with you? perhaps the only completely unbothered, completely unserious survivor? he knew you were smart, and you knew what you were doing. he didn't even want to kill you anymore, you were just that fascinating.

that trial ended in you standing at the exit gate, your finger and your thumb in the shape of an L on your forehead. danny couldn’t care less at this point--he was done with your shit. but somehow he still liked you, and this definitely would not be the last time you saw him without his mask.

[harry-writings]

The Happy Years

- The one where Y/n is unhappy in her engagement and finds an escape with her former lover

Part 1

Masterlist

(A/N) IM SO EARLY IM SORRY I KNOW I SAID 9PM BUT IM DONE SO MUCH SOONER THAN EXPECTED OKAY IM SORRY LOVE YALL <3333

-

Three years later.

The heaviest of thunderstorms hit the city of London by early morning, the loss of the sun and the gloom of the day leaving Harry bedridden for the first time in weeks.

He always tried his best to avoid days like this — trapped within his home, caged in memories that make every step he takes heavier than the last, wishing for just the smallest taste of salvation — because it’s when he’s left alone between these walls that the darkest parts of him come out, ravaging, feeding off of what’s left of him.

Rain reminds him of the day Y/n left. Thunder reminds him of Malibu. Malibu reminds him of all the things he ever used to do with her — on the bed, on the couch, in the hallways.

There’s no escape from what he’s done.

But when the time hits two in the afternoon and Harry still hasn’t gotten up from under his blankets, he decides that doing even the bare minimum with his day would be some sort of accomplishment.

He decided to get the mail.

And what a terrible decision that was, Harry thinks, as he sees an envelope addressed to him in unfamiliar handwriting by an unfamiliar name. Something about it upsets his stomach and throws him off key, knowing in his heart that he shouldn’t open it, but it’s heavy in his hands and he can’t ignore the temptation of it all.

Another terrible decision he’s made.

Please join us for the wedding of Alfie Lexington & Y/n Y/l/n.

Saturday, September 25, 2021 at 3:00 PM.

Dartmouth House. Mayfair, London.

The downpour feels like a drizzle compared to the cries Harry lets out as he reads the wedding invitation, his worst nightmare playing out right before his very eyes and if he wasn’t already so fucked up, he’d try his best to ignore it.

Y/n played her move. She wants him to strike back. She wants to win and watch him lose more than he already has. That’s all she has left of him.

His lips tremble as he sniffles, the invitation shaking between his palms as he lets reality sink in.

Y/n is getting married.

Y/n is happy.

Y/n is going to spend the rest of her life with somebody other than him — somebody that was once his friend.

It's unfathomable to him. The connection him and Y/n shared was unlike any other. They were drawn to each other instantaneously, their feelings of infatuation never once dying down because it was simply incapable of doing so.

They put each other first. They made each other better people, helped each other grow through all the droughts and winter days, and continuously found ways to become closer to one another. They were so comfortable and confident in their company, and so every day they spent together within those four years had never been anything less than pure happiness.

They were meant to be. He didn’t see it then, but he sees it now, and now that’s all he sees because everything he sees is her. 

To know that it’s no longer the same for her kills him from the inside out, because now she really doesn’t belong to him.

He lets out a sound that can only resemble what would be a whine and a groan made together, sobbing as he flips the invitation around, only to find another saved date he just doesn’t have the heart to see — an engagement party for all the invited to join.

He’s so overwhelmed with devastation that his brain becomes fogged, his body disassociating from itself as he rips the invitation apart, growling and screaming and wailing as he just keeps ripping it and ripping it and ripping it.

He’s destroying it in the same way it destroyed him until he gives up, slamming his fists down upon the counter, losing control of himself beneath all his pain and regrets. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to happen. This isn’t what was supposed to come from this life.

He’s barely surviving as it is.

And he just needs to see her again.

But he doesn’t know how he’d react once he does. Whether he’d want to kiss her, to hate her, to love her all over again, he doesn’t know. His entire world is collapsing and he doesn’t know how to save it from falling apart. He can’t take any more risks when it comes to her.

But what is love without fear and danger? What would it say about him if he were to walk away from this now instead of trying just once more with her?

So with a heavy heart and a sobbing chest, he doesn’t take his chances.

And Y/n simply just couldn’t believe the sight in front of her.

Harry is standing at her doorstep, soaked head to toe, shaking in his bones. His lips are a light shade of blue and his eyes an alarming shade of red, somehow wetter than the rest of him. And as the thunder rumbles beneath her feet and nearly sends her to her knees, it goes to show her that he really is here, standing at her doorstep, and it’s not just a dream.

And she must have been struck by the shock of his presence because her tongue is suddenly tied, her throat dry, her lips fallen open yet forgetting how to breathe.

She just looks at him, soaking him all in, trying to understand what exactly led him back to the biggest mistake of his life.

“Harry?”

“So that was your way of getting back at me?! After three fucking years?!”

Her mouth falls open in disbelief, her eyebrows furrowing in defense. How he could possibly accuse her of something she didn’t even do — considering she hadn’t made any attempts to reach out to him since the moment she left Malibu — makes her feel even more betrayed than before.

He should know her better than this. He should know her from the inside out at this point, but she supposed three years really is a long time, because she’s never seen this side of Harry before. He seems so different to her now.

“Don’t you dare come to my home and try to make an ass out of me! Since when have I ever been the kind of person to get back at somebody?!”

Harry stutters for a moment, his anger and jealousy and hurt blinding him from the truth that Y/n never goes out of her way to get even. Her heart is too big, but he can’t shake this feeling that the person who sent him the invitation was out to do him harm.

And nobody had more of a reason to hurt him than Y/n.

“So the wedding invitation, then? You had nothing to do with that?”

He speaks it condescending, as if he didn’t believe a word she said, but that’s not what it comes down to. It comes down to the fact that she has moved on and found herself somebody so much better than him, and he has no one.

She shakes her head as if to gather her thoughts, confused about how he even found out about the wedding considering Harry quit the firm just hours after he left Malibu, leaving him with no contact to anybody that had any string tied back to her.

“Of course I had something to do with the wedding invitations! I’m the one getting married!”

She pauses then, her cold demeanor dropping into something Harry wants to say resembles a hint of relief, but it’s much more cross than that, much more serious, and he doesn’t expect what’s coming next.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Me getting married?” She speaks it through a small, bitter laugh. “I should have known the only way you’d fight for me was by being with somebody else. You never could stand being second to me, as ironic as that is.”

“I could give two shits about you getting married.” He lies through clenched teeth, his stomach sick at the mere thought of it. “But I do have an issue with you inviting me to your wedding after walking out on me.”

Her head snaps back up to him.

“Wait, Harry, what are you talking about?” She frowns, trying to make sense of it. “I didn’t invite you to the wedding.”

Why would she?

They are no longer friends, no longer much of anything, so for her to take time out of her day to sabotage anything but herself wouldn’t feel right to her. Besides, it was her decision to never speak to Harry again, she wouldn’t ever take her word back.

Harry frowns then, too, because she isn’t faking her emotions. She’d always been terrible at doing so, and the way her eyes scream and beg for answers can’t go ignored. He, again, feels like the absolute worst person in the world.

“Then who did?” He whispers.

There’s only one possible answer.

-

Seven months ago.

Alfie insisted that he and Y/n had a New Year’s Eve party. They’d never had one before, as Y/n much preferred staying in with a bottle of champagne and celebrating with a lobster dinner and late night reruns of The Honeymooners.

But Alfie was persistent. Very persistent. Too persistent. So persistent she had no choice but to give in, and she just didn’t understand why.

She didn’t understand it as days passed and all Alfie talked about was the stupid party. She didn’t understand it when he rented out one of the most expensive venues. She didn’t understand it when he laid awake the entire night before, too anxious to fall asleep. She didn’t understand it when he asked her to wear his favorite dress.

She wished that she did the moment it happened.

The clock was ticking.

“Five!”

Alfie reached for Y/n’s hand.

“Four!”

Y/n noticed something shift in the air.

“Three!”

Alfie reached his other hand into his pocket.

“Two!”

Y/n knew what was coming.

“One!”

Alfie dropped to one knee.

“Happy new year!”

It was every girl’s dream — the fireworks, the balcony, the view, the prince charming that would whisk her away to spend the rest of eternity together — yet it couldn’t have felt any more like a nightmare.

It wasn’t what she wanted. Not then, not ever before, not once during the span of their relationship, and time seemed to have stopped moving forward.

There she was, in the center of the universe as everybody stopped and stared, gasping and gushing at the sight of a man on his knees for a woman. An act of vulnerability, of love, of submission, yet it didn’t feel like any of those things.

It all felt so wrong.

She began to cry.

To everyone else, it seemed as though she was crying from happiness. Her devoted boyfriend of two years finally asked for her hand in marriage, to be the mother of his children, to spend the rest of their lives tied together by a vow, unable to be broken. So it was no surprise when everybody let out an awe of endearment, nobody (not even Alfie) knowing her well enough to distinguish the difference between her happiest and saddest cries.

Harry would have known.

And that was all it seemed to come back to in that very moment in time.

Harry.

What she would have given to feel his hands on her waist, blocking her body from view with his, taking her away from all the unwanted eyes on her fragile body. He would have done it in a heartbeat because he always did — he always found a way to help her escape her horrifying realities, even the sweetest of ones.

What she would have given for it to be him kneeling in front of her… this all would have been so different.

Her lover of two years was promising her a future, yet all she could think about was somebody stuck in her past, yet so heavily prevalent in her present.

But she couldn’t say no. How could she when everybody expected the answer he was looking for, ready to toast to the bride and groom? How could she when phones captured the beginning of the rest of their lives, ready to share for all to see?

But she couldn’t say yes, either.

She settled for a nod of her head.

The crowd cheered, some clapping, others clinking their glasses, lovers kissing. She only caught a glimpse of those celebratory moments before everything around her drowned in her tears, voices of congratulations so distant beneath her heavy, hyperventilated breaths.

Alfie embraced her, then, and she felt his laughs of euphoria rumbling in his chest as hers met his, and she couldn’t even pretend.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, her expression void of everything that she should have been feeling. And her eyes went blank as they caught a reflection of her through the balcony windows — the last time she ever saw herself for what she truly was.

-

That same day.

Y/n was a mess waiting for Alfie to get home.

Seeing Harry again filled her with so many different emotions, she didn’t know which one to start with. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to destroy everything and everybody that dared get in her way, she wanted to disappear. Yet she had done none of it. All she could manage to do was pace around her bedroom, biting at her nails and getting lost in her scrambled thoughts, her mind and body moving at a million miles an hour, unable to be tamed.

This is precisely the reason Y/n never wanted to see him again.

He does things to her, he always has. She hardly has any control over herself whenever it comes to him and she fucking hates it. No matter how sad, how mad, how hurt or how upset, there was something about his presence that made her see past all of that. It saddens her how much she used to love it.

But her moods swing at her relentlessly, the sadness turning to anger because yes, she is angry. She’s angry that he still has this much of a hold on her, especially after everything he’s done, and she’s even more angry that he hasn’t yet apologized for it.

Because it was all getting better. The constant wondering about what he’s doing or who he’s with and the continuous string of thought always leading back to him was all finally falling into its place. She was finally finding her place.

And then her fiancè did this.

When she hears the bedroom door open, she hardly gives Alfie any time before she starts a fight, wishing nothing more than to take it all out on him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Y/n fumes, everything tainted red with anger as she looks into his eyes and feels nothing but hurt and betrayal. “Inviting Harry to our wedding behind my back?! Do you not remember what he did to me?! Do you not realize what you just did?!”

He frowns, not sarcastic or menacing, but he genuinely seems upset that she’d ever even ask him such a question.

“Y/n…” Alfie sighs, and she suddenly hates the way he’s always managed to remain calm in the most heated of arguments. She wants to start a war with it, to go for the kill, to make him crawl and beg and bleed for her forgiveness. “Of course I remember what he did to you, which is exactly why I did it.”

Her hands turn to fists.

“Are you kidding me?!”

“I wanted to hurt him for hurting you! God damn it, Y/n… after finding out what he did to you all I could think about was ripping him to pieces and that urge never left me, especially after we got together.”

He slumps himself down at the foot of the bed, loosening the tie around his neck, almost too aggressively. And if she wasn’t so out of her mind enraged, she would try her hardest to understand his side.

But there is no excuse for this. There’s no excuse for any of it.

“So now you use our marriage as a way to get back at him?!”

Y/n may not love Alfie the right way, but she had never stooped so low to treat her marriage like a weapon, ready to strike at any moment in time. It wasn’t something she used to inflict pain onto anybody else but herself, no matter how hard it had gotten.

And though she once believed their engagement meant more to him than it ever meant to her, she can’t help but feel as if that’s just another lie she’d been forced to live with.

He went behind her back deliberately to hurt somebody even she never intended on hurting. He knew what was to come of this and yet here he is, letting it all happen for satisfaction’s sake.

It feels like all she will ever be is used.

“Is that what this is to you?! A point on your scoreboard?! A big ‘fuck you, i won!’?”

“Isn’t that what this is for you?”

“Don’t you dare turn this into my problem.” She spits through clenched teeth, punching at the dresser beside her with the side of her fist, face burning with fury. “I’m not the one sending him our wedding invitations!”

“And I’m not the one staying up past midnight scrolling through pictures of him on my phone!”

Her mouth shuts then, her hard and pressed features softening at the unexpected turn of the conversation.

She had been looking at pictures of Harry almost every night since Malibu, she just never expected to get caught. She could physically feel Alfie fall asleep against her, so she always waited thirty minutes before she took her phone out, looking back at everything that once was.

It was the only thing she ever truly wanted.

It’s what she kept going back to — a habit that came as naturally as telling her best friend about her day, about her perspectives on the world, about the lack of guidance in her life — like a phone call at the end of the day as a way to unwind.

She had make believe conversations with him as she scrolled endlessly through her favorite photo album, the thickness of his accent engrained in her mind as she thought of everything he’d say to her if he were still around. And if that wasn’t enough, she’d live vicariously through the memories they made together and replay those moments all night, until they lulled her to sleep.

“I told you from day one that —”

“That you’re never going to let him go, I know. I know that he was the love of your life at one point but this is just pathetic now, Y/n. Absolutely nothing short of pathetic.” She frowns, his choice of words making her heart sink because he knows exactly how to do it. And he sighs, rubbing his hands up and down his face as if he were in agony. “I didn’t know this was the kind of shit I was signing up for.”

Her eyes brim with tears but don’t offer anything more, only upset that he couldn’t find a way to understand her when she’s trying so hard. But he never has and he never will — not in the way she needs him to and not in the way that could ever make this work.

“I’m not sorry for what I did.” She confesses sadly, her bottom lip between her teeth and fingers picking the skin around her nails as she tries, yet again, to make him see. “He was my best friend before he was anything else to me. There was a time in my life where he was all I had.”

And though her heart is still with Harry in every aspect of every way, it’s true. He was her best friend and that’s what she misses the most. There was so much to him that meant so much to her and none of it could ever be replaced, not even by Alfie.

“You know I love you but you also know I'm not the same woman you fell for in Malibu. I’m my worst self when I don't have him around and your favorite parts of me don’t exist without him. Don’t pretend like you don’t see that.”

His hands twitch against his lap, his shoulders slumping because it’s true. The most lively and brightest parts of herself had died the first step she’d taken away from him that night. Sure, she’s still the most resilient and beautiful woman Alfie had ever known, but she’s never been the same since then.

She’s still in love with him and there’s nothing for him to do about it. He didn’t see it until he saw the way she sulked over Harry that night, all those years later, with a diamond ring on her finger that just seemed to weigh her down even more.

None of this means anything to her.

“It’s been three years, Y/n. Just find yourself a new best friend and move the fuck on already. I’m getting sick and tired of this.”

What he doesn’t understand is that she is, too.

-

Two weeks later.

Y/n shouldn’t be this alone at her own engagement party, but it’s the impossible things that always manage to find their way to her.

The party consisted mostly of Alfie’s friends, considering Y/n is much more of an introvert than he is and the small number of friends she does have seemed to have disappeared within the sea of unfamiliar faces. She felt lost for a moment, but when she finally found her fiancè, he had been too invested in his own friends to spare her a single one of his glances, and it soon became disheartening to wait for him to acknowledge her when the thought of her never once crossed his mind.

So she ends up on the steps of their back porch, sipping on a glass of champagne, overlooking the garden, breathing in the silence.

She closes her eyes and succumbs herself to the summer breeze, wondering what she has to do to find a single glimmer of happiness. Her life is just so sad, a labyrinth of betrayal and hurt and heartbreak she can’t ever escape.

Darkness is all she sees when she thinks about her future. There is nothing for her to look forward to. Every day will come and go the same way it has been — unwanted, dreaded, wasted, another failed attempt of contentment. It all seems so hopeless to her now.

The champagne doesn’t stand a chance when it comes to a lonely Y/n, and it isn’t nearly enough to curb her mood, either as she huffs at her empty glass, wishing she had taken another.

She sets it down next to her, placing both her elbows on her knees, getting lost in her world of sorrow, long forgotten by her lover.

Harry is the first one to find her.

He had parked his car across the street from her shared home with Alfie, and even from his distance he knew Y/n wouldn’t be inside. He knows her too well to know she wouldn’t find her place in crowded rooms where the attention is all on her, even if it was all in the comfort of her own home.

And the fact that Alfie didn’t know her senses of belonging well enough to accommodate them made him seeth. She is an independent, a lone wolf, a woman who moves solely in her own way and anybody who’s ever loved her knows that above all else.

He doesn’t care for her.

And he doesn’t need to go looking for her because he can feel her, as if the universe somehow bent its laws of gravity and pushed him straight to her back porch steps, where he finds her all alone.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels a hand fall softly on her shoulder, but immediately sinks into comfort when she sees that it’s Harry moving to sit beside her, his hand refusing to pull away.

Finally, she has a friend.

“Hey.” She says softly, one of the corners of her lips turning slightly upward at his unexpected visit. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

He smiles briefly at her before he overlooks the garden, his fingers squeezing at her shoulder before resting his palms over his lap. And there’s something about being next to her again that makes everything around him fall back into place. This is where he’s meant to be.

“Honestly, neither did I, all things considered.” They both let out a chuckle, the atmosphere between them so horrifically sad yet so incredibly right. “But I just really felt like I had to be here for you tonight.”

Despite the years that had passed and everything that drove them apart, Y/n remains who he loves most in this world. His connection to her never died, so the sudden gusts of off and disturbing feelings Harry used to get whenever Y/n was troubled had never left him. He felt it all just as strongly — her anxieties, her fears, her tears and everything in between. And he’s glad that part of them never died because the look in her eye tells him everything he needs to know.

She’s absolutely miserable.

She sighs, the corners of her lips falling as she stares at her engagement ring, her thumb and pinky twisting it around her ring finger, itchy and heavy no matter which way it's worn.

“Me and Alfie aren’t doing so well.”

She didn’t have to say it because he can already see how treacherous they are together, but that doesn’t make it any easier for him to hear.

He lost his right to be selfish with her in Malibu, and though he does gain a sense of happiness knowing he may have a chance with her again, it’s significantly outweighed by her sadness. Nothing had ever pained him more than that.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shakes her head, her fingers reaching up to tuck fallen pieces of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t be. I don’t really know why he decided to do this, anyways.”

Harry’s lips fall.

“Marry you?”

Y/n’s leg begins to shake, her greatest and most absentminded nervous habit. And Harry had always been quick to place his hand over her thigh and rub at the surface, meeting her eye halfway and taking a deep breath in, to which she would always follow. He hesitates to do so tonight, but settles for it anyway.

She looks appreciative beneath it all.

She’d forgotten about Harry’s subtle favors over the past three years, so to feel it all again when she has been so low and neglected feels like a blessing to her. It feels like somebody finally cares for her, and that’s all she had been wanting all along.

Harry, she feels, is the only one who ever truly has.

“We just never talked about it. It was this big, ginormous, unavoidable, life changing question thrown at me with no warning at all.” Her forehead falls to her palms, as if humiliated by the memory. “In front of everybody.”

Harry’s heart crumbles from within him because nothing Alfie has given her has been anything she’s wanted, and that’s not what she deserves.

He remembers it so distinctively now — the way she poured her heart out to him just a few months before Malibu. It was the third Valentine’s Day they’d spent together and Y/n got so drunk, she spent nearly the entire night venting to him about everything she’d feared when it came to her future relationships.

With her head on his shoulder and her leg slung over his hips, Y/n’s thoughts were so destructive, she couldn’t bear to entertain them any longer, so she decided to let it all out.

“And what if my boyfriend proposes to me in a room full of people? I’d drown in sensory overload. And what if I want to say no? Or maybe? Or yes, just not right now? With all those people looking at me? I think I would pass away.”

Harry looked down at her in subtle curiosity, his fingers playing with her hair in the way they always liked. She was the only thing in his sight that wasn’t spinning out of his control.

“So how do you want to be proposed to?”

She hummed, as if contemplating her answer. But she knew. She already knew.

“In bed, probably. It’s so intimate and private there. So non-traditional. You’re the most done down at your first hour and something about someone wanting you at your worst, forever, is so poetic.”

She looked up at him with doe eyes merely seconds after.

“Will you make sure he does that for me, please? Promise me you’ll try.”

He smiled the best he could at her, pressing his lips down to her forehead. They lingered there for a moment, and Y/n’s breath was taken away.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

What makes the memory even worse was how much he really did love her and how blinded he was to it. He kissed her. He held her. He played with her hair. He slept beside her that night. He kissed her again goodnight. He brought her breakfast in bed the next morning. He did it all over again.

It couldn’t have been any more obvious.

But there’s something about the way she hasn’t expressed any of those concerns with Alfie that doesn’t sit right with him. It just doesn’t make any sense to him.

“Been with him for how long now, two years? And you really didn’t expect him to propose to you? Have you met you?”

She sulks herself deeper into her knees.

“I don’t know. I guess — I guess I just never really thought about it.”

Never thought about it?

“But you’ve always wanted to get married.” He says it more like a question than a statement, genuine concern and confusion in his tone of voice as his eyebrows furrow, trying to comprehend it.

She looks up at him with a void, empty expression.

“Yeah, but never to him.”

Her eyes linger on Harry’s for just a beat longer — just long enough to catch a glimpse of the way his lips fall and the way his face drains of color — before she blinks away from him, turning her gaze back toward the garden. The flowers have never looked so lifeless.

“Y/n… if I had known how you felt, I —”

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Y/n shakes her head, looking back down at her trembling hands, tears now burning in her eyes as the sudden sadness of the conversation starts to weigh down on her. “You had four years to feel the same for me and you never did. My feelings would have done nothing to yours.”

“And I never did?” Harry asks incredulously, his voice low and faltered behind the heaviness of her words. “Is that really what you’ve been living with the past three years?”

Loose tears begin to fall down her cheeks because yes, she has been living with his unrequited love for six years and no, it’s never gotten any easier. It’s pathetic and ridiculous and the most unexplainable form of grief she’d ever carried, but it’s the most devastating kind. “How could I think any differently?”

“Because it was real, Y/n. Fuck.” He lets out a strangled, dry chuckle upon his words as he runs his shaking fingers through his hair. He’s nervous, absolutely terrified because if he fails to show her how deeply he feels for her now, he may never get the chance to again, and losing her is no longer an option for him. Not when she’s so close. “Because you know me better than anybody else and you know I wasn’t faking it with you. How could I have been? You would have seen right through me and you know it. You always do.”

Perhaps the love blinded her. Perhaps her heart was so invested it deceived her to see only the things she wanted as a subconscious form of self-preservation. It’s not an impossible possibility, and it’s certainly one she believed in throughout all this time, but a part of her can’t help but find a hint of truth stuck somewhere between his words.

The kissing, the touching, the tasting, the laughing and the loving did feel real to her. It felt real when she saw the way he smiled after every one of their kisses, and the way he reached for her when it was just to two of them, like he couldn’t get enough, and the way he moaned against her, and the way he told her he loved her, like he meant it.

She knows all of his movements and all of his habits — knows all the signs of his stress, his sadness, his tension, his ease. She knows the emotions he wears and the ones he doesn’t, notices everything he does and doesn’t do, and never once did anything he did with her seem anything less than genuine.

She hates that it’s taken her so long to see that, but it doesn’t fix all that he had broken now that she does. She wishes that it could, this life would be so much easier for her to live.

“You really hurt me.” Her voice quivers, low and quiet as she speaks her truth, and it breaks his heart all over again. Never has he heard her sound so sad in his life, and it’s all because of him.

“You think I don’t know that? I hate myself for everything I put you through because you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

He pauses, waiting for her to say anything else, but it doesn’t come. All there is for her to offer are her silent cries and waterfall eyes.

“That night with Lydia… nothing happened. She caught me off guard and I panicked because how could I not? She was giving me everything I thought I wanted yet all I could think about was how I wanted it to be you.” Y/n’s breath falters then, a knot forming in her chest as she revisits the sight of that horrific night. “I tried so hard to talk it out with her, but she wouldn’t let it go. She kept persisting and persisting and she didn’t give me the chance to explain myself before you walked in on us.”

She didn’t truly know what happened between him and Lydia, but she had her ideas. Whether they kissed, touched, confessed their love or crossed bases, the truth would have only made it worse for herself. Ignorance was bliss when it came to them.

But she didn’t think nothing happened, either, especially when the first words that Y/n heard Lydia say to him that night was I love you, too.

Too.

Too.

Too.

Like he said it first.

She really hopes he didn’t, but she’s so afraid of his answer that she doesn’t ask.

But she doesn’t say anything else, either, because there’s so much more she needs to hear from him but she doesn’t know where to start. She doesn’t know what to do, yet she wants to know everything.

“You were all I ever wanted and I’m so sorry for the way I had to find that out. I’m so sorry that I had to hurt you to realize how ridiculously in love I am with you.”

And how ridiculous it’s gotten.

“It haunts me. It follows me everywhere I go. Every morning, I think about the way you slept beside me in Malibu and how perfect you looked before you even had the chance to wake. I still reach for you even when I know you’re not there just so I can say I tried. Every time I walk the street, I somehow convince myself that I see you walk past me and I always turn back just in case I missed you. Then I spend the rest of my day wondering where you are and how much happier I’d be if you were with me.”

And it’s all so true.

She is around him at all times. Her spirit lingers in the air he breathes, her shadow alive in every ray of sun that touches his skin, unable to be soaked away. The ghost of her is everywhere he is, always, and it pained him just as much as it comforted him.

“I come across all these women and go on all these dates in hopes to find someone that makes me feel half the things you do, just to go home hours later and watch all the stupid videos and photos I’ve taken of you throughout the years because it’s you that my heart is after. Nobody else.”

She melts into herself at his confession.

To know it wasn’t one-sided — the longing, the missing, the wanting so bad that he couldn’t help but look back at all their memories together. Whether he was beside those women or not, she had done the very same thing, and it’s almost as if those hidden moments of desperation were a silent call to one another.

He reaches his hand to her thigh again, his skin warming her to her bitter core, setting a fire in her that had burnt out many years ago. And she doesn’t stop staring at it.

“I love you, Y/n. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything else in this world. I love you so much that it drove me crazy to think about you spending the rest of your life with somebody else because I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of mine without you. But that’s my heartbreak to live with, not yours.”

But it is. It is because he’s the only one she’s ever wanted and living her life with someone else was once unimaginable. It still is. Even through her relationship with Alfie and everything they’ve built together, it wasn’t ever the same.

And it’s not a matter of her not loving him, because she does, just not in the way she loves Harry. He is a high she constantly fiends for, an intoxication that keeps her wild and free, an addiction like no other. Being without him makes her feel sober — in a constant state of withdrawal, falling down deeper into her urges, dependent solely on her relapses — and Alfie is just the mild distraction.

All of this is her heartbreak.

His fingertips rub softly at her leg.

“You’re the best person I’ve ever known. I don't know how I’m ever going to find a way to move on from you, and I don’t know if I ever will, but at least I had the chance to tell you everything you deserved to know. I didn’t think I’d ever have it.”

She still doesn’t answer him, but he didn’t expect anything more.

He wishes he could stay with her for just a bit longer, but he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome (if he could even call it that). And he starts to cry as he thinks about leaving her alone again.

She’s forever going to be his hardest loss.

“I have so much more I want to say to you, but this is your night with Alfie. I don’t want to be the one to hold you back from it.”

He squeezes the top of her thigh, dreading the let go. This may be the last time he sees her or speaks to her for a while, and that in itself is enough to make this so much harder on him.

“I’ll miss you everyday.”

He can’t even look at her as he says it.

His eyes are flooded with sadness as he stands from where he sat beside her, shaking fingers wiping at his tears, his heart the emptiest it’s ever been yet his chest heavier than ever before.

It suddenly dawns on her that she never wants to see him walk away from her again. She doesn’t want to go another dreaded day without him beside her, or go the rest of the night thinking of everything she could have said, but didn’t.

She wants him. She loves him. And she doesn’t want him to go.

“Wait.” She grabs his hand in both of hers before he can make it too far, her eyes wet but the brightest he’d ever seen them. “The party doesn’t end for a while and — and Alfie hasn’t come looking for me since it started, so…” She hesitates, his hands still in hers, and everything is right in the world again. “Do you want to take a walk with me? It doesn’t matter where just, please stay here with me?”

And how could Harry ever say no to her?

He lifts her up from where she sits, the first real and genuine smile he’s seen out of her since they’ve reunited spreading on her lips, and he wouldn’t trade this for the world.

They stray further than expected, catching up on everything they’ve missed throughout the years. It all feels so easy and so right, as if time had hardly passed between them, yet they’ve never felt more apart. Never once did they expect to live in each other’s world through late night storytelling and clandestine getaways.

They laugh. They cry. They reminisce. And they don’t let go of each other’s hand the whole night through.

-

Y/n returns to the back porch a couple hours later, grabbing the finished champagne glass she’d left on the top step to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Not that she necessarily has to, she doesn’t feel as though she’s done anything wrong, she just couldn’t imagine what would come from this if Alfie was to find out.

She slides the back door shut quietly behind her, the remaining guests only giving her a small smile of acknowledgement, none at all suspicious. Some offer her hugs and mingle with her, congratulating her as if it were their first time doing so, telling her how perfect of a marriage she and Alfie are going to have.

If only they knew.

But it isn’t until the last of the lingering guests make it out the door that Y/n and Alfie are left alone — the most dangerous place for them to be. And neither of them speak a word to each other, just meeting eyes for a brief moment in time, as if avoiding everything else that came with the night.

The air is heavy, the chill brutal, but it’s what Y/n is so used to. This is her normalcy.

“I’m glad you had fun tonight.” Y/n says plainly, gathering all the littered champagne and wine glasses floating around the kitchen.

In any other circumstance, she would have stood her ground much more strongly, but the bitterness inside her subsided to something much sweeter after her time with Harry. The weight of the world is gone, it seems, the moon and sun and stars aligned perfectly in her universe. She is weightless, floating, her spirit dancing along the edges of her own personal heaven.

The silence Alfie responds with doesn’t strike a nerve like it usually would. It rather goes unnoticed, only furthering her into her illicit dreamland.

Harry’s touch lingers on her skin and she can feel it all the same even though he’s gone. A shiver runs down her spine as she thinks back to the way his lips pressed against her cheek before parting ways, muttering the quietest goodnight, lovie against her skin, leaving her breathless.

She is endlessly hypnotized by him, forever under his spell, as if his lips were made of magic.

And Alfie’s heart sinks when he sees the look on her face. It’s been years since he’s seen it, yet it’s all so familiar once he does. It’s the same look he fell in love with when he first met her in Malibu.

It’s all so clear to him now.

“So we’re just going to pretend that you didn’t leave our engagement party with Harry?”

Y/n lifts her head to look at him properly for what seems to be the first time tonight, his question catching her off guard since she had so rightfully assumed he wasn’t concerned about her whereabouts, and Harry didn’t make his presence known to anybody but her.

But she doesn’t fight it, doesn’t deny it, doesn’t try to scrape for excuses that’ll only dig her in deeper because she doesn’t regret what she did or why she did it. She has no reason to.

“And we’re just going to pretend that you didn’t completely exclude me from our engagement party?”

Alfie’s hands slam against the kitchen counter, a bitter and sarcastic laugh falling from his lips, as if she had said something untrue. “So I don’t give you attention for two minutes and you decide to run off with some other guy?”

“Two minutes? Try two hours on a night that was supposed to be for us.” It’s her turn to slam her hands down, except hers land on her thighs. “I was sitting on our back porch all night and nobody, not even you, came looking for me.” She sits down on the island stool with burnt-out eyes and heavy shoulders, drained from the reality of their relationship, tired of trying for somebody that’s never held her heart the right way. “Harry was miles away and even he found a way to find me.”

And just like always, it all circles back to Harry.

She’s never been one to compare — verbally, at least — so there is a gloom that hovers over her after she says it, the guilt settling in her bones, but it’s the reality of their situation. An old lover held his hand out to her while Alfie refused hers, and it ended up exactly where it had always belonged.

“All you had to do was ask me to be with you.” He sighs, depleted, because it’s true. He would have been there the second she called his name. It’s the fact that she didn’t that shows him how incompatible he is with her wants.

“I shouldn’t have to.” She frowns, fingers fiddling with the skin around her nails as she contemplates what there is to say next. “Is that how this marriage is going to work? Me begging you to be there for me all the time? Because I’ve never been that kind of person. I will never be that person.”

Alfie breathes heavily in response but doesn’t know what else to do or say to get her to stay. She’s slipping right through his fingers and he can physically feel it — can feel the way she feels for another man, can see the way her eyes refuse him, as if hiding away from something.

But this isn’t about him, it can’t be because it was all going so well, so much better than ever before and nothing ever pushed her away, until Harry.

This is all him.

“You know he doesn’t love you, right?” Alfie breaks the silence, her heart along with it, because she needs to be reminded how badly he had done her wrong. She wouldn’t be turning him into the villain if she did. “He lied to you. He used you to get what he wanted. He —”

“He does love me.” She interrupts him because she doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want him to talk her out of this, no matter how much she should. But it’s on the tip of her tongue, almost breaking from its resistance, and she can’t swallow it back down now. “He was there for me more than you were tonight and he’s not even the one I’m engaged to.”

Another deafening silence.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He understood her, loud and clear, but she’s speaking between the lines. There’s a part of her that’s holding back from something and he already knows what it is, he just needs to hear her say it.

So she does.

“I’m in love with him, Alfie.”

If the confession of her disloyalty wasn’t enough to tear her apart, the choked back sob she heard from Alfie undeniably did so.

She shuts her eyes, pained, unable to take it.

He doesn’t deserve this, but she’s left with no choice. She’ll only hurt him more if she stays.

So she doesn’t.

-

The morning after.

Harry didn’t know what was to come after he confessed his love to Y/n — whether it be a new day of a new life away from her, or the beginning of something so beautifully timeless, he had no idea.

The closure warmed him enough to lull him to sleep, to keep him deep in a dreamstate where all he envisioned was sunny days and the touch of her hand in his. He had never felt so light, so free, so liberated from the cage of guilt and unspoken truths that even if he were to never see or hear from Y/n again, it would have been okay.

He said what he needed to say, she heard what she wanted to hear and that’s all he could have done without interfering with her relationship.

But what he wakes up to is far from anything that ever crossed his mind.

Seven missed calls and five text messages. All from Y/n.

H, please tell me you’re awake. I need you.

I ended it with Alfie.

I don’t have anywhere to go and you’re the only person I want to see right now. Can you meet me at the coffee shop? I really need to talk to you.

Please wake up.

H?

Harry sits himself up in a state of panic, his eyes jumping between the time she had messaged him last and the time it is now. And he springs himself out of bed when he realizes that he hasn’t missed out on her yet, planning to get to her as fast as he can as he throws yesterday’s outfit, not at all caring about how it makes him look.

She ended it with Alfie.

He’s the only person she wants to see right now.

She needs him.

That’s all he can process as he scurries down the street, thinking of everything he has left to tell her to try and win her heart again. He knows he’s undeserving of it, and she does too, but that doesn’t stop him from loving her the way that he does.

His life is meaningless without her, so dry and bleak and depressing he can’t live another day like it. He can’t and he won’t because he’s going to fix this. He has to fix this.

And it doesn’t take him long to find her because there she is, sitting at their usual outdoor table, a large hot tea held between her hands, her leg shaking, her eyes distant. It's such a heartbreaking sight, and he suddenly wonders if she ever sat there after their breakup, waiting for him, hoping he’d do the very same.

The thought makes his head twitch to the side and fingers twist with guilt because no, he never did. He never went back to that coffee shop since the goodbye. It would have hurt too much, it would have reminded him of everything he’d ever done wrong and he couldn’t bear to face the person he once made of himself.

That person died along with her.

She stands from her seat when she sees him walking toward her, exhausted mentally and physically enough to nearly fall from her feet in the process. But her heart is racing a million miles an hour, her stomach fluttering as he grows nearer, her senses of anything but the love she has for him disappearing to nothing, as if it were just the two of them.

And she just needs to know if it feels that way for him, too.

“Y/n —”

“Did you mean it?”

Harry hesitates then, stopping in his tracks, his head tilting at her in curiosity but his features are softer, sadder, as if the question somehow broke him down further than before.

She doesn’t need to elaborate because he already understands what she’s asking. It was his mistakes and his selfishness that led her to question all his intentions, to doubt every sentiment he’s ever given to her, to wonder what was real and what was pretend.

But he doesn’t know what to start with, he doesn’t know what she needs to hear from him to be satisfied with his answer, or know if what he doesn’t say is what breaks this relationship.

“I need you to look at me and tell me that you meant it.” Y/n demands when he fails to answer her, tears flooding yet her face pressed and hard, committed to hearing every last bit of truth he has left. “Because I gave up everything I had for just the smallest possibility that you did. And that may make me weak, that may make me pathetic, and I may hate myself for the rest of my life knowing I made that decision but I can’t help feeling the way I feel for you.”

This is his last chance.

The window of opportunity is open and he is more than willing to dive head first out of it, but he can’t get ahead of himself. One wrong move, one wrong word, one wrong anything and he will have to endure an eternity of misery without her.

So he gives her more than she demands.

He grabs her face between his two hands, gently stroking her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, his gaze set on hers so that she can see how deeply he feels for her and how desperate he is for her forgiveness.

“I meant it.” He breathes out, his lips so painfully close to hers, she can feel his breath as he talks and it makes her legs shake from beneath her. “I’m in love with you. You’re all I think about. You’re all I want.” He leans in closer, ever so slightly, just so the ghost of her lips can meet the ghost of his. “There’s never been anybody but you. Just you. Only you.”

Her breath stammers, quivering and cracking as she flutters her eyes shut at his words, unforgiving tears pouring down her cheeks. And she doesn’t know why she’s reacting this way — the love of her life is giving her everything she’s ever asked for and yet all she can manage to do is break down from everything she’d been keeping inside for so long.

He knees buckle as a particularly violent sob nearly takes her down, and if it wasn’t for Harry’s strong hold on her, she’s sure she would have collapsed to the floor.

Her tears, his shirt, his hands, her back.

This is the closest they’ve been to each other in so long, his heart nearly shatters along with hers. He missed this more than he missed anything else in this world.

“Don’t cry, baby. It’s alright. You’re alright.” Harry shushes her, his lips settling on the top of her head as he presses chaste kisses on it, his fingers combing through her unbrushed hair. “I’m with you, okay? I’m never leaving you again.”

And he holds her for a while, tying her together as she falls apart in his arms, vowing to her over and over again that this is all over. All the pain is over. Everything will be different now.

And it was.

It felt different when Y/n and Harry spent the rest of the morning sitting in their favorite coffee shop, at their favorite table, drinking their favorite lattes. It felt different when Harry reached his hand over to hold hers, this time with no ulterior motive.

It felt different when she held his hand back, and when she smiled down at where they were intertwined, as if they were an extension of each other.

And unlike the last time they were there together, he doesn’t have to let go.

[darkthingshappen]

Three Days: Chapter 10

This is a collab with @quietly-by-myself for @the-whumpers-soiree. It features Faolan from their Mercury and Time series (link here) and her original whumper, Finlay Iver.

This story will contain elements of explicit noncon, references to past violent events, including noncon, torture, among other adult/dark themes. Reader discretion is advised. It's much darker than what I normally post. Minors DNI.

TAGS: @oddsconvert

CW: branding, PTSD, mock execution - hanging (sort of), flashbacks, cauterizing wound, defiant whumpee, threats of future noncon. past noncon, implied future noncon, intinmate whumper.

Finlay pushed the sweaty hair out of Faolan’s face and kissed his forehead.  “So perfect, little Faolan.  You lasted much longer than I thought you would.”  He’d give the boy a few minutes to come back to himself on his own before he tried to rouse him.  He examined the wound to make sure all traces of the brand were gone.  It looked like he’d been successful.  The wound bled freely due to the sharpness of the blade.  It had gone faster than he’d expected, so that was good.  He went and checked the instruments that were in the fire-place.  They were glowing hot and ready.  He’d cauterize the wound once Faolan was awake and then let him rest for a while.  

Finlay gave Faolan a while before he got a bucket ready with cold water to rouse the young man.  He checked his watch.  It had been a good twenty minutes and the wound needed to be cauterized.  He leaned him back a bit further.  He pinched Faolan’s nose and splashed the water over his head.  

As the water hit his face, Faolan bolted up. The next thing he knew, he was coughing from the sudden gasp. However, the coughing made him want to scream in pain. Why?

Reality hit him - the brand was gone, leaving only a hole in his side in its place. It was still bleeding, though much less than before from the looking of it. 

Panic hit him next as he thrashed and whimpered from the all-consuming agony. 

No. No. No. I can’t take this. It hurts too much. It hurts too much. The words played over and over in his head in a loop.

“I told you I didn’t want you to remove it!” Something about having been out for so long has renewed his fight. “I didn’t need it gone.”

“And I told you, little pet, that I would not have another man’s mark on my things.”

Finlay picked the leather strip up from Faolan’s chest where it had fallen when the boy’s jaw went slack and held it back up to his mouth.  

“I have to cauterize the wound.  So I suggest you bite down.”

Faolan looked at Finlay with rage in his eyes. “Your thing. I’m nobody’s thing. I’m not something to just be passed around or sold.” There were tears in his eyes. Not just angry, but also scared and worried.

“I beg to differ, little pet.  You can’t even decide if you want to be gagged or not.  You need someone to decide things for you.  Nearly every decision you’ve made here has been difficult for you.  You clearly struggle with autonomy and need to be told what to do and how to live.  You can’t even follow simple instructions like get on your knees and bow your head.  You require guidance and direction at every step.  I’m not angry with you, merely observant.”

Finally gave him a condescending smile, still holding out the leather for him to bite down on.  

The mix of blood loss, pain, and adrenaline was making Faolan lose control of himself. What exactly he was trying to accomplish by taunting Finlay, he didn’t know. However, that overwhelming sense of rage at someone else marking his body, making decisions about how he would like it, was hard to control.

“You try being a fucking prisoner of war then. See how you like it for a change!” He was fuming. “You try living your life by the orders of another for your country and have your friends hung in rows in front of you. I’d like to see if you came out the other side in one piece. People like you are weak. You get a doctor to write you a letter about your bad back or bad hips when the time comes to fight.”

Finlay dropped the leather strip back on to Faolan’s chest and walked over to the fire where he retrieved the glowing fire poker.  

He said nothing more to Faolan before he touched the long edge of the rod to Faolan’s open wound and began rolling it across the raw flesh.  

The feeling of the poker across the open flesh of his wound made Faolan scream like he’d never screamed before. He thrashed and fought against the restraints as the world got blurry. If there was one thing the human body wasn’t meant to handle, it was burning flesh. Faolan yelled and swore, but eventually, it all came out choked. His breathing picked up before his vision went narrow and he fell limp again.

Finlay finished cauterizing the wound.  Once it was done and there was no blood, he grabbed a disinfectant spray, which would have burned going on if Faolan were conscious, but it would have been nothing compared to what he’d just done, so he left him drifting in unconsciousness.  He sprayed the wound and then applied a burn cream before bandaging the large wound in the boy’s side.  

Foalan was forgetting his place.  Suddenly an idea struck Finlay.  He walked over to one of the cabinets and pulled out a length of rope.  It took him almost no time at all to fashion the end of it into a noose.  He slung the noose up over the beam in the ceiling just behind where Faolan was restrained.  At this angle, Faolan couldn’t see what he was doing.  Plus the cauterizing had left him a bit delirious.  

Finlay splashed Faolan with more cold water and waited for him to come back to himself.  Once he was certain that the boy was paying attention.  He slipped the noose over the boy’s neck and pulled the rope tight, not enough to strangle, but enough to instill the fear of strangulation.  

“Now, little Faolan, what were you saying about your friends?  About how weak I am?”  Finlay smiled at the absolute panic on Faolan’s face.  He loosened the noose so the boy could speak.  He was clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice just a few moments before.   

Faolan awoke to the feeling of rope on his neck. Suddenly, he wasn’t there anymore. No, he’d been teleported back years in the past. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

He felt nauseous despite himself. Part of him could still smell every smell of that day, feel every touch, and see every ray of light.

It didn’t take long before Faolan was reduced to tears. “Please don’t do this. Please.” His tears were quickly turning into sobs. “No. No. I don’t want to die. You can fuck me as many times as you want. Just please don’t do this. I can’t die like them. Please. I don’t want to die.”

His chest heaved in milliseconds, a horrible combination of panic and grief. He could see the bodies of his friends in front of him. “I can’t. I can’t. Please. No.”

“If you don’t want to die, then maybe you should remember your place in life.  You’re mine!  You understand?  Mine!”  Finlay yanked on the rope one last time, fast enough that it would leave red rope marks around his neck, just under his chin, ben then he loosened it again.  No sense in actually strangling Faolan.  It was much more efficient to have him scared out of his mind and compliant.  

“Say it!  Little slave, Tell me who you belong to.”

Faolan couldn’t speak, much less say what Finlay wanted him to. He was crying so badly that tears had made his neck and chest wet. In between the sobs were coughs. Eventually, he gathered himself enough to speak, but could only repeat the same words he had that day.

“Please. I don’t want to die. Use me as much as you like but please. Please. Don’t let me die here. Please.”

Finlay pulled up on the rope again and forced Faolan’s glance up to his.  “Tell me.  Who do you belong to?  Or I keep pulling.”  He tugged on the rope to prove his point before loosening it again to let him speak.  

Faolan forced himself to breathe a bit so he could speak properly. “Yours. I’m yours.” His voice broke around each word. He could hardly get them out. “I’m your slave. I’m stupid. I need your guidance. Everything I do is to please you, Master. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just don’t let me die here. I don’t have any good ideas. Please.”

“Good.  Better.  Don’t forget it.  You are stupid.  You don’t have any good ideas.  You do need my help for even the most basic things.” Finlay said, patting Faolan’s cheek.  “And for good measure, you’ll wear the noose like a necklace until we retire for the evening.”

He opened Faolan’s jaw and pushed in the wiffle ball gag.  He smirked as he turned away from Faolan, leaving him to rest.  That was worth it.  Faolan would be very compliant.  Foalan letting that little nugget about seeing his friends hang slip had been all Finlay needed to get through to him.  

*!*!*!*!*

Faolan awoke to a torture room with no Finlay. The pain in his side was impossibly painful. He couldn’t even breathe properly. The wiffle ball gag didn’t help, but even Finlay’s threat of force feeding had fallen flat because he’d already earned that as a semi-permanent punishment.

Memories of what had happened before came back to him. Immediately, he realized the rope around his neck. Now that Finlay wasn’t around, Faolan allowed himself to cry, differently than he did before. He tried in a truly self-assuring way that he couldn’t muster around Finlay, lest he be accused of throwing himself a pity party.

However, his crying didn’t last long before the numbness set in. He was weak and hopeless. He’d admitted what he never wanted to. What would Finlay do now, with that? What would he be like?

Faolan could only wait and find out.

Finlay didn’t return to the room for several hours.  He was plotting.  Faolan thinks he’s weak, but the little pet can’t even get through a meal without whining.  Well, maybe he didn’t have to eat.  Maybe he could just drink.  And oh, could Finlay make him drink.  He’d brand him and then bed him tonight and then after he was chained back in his room, he’d get everything ready for tomorrow.  

Finlay smiled to himself as he sipped his whiskey before heading back down to the torture room.  He pushed open the door with the glass still in his hand.  

Faolan immediately smelled the whiskey, even before he realized that Finlay was coming towards him.

Finlay smiled at the state of his prey.  He had felt a fire ignite inside him at the boy’s defiance, but his brokenness was even better.  He stroked Faolan’s hair and tilted his head up.  “Thirsty, little Faolan?”  He didn’t wait for a response before tilting his whiskey glass and poured the last of it through the wiffle ball gag into Faolan’s mouth.  

The whiskey burnt his raw throat and made him cough and choke. The wound on his side screamed in pain as he visibly winced, hardly able to breathe from the pain. Each breath was painful, not to count the forceful coughing.

He whimpered a bit, his eyes pleading with Finlay for some sort of mercy from the horrible day he’d gone through.

“We have one more session to go, pet, before you and I head to bed again.  I let you rest all afternoon.  Now it’s time to mark what’s mine.”

He pressed his lips to Faolan’s around the gag, running his tongue along his lips and then pulling away.  

He walked over to the fire and pulled out the rod that had the glowing brand on the end.  

“It may not be a family crest, but you'll still bear your master’s initials.”  He stalked towards Faolan's twisting and struggling form.  

His thrashing eventually stilled as he forced himself to stay in the moment, remembering the threat of the vat of ice. He wouldn’t be able to handle that with the new burns.

He wanted to beg. He wanted to force Finlay to stop. Break his hand or his face. Stop him in any way possible. 

Instead of that defiant glare, he gave Finlay a pleading look. Would he get pain medicine, if Finlay was going to fuck him with his two open wounds? He was already in so much pain. He couldn’t take another burn, more neuropathy.

Would Atticus even be able to care for him, knowing that he’d brought this on himself? That he bore the mark of another man again? That he was so weak as to allow this to happen to him twice? Thoughts raced through his mind and he wished they would all stop.

Finlay stopped just beside Faolan, admiring the way the boy held suddenly perfectly still, his chest heaving with clear terror.  And now, the defiance was gone and the lovely pleading look was back on his face, his eye brows knit together, begging without saying a word.  Too bad this was inevitable from the moment that he’d begged him not to brand him.  Sure, he had a brand ready to go, but he didn’t always use it.  Sometimes, he only used the fire poker and burned dots and lines and little intricate designs into his pet’s skin.  But this one was positively begging for a fresh brand.

Finlay moved the hot iron brand close to the boy’s skin, just below the ribs on the opposite side.  He didn’t touch it to his skin… not yet.  He was debating.  Sure he could put it there, but why let the placement of another man’s mark determine where his would go?  No.  He moved it up to Faolan’s chest and pressed it in, just above his nipple across his pectoral muscles, just above his heart.  And then he held it there.  

Despite the gag, Faolan still tried screaming, only to choke on the dryness of his throat. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as Finlay held the brand there longer than he’d expected. Had William held it there that long? It just kept burning and burning, but something in him refused to faint.

Please, make it stop. Please, make it stop. Please. I can’t take any more of this. 

For a moment, he might’ve even forgotten what was to happen next.

Finlay pulled the branding iron away.  The burned flesh was still smoking.  But he could clearly make out the stylized swirl to his Monogram initials, burned into Faolan’s chest.  

He ran his fingers over the fresh wound, smiling at the pained hiss it elicited from Faolan.  “It’s perfect.  It looks absolutely perfect there.  Like you were made to be marked.”  He was frankly surprised that Faolan was still conscious.  

Faolan’s chest heaved around the brand as he sobbed. He was branded again. It was so much more visible this time around. He’d never be able to wear a tank top or v-neck again. He was curling up internally, wanting to never have another person see what he’d let happen. It was all his fault. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself be branded again.

That feeling of brokenness came back as he realized he truly was Finlay’s. Finlay was going to bed him again that night. Would he be gentle again? Or rough? Faolan didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to be taken against his will again.

Whatever Finlay had in store was squarely his fault, he realized. It was his fault for going to the party. It was his fault for not listening to Atticus. It was his fault for disobeying even if he knew what to do.

Faolan’s tears picked up at the dread of what was going to happen next. He knew it was inevitable. He could only hope that Finlay was worked up enough to finish quickly tonight.

Finlay took out the disinfectant spray again and sprayed off the wound.  He knew it would sting and he enjoyed the fresh tears that it brought to Faolan’s eyes.  He was ready to take him to the bedroom, so he didn’t waste as much time in dressing Faolan’s brand as he had the wound on his lower side.  

He covered it completely with soft gauze bandages, taping them into place.  He then undid the strap across Finaly’s head and chest.  He wound a cloth bandage around the boy’s body, across his chest, under his arms and around his back so that the bandage would stay in place.  

“You did very good staying awake through that.”  He pulled the wiffle ball gag out of the boy’s mouth.  “You have not earned the use of your hands back yet.  But would you prefer the tube or for me to feed you?”

“Please feed me yourself. I don’t want the tube again. Please.” He was whimpering a bit with each plea to not have to suffer the tube again. He looked down at himself, seeing his torso covered in bandages, and felt another wave of sadness wash over him. He looked awful. He hated himself more than he could put into words.

Finlay mussed Faolan’s hair.  “Be back in just a moment with dinner.”

Once Finlay was gone, Faolan allowed himself to truly sob. Big, ugly sounds of a man who had lost utterly everything.

 “Fuck this. Fuck everything.”  Faolan grew in his self-hatred. “It’s not fair. I can’t keep going like this.”

He tried speaking to himself to soothe himself, to get the words out, but it only seemed to make him more sad and cry harder. He would never allow Finlay to see him in such a depraved, ugly state. He would never endure that humiliation. But alone, he would cry more than he had even with Atticus.

“I miss you, Atticus.”

What he wouldn’t give to be with Atticus right then. He wanted to see the man and have him tell Faolan that everything would be okay. That this was all a nightmare he could wake up from.

As time passed, Faolan forced himself to get together. He would survive, even if Atticus didn’t find him right away. Right?

Finlay returned with a tray and a silver cover on it, like it was a gourmet meal.  

“I keep a chef, and I thought, if you were good and got to eat a proper meal tonight, you’d need something that would be nutritious and easy on your stomach.”  He pulled off the cover to reveal a roast chicken breast, green beans, and mashed potatoes.  “The green beans are steamed.  The mashed potatoes are from scratch and made with chicken broth to minimize the dairy.”  

Faolan could’ve cried when he saw the meal. It was absolutely beautiful after a day of hunger and being force fed microwaved eggs in lemonade. “Th-thank you.”

“No fancy titles?  I don’t understand you.  You use them when I’m hurting you, and then when I do something for you that's nice, you don’t use them.  Are you just trying to butter me up so I will let you off the hook when you’ve been bad?”

Watching Finlay’s hands with the food, he froze. Finlay had figured it out. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was something you wanted out of me.”

He’d done it with William. He’d call William “my lord” to calm him down from a particularly dangerous mood. However, it seemed that Finlay wouldn’t allow the same thing to slide.

“Go ahead then, thank me properly for dinner. Thanks to you, I like the titles.  I will accept my lord or master from now on.  I’m not mad.  I was just confused.  But let’s not say any more about it other than that is how I want to be addressed from now on.”

Faolan froze. He hated using the titles. He couldn’t give Finlay so much, even if it had seemed so easy before. 

Something in him was too tired to face more pain, though. He wanted to resist. He wanted to tell Finlay to go fuck himself and his stupid titles. Finlay would never let such a thing slip again.

While stuck in his loop of anxiety, Faolan was silent for many minutes as he tried to find the courage to say what Finlay wanted him to.

“”Do I need to put this meal in the blender too?  With more lemonade?  And use the tube?”  Finlay stared him down, letting the scent of the chef crafted meal waft over him.  

“No! No you don’t. Please, not that again. Please.” His voice quickly broke into sobs. That feeling of brokenness washed over him again. “No…”

“Then let me hear a proper thank you.”

Biting back tears, Faolan mustered the strength to offer a proper thanks to Finlay. “T-thank you, Master. Thank you for the beautiful meal, Master.”

Small sobs shook his body as he finally gave in and spoke those horrible words. All for a real meal that he would’ve had at home on any ordinary day.

“Much better.”  Finlay set the tray down and cut up the chicken.  He put a little of each item on the fork and fed the meal to Faolan.  

Finlay let Faolan take his time with each bite.  He offered no tricks or slips, he just slowly fed him the meal.  Neither of them talked.  It was the quietest they’d both been without one of them being gagged.  

When he was finished he wiped Faolan’s mouth with a soft napkin.  “All done?  Would you like something to drink?  Some water perhaps?”  Finlay kept the smirk off of his face.  He couldn’t wait to see how the boy reacted to what he had planned for him tomorrow.  But enough of that.  Stay in the moment, he told himself.  

Faolan nodded a little quietly. “Thank you, Master. May I please have my second dose of Pepcid, Master?”

He gave Finlay an anxious whimper at the twitch in his face, breaking that sacred, peaceful silence they’d had just moments before. He hoped that Finlay wouldn’t take the question or the whimper the wrong way and reprimand him for it.

“I think you’ve earned that.  Will you need any more Tums as well?”

“N-no, Master, but I would like another pill of my Zofran if it’s possible.” Things seemed to be going smoothly with Finlay. Maybe, just maybe, he’d be okay.

“That’s fine.  We still have a few hours before bed time.”  Finlay got his pills and held out his hand to him.  His other hand holding the cup of water.  Foalan licked the pepcid off of his hand as he’d done before and then tucked the zofran under his tongue.  Finlay held the cup of water to his lips and let him drink.  “It’s well water, this far out.  It’s always cold and crisp.”

Faolan happily accepted the water to get rid of the awful medication taste. He swallowed down the water in large gulps, happy to get relief for his horribly sore throat as well. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. You just need to endure a little bit more. Then, he’ll be kind for the rest of the night. You can do this, Faolan. You can do this.

“Thank you, Master. Thank you for the water, Master.”

Finlay stroked his hair gently.  “Such a good boy.”  He kissed Faolan’s forehead and then got up and went to the door.  He called for his two henchmen and they came in to escort Faolan to the bedroom.  

Panic filled Faolan’s chest as the henchmen came in and grabbed his arms to lead him away to Finlay’s bedroom. At some point, he stumbled to the ground, unable to support himself much on the side where the wound was. He forced himself to take deep breaths as he tried to stand, scared that Finlay would shock him.

Finlay offered his hand and put his arm around his waist to help support him as he tried to stand up.  “Not much farther.  You can make it.”

Taking deep breaths, Faolan stood with Finlay’s help. A building sense of dread formed in his stomach as he caught a glimpse of the door to Finlay’s bedroom. He knew what came next. He doubted he was strong enough to face it.

[manikas-whims]

A Tantalizing Surprise

[Read on AO3]

for Kanej Week (@kanejweek) Day 5: Love (domesticity)

It took around eight years and a lot of mutual support to achieve this level of intimacy. But he was glad they never gave up..

• Friend 1: write Inej in a silk dress and some sexy Kanej moment Friend 2: No! Write injured Kaz being patched up by Inej Me: *an unbiased friend* mixes both requests into this fic ~♥ • I headcanon Liddies being a gang run by women :)

Kaz Brekker utterly despised private parleys. Majority of the time they were a farce. Excuses crafted in order to get him alone and put an end to his reign forever. Everytime a haughty barrel boss offered him a drink or a condescending mercher invited him for dinner, it wasn't for the sake of striking amiable business deals with him. But to drive a knife through his rotten heart or shoot a bullet into that scheming head of his.

And yet he had agreed to meet the leader of the Liddies in a small coffee house on the bustling streets of the East Stave. They were stirring up too much ruckus and if left unchecked any longer, they'd embolden every other gang to go against the Dregs. Dirtyhands couldn't let that happen, now could he?

As suspected, no pleasantries were exchanged. The door was jammed shut immediately upon his arrival.

Their lieutenant, a burly, middle-aged brunette, attacked first. She tried smashing her wooden bat into his face but thankfully Anika blocked in time with a crowbar. Two other females followed, swinging rustic metal pipes at him which he managed to counter with his cane. Roeder was struggling on the other side, engaged in a one-on-one with their spider.

"This ends tonight, Brekker." Their leader howled from her perch atop a stool. "Barrel needs a queen."

"Barrel already has one." He responded calmly.

"The little whore? The one who's barely in this city?" she grinned sharply, getting up.

"Careful." His gaze turned steely and his gloved fingers flexed tensely onto the crow head of his cane. "I can gut you and your ladies for insulting my Wraith."

"I'd like to see you try." She sneered, madly lunging at him with her bare hands.

He sighed. This was going to be a long night.

The fight lasted for an hour. Liddies finally ran off when more Dregs arrived on the scene and broke down the coffee house's door.

Kaz dictated his gang to double the security around the Crow Club and his other establishments just in case. He then dug his fingers into his right leg in hopes of quelling a little of the ache there as he dragged himself back to his place. Not the slat anymore but a luxurious mansion on the Geldstraat. He had purchased it under a pseudonym after Councilman Hoede had passed away three years ago.

Blame Wylan for making him waste his kruge on a deadman's house. Though the dark wood walls and coffered ceilings looked amazing upon his first visit, he did get a few things renovated. Such as converting the dilapidated Grisha workshop into an ordinary shed and the addition of wild geraniums to the vast variety of flowering plants in the gardens.

Despite his habits, he pulled out a key that he kept within the hidden pocket on the left side of his coat and swiftly unlocked the large, black, entrance gates. The next few minutes of the long walk through the front stone pavement didn't feel regal, atleast not to his leg. He retrieved another key upon reaching the main doors. It was an odd experience every time— to enter a house this big without utilizing his skills in lock-picking.

He didn't stop to admire the blown glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling or the stolen DeKappel displayed mockingly on the opposite end of the hall. He simply braced himself for the walk up the long staircase leading towards the more private quarters of the mansion.

His steps came to a halt only when he reached the master bedroom. And that too, not because it had been his destination all along but because he felt her presence.

He shook his head in disbelief. Maybe six months of being apart were taking a toll on him, playing tricks with his senses. Or maybe it was just an effect of blood loss due to the cut he'd taken during the fight with the Liddies.

He turned the knob and entered, the room same as ever. A bookshelf tucked in the left corner from the door, a vanity table with a full-length mirror right next to it; a door leading to the balcony and another door to the bathroom on the other end. And of course, the king-size bed atop which his eyes found her tantalizing form, aglow under the golden flame of the dimly burning lone candle.

Kaz regarded her silently. Her lithe frame was covered in a purple, silk nightgown that left barely anything to his imagination. Or rather, it was exactly the sight he envisioned every night. An ideal reverie where he pulled her onto his lap and kissed down the delicious curve of her neck. A fantasy where he relished in her whispers of his name. A fantasy where they did all the unholy things they're capable of now. A fantasy he had been yearning for yet kept locked in the darkest recesses of his twisted mind.

But this was different. This woman in his bed had longer hair and was far more breathtaking than any imagery he could will his mind to conjure. This was real. She was real.

"Saints!" She slid off the bed. "Kaz, what happened?"

Yes, she was real.

And she had chosen an interesting outfit for their reunion.

But it was unusual of her to dock in Ketterdam and not send a runner to let him know. Not to mention, she had somehow managed to sneak into their mansion without any keys.

"You're hurt!"

He scoffed at her concern and proceeded to discard his coat. After all the times they've fought and bled together, she should be used to witnessing him a little roughed up.

He peeled off his gloves with methodical ease and tossed them onto the table. Then he tentatively reached for one of her hands, his thumb stroking along the pulse in her wrist. There was no harm in confirming she was real and alive.

"Welcome back, Wraith."

She freed her wrist, completely ignoring his greeting, and placed her palms over his stubbled cheeks. Fortunately, no waves lapped up his skin. So he let her turn his face this way and that to check for any signs of injuries. When she found none, she smiled in relief and pulled his face down so their lips could meet. His arms immediately snaked around her waist. And he was glad her only reaction was a soft sound of contentment, not tensing or vanishing in his hold. It took around eight years and a lot of mutual support to achieve this level of intimacy. But he was glad they never gave up and worked together to get accustomed to one another's touch.

The contact overwhelmed him everytime, in a good way of course. It was exhilarating to be able to brush his lips against hers. A common gesture for most couples but a very big accomplishment for them. Just like everything else.

Everytime they shed a piece of their armor, touched longer, touched more, they counted it as a new milestone. He was thankful to their patience and to whichever of Inej's saints had blessed them for their persistent efforts.

The kiss deepened with every passing moment, all those months of separation provoking their dormant desires. But as soon as his tongue slid past her mouth, he felt a twinge of pain in his abdomen and broke away. "Fuck! What the hell, Wraith!?"

In trailing her hands along his torso, she had accidentally discovered the cut wound on the left side of his lower abdomen. She glared down at the small dot of blood staining his clothes. "You have absolutely no sense of self-preservation!"

He laughed at the furrow of her brows as she pushed him back until he was seated in a chair. "Takes one to know one."

He heard her huff before she disappeared inside the bathroom and returned seconds later with a roll of bandage, cotton swabs, and a disinfectant.

The blade of the knife had torn past both his vest and shirt but fortunately, barely grazed his skin. The cut wasn't deep or life-threatening, only seeping slow trickles of blood. However, that didn't stop his fiercely gentle partner from worrying. She began undoing the buttons on his vest and in the heat of the moment, he joked. "Someone is eager."

This time she glared at him directly and resumed her task. She was cautious in shrugging off the vest. Even more whilst removing his sweaty shirt.

As soon as the disinfectant-soaked cotton pad grazed his wound, he pressed his lips into a thin line. "Care to explain why I wasn't informed of your arrival?" He gritted out through the light haze of pain. He wasn't mad. But had he known, he would've cleared his schedule for her. Denied that parlay altogether and avoided being injured.

Her hands hesitated in cleaning the blood. "I wanted to surprise you."

Now his brows quirked.

"And was this part of the surprise?" He stared at the thin slip of nightdress snug on the curves of her beautiful body. His voice lowered an octave. "You put this on for me?"

She chewed on her bottom lip, a small action he had noticed her doing when in contemplation. "My intention was to doll-up for the King of the Barrel."

He shook his head, tugging on the hem of her dress. "Seems to me the Queen of the Seas was intent on arousing me with her alluring silks."

She punched his shoulder lightly. "You're bruised and bleeding and this is what you think?"

"Inej," He spoke earnestly, his ardent gaze focused on her as she continued bandaging him, "I always think about you."

"Aside from when I'm out there making money." He added as an afterthought.

She giggled.

He waited until she was done tying the last knot of the bandage to stand up. His fingers disappeared beneath her dress, glided tenderly over the flesh of her thighs in the moment he lifted her up. Her legs naturally came to wrap around his waist and she looked at him. "Kaz?"

He responded with a soft, lingering kiss before pulling back, his breath fanning her lips. "Still in the mood to surprise me?"

She nodded, her eyes averted shyly for once as he carried her towards the shower.

[lacrimaomnis]

BRF Reading, 27/7/2021

I have never had the right word to describe what I feel about Prince Philip and his death because I always feel that the word "grief" may be too lofty, too bold, even, to describe what I am feeling. It perhaps may be grief, but I always feel that in the end, in the grand scheme of things, it is so small and so inconsequent, so irrelevant, which is why I hesitate to use the word "grief" because it carries with itself so much meaning, so much profoundness that it almost feels wrong for me, someone of no consequence or relevance to use that word to describe what I am feeling.

This is actually a personal reading I did for myself. I am on the fence about whether to share this or not because his death was three, almost four months ago and I do feel in these times we do not need another sad reading -- there was already so much sadness around us all. I decided to share this in hope that any of you who read this, who had questioned how Prince Philip's last hours were could find solace that he was not in pain, he was not stressed about Harry and Meghan, he was not stressed about anything or anyone. He was in a total and complete peace, with leaving his love behind the only thing that weighed him down -- but otherwise, he faced his last hours with dignity, strength, and courage. I hope by sharing this, anyone who reads this can feel some sort of closure, even if at first it seemed like you do not feel like needing it.

As written, this is merely a speculation and therefore must be taken with a grain of salt. This speculation is not true until proven otherwise.

My question is, how was The Duke of Edinburgh's last hours?

Cards drawn: The Emperor, Eight of Pentacles, The Empress, Five of Pentacles, Strength Underlying energies: Queen of Swords, Four of Swords

Remarks/Comments: Three major arcana cards out of five cards. This is perhaps a very important question for me as the querent, even if I do not realise it myself. I really struggled not to cry as I type this.

Summary: He was surrounded by the people he loved. He was not in pain, but there was a sense of loss. Charles and The Queen were definitely by his side in his last hours. His last hours were spent quietly and calmly, just like what the Countess of Wessex said: "It was like somebody took him by the hand and off he went. And that's all you ever wanted for someone, isn't it?"

First card: The Emperor. This is the card of male authority, a patriarch, and in this reading, this card stands for Prince Philip. He was, until the last of his breaths, the patriarch of the family. This card can also imply the presence of Charles, the next patriarch of the family once Prince Philip passes away. This told me that in his last hours, Prince Philip perhaps said a lot of things to Charles; one can only imagine what he said to his eldest to prepare him as the next patriarch of the family, where his job is to support his mother and to make decisions for his family, like once Prince Philip did. This card brought to my mind one quote from the Duke's first private secretary, Michael Parker, when the Duke offered him his job: that his job, first, second, and last, is to never let her (Elizabeth) down.

Second card: Eight of Pentacles. This is the card of skill and craftsmanship, but most importantly this card is about accomplishment and hard work. Perhaps in his last hours, Prince Philip reflected on his accomplishments and hard work. He was the longest-serving consort for a reigning monarch in British history. Over his seven decades of service, he was either a member, the president, or the patron of over 780 organisations. This card also reminded me of his Duke of Edinburgh's Award, a scheme that he devised to help adolescents and young adults to improve themselves, and perhaps one of his most lasting legacies.

This card also speaks about his numerous achievements; his solo tours, everything that he did was to improve the nation he served and to serve his monarch -- as he solemnly vowed before his Queen in her Coronation: to be her lord liege of life and limb.

Third card: The Empress. This is the card of a female ruler, the matriarch, and in this reading, this card stands for Her Majesty. She was by his side in his last hours. This card also speaks about fulfillment and contentment, and coming after the Eight of Pentacles, this tells me that Prince Philip was content with what he had achieved throughout his long life. He was also content with the marriage he had with The Queen and the children he had with her.

The Empress offers succour and comfort, and I interpret this card as that the presence of Her Majesty brought Prince Philip a great comfort. He knew his time was coming to an end, and the presence of his Lilibet, his cabbage, comforted him.

Fourth card: Five of Pentacles. This card represents a loss. Coming after The Empress, this card can be interpreted two ways: Philip felt a sense of loss as he had to leave his Lilibet behind, as he has to go ahead of her. He had walked two steps behind her for the entirety of his life. Now as he has to go ahead of her, perhaps there was a sense of loss in him: would his Lilibet be alright without him? Would she be alright, now that no one can protect him, that he, the last person on Earth to be her equal can no longer be with her? Who would make sure she is alright if he's gone? Who would be there for her, behind closed doors, to listen to her, to comfort her, as an equal?

Another interpretation is that The Queen, as represented by The Empress, felt an impending sense of loss. Her husband was dying, and there was no denying nor stalling that. She did everything she could to give him the comfort needed to spend his last days, or perhaps just stall the inevitable just a little bit more, to be with him. This card instantly reminded me of The Queen saying that his death has "left a huge void in her life".

Fifth card: Strength. His physical strength may be waning, but he is as strong and as courageous as he has always been. This card represents inner fortitude, and for Prince Philip, this inner fortitude had been his defining trait throughout the years. He was The Queen's strength and stay for all her years, his remarkable mental fortitude was forged by his difficult early years.

This card reminded me of one story where he signed the guestbook with "no fixed abode" as for the address, that he was a penniless royal in exile for the majority of his life until he married The Queen, then Princess Elizabeth. The stories of his hardships and his difficulties, and yet, he triumphed over it all.

This card also tells me that Prince Philip faced his last hours with courage, strength, and dignity. Perhaps he encouraged those he loved to continue on; because as he said: "Life would still go on without me." Perhaps he encouraged his loved ones to have the strength for days ahead.

Underlying energy 1: Queen of Swords. This card was the underlying energy for The Empress. She is the most worldly and intelligent out of all Queens, and this card tells me that The Queen must make good use of her intellect and skills to make her own judgment, because there would be no one else to discuss and share her thoughts about in a way lovers could share their thoughts together, and she has to trust her judgments. She has to believe in her wit and her intellect, just like how she believed in the decisions and the judgments Philip made.

Underlying energy 2: Four of Swords. This is the card of rest. This card tells me that it is his time to rest, to lay his head down, and to go to sleep. As for Philip, this card indicated that it is his time to put his sword down at last and to rest for he has fought well. He has raised his sword and fought his entire life to make life more tolerable for those who come after him, and rest is his reward.

Conclusion: This reading brought me the closure I didn't even know I need -- perhaps I did grieve. I cried as I read the cards and analysed it because I felt so much sadness and relief at the same time. I was relieved that at his last hours he was not in any kind of pain and that he was surrounded by the people he loved and I was sad because The Queen had lost her last equal, the grief emanating from the cards was overwhelming, amplified by my own.

[neurodihuegent]

[PART ONE] Huey's character development: season 1 to season 3.

with ducktales 2017 coming to a close in less than two weeks, i thought that now was best of all times to create a post of how i think huey has developed as a character throughout all three seasons. please remember, this post is just based on how I see his character development, and you're free to have your own ideas and/or not agree with all of my points!

1.) learning to adjust to new environments/accepting failures: When we were first introduced to huey's character, one of the biggest take aways was that he's a very "by the book" kind of a person, and has a hard time adjusting to foreign environments or situations that he will need to go with the flow and what he already knows, rather than doing everything by the book.

This was mainly introduced in "The Terror of the Terrafirmians!" in season one, where we could literally see Huey scrambling to make sense of the situation, and at some points, spouting out B.S. to make sense of the situation in his head. While he did end up coming to terms that the Terrafirmians are in fact, very real, he still only decided to believe it once it was documented in his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook.

Progressively throughout the show, we see Huey being put in situations where he has to be able to think quick on his feet rather than anxiously try to sort out all that he knows from the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook. Because of his personality, Huey not only had a hard time adjusting to foreign environments, but it's also been shown that he has a hard time accepting set backs as well. From what we've seen, it's easy to infer that when Huey has his mind set on something, he will do nothing short of achieving that goal: And when said goal is not achieved, or is starting to look like it won't be achieved, he takes it very personally.

This is especially seen in "The Infernal Internship of Mark Beaks!" and "The Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchuck!": Where in "The Infernal Internship of Mark Beaks", even though Huey was definitely more qualified for the position by a significant amount, when Dewey got the position, his first instinct was to get angry instead of congratulate his brother: Granted, Dewey wasn't completely deserving of the position over Huey, and at this point, Huey was just a kid still learning how to manage his emotions, but his instictive reaction tells a lot about his character at the time. Thankfully, we see this progress with "The Challenfe of the Senior Junior Woodchuck!", where Huey is once again put in a situation where the odds were against him, considering that this time around, Violet was more qualified and prepared for the position than he was. At first, Huey does take this badly, getting super anxious that he'll have to do a challenging, dangerous course that no 11-12 year old probably should be doing, on his lonesome without even the help of the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, which has been shown to be a source of comfort for Huey. At one point, he is only surviving through the course by creating a talking Junior Woodchuck Guidebook in his head, but even that goes south as he gets so overwhelmed and anxious to the point where he sets it on fire in his head. Eventually, noticing how far he's fallen behind Violet, and realizing how deserving she is of the title over him despite his love for everything Junior Woodchucks, he is able to come to terms with the fact that he lost, and instead of getting upset or beating himself up for it, he gracefully allows her to be announced as the winner, and shows her his full support. This is meaningful, because if this was season 1 Huey, we honestly can not say that his reaction to his loss would've been the same: He probably would've gotten a lot more upset about it than he actually did in season 3.

"Quack Pack!", despite somewhat being more of a comedic episode, also sheds light on how Huey's learned to adjust with a change in environment: He was the first character (other than Donald, who was fully aware) to pick up on the fact that they are in an alternate universe, set inside of a 1990s sitcom, and becomes increasingly anxious about it as a result, especially since everyone was pretty much oblivious of it at first. However despite this, when the family confronts Donald about the wish, while Donald does make a compelling point of how this scenario gives them a sense of normalcy and security, Huey also brings up the fact that despite the hardships they may face, adventuring is an integral part of their new found family. Even though Huey has always been pretty enthusiastic about adventuring, especially in comparison to Louie and pre-season 3 Donald, there has been times where adventuring has caused him anxiety due to being confronted with new settings or situations that he doesn't immediately know how to handle, so considering this, I think that line alone has shown the great improvement Huey has made with adjusting.

2.) embracing "The Duke": in the first two seasons, while we always had somewhat of an idea that huey was the triplet that inherited the infamous McDuck anger, "The Duke" wasn't something that was necessarily explored much in the first two seasons, leading people to believe that it was just for comedic plot. However, in season 3, we finally got an image of what "The Duke" actually is and represents, alongside with how Huey truly feels about this side of him.

Based on my perception of "The Split Sword of Swanstantine", Huey sees The Duke as an entire separate entity from himself rather than just how far his anger can really go, decides to completely reject this side and keep it locked away in his brain. Of course, we've had our early season moments where The Duke "slipped out", but for the most part, leading up to The Split Sword of Swanstantine, we never really got a full glimpse of what exactly the Duke is: and given his personality, it makes sense as to why Huey was rejecting this side of him instead. Not only does The Duke represent one of Huey's most vulnerable states, but knowing how far his anger can go, goes completely against the side of his personality that he does allow to shine: Being orderly, being well put together, and being the brain of his sibling trio, which being blinded by anger would all deter. Despite the strength that embracing his anger gives him, Huey obviously still sees it as a weakness, because it's the side of him he doesn't want people to see, especially those closest to him, because before the events of The Split Sword, Huey didn't exactly have the greatest control of his anger, so while nobody would want to think of it, no one knows how far he could really go if he's pissed enough.

However, thanks to the encouragement of Lena, Huey was finally able to embrace that side of him, and fully gain control over his anger which is something we don't typically see with the infamous McDuck Anger, given that the only way he could defeat Steelbeak who had an obvious advantage, was to tap into his true strength. The biggest takeaway Huey got from this situation, is that his anger shouldn't be treated as if it's a separate entity, or as if it's something to be embarassed of, but to truly embrace that side of himself, and learn how to control it, all things that he was able to accomplish by the end of "The Split Sword of Swanstantine".

3.) building new relationships:

Since season one, it's been hinted that Huey does struggle a bit on the friendship aspect of things. He does have very close relationships with his brothers and Webby, but even these can be hindered by clashing personalities and differing interests. Even though it's fairly obvious that HDLW all love and support each other like family, Huey has never really exactly been shown to have a bond with someone where he shares completely similar interests: Now, this isn't really important in friendship, often times opposites attract even down to the friendship aspect, but it is nice to have someone where you can just sit and chat about similar interests, and do stuff together that you'll both enjoy.

The first time we've gotten a hint at Huey struggling with making friends was in "The Day of the Only Child!", where, if the Beagle Brothers didn't show up, Huey would've been out of luck with finding two other participants for the three-man cookout, considering that everyone else was already paired up and Louie and Dewey were already off doing their own things for the day. Also hinted in that same episode, is the fact that Huey make struggle with loneliness as well (Huey "Be horribly alone." Dewey: "For once!"), given that he's spent most if not all of his life constantly with his brothers and Donald, so even if him and his brothers did have fall outs every here and there, he could always rely on them to be there given that outside of them, he didn't rely have any other friends.

Now, this somewhat turns around in season 2, when we're introduced to Fenton, who Huey not only idolizes as Gizmoduck, but looks at like a genuine best friend and most likely, as an older brother figure. Besides Huey's admiration of Gizmoduck, it's been shown that they bond over their similar interest in science, and in general, Huey is constantly looking out for Fenton and always wanting to protect his best friend from any danger or hurt that he himself can prevent. Despite Fenton undoubtedly being Huey's closest friend, I think that it's also important to shed light on the friendships that he's made that are more in his age group.

Following the events of Astro BOYD!, we are introduced to Boyd and Huey's friendship, two characters that existed in the show prior but never had any interactions. Huey and Boyd bond over their interest in the Junior Woodchucks, something that we once again see Huey get backlash for from his fellow Woodchucks, for being too "by the book" and not just "relaxing and being a kid" (even going as far to label him as a "robot"). Even in Boyd's malfunctioning, Huey is determined to stay by his side until the end, not only because of their shared interests and the bonding they began to do at the very beginning of the episode, but also because Huey understood what it was like to be cast away and treated as less just for being different (or in Huey's words, "wired a little differently"). Even though Fenton is Huey's closest friend by a margin, I would consider Boyd's friendship with him really meaningful, at least given the circumstances of how they became friends in the first place: Two people who were cast aside, for not being what society considered the "perfect/normal kid", and instead of people working with them, they were just cast aside easily. Considering how fast Huey probably had to grow up given the circumstances of living with Donald who, despite being an amazing father figure, dealt with poverty pretty often, it's no wonder why he's very mature for his age and very "by the book", but it's also no wonder why kids who probably didn't have to grow up with those circumstances, would easily be turned off. Louie and Dewey are a lot more understanding considering they grew up in the same setting, but even they dealt with it differently, often leading to their personalities clashing, which is even lampshaded in this episode as another insecurity of Huey's when building relationships ("Are you sure you want me to continue? My brothers are usually *begging* me to stop.).

We're also introduced to another friendship at the very beginning of season three, with Violet. Even though at the beginning, things were a bit rocky considering how anxious Huey was getting from the Senior Woodchuck competition, and his determination to beat Violet, even to the point of leaving him behind when she probably needed him the most, by the end of the episode, we see both Violet and Huey not only reconcile, but start to actually bond. During this high stress situation, Violet was a great source of relief for Huey, using her own experiences of failure to inspire Huey to not give up, and that even if he does lose (which he did) in this specific situation, there'll be more opportunities because he is great when it comes to the Junior Woodchucks. Even when Violet wins, instead of being bitter which would definitely be expected considering that Huey is a child and how much he was anticipating winning, he is able to put his grievances aside and congratulate her because she helped him greatly during a point of weakness. Even if Violet and Huey's friendship didn't end up as closeknit as his and Boyd's, or as prominent as his and Fenton's, I think this was still a meaningful connection for him as Violet was great balance for the anxiety that he was feeling at the time, and despite him leaving her behind, she beared no ill will towards him.

This is only the first part, where I examined what I felt were the key component to his character development over the last three seasons, and the next post will focus on other aspects that weren't as focused on during the series!

[blrush]

If Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding was a serious drama with hour long episodes - Part 2: Newlyweds.

In his dream Ho Seon was blind, reaching out for something he could not find. Lights and shadows danced around him, but he couldn’t find what he was looking for. Drowning in confusion and a profound sense of loneliness, he kept reaching out and stumbling through empty space. Then his hands fell upon a face - he drew his fingers across smooth skin, tracing the outlines of features – the curvature of a small button nose, heart shaped lips – Ahhh, he knew this person, this was his person, he felt relieved, calmed and reassured – the dream faded away and he fell back into a deep drunken sleep.

As morning light filtered into the room, Ho Seon awoke to the same sense of loneliness. The bed was cold and empty beside him, as it was every morning. He rubbed cracked sleep from his eyes and saliva from his cheek, his mouth was still furry from alcohol. Then the events of the night before came flooding back – drunk, celebrating, the wedding – THE WEDDING! He was married. He looked around the room, and found the figure of a woman sitting away from him, her back turned as she tied her robes. Had she slept beside him? Had they slept together? No impossible, if he had been too drunk to remember the events of the evening then he certainly would have been too drunk to participate in any marriage nuptials.

What must she think of him? To get himself so drunk, and pay her no attention on their wedding night. But he had been so scared, so desperately at a loss as to how to behave, or how to speak to her. This wedding was a sham, and his overriding guilt had made him drink himself into a stupor. She must have figured out something was wrong – what kind of noble marriage is organised in a fortnight, and then rushed through without her family or any friends present? She must have felt like a prize pig, being trundled up and carted off to some town she’d never visited, to marry a man she’d never even met.

Worst of all, she didn’t know the true flaws of her new husband, nor the real reason for this pretence. How disappointed she would be when she found out.

Even if he had been sober on their wedding night, he would not have been able to consummate their marriage. He had only been with a woman once, and once was enough for him. The thought of lying with a woman had never appealed to him – when his friends had come of age, they began visiting bars and brothels, eagerly encouraging him to join them. The only time he had been with a woman was with a kisaeng on a visit to the city.

His friends had insisted that he “wet his whistle”, as he was getting too old to be a virgin. They were all drinking happily with kisaeng girls in their laps, and were slowly peeling off to their rooms for the night. He had barely spoken to the girl beside him, who eventually gave up, and was attending far more diligently to his friend, who now had two girls on either side of him, playfully planting kisses on his cheeks and giggling with each other. When it was time to retire, his friend pulled him up by his collar, and dragged him with them to their room. The women began undressing them both, kissing his chest and running long fingers-nails up and down his arms. His nerves and discomfort must have been evident to the experienced kisaeng woman who gently guided him into the activities, placing her hand over his, and telling him where to touch herself and other girl. It was all overwhelming and confusing. His senses felt heightened, and his nervous energy was dancing about his body. Eventually, in the dark milieu of bodies, he accidentally touched his friend’s body – his broad flat chest and stomach felt taught and firm, completely different from the women, and it sent a ripple of arousal shooting through him – he kept touching. Slowly, his friend noticed, and quickly drew himself back, placing one of the girls between them. The shame of that moment had stayed with him for years, and he had not had the courage to sleep with another woman, or man, since.

Of course, he could not hide this disinterest in courtship from his mother for long. He was certain she would catch on, even if he would joking brush off her questions with a charming smile that would show his dimples and say; “Oh but Mother, you know I could never leave you!” or “But Mother, no woman could ever live up to you!” His mother was a warm and kind person, but she was no fool – she was a keen observer of people’s moods and behaviours, she always said she could spot a crook, swindler, or cheat a mile away.

He had once had a friend from school whom he played with often, but his mother would always warn him “Don’t get too close to that boy, he’s no good – he’ll betray you one day.” Their friendship eventually broke down after he stole a valuable book from Ho Seon, and years later when they crossed paths, he had boasted that he “had so many wives and courtesans” that he “could never tell which child belonged to which woman.”

And so, he knew he could never fool a mother such as his – but he was happy living in denial for as long as he could. Whilst it took him by surprise, he was thus not so utterly shocked when she announced she had “had enough” of his “indecision and adolescent brooding” and that she had told his great-uncle in the city to find him a fit young wife as soon as possible.

Ho Seon also knew, deep down, that there was something more to it than just her stubbornness, or any sort of social pressure. His mother had been growing weaker each year, losing her vision and the dexterity in her hands. He noticed that she no longer enjoyed sewing or drawing, she who had once been such an accomplished and artistic lady – now preferred to spend her time weeding the garden or walking. Every turn of season, as winter came around, she would be laid up in the house for weeks, with a cough so hoarse and violent that he feared she would soon lose her voice all together. She was desperate for him to marry, not only so there would be more young women around the manor to help her – but he suspected, so that she could be sure their family line was secure, and that Ho Seon could provide her with grandchildren before she passed away.

On his first morning as a newlywed, he thus did not feel a sense of joy or excitement, but a sad kind of submission to his new life and a guilt and pity for the girl sat before him – who would be resigned, unknowingly, to a marriage to a man who could not truly ever love her or tend to her in the way a husband should.

No. That was not fair. He should strive instead to be a good husband, to dote on her and care for her as much as he could. When it came to physical intimacy, he would have to speak with her candidly, and be honest about his feelings. But, if she was a young maid this might all be too shocking – what if she is so disgusted by him that she never spoke to him again? What if she reports him to his family or the court, or demands an annulment? 
He would have to careful. He would have to get to know her first, to determine her character properly, before deciding how much he should tell her, or how much he could trust her.

He sat up, and cleared his throat so she would know he was awake. She turned slowly toward him and gave a small bow of her head. She was indeed a beauty, but unusual looking all the same. A king of striking beauty, rather than the soft round faces of the young maids in town, or the plump young pregnant wives of his friends – she had more angular features and sharp narrow eyes, that seemed to observe him with a severity and maturity that he did not expect from someone so young – as if she might pull a dagger out from her sleeve at any moment if he moved the wrong way.

“Good morning.” He began, unsure of himself, but wanting to put her at ease. He raised himself up onto his knees. “I’m sorry I drank so much last night. Please excuse my behaviour.” He gave a deep bow.

~ ~ ~

Ho Seon was on his hands and knees on the bed, bowing toward Ki Wan. He didn’t know how to respond. It seemed Ho Seon was impossible to predict. Ki Wan had expected the arrogant bravado of a wealthy only-son of a noble family – and yet was confronted last night and now again this morning, with a gentle, humble, young man whose manner seemed so deeply genuine that it was making Ki Wan feel embarrassed. He felt like he was playing a trick on a child. He must come clean. But how could he reveal himself now? To do so would be to make a fool out of Ho Seon and ruin any chance Ki Wan might have of salvaging a plan, an alliance, or even a friendship with the man. So, he continued to stay quiet – fearing that his voice alone might give the game away. He nodded politely to acknowledge Ho Seon’s gesture, and when Ho Seon smiled at him – he felt himself smile back.

“Shall we go find breakfast?” Ho Seon began, brightly.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Ki Wan felt panicked for a moment, before a woman’s voice came muffled through the doors.

“It’s only me! Are you two awake? Would you like some breakfast?”

Ho Seon rolled his eyes pointedly, and mouthed “my mother” at Ki Wan, who felt himself smiling again. His stomach was in knots, he was so filled with guilt and fear that he felt sick – and yet Ho Seon was so effortlessly charming, his kindness was so disarming, that Ki Wan felt an immediate sense of kindship and attraction – he wanted to be friends with this nobleman – and perhaps, if they had met under different circumstances, they could have been.

More gentle rapping at the door, and then Ho Seon’s mother announced more loudly “Are you awake? I’m coming in.”

Suddenly Ho Seon was a flurry of movement, he jumped up, messed up all the bedding, threw a pillow halfway across the room, and raced over to sit beside Ki Wan. Ki Wan gave Ho Seon a look of confusion, at which Ho Seon gave back an obtuse expression as if to say “You knowwww…” and leaned close to Ki Wan.

“So it looks like we… ” Ho Seon whispered to Ki Wan, his face intentionally turned away from the door – his cheek almost brushing Ki Wan’s own, as he leaned in close.

Oh. Ki Wan had read about these things before, and seen illustrations. He understood perfectly well – in theory – what was expected of a man and woman on their wedding night, but the thought suddenly made him blush.

It was precisely then, of course, that Ho Seon’s mother opened the door and entered the room. Finding them sitting conspiratorially close, Ki Wan blushing quite literally ‘like a bride’. She looked overjoyed at the sight, as she carried in a tray of breakfast.

“I know I should have sent the maid.” She began, “But I was too excited to see you!”

She lay the tray down on the table and sat herself down opposite them. She eyed the bedding, strewn across the room and giggled to herself.

“I remember when your father and I were first married, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other!” She laughed.

“Mother!” Ho Seon objected.

“What!? You’re a married man now! You can’t be shy about these things!” She gave him a playful slap on the arm.

“You will embarrass her!”

“Ahhh yes, yes. Sorry dear. Please don’t mind me, I’m just an old widow – I speak too freely. You will get used to it.” She smiled openly at Ki Wan, her cloudy grey eyes crinkling shut, and her deep dimples still visible beneath her wrinkles and laugh lines. There was no mistaking that Ho Seon was indeed her son.

Suddenly Ki Wan felt filled with motivation – if he could keep up his charade, perhaps he could really be welcomed into this family as a daughter in-law. Wouldn’t it be nice to be surrounded by such kind and loving people who smiled so much? But how? Perhaps just for a little while, and then he would run away, feign a kidnapping, or an affair, or better yet – his own death. And then what? Go back to his life as Ki Wan? What was so appealing about that? He had no trade or skill, he was an under-educated noble-man from a fallen family without connections to get him a decent court job. No, it seemed the best chance at a life that would keep his belly full and a roof over his head would be to stay here. His only option was to somehow make an ally of his husband. In his desperation and loyalty to his own family, he had unwittingly made himself a prisoner of this family, and of his own lie that he was now forced to follow through.

“Come, eat – you must both be hungry!” She laughed again.

Ki Wan began to help himself, before remembering there was probably some custom or etiquette he was forgetting – was he supposed to serve his husband first? He had no idea. Luckily Neither Ho Seon nor his mother seemed phased, as they had both started eating. Ho Seon simply filled Ki Wan’s bowl with more food, and poured them both some tea. If Ho Seon made one more kind gesture, Ki Wan feared he may break down and cry.

“Come here daughter!” His mother in-law chimed up. “Let me look at you properly.”

Ki Wan sat frozen in his place, if he got too close – surely she would notice! He looked to Ho Seon who was obliviously munching on his breakfast happily.

“Come on! I don’t bite I promise!” She demanded.

Ki Wan shuffled closer to her around the table, his heat beat erratic. He kept trying to look down at his hands. She then reached up to grab his chin, turning his face this way and that – she moved her own face closer and then further away, like she was examining a chip or crack in some piece of fine porcelain, deciding whether to fix it or throw it away.

“My eyesight’s not what it used to me” she said, “But I can tell you are a real beauty. Let me see your hands.” He was practically shaking! Surely, she would tell by his hands! She grabbed at them, turning them over, feeling the skin between her own small papery palms.

“Good! Strong hands, not too soft!” She declared, “I can’t stand women who don’t do any work. I don’t like to keep too many maids – I hate having strangers in my house. I’ve kept the same maids since I was married, and I won’t be hiring a new one for you until you have children. So, I hope you are happy to tend to some of your own chores, we all chip-in around here.”

Ki Wan felt she needed an answer to this, so he gave a simple but firm “Mmm!” in as high a pitch as he could manage without it sounding put-on.

After breakfast, Ho Seon’s mother took Ki Wan on a tour of the manor - showing her which buildings were for what purposes, which gardens Ki Wan was free to use, pointing out with pride the recent flowers and plants she had been growing.

Ho Seon fell in step behind them, letting his mother chatter away happily with her new companion – who she didn’t let go of even for a moment - clutching onto Ki Wan’s arm the entire time. At first Ki Wan thought she was just so pleased to have a daughter in-law, but after a while, he realised she was using him more for balance and strength.

“You don’t talk much!” She proclaimed at one point. It didn’t sound accusatory, more of an observation.

“She’s just shy mother.” Ho Seon piped up from behind them, “You can be very intimidating you know. How could she get a word in anyway?”

His mother laughed at this, “You’re right haha! I do talk too much! Sorry dear, you take your time once you’ve gotten used to life here, feel free to speak openly with me – no need to be formal or stand on ceremony.”

Ki Wan was grateful, once again he had managed to avoid the issue of speaking. His natural voice was not so deep that it would give him away as a man, but it was deep enough that if he tried too hard to put on a woman’s voice, or raise his pitch too much, it would sound forced and that was what he feared would give him away.

~ ~ ~

In the evening Ho Seon’s mother mentioned that should like to have some dresses made up for Ki Wan, and that she would need to take her measurements. The look of abject horror on Ki Wan’s face must have been enough for Ho Seon to jump to her defence and make an excuse.

“I think my wife is a little tired mother, it’s been a long day in a new home, I think we should just go and rest.”

“Oh ho! I see” She looked knowingly, “I know how much you must want to “rest” haHA!” She joked in her usual good-natured way. “But I do need those measurements if I am to send them off to the seamstress. Your wife only bought one good dress you know! No daughter of the Ryu family can be seen wearing the same single garment every day, people will think we’re gone broke!”

“Yes yes, okay mother.” Ho Seon replied, “We can manage it ourselves I’m sure, just lend me the tape and we will give you her measurements tomorrow.”

~ ~ ~

In their bridal house alone once again, Ki Wan realised he was indeed as tired as Ho Seon had claimed. The emotion and exhaustion of the last two days had caught up to him, he had barely slept the last two nights – preparing himself at home, then being on watch all last night, hoping Ho Seon had drunk enough not to wake up or drunkenly attempt to consummate their marriage. All day, around his mother, Ki Wan had been supressing his natural self – don’t move too much, don’t speak, don’t laugh. It was totally unnatural and he was completely drained.

Whilst Ho Seon tended to the heating and the candles, Ki Wan began removing his hair pins, and taking off his jacket without even thinking about what he was doing. Somehow, alone in this little room – he had already accepted this as his new home, a space where he felt safe and comfortable.

Ho Seon had removed his hat and his own outer-layer and was standing somewhat awkwardly aside, fiddling with something in his hand.

“I suppose, we should take your measurements for my mother – otherwise she will not leave you in peace tomorrow.”

Ki Wan nodded. Ho Seon fiddled with the tape in his hand then almost tossed it at Ki Wan, before getting out a piece of parchment, some ink, and seating himself down at the table.

He cleared his throat “If you take the measurements, I will write them down for you.”

Ki Wan nodded again, and began unravelling the tape. He had helped his sister with this task once before, but it was a lot easier to do on someone else than on one’s self. He stretched the tape out, holding it taught between his fingers in one hand, and pulling it up to his shoulder with the other. He repeated this step with the other arm, though the tape came lose this time from his fingers and he had to start again.

Ho Seon stood up from the table. “May I …. Would you like me to help?”

Frustrated, but grateful, Ki Wan nodded again. This was all so absurd, but the sooner they could complete the task the sooner Ki Wan could fall asleep – and then all these problems would seem like a dream, and he wouldn’t have to worry about it all again until morning. The bed looked so warm and inviting, and he hadn’t even been able to sleep on it last night. Ho Seon approached him cautiously in the half-light, and Ki Wan handed him the tape.

~ ~ ~

Standing in front of his new wife in the candle-light, Ho Seon was once again struck by her beauty. Her distinctive bone structure was casting incredible shadows across her face and bare skin where she had removed her jacket. The white ribbons of her undergarments only accentuated the shape of her collarbones more, and he couldn’t help but stare.

He must have been staring too openly, as she brought her arms up to cover herself more, hugging her shoulder and covering her chest. She looked frightened. He shook himself and took a small step back, averting his eyes to the floor.

“Sorry.” He said. “I shouldn’t have stared. I will just take the measurements. Sorry if I touch you, I will try not to.”

He took the tape and began focusing on his task, trying desperately to look only at the tape and not her body. As he worked back and forth between her and his parchment, where he scribbled the measurements, he thought to himself; why do I feel so nervous? She is my wife, surely, I am allowed to look at her and admire her? But when before had he ever wanted to admire the form and body of a woman? This was an entirely new development. Perhaps because she was his wife? Perhaps he felt differently toward her than other women? Was this what happened when you were married? Perhaps one is instinctively drawn to their spouse in a way that does not apply other people?

But, regardless of his own new feelings, or his desire and curiosity to explore them, she was clearly still uncomfortable around him. She still refused to speak, she seemed perpetually guarded and fearful. Yet, it did not strike him that she was fearful of him, rather she was on edge – fearful of everything around her, like she was going to run away at any moment. Indeed, he sensed she was somehow calmer around him than his mother – which seemed to him to be counter-intuitive for a young bride.

He took a step closer, and reached the tape gently around her ribcage and brought it together under her breastbone. They were standing so close now, as he looked down he could have smelled her hair or kissed her forehead. He watched her chest quickly moving up and down with her breath, and he fought the urge to touch her there. It would have been uninvited, and he had promised not to.

For the last measurements, he first took one end of the tape and held it against the top of her shoulder.

“Hold this, please.” He asked her. He felt he had barely whispered it, but the room was so quiet that his voice seemed to echo in the space. He could hear her breathing, short and sharp like she was trying to control it or stop herself from making any sound. Why was she so scared? What kind of home life had she come from, or what kind of married life had she been expecting that she should have reason to be so scared? He drew the tape down to floor where the touched the top of her foot. Then he tugged on it for her to let go. Kneeling down in front of her, he took the tape once more – this time wrapping it around her hips, pulling it tightly to compensate for her large skirts, holding it in place with his hand on her lower abdomen.

Whilst reading the tape he felt her move just slightly and her breath almost stop, as if she was holding it. Out of the corner of his eye his saw her hand move from her side toward him. At first, he thought she was going to push him away, but instead all he felt was the most delicate of touches - she drew the back of her hand softly across his temple, from his brow to his ear, as if she was wiping away a bead of sweat. Then, she quickly withdrew her hand and stepped away from him – leaving him frozen, kneeling on the floor.

TBC (Other parts here!)

Authors Note: Well this is getting VERY out of hand, I’m now at like 8000 words and this is just scenes based only on the first 2 episodes haha

I have changed a lot of the plot from the show for the sake of my own continuity, and to raise the tension and the drama cause we need some FLAVOUR. Namely, I have kept KiWan’s identity and gender a secret for the TENSION and have established Ho Seon as gay, for the dramatic irony. Get ready for some ANGST in the next chapters, shit’s gonna get real.

Note: Kiseang were Joseon era courtesans and sex-workers. Not that historical accuracy is top of my priority list haha

I think I will have to post on AO3 for ease of reading and keeping track. Link to come when I have time tomorrow.

Sorry this is still unedited - but if I keep going I will ask for a beta haha

Enjoy!

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty-Five - Kintsugi

Kintsugi - Kintsugi (金継ぎ, "golden joinery"), also known as kintsukuroi (金繕い, "golden repair"),[1] is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, a method similar to the maki-e technique.

Wikipedia

He woke up in his bed, disoriented, wondering how he had gotten there in the first place. The last thing he remembered was being…

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The memories came all at once, flooding his senses, and he had no choice but to painfully relive every single one of them in his mind: the lawsuit, Mina’s death and funeral, his fight with Andrea, the glass hitting the wall, his panic attack. His wife’s hand, lovingly squeezing his, lighting his way back to sanity.

His son, crying, scared to lose yet another parent, called the paramedics. Victor recalled, in the middle of his mental chaos, being put on an oxygen mask and told to breathe, but the fact that he now had strangers witnessing his meltdown only made him panic more. Eventually, he was given an injection, as Andrea’s coaxing was no longer enough to have him relax. After the paramedics were sent away by her, she took him to bed, but not before helping him change his sweat-drenched clothes. He could remember how helpless he was, his body soft and useless, his eyes too heavy to be kept open. Andrea carefully laying him in bed.

“Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked outside the bedroom window, it was already dark. He wondered if Andrea had already gone to bed, but he already knew the answer. Just like he refused to sleep before he put the glass back together, she would stay put until she saw all of his pieces back in place, sturdy and strong. No matter how hard her fingers bled.

Victor wondered how many times did a glass have to break to be deemed irreparable. He felt like the glass on his desk, ugly and useless, unable to hold anything. He wondered if she would see that in him, now that he had shown her his weak side. He wondered if she would regret spending the time trying to fix him. He heard the whiskey glass hitting the wall, and saw the frightened look on her face, all over again. He had committed an unforgivable sin. And still, she held his pieces.

Victor jumped off his bed and walked to the kitchen to get some water. Part of him wanted her to be there, he didn’t want to be alone. But at the same time, another part wished she had become wiser and just left him. He couldn’t make her happy, he was too broken. And he was afraid eventually he would break her too. Broken glasses don’t stand in the cupboard like the others. They are disposed of. That’s what he deserved.

But not what he got.

She looked spent, her dark circles standing out on her fair complexion, her curls disheveled and held in an updo with a pencil, some kind of voodoo only Andrea could accomplish. She was focused on her laptop screen, occasionally typing with one hand, the other touching her forehead, like she always did when she felt overwhelmed. She looked like a fragile crystal, the slightest vibration enough to shatter her.

“You’re awake.” She was startled by his presence. “How are you feeling?”

“You’re here.” You shouldn’t be. I’m a waste of your time.

“Of course I am.” She got up, turning to the stove, opening the pot standing there. “It’s late, Owen already had dinner and went to bed, but I have some stew for you. You should eat.”

Owen. Victor recalled again his frightened voice, panicking on the phone. He could only imagine how that small child had spent his day: anxious, scared, traumatized, worried about his father, who was too weak to keep it together. “You just have to make a scene, don’t you?” He heard his father’s voice again.

“How is he?”

“He was scared at first, but I told him you were still processing what happened.” She gave him a faint smile. “He’s really insightful for his age, I think he understood.”

“What about your trip?” You should stay away from me. Both of you will be happier away from me.

“I canceled it. You are unwell, we can go some other time.”

Victor’s stomach turned with self-loathing. Worse than any insult was the thought of someone staying by his side because he was weak, especially if he didn’t deserve the sympathy.

“You should go. I’m fine.” Victor turned to the door, wanting to get away from Andrea as fast as possible. The sight of what he had and what he had lost was simply unbearable.

“I already told you I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Victor.”

The statement felt like a heavy rock falling into a pond, agitating the waters inside him. Victor froze in place, unsure of how to answer. He loved her more than anything, but he didn’t deserve another chance. It was clearly over between them, yet he couldn’t say it. He was a coward. Tears started rolling down his face, as he stood in silence, his back turned to her, keeping his distance, but also selfishly refusing to release her.

For the second time that day, loving hands held the back of his neck, pulling him to a warm embrace, and then all hell broke loose. Tears quickly turned into hysterical sobs, as emotions broke out of him like a tsunami, spilling all over. He leaned against his wife and accepted her reassurance, even though he knew he shouldn’t get it. If only he could have her forgiveness.

“I’m sorry.” He croaked as the retching sobs made his legs wobble, making him kneel on the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

Victor wasn’t sure who he was really apologizing to, there was so much unsaid in his heart. Maybe it was to his mother, for not being the child that she wanted, the one that would make her stay. Or perhaps he was apologizing to Mina, for not honoring like she deserved, for not saying he loved her or holding her hand in her last moments. But mostly, he was apologizing to Andrea. For disappointing her. For not being the kind loving man she believed him to be all along.

All at once, Victor was an adult and a child, and both were crying in Andrea’s arms. A memory of long before came to mind. The smell of polished wood and silver, the echo of the large hallway, suitcases on the floor. His child self, holding his mother, fighting the tears. The words he wouldn’t say to her came, at last, twenty years later, for the love of his life.

“Please don’t leave me.” He sobbed. “Please.”

Her embrace tightened.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Her arms felt like a loving home, where he could be safe. Her voice was so sweet in his ears, her hands so warm in his back, her heartbeat so soothing. So, for the first time in decades, Victor decided to surrender, lay down the sword and simply stop fighting. He held onto her and cried, facing the storm of his emotions, hoping he would come out whole in the end. He just felt so tired. Surrendering seemed to be his only option.

Victor cried enough for a lifetime. All that was inside him, thirty years’ worth of pain erupted in hysterical sobs, landing as salty water on Andrea’s sweater, and he couldn’t stop it. He cried of fear for his kidnapping, of sadness for his mother’s departure, of anguish for her and Mina’s death. He cried for all those times he felt utterly lonely and unloved, for all those times he felt angry for being unable to draw people closer. For all his moments of self-loathing and despair. By the time he was done, he was exhausted. And scared. Scared that if he let her go, he would lose her forever. Afraid that if she stopped holding his broken pieces, he would fall to the ground to never get up.

So Victor simply lingered on Andrea’s embrace, wanting to enjoy a little more of her tenderness, as he knew it would be short-lived.

“We need to talk.” She announced, and Victor promptly left her arms, sitting against the kitchen island, creating the necessary distance. He prepared himself for the worse.

“I’m sorry for the glass.” He blurted out, fearing he would lose his courage if he waited for too long. “I hate that you saw this side of me.”

“What side?” She frowned.

“My ugly side.” His voice tightened. “But I need you to know I could never hurt you that way. I would never do that to you.”

“I know that!” She hurried to answer. “I do, it’s just…” She trailed off with a long sigh.

You can’t live with a violent man. Just say it.

“I pushed you into it. It was a cheap blow to mention your parents.”

Victor turned his eyes to her in surprise.

“I know you didn’t mean it, I-”

“Could you just listen?” She interrupted him.

Victor turned his eyes to the ground, obediently waiting for her to continue.

“I was hurt. And furious. I wanted you to hurt as much as I was, so I used something that you shared with me in our intimacy, knowing fully well how deep it would go, forgetting that you were acting that way because you were hurting too.”

Victor sighed, at a loss for words. How could he hold anything against her? None of them had acted in an honorable way.

“I have an ugly side too.” She muttered.

Silence filled the kitchen again, and Victor stared at Andrea’s hand, wanting to take it. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but he feared he wasn’t entitled to anymore, or that more words would just lead to more strife. He was done bruising her, he had done so much of that already.

“Victor… I really want things to be well again.”

The words caught up in his throat. He wanted it too, more than anything. But he wasn’t entitled to ask.

“Look, I know that you have been through a lot, and I can’t possibly imagine what you are feeling right now.” She jumped, kneeling in front of him, her hand taking his, while her eyes gazed at his earnestly. “And I know you are not the kind of guy that goes around talking about feelings, and I don’t need you to… That is something you should do at your own pace.”

Victor’s heartbeat quickened, wondering what she would say next. He desperately needed to make amends, he desperately needed her by his side, he desperately needed her consent in holding her and having her again. At this point, whatever she asked, he would do. He loved his light, and he needed her, like he needed air to breathe.

“But you need to know, no, you need to acknowledge I’m here. Because I am, and I always will be. I need you to know that, even if we disagree, I won’t leave your side. And if you fall, even if you don’t hold on to me, I will hold on to you, do you understand? I’ll never let go of you.”

His fingers caressed hers, so small in comparison.

“The only reason I mentioned that trip was because I felt my presence was hurting you. Victor, for the last few days, all I wanted was to be by your side, to love you and support you. I don’t even care about our fights, or what was said, we should stick together no matter what!” She squeezed his hand tighter. “This is the closest I have been to you in days! I missed you!”

Victor couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled her to his arms and kissed her, with an urgency of someone who had been starving for love for days. When he broke the kiss, he held her tightly, his face buried in the nape of her neck, wanting to have as much from her as he could.

“I missed you too.” He spoke against her skin.

“Are we ok?”

“I want us to be.”

She smiled at him, and that’s when he noticed. While he had been crying, she had been crying too.

“I’m sorry.” He hurried to apologize again, seeing the full effects of his actions on the woman he loved. “I will be better, I will never hurt you like this again. I promise.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” She caressed his bangs. “This is something we both do, you know.”

He watched her shift in place as she seemingly organized her thoughts.

“Do you remember when we came back from Switzerland?”

He remembered, yes. Her being in unbearable pain, pushing him away, while he tried to comfort her. And then it dawned on him. He had done the same.

“You and I are not that different.” She let out a sad chuckle. “We both need to be in control, to always keep our feelings in check, so we bottle them up. But we are a couple now, we are not alone anymore. We should learn to depend on each other. Do you think you can do that? Can you trust me enough for that?”

“I trust you with my life, Andy.” He was an idiot. He let all of his childhood insecurities take so much relevance these days, that he actually forgot the woman he was married to. He didn’t need her to tell him she loved him and she would always be there for him, he knew she was loyal. He knew she loved him. How could he have forgotten that?

“Wait, I have an idea.” She broke free from his arms, taking out her wedding ring.

“What are you doing?” He frowned, confused.

“Give me yours.” She instructed. “Here’s mine.”

Victor removed his wedding ring, handing it to her. She took his left hand and inserted the wedding band halfway through his ring finger.

“We keep talking about renewing our wedding vows, but you know what? We shouldn’t do it when things are easy. We should do it when things are hard.”

Victor watched her take a solemn deep breath before speaking again.

“I, Andrea, renew my commitment to you, Victor. My love for you grows with each day, and I truly believe we can overcome whatever comes our way, as long as we are together.” She lifted her eyes to him. “And I am sorry I hurt you. I love you more than I can possibly say. You are the love of my life.”

Victor smiled as he saw her gently gazing at him with affection in her eyes. And miraculously, all of his shards were put back together again. He took her hand, hoping he would be able to convey what was in his heart.

“I, Victor, renew my commitment to you, Andrea. You are the light of my life. I promise to always keep my eyes on you, and search for you when in need. I have no other place to be, but beside you.” He felt a few tears coming again. “And I am sorry. I’m sorry I ignored you.”

“For better or worse, we are in this together.” She affirmed, her eyes locked on his.

“For better or worse, we are in this together.” He promised with all his heart.

He pulled her to his lap, kissing her lips, their bodies pressed against each other in a warm hug, Victor losing himself in their embrace. Their bodies fit beautifully together. Sometimes they would hold each other so close that Victor could no longer tell where her skin began and his ended, so perfectly united that they truly felt like one.

It reminded him of Kintsugi. Golden leaf and glass shards are useless apart but when united with the patience only real love can bring, they can make beautiful art. It was indeed a fitting analogy. Andrea held his pieces together and made him whole. Patiently, she had picked each one of his shards, unfazed by the cuts they brought, and put them all together.

His wife chuckled against his chest, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world. To hear Andrea laugh once again, while being held by him, was priceless.

“What is it?” He couldn’t help but chuckle as well. Her laughter was contagious.

“The time we spent planning where we would renew our wedding vows, and we ended up doing it on our kitchen floor.” She laughed.

“Well, we did want it to be meaningful.” He smiled, playing with one of her curls. “No place is more meaningful than this. We spent most of our happy moments in this kitchen.”

“Well, if we follow that line of thought, next year we could use the bedroom.” She smiled back.

“I said happy, not lewd.” He poked her nose, making her laugh again. “Any place will do, as long as you are there.”

“I feel the same.” She sighed, motioning to get up. “Maybe we should get up from the floor, you must be hungry and your buttocks must be getting numb.”

“We will in a minute.” He pulled her against him again. “Just a little while longer.”

She leaned against his chest, arms circling his waist, and he held her back, again marveled at how flawlessly they fit. He kissed her neck, lingering on her skin, taking a bit more of her scent. He held her as tight as he could, drinking from her love, letting her gold seep through his cracks.

Author's Note: This project has been going for a year now (it started in February 2020) and it won't be over any time soon, so I would like to ask you, as much as possible, for your support, because we still have a very long way to go. So, if you enjoy the work, don't forget to comment and reblog. It gives it traction and enables other people to learn about it, and for me to get more excited about what I do.

[a-lil-perspective]

.

This past year has been magical.

Maybe magical isn’t the right word.

Different.

I remember when the Bad Batch arc first premiered, last February.

It felt like forever ago.

The year of 2020 feels like one big blur to me. It’s hard to pinpoint or make sense of any of it. But there’s always this one part that rings through, in the disarray. It’s not sharp on the mind but the shape of it is solid, and clear. A feeling. I don’t know how else to describe it. I can just close my eyes and feel it. New characters. The warmth of coming spring. Simple times.

Small fandom, new friends, infinite opportunities.

I can close my eyes and remember the sheer elation that came with their arrival, and the weeks proceeding. The Bad Batch is what got me into storytelling. I never knew I could do that before them. It’s been life-changing. I close my eyes and feel the warmth of the sun on my face as I sit outside and write for them. I spent much of last Spring outside, writing Bad Batch stories. That’s where most of my Papa Hunter thoughts originated. :’)

It wasn’t grand, but it was me.

I hope that memory, that sensation, never leaves me. It was so pure and simple. Everything was so much simpler back then.

Then when I open my eyes, I’m here. Time has flown.

I’ve never liked time.

This past year has been one of the hardest times of my life. For everyone’s, really. My mental health has deteriorated from a complex trauma, and while I’ve sort of plateaued for the time being, there are times I suffer from disassociation and can hardly recognize or remember myself.

The Bad Batch boys help me remember.

They spark a childlike enthusiasm I was never allowed to cultivate. They spark a feeling a wholeness, of family, of connection that I’ve never had but that I can enjoy through them.

I’ve changed a lot. I’d like to say, mostly in good ways. I’d like to say, I’ve adapted. I haven’t developed the most healthy habits, in fact I’ve developed a lot of detrimental ones, and a rather unhealthy hyperfixation with the Bad Batch that has grown into something immeasurable. I know that now. I am finally starting to admit that to myself.

But, it’s been fun, and I love them.

I love studying them. I love the imagination that comes with it. I love watching them come to life in my mind. I love reading all of y’all’s stories and interpretations. I love being a small contribution to that.

I find myself very wistful over it. These particular thoughts have been swirling in my head for several weeks now and I think writing them out it will help me make sense of it, and maybe find closure.

You think about an entire year and it seems like a very long time. It seems like you can accomplish anything with that kind of time.

I wish I wouldn’t have wasted mine.

There are so many stories I wanted to tell. Many thoughts and purviews that I feel can no longer be shared/entertained once this show debuts. I feel like, from here on out everything is going to forever be different. Everything is going to change.

I’ve never liked the change.

I wish I wouldn’t have spent so much time fretting and obsessing over the unimportant things, and focused on what really matters. I wish I would’ve been kinder about my storytelling and my vision and wrote with no care or concern for quality but because I LOVE to write. Because I LOVE to tell stories. Because I LOVE the Bad Batch. The end.

I wish I would’ve written for me, for the Bad Batch boys, instead of getting caught up on how or whether or not I articulate myself.

I think about all the stories I could’ve written had I not lost sight of what matters.

And I wonder, maybe, if any other Writer out there perhaps feels this way. Or if I am an isolated case. I do tend to overthink things.

But the truth is, I deeply mourn these missed opportunities. It feels like loss to me. And it hurts.

I feel like this is a chapter of my life coming to a close. And it is hitting me all at once today. I’m trying not to be afraid of what the future holds. There’s change happening in every area of my life. I’m trying to face it with enthusiasm and energy, and with ramikadyc, that Commando state of mind.

It has been a good time. A lot of all-nighters to finish stories. A lot of hyper-fixating. A lot of energetic pacing around the room as I act out my own dialogue. A lot of ideas that hit me all of a sudden, often at inappropriate times, and the way my face lights up before I get to typing/writing despite my fingers hardly able to keep up.

Those are the moments I live for.

The ones I will always remember.

The ones I can’t lose sight of.

Those are the ones that, despite the rapid and overwhelming change, can still transpire as they always have.

Not all is lost with change.

And so this is what I strive to come to terms with in the light of the Bad Batch series.

We will always have our imaginations and stories to tell. We will always have our love and outlook on these characters. No factor can ever take that away. It’s sacred, it’s powerful, and it lives inside you always.

The Bad Batch lives inside you.