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weirdfangirly · 5 months

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Little Red Light—+18

Dark Fiction

dark!Joel x reader // dark!Tommy x reader

Warnings: dub-con/non-con, sex work, sexual exploitation (reader is being filmed against her will), dark Joel & Tommy, drug abuse (cocaine), drinking, name-calling, spanking, humiliation & degradation of reader, description of injuries & blood, cum-shot, face-fucking, blowjob, kissing feet, face-slapping, dark themes…

Summery: In a rundown motel, reader finds herself in an nightmarish encounter with Joel and Tommy. Trapped in a cycle of abuse and degradation, she struggles to escape the grim reality of her life as a prostitute, haunted by the consequences of her choices

A/n: please like, share and leave a comment! It honestly is my only motivation to keep writing. This is dark, very long and very depressing. Much fun xoxo

In the eerie silence of the night, you stood hesitantly before room 23 of a shady motel, its flickering red neon sign offering you a pale glimmer of confidence in the desolate landscape.

Wearing a coat that failed to shield you from the biting cold, your wrestled with a mix of anticipation and worry.

Tonight marked the beginning of yet another miserable dance with your fate as you mentally prepared yourself to meet your first client of the night.

You hesitated for a moment before mustering the courage to knock on the door.

*knock*

“Let’s get this over with.”, you thought.

Moments later, the door cracked open, revealing a man who’s weathered face painted with lines of hardships.

The man’s rugged features softened slightly as his stern eyes landed on you, his gaze betraying a flicker of empathy.

Your soft features were the prettiest sight he’d seen all week. A pretty little thing.

“Come in.”, the man’s voice, gravelly yet strangely comforting, broke the silence of the night.

He went by the name of Joel Miller.

With a cautious nod, you stepped inside. Your footsteps echoing softly against the floorboards.

The door closed behind you with a soft *click.*

As soon as you stepped in, a wave of musty air assaulted your senses, carrying the unmistakable scent of neglect and decay of the room.

“It smells like an old ladies house.”, you thought.

Your gaze swept across the room, taking in the sight of dilapidated furniture that sagged under the weight of years of use and abuse—a sight that reminded you of yourself. Once a joyful child with a promising future, now your inner lights dimmed by the harsh realities of life.

The bed was adorned with stained sheets that bore the telltale marks of countless forgotten encounters—Before long, you would add your own imprint to the fabric.

This thought left you deeply depressed.

It was only now that the shadows of the room revealed another man seated in the corner of the room…

His presence imposing, he sat with quiet confidence. Clad in white wife-beaters & faded jeans his thick black curly hair framed a rugged face. His mustache highlighted his stern expression, adding to the mystery of his presence.

His gaze—dark and inscrutable—met yours.

Irritation swept across your face, you turned back to Joel “I don’t do threesomes, sir.”, you said firmly, but your voice betrayed a hint of worry.

Joel’s expression hardened.

You couldn’t help but noticed the stark contrast between your ages…The lines etched into Joel’s face telling a story of a life lived long and hard. In contrast your own features still bearing the softness of youth. It was your eyes though that exposed how brittle and weak you really were.

“I’ll pay you extra.”, he said.

The offer hung heavy in the air.

Joel reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He held out the money to you.

Temptation aroused deep within you. It was more money than Dean—your boyfriend—expected you to bring back home tonight…

With trembling hands, you reached out to the money. The crisp bills feeling foreign and heavy in your grip.

As Joel’s gaze bore into yours, you felt a pang of guilt nagging on your conscience. You could feel that accepting this money came with an unknown risk.

You didn’t know those men. They could be bad.

There was a hint of danger lurking behind the shadows of this transaction—But in this moment, the promise of financial security outweighed the nagging voice of doubt that whispered in the back of your mind.

You nodded, accepting his offer. You put the money inside your handbag.

It was sealed.

Joel’s features softened. He triumphantly looked over to the other man in the room—his younger brother, Tommy.

Their silent conversation went unnoticed by you.

“Can I use the restroom, please?”, you asked, voice quivering slightly despite your attempt to sound composed. The weight of uncertainty pressing down on you.

You’d never done anything with two man before...

With a nod, Joel gestured towards the bathroom door.

You made your way to the small, cramped bathroom. In an attempt to shake off the unease you splashed some water on your face and took a deep breath to steady your nerves.

“Get it over with.”, you told yoursel.

You peeled off your coat, revealing the slutty attire your wore beneath. It was by no means modest and clung to your curves like a second skin.

Dean made you wear it, saying that men liked to see a pretty girl in a dress too small for her.

Despite the dim lights, you felt exposed and vulnerable. With trembling hands you smooth down the fabric of the dress, your fingers tracing the patterns of the dress as if seeking reassurance in their familiarity.

Taking a deep breath, you told yourself that you got this, that you would face whatever was awaiting you with courage. You’d squared your shoulders and walked out of the room.

As you emerged from the bathroom, the dim light of the room cast a subtle glow over you figure, highlighting the obvious differences between the men and you.

Joel and Tommy who’s gaze locked onto you. Their gaze lingering hungrily as their minds raced with illicit thoughts…

They didn’t saw you as a person, but as an object for their lust and greed. It was about power and control to them, about profit, and you’d just accepted their offer; cash in exchange for your bod.

Tonight you belonged to them.

Unaware of their true intentions, you offered them a shy little smile. Despite how nervous you were, you refused to let fear consume you.

But it all came crashing down on you when your eyes landed on the camcorder attached atop a tripod. Its lens pointed directly at the bed...

Panic shot through you veins as the realisation set in: they intended to film you!

A shiver ran down your spine.

“Why is there a camcorder?”, you asked after summoning the courage to confront them about it.

Jowls response was a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette. The ember glowing brightly in the dimly lit room as smoke danced lazily around him. With a nonchalant exhale, he met your gaze. His expression unreadable as he considered his response.

“It’s just for fun.”, he finally replied, his tone casual yet laced with a hint of something darker beneath the surface.

“I-I don’t like the idea of being recorded.”, you stated your discomfort firmly.

“You already accepted our money, baby-face.”, Tommy smiled, his deep voice cutting through the air like a knife. “There is no backing out of this.”

It was only now that you recognised the undeniable resemblance between Tommy and Joel. The only difference between them was that Tommys eyes held a glimmer of youthful vitality, untouched by the weight of the world that seemed to burden Joel’s.

They were brothers, you realised.

For some reason their familial ties only scared you more…

Tommys words had landed a heavy blow on you. You realised that you were trapped Your fate sealed by the very desperation that had driven you into the men’s clutches.

“Calm down,”, Joel’s voice cuts through the tense air, his voice smooth and reassuring. “We’ll only record for private use.”

Despite the foul feeling in your gut, you forced yourself to believe him. You cling to the fragil hope that maybe, just maybe, there was some truth to his words.

“O-okay.”, you nodded.

Tommy reached inside his pocket and fished out a little bag of cocaine. He started to line up the powder onto the wooden table.

“Ya want some?”, he asked you.

His offer hung heavy in the air, loaded with the promise of escape and oblivion, but you knew too well the dangers that lurked beneath its enticing facade of the powder.

It brought back memories of Dean, who’s addiction to cocaine would only fuel his violent outbursts, oftentimes directed at you.

You hoped that Tommy would react differently to the drug.

“No thank you, mister.”, you shook your head. Despite the allure of temporary relief, you couldn’t afford to lose yourself in the haze of drugs.

Tommy shrugged, leaned forward and consumed the powder through his nose—an immediate and noticeable shift overtook his demeanour. The drug infusing him with newfound energy.

You watched with growing unease.

“Is the camera rolling?”, he asked Joel with anticipation.

You knew, once the camera was rolling there was no turning back…

Joel took a swig from the whiskey bottle.

With a steady gaze Joel addressed you, his voice laced with authority as he outlined the rules for the night:

“All you gotta do,” he begun, “is to do what we say. No questions, no objections. Understand?”

His short speech echoed in the silence, each word a chilling reminder of the power dynamics at play.

“Yes, sir.”, you replied, your words a whispered admission of defeat in the face of his overwhelming dominance.

He reminded you of your father.

Joel nodded approvingly at your submission. Joel reached for the camcorder, pressing the record button with a sense of finality.

The red light blinked to life.

Tommy made his way over to the bed. His imposing figure filing the room with an aura of dominance. He sat down right in front of the camcorder, the bed creaked.

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of attraction towards him...

His strong physic and confident demeanour stirred something within you, despite the tension and fear that hung heavy in the air.

His gaze locked onto yours. “Come here, sweetheart.”, he gestured towards himself.

You obeyed Tommys command. You approached him slowly.

When you were close enough, he reached out for your hand. His touch sent a jolt of electricity skittering across your skin.

With a gentle yet firm guidance, he positioned you between his open legs—right in in front of the lens. As you stood there, trapped between his powerful frame you felt small and caged.

“Undress yourself.”, he said and gave your ass a playful but firm smack, sending yet another jolt of electricity through your body.

With trembling hands, you begun to undress yourself.

With Joel lingering behind the camcorder, his eyes fixed on the unfolding scene, you felt a sense of vulnerability wash all over you. You were painfully aware of the fact that you were being watched, every move captured by the unblinking lens of the recording devise.

You peeled away the layers of fabric that were shielding you from their hungry gaze.

As you stood there in front of them, clad in only your skin, Tommys hands started to roam all over your body. You felt a shiver of anticipation race down your spine.

But when his touch grew more insistent—turning from playful to possessive—you felt discomfort creeping in.

His hands wandered down between you legs, rubbing along your soft cunt, making Tommys eyes nearly roll back from anticipation. You closed your eyes and relaxed into his touch.

When Tommy felt your wetness, he smiled mischievously.

“What a good little whore you are.”, Tommy said and smacked your ass again, this time much harder.

You hissed in pain.

The harshness of his smack, coupled with the demeaning label he had assigned to you, you felt your heart grew heavy. The word “whore” echoing through your mind.

Joel seemed to notice your distress.

“I think you hurt her feelings, brother.”, Joel said, a cruel smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a perverse satisfaction blossoming within him at the sight of your distress.

Tommys laughter filled the room.

“Aw, is that true?” his tone mocking, “You don’t like being called a whore?”

You stayed silent, looking down, mentally scolding yourself for getting emotional in front of them.

He kept groping your ass and tits. His colossal hands all over you, burning your tender flesh.

“You liked it better when I called you sweetheart?” Tommy asked, “wanna be our little sweetheart? Get treated like a good girl, a little princess?”

You let him know with a timid little nod.

Tommy made you sit on top of his thigh. You felt out of place being so close to him now. The rough material of his jeans dug into your soft skin, creating some sparkling friction.

“Good girls don’t whore themselves out though...”, he whispered, nose buried deep in the pit between your neck and shoulder, revelling in your feminine scent.

You smelled like vanilla to him.

You felt a wave of humiliation wash over you, the sting of his words cutting deep. You winced slightly as his hands pinched the flesh of your ass. You remained frozen in place.

“If you want to be treated good, then you have to beg for forgiveness.”, Tommy explained to you.

And then—without warning—Tommy tossed you away.

Pain shoot through you as you landed on the unforgiving ground next to his feet. Naked and vulnerable. You felt abandoned, like a discarded toy in the hands of a cruel child.

“Will you do that, little whore?”, Tommy asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Y-yes, sir.”, you nodded, yearning for any semblance of kindness. In your abandoned state, you failed to recognise the cruelty lurking behind his words.

“Take my shoes of and kiss my feet then, cunt.”

With trembling hands, you knelt before him, your fingers trembling as you struggled to remove his boots.

With a heavy heart and tears stinging your eyes, you pressed your plump lips to his feet. Your stomach churning with disgust at the act of submission.

“Please forgive me.” your voice barley above a whisper as you begged for absolution for the sins you were forced to commit

“Forgive what, cunt?”

“Please forgive me for being a..whore.”

As Joel watched the scene unfold in front of him, a sense of arousal stirred within him. His body responding to the display of power and control exhibited by his brother. The way you submitted to his brothers every whim, your vulnerability laid bare before them. It was thrilling.

“I’m not convinced—not at all.”, Tommy said after making a clicking sound with his tongue and shaking his head dismissively. “I’m not convinced that you’re actually sorry.”

Tommy rose to his full height, towering over you like a building, casting a shadow over you.

Tommy grabbed you by your upper arm, his grip tight. He guided you to lay down onto the bed, legs hanging off the edge. Your bare back was exposed to not only the men, but also the lens of the camcorder.

The uncertainty of what would unfold next hung heavy in your mind.

With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Tommy reached down and unfastened his leather belt. You heard the metallic clink of his belt echoing in the dimly lit room. Tears begun to flow from your eyes, as the dread of what Tommy would to do next sank in…

“No, no please!”, you cried out.

He was about to punish you, with his belt…

The humiliation of begging for forgiveness and kissing his feet was unbearable enough, but the thought of enduring further punishment filled you with a primal fear.

“Please I am sorry, don’t do that!”, your pleas landed on deaf ears.

“It’s for your own good.”, Tommy said and clenched his fists around the belt. “You’ll feel better afterwards.”

Truth was, Tommy couldn’t care less about how you felt. He was driven solely by his own twisted desires.

You shook your head in silent protest, tears streaming down your face. You knew that there was no escape. So you brace yourself—mentally and physically—for the inevitable impact that was about to come.

Tommy raised the belt high above his head before landing the first blow upon your bare ass, sending a wave of pain through your body.

“Ah!”, you cried out.

The next strike came quick after.

And again,

and again.

Each punishing blow, the sting of unforgiving leather against your skin served as a harsh reminder of the sins you were forced to commit.

Each punishing blow, a catapult that hurled you right back to your childhood… The punishments you would receive from your father were of equally painful nature…

Each punishing blow, letting you fall further down a pit of shame and humiliation.

As the hard blows from Tommy's belt continued, your delicate skin began to show signs of distress.

Red welts formed across your flesh, the skin splitting under the force of each strike, revealing raw patches that oozed a little blood.

With each blow, the pain intensified, the sting of the leather against your already irritated skin sending shockwaves of agony through your trembling frame.

Tommys dick got rock hard by your cries and begging.

The metallic tang of blood mixed with the scent of sweat and fear in the air, a visceral reminder of the brutality of Tommy's assault.

For Tommy, it smelled like heaven.

Despite the overwhelming pain, you gritted your teeth and endured, your spirit battered but unbroken. You reminded yourself that you’d endured worse. In the darkness of the room, you clung to the fragile hope of survival, knowing that this night was not different than any other; the sun would soon rise.

At this point you’d stopped screaming, entirely. Only finding the strength to cry bitterly into the stained bedsheets.

Despite the twisted satisfaction Joel got from Tommys cruel treatment, he couldn't ignore the sight of your battered and bloodied form.

Joel knew that he had to intervene.

He raised his voice just above the chaos, commanding Tommy to stop:

“Alright, that’s ‘nough, Tommy.” his voice cut through the air like a knife, his tone firm and authoritative.

Tommy hesitated, his grip on the belt loosening as he regarded his brother with a mixture of defiance and resignation.

Relief flooded through you as Joel put an end to Tommy's assault.

As Joel extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray with a flick of his wrist, he glanced at Tommy, making him understand that it was now his turn to take control of the situation.

With a predatory hunger still burning in his eyes, Tommy settled into his seat behind the camera.

Meanwhile, Joel approached the trembling, tear-streaked you.

“Can you stand up?”, curiosity lingering in his voice.

With a heavy heart you pushed yourself up on your hands and knees, sobbing quietly. Your body trembling with pain. You pushed yourself off the bed and stood on shaking legs in front of Joel Miller.

You looked a mess. Tear-streaked cheeks and a face contorted with pain.

“Thank you, sir.”, you sobbed.

Your eyes flickered over at Tommy who was sitting in the corner of the room, not letting you out of his sight. Chest rising and falling from the adrenaline and cocaine pumping through his veins.

As you trembled in the aftermath of his brutality, you couldn't help but view Tommy as a menacing figure whose mere presence filled you with a sense of dread.

To shield yourself from the menacing gaze of Tommy, you instinctively sought refuge behind the protective frame of Joel.

It was clear to Joel that Tommy's cruelty had left its mark on you psyche and that you now—in your hopeless delusion—sought protection from him.

But by him simply placing his large hand on your fragil shoulder—its weight upon you like a heavy stone, making you slowly sink down to your knees under its force—Joel made his position of power crystal clear to you.

It came crushing down on you: He wasn’t your ally, nor your saviour.

He may had stopped Tommy from assaulting you, however he’d also watched it happening in amusement. The only reason why he’d stopped his brother was because he feared Tommy would break you too quickly…

From you kneeling position, you gazed up at Joel. Your eyes filled with a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, Joel would treat you with more kindness and compassion than Tommy had…

Joel began to unbuckle his pants—without taking his eyes off of your pretty fear-streaked face—his movements deliberate and unhurried.

He revealed his hardened cock, it was thick and veiny and looked as powerful as his presence felt to you.

You were inches away from his manhood, the scent of his arousal filling your senses. You knew what he wanted from you next.

“Open up, girl.”, he said, a simple command.

You opened your mouth and leaned forward. Joel placed his hand on your head, before guiding his cock between your plump lips. It fit only partly. You began to move your tongue, letting it swirl around him.

As the scene unfolded before him, Tommy rose from his seat, his eyes fixed on you as you serviced Joel. With trained hands, he took the camcorder off the tripod. Now taking the role as his cameraman, Tommy moved closer to you and Joel to capture a more intimate view of what was going on.

It didn’t went unnoticed by you that Tommy was filming you from up-close now, determined to capture every little explicit detail.

You felt a surge of unease wash over you, now that Tommy was so close. The pain radiating from your ass a painful reminder of how Tommy was capable of. You grew nervous.

So you made the mistake of stopping and taking Joels cock out of your mouth to voice your discomfort.

You opened your mouth to speak, but with a sudden and forceful motion, Joel's hand connected with your cheek.

*smack*

The sharp crack of the impact echoing through the room.

As you recoiled from the strike, you felt fear and humiliation wash over you. Your spirit crushed once again by the weight of his punishment.

With tear-filled eyes, you bowed her head and cried.

“Who told you to stop?”, Joel asked, sounding annoyed with you.

You just shook your head, sobbing quietly.

“Open your mouth and don’t try that again…”

You quickly let him back inside your mouth and continued massaging his member with your tongue.

“They always get so eager after a good beating…”, Tommy smiled.

Joel felt the need to spice things up. So he grasped you by your hair—firmly—and took control over the situation by setting the rhythm and pace. Fucking your mouth, asserting his dominance in every motion. With each subtle shift of his hips and every whispered instruction, Joel made you feel smaller and smaller, whilst he grew bigger and bigger. You were completely at his mercy. Glued to his crotch.

You let him fuck your mouth, gagging and coughing under his grip.

“Good job, keep going.”, Joel hissed.

You opened tour eyes and looked up at him, your vision blurred from your tears. You liked hearing him praise you. It made you feel better. You tried your best not to puke around his cock—or pass out.

Your throat was burning and saliva was flowing out of the corners of your mouth like a waterfall. You were spasm hard, trying to keep your lunch down.

Joel was so deep inside your mouth, that Tommy—and the lens of the camcorder—could see the outline of Joel’s cock in your throat.

With merciless intensity, Joel thrust into your throat, his movements rough and unrestrained.

You started to throw your fists against his muscular thighs, hoping he would back up and let go of your head.

Each forceful thrust pushed your limits.

You couldn't help but wonder how much more you could endure before reaching your breaking point.

Right when your vision had started to get black, Joel released you from his merciless grip.

You collapsed to the ground in a heap, your body trembling with exhaustion and desperation for air. Gasping for air like a desperate goldfish out of water, you lay there, utterly spent and broken by the brutal encounter.

Next you felt was Joel fisting your hair and yanking yout face up. He came all over your face. Painting your face shiny white with bis cum.

“Fuck!”, he hissed, his appearance resembled a wild animal rather than a human.

When he was done, he let you go again.

Your throat burned with the aftermath of Joel's rough treatment. Every muscle in your body ached with fatigue, your mind reeling from the overwhelming sensations of pain and humiliation. Your face covered with sticky hot cum.

You felt utterly defeated. Once again you wondered how much you could endure tonight before reaching your breaking point.

“Good job, cunt.”, Joel halfheartedly said, still out of breath and in an undeniably good mood.

“Thank you, dad.”, you whispered in your out-of-your-mind state. A flicker of longing and desperation evident in your voice. You were close to falling unconscious.

“Aw, she thinks you are her fucking father.”, tommy laughed.

Joel remained outwardly composed, but felt a hint of satisfaction at your acknowledgment of his authority.

Tommy pressed the camcorder in Joel’s hand, “Alright I have enough of this.”, Tommys word were accompanied by lifting you up effortlessly and placing you on the bed

Panic floated your senses.

"Can I…can I have something to drink?", the request a desperate plea wanting to numb your senses so that you could endure whatever would come next.

Joel handed you the whiskey bottle, and you eagerly drowned the liquid down, hunting the numbness at the bottom of the bottle.

“Jesus Christ, that’s enough”, tommy said, reaching out to retrieve the bottle from your grasp.

You let yourself fall back on the hard mattress.

Tommy lowered himself onto you, his weight pressing down on your trembling form. "Let's find out just how much you're really worth," he murmured, his sinister words directed more to himself than at you.

He gripped his already hard member in his hand, slicking it with his saliva in preparation.

You didn’t count Tommy for someone who would take his time in preparing you for penetration, so additional help was welcomed.

You reached down and rubbed your clit, in hopes to generate some wetness…

But the only thing that was acting up was your flight or fight response.

Tommy's gaze resembled that of a starved dog, hungrily eyeing you as if you were only a piece of meat.

Tommy wasted no more time lining the tip of his cock up with your entrance between your shaking legs.

With a single forceful thrust, Tommy rammed his cock deep inside you.

“Ouh!”, you whimpered, clutching his thick muscular arms for support as a jolt of pain shot through you.

Tommy wasted no time, swiftly finding a rhythm that satisfied his desires, plunging in and out of you with relentless favour.

“Ah stop!”, you cried.

Instinctively, you resisted his brutal thrusts, attempting to push him away and free yourself from his assault.

Your attempt was met with yet another harsh slap across your face, reminding you painfully of your powerlessness against Tommy.

“Keep crying, little whore, come on.”, Tommy hissed.

You shook your head and looked away, but Tommy grasped your chin firmly, making sure you couldn't look away from him, his gaze commanding your full attention.

Your body trembled under Tommy with each forceful thrust.

It could’ve been the alcohol, but eventually, your body adapted to his thrusts, the sensation becoming dull.

“Fuck, for a rundown prostitute you are tight as fuck”, Tommy pressed out in between his thrusts.

Tommys degrading words seemed to be so far away, you almost couldn’t hear them.

Your gaze drifted over to Joel, who sat in Tommy's chair, his expression a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

As your eyes met, a wave of shame washed over you, his watchful gaze reminded you of how your father used to look at you: disappointed and full of judgment.

It felt as if Joel could see right through you, condemning you for the wrong decisions you had made, like running away with your boyfriend, Dean.

In that moment, you realized your father had been right all along, but it was too late to turn back. You had irreversibly altered the course of your life, and men like Tommy were the consequence of your choices.

Another blow struck your cheeks, catching you off guard. “Don’t look at him, he won’t safe you this time.”

After what felt like an eternity, you sensed that Tommy was nearing his climax.

It was only then that you realised that he hadn’t bothered with a condom—another boundary crossed in the course of this night.

“Please don’t cum in me.”, you sounded hopeless.

Tommy drew out of you, grabbed your hair and yanked your head off the edge of the bed. He then violently started to empty his balls on your face, mixing his cum with your tears and his brothers cum.

When he was done, he let go of your hair. Your skull arched. Your ass hurt. And your throat and vagina feeling rough and scratchy.

“Don’t worry, cunt”, Tommy begun “last thing I want is having another whore being the mother of my child.”

It was only then you noticed that he wore a ring on his finger. He was married.

Tommy allowed himself to collapse onto the bed, taking a moment to catch his breath.

You rolled out of the bed and dragged yourself into the bathroom, tears and cum streaming down your face.

You cleaned your face with water, your hands shaking. You put your dress on. All you wanted to get out of here. You had your money, but you lost the little bit of dignity you had left.

“Dean will be proud.”, you thought. You just wanted to go back to him.

Stepping out of the bathroom, your feet carried you straight to the front door, driven by the urgent need to flee.

However, Joel's words stopped you in your tracks. "Tell Dean, Joel said hello.”

With a silent nod, you turned and walked back out into the eerie night, the weight of the encounter hanging heavy on your shoulders…

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palin-tropos · 1 year

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So recently I posted about Kim and Harry hook up while he’s on the bender AU? Last night me and @excalibutt got a little inspired and co-wrote a scene set in that AU. Pre-Tribunal but some time after Day 3 or 4.

—————

WHIRLING-IN-RAGS BALCONY: Apparently, the lieutenant has taken you out here before you both retire for bed to tell you something important. KIM KITSURAGI: He laces his fingers and presses hands onto the top of the balcony. He’s struggling mightily with himself.

COMPOSURE: His sense of propriety with…

ESPRIT DE CORPS: … his sense of duty. Guess which one wins.

KIM KITSURAGI: “You’ve been working on one of those mind projects, haven’t you? I think I can save you the time. In fact—I am obliged to. Yes, we did have… relations, the night before you lost your memory. I am so sorry I didn’t know how to tell you.”

DRAMA: The truth.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Extracted from his mouth like pulling teeth.

EMPATHY: He’s really sorry. It’s rare for him to be the Sorry Cop.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You got in his pants and can't even remember it!?

COMPOSURE: Don’t think about that. This is…

CONCEPTUALIZATION: This could be very bad.

INLAND EMPIRE: This feels bad.

RHETORIC: It’s probably bad.

SUGGESTION: It’s bad.

EMPATHY: Really bad.

VOLITION: Everyone be quiet. This is bad.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Ask him how it was! Do it right now!

New task: Ask Kim how it was

YOU: “… How was it?" ESPRIT DE CORPS: The lieutenant is flustered. Ashamed of himself. He doesn't feel his actions were becoming of a police officer. YOU: “It's not fair if I can't remember it...” SUGGESTION: You've pried at his fears about this encounter; that he now holds some kind of unearned power over you. He doesn't think he deserves that. KIM KITSURAGI: "... It... it was..." He struggles for the word. "Frenetic. One could say desperate. But you..." His ears have gone pink. "You performed well enough. It wasn't bad."

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: ... You were good.

COMPOSURE: You know a bit about Kim's self-control. He wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been good. Really good. Beyond what he could resist.

VOLITION: ... He was willing. You didn't force yourself on him, Harry.

HALF LIGHT: But you went at it like it was the end of the world.

PERCEPTION: You can almost remember what aftershave he uses. The taste of it was still in your mouth when you woke up.

INLAND EMPIRE: ... Pine needles...

YOU: Your tongue is sliding and pressing up to the roof of your mouth, as if some olfactory trace of him waits there to be tasted and remembered.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: The source is right in front of you. That bobbing apple of his throat. KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant is wringing his hands, unable to meet your gaze.

EMPATHY: He's guilty about this, although it's a confusing sort of guilt. He wishes this were a lot simpler than it is.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Take him by the face and force him to look at you!

SUGGESTION: Don't let the doubt sway him. His principles are ironclad, but he bent them for you once before. Kiss him. Kiss the guilt away! He's clearly telling you all of this for a reason!

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Look at him. Really, really look at him. He's biting his lip, just the barest bit from the inside. You could do it better. You could kiss him better. Make him forget all about this...

VOLITION: I see. That's how it is. Nobody has a better idea. Just "kiss him", "kiss him", "kiss him". I'm not going to get through to you, am I?

YOU: And what do you think I should do?

VOLITION: ... He might not kiss you back. But it won't be the end of the world. Just be gentle.

ENDURANCE: Don't be too gentle. YOU: "Kim..."

YOU: Your enormous bearpaw of a hand is made delicate and clumsy as an exploratory moth trying to light on a lampshade. You lift it to reach for the lieutenant's face, past his wall of propriety and professionalism.

LOGIC: You're both off of the clock right now.

EMPATHY: It's fear. That wall is fear of connection, fear of vulnerability. Fear of being mocked.

DRAMA: Sincerity is required, sire. Tread with caution.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Do. Not. Fuck. This. Up.

YOU: You catch his chin, and his gaze snaps towards you.

SHIVERS: —two achingly lonely men wearing RCM halogen patches on their jackets stand close enough to share breath. The rotten-fruit smell of booze permeates the air, twirling and mingling with the soft, somber notes of The Smallest Church in Saint-Saëns drifting up from the miserable speakers. This is a stolen moment—heavy. Wrong... but not unwanted. They breathe ragged and shallow... but in time. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: This... this is what it was like. That raw potential crackling in the heavy air. That ever-present fear in his eyes.

SUGGESTION: He thought it was just the one time. He thought that when you finally remembered, or figured it out with your brilliant detective skills, that you'd find what happened humiliating, just like you did every other hint of your drunken rampage across the district. He thought he found it humiliating too.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: His breath hitches. His eyes dilate. He's drawn to the lingering traces of sweet rot on your tongue. Back then, inhaling the fumes coming off you must have been enough to make him tipsy. He doesn't drink. He doesn't ever indulge like that.

INLAND EMPIRE: He kissed you first.

COMPOSURE: He won't this time. But he did then.

DRAMA: Your slow tenacious press halted...

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: A moment. Look right there... at the purse of his lips. They're open.

DRAMA: Now.

YOU: You lean in and let your eyes flutter shut, and this isn't the desperate hunger of a man trying to die.

INLAND EMPIRE: You're virginal like this. You don't remember kissing anyone before.

YOU: You're kissing him.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: But your mouth remembers. Your hands. Your nose, your blood... all of you. It remembers. KIM KITSURAGI: His lips barely twitch at first, but his hands—his hands press against you, slide up your chest and clutch your shoulders, digging in tightly. Bracing against you.

PERCEPTION: Tighter pressure on your lips. The barest suction. A restrained, quietly voiced huff of air against your inner cheek.

SUGGESTION: He is.

INLAND EMPIRE: The pine tree bends in the wind...

VOLITION: He's kissing you back.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Fuck.

SAVOIR FAIRE: He won't even mind if you touch him more. Get your hands in there—

HAND/EYE COORDINATION: Hold Him. Drag him closer. Press closer.

YOU: You do. You sneak hands inside the warmth of his open jacket and feel the heat of his skin burning through the thin fabric of the flimsy white shirt he wears underneath. You kiss his mouth open, and he's not even stopping you.

PERCEPTION: He tastes like—

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: —like the cigarette that's smoldering on the floor of the balcony, forgotten. Dropped. You've taken its place.

KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant moves with you. His chest presses up against yours. The line of exposed skin between shirt and pants twitches under your glancing touch. An uncharacteristic half-noise erupts from the back of his throat.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: His lean, bony arms have flung themselves around your neck. He's clinging to you. A shudder runs down his spine.

SUGGESTION: You've still got it—whatever allure pulled him into your orbit before. You're still irresistible.

ENDURANCE: Stop. Now. Before you take it too far.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You can take it all the way. He's not objecting!

DRAMA: Stop here, sire. While the moment is ripe for the taking! Slowly...

VOLITION: He's more to you than just an opportunity.

ESPRIT DE COPRS: He's vital.

YOU: You break the kiss, panting heavily as a dog from the intensity of it. Your forehead crushes to his, and your eyes open.

PERCEPTION: His are still closed but—

CONCEPTUALIZATION: —he's the most beautiful thing in the world right now. If you could actually paint, he would be your burning muse.

KIM KITSURAGI: His breath is just as heavy as yours, but as slow and measured as he can manage. It's fluttering.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: In time with the waves of complete bliss coursing down his spine.

SUGGESTION: It has changed things, that you've pulled back and waited. The moment is no less intense, but it is of a different sort than before.

VOLITION: He's basking in that newfound self-control of yours.

KIM KITSURAGI: He still has yet to open his eyes. His upper lip twitches, quirking that faint little mustache of his.

KIM KITSURAGI: He exhales, "Harrier."

AUTHORITY: You like this. A lot.

RHETORIC: Your full first name. The one he told you was a revolutionary name, when it sounded foreign to your ears.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: He has no idea how tempting he is making it to grab him by the shoulders and pin him up against the balcony door and kiss his face off.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Get. Between. His. Legs.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: It's where we belong, brother... the primal call of warm flesh to rub against. To sink into. To wrap your tongue and teeth around...

VOLITION: No. Wait. Just... wait.

YOU: All of that is burning in your eyes when you play your thumb along his top lip, brushing the faint mustache... making your fingers erupt in tingles.

YOU: "Kim..."

DRAMA: Gently, sire.

YOU: "... Look at me, Lieutenant."

KIM KITSURAGI: He blinks his eyes open. The glasses magnify those black-brown windows into his soul.

EMPATHY: Still full of fear, but a tinge of wonder. Staring at you reminds him of every reason why this is a poor decision, but equally reminds him of every reason why he's giving in to it.

HALF LIGHT: Why isn't he more frightened? Why can't he see that you're a living corpse?

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Your half-brother trusts you.

SUGGESTION: Don't... don't call him that.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Unless you want to be naughty.

KIM KITSURAGI: "So..." His voice is practically a weak croak. "You... don't mind that we did it."

RHETORIC: That's an attempt at humor. It's a little awkward, but let him off easy, he's struggling for words.

LOGIC: Wait. Why didn't he mind that you did? It doesn't make sense.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: It doesn't take the depravity of a seasoned pervert to find features like yours attractive.

ELECTROCHEMSITRY: ...or maybe he is a seasoned pervert.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Please. Please, oh my god.

AUTHORITY: If Kim didn't want you kissing him, you would be eating asphalt with your hands cuffed behind your back.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: PLEASE.

VOLITION: No. This isn't just base depravity.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: ... He sees something in you. Something you haven't the skill the recognize.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Don't betray his trust. Reciprocate.

YOU: "...I don't mind," you admit. "Unless... I did anything weird?"

KIM KITSURAGI: Something tugs at the corner of the lieutenant's lips. Rueful, disbelieving, wry... His eyes dart up to the right, unfocusing.

DRAMA: My liege. The tell-tale glance. You've seen it in countless now forgotten interrogations. He is about to lie.

KIM KITSURAGI: "Not particularly."

SUGGESTION: You did something very weird.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: It could have been the good kind of weird.

PERCEPTION: Kim's arms are still firmly settled around your shoulders. The outsides of his knees are rubbing the insides of yours.

LOGIC: It's clearly not weird enough for him not to want to kiss you again.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You might not be done here tonight. In fact, he might not be done with you.

SUGGESTION: Ask him to walk you through the night. In detail. In fact... to demonstrate it.

YOU: “My memory is still foggy," you remind him, letting your cold fingers drift down to the bare strip of skin between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his pants. “How did it happen?"

COMPOSURE: You've put him on the spot. He is squirming under that re-forming mask of his. He adjusts his glasses with the tips of two fingers pressed to the bridge.

KIM KITSURAGI: "Khm. Well. If I'm being honest, it started out as an argument. Things had gone downhill." He purses his lips, but not at all in the same way as someone anticipating a kiss.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: It seems like your body heat still relaxes him enough to keep him from clamming up completely.

KIM KITSURAGI: "It's hard to explain. You were nothing but intense. You kept talking about loneliness, and longing, and the apocalypse, and the woman who broke your heart, and then you told me I didn't deserve to be in the RCM."

ESPRIT DE CORPS: What. What could have possibly prompted that? Lt. Kitsuragi is unwavering, loyal, precise, assiduous. He is a perfect officer.

RHETORIC: No... that's not what you meant.

KIM KITSURAGI: He shakily exhales. "I responded with... considerable anger. There was a physical altercation. But it seems I'd misinterpreted you. You said I was a good man, and good men shouldn't become police officers. You went on to elaborate in somewhat poetic terms what sort of a good man I was."

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: How did that altercation go down? Look at his skinny arms. You must have overpowered him. Were you pinning him in place while you told him all that pansy crap about how virtuous he is?

PAIN THRESHOLD: Some people like it like that.

LOGIC: ... and yet...

YOU: "... You kissed me."

INLAND EMPIRE: You know he did it first. You just don't remember exactly why.

KIM KITSURAGI: His eyebrows jump up.

REACTION SPEED: He didn't expect you to remember that.

KIM KITSURAGI: "I... I did. In that fight, I assumed your remark was derogatory, and that it had something to do with... what you had deduced about me just prior."

RHETORIC: That he was a homo-sexual? With some of the guys in here, I'm not surprised he got that impression. Right, Coach?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: W-What? Coach hasn't got a problem with the homos. Just with the sissies and pansies—

LOGIC: There is no way you didn't participate, enthusiastically, in the act that Lt. Kitsuragi is now avoiding having to describe.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: And you’re going to do it again.

KIM KITSURAGI: "It was an impulsive thing to do. If I'm being honest, spending multiple days with you when you were still... compromised... seemed to affect my own judgement."

REACTION SPEED: Does that mean…?

CONCEPTUALIZATION: You were his bender.

ENDURANCE: Your throat is dry.

HALF LIGHT: Is he disappointed now? Would he rather you high and drunk as a beast?

YOU: Cold, clammy sweat creeps down your neck beneath your satin shirt.

YOU: "I'm not compromised in the same way anymore…”

KIM KITSURAGI: Kim nods, slow and grave.

EMPATHY: There is a kindness in his dark eyes.

INLAND EMPIRE: He shouldn't have seen you in that state. It wasn't fated to be. He must have sought you out, a fish to a lure in the dark waters of the Esperance.

KIM KITSURAGI: "No. You're not. And that's a good thing. Earlier, you seemed like you were about to... explode."

VOLITION: Just don't forget that his arms are still around you.

KIM KITSURAGI: "What's the matter, detective?"

VOLITION: He’s inviting you to share your irrational fears. You trust him.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: You really trust him.

YOU: “… Am I still what you want?"

COMPOSURE: There it is. Your heart hanging outside your body.

EMPATHY: Kim can tell how painful it was to ask such a question. That's why his features are so stiff. He's struggling to find a reasonable, responsible answer to someone who he had a one-night stand with.

COMPOSURE: Nothing about his feelings are responsible.

REACTION SPEED: Tick-tock. If he doesn't answer fast, he'll hurt your feelings, won't he?

KIM KITSURAGI: "... The temptation to take more than I already have… is there."

VOLITION: Oh.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: All the blood in your body races south, and you feel a telltale twitch at that naughty little admission.

SUGGESTION: Meaning he's currently being tempted. Right now.

YOU: You lick your lips for a moment. Not slowly and teasingly. Nervously.

SAVOIR FAIRE: Put the moves on him! Forget being self-conscious. He’s into you.

YOU: "It's free for the taking, baby,” you murmur, eyes hooding.

KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant subtly nods, and glances around. His ears are pink.

VISUAL CALCULUS: He's belatedly noticed that the two of you are exposed. While you were swapping spit, there were plenty of opportunities for you to be spied on. Anywhere you can see right now can see you.

SAVOIR FAIRE: Oh. Right. You definitely could have been a little more cautious.

KIM KITSURAGI: Kim drops his arms from your shoulders and quickly withdraws them behind his back. He pivots on a heel, moving to your side. "Should we... khm... finish this conversation somewhere more private?"

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: He's saying yes. Yes, I will take you again.

INLAND EMPIRE: He's burning next to you bright as a star, and he wants you.

YOU: You manage a graceless, coughing noise, and reach for the door handle.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION: It's broken. The door is broken. Oh god, you can't get inside.

HALF LIGHT: They’ve barricaded the balcony! You’re going to jail for all the sex crimes.

PERCEPTION: It says pull, not push.

KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant brushes aside your sweaty, fumbling hand and opens the door for you. His features are schooled to be unreadable.

KIM KITSURAGI: … But as you stand there gawking, his other hand swiftly snakes itself around your horrific necktie and sharply pulls you inside.

Task complete: Ask Kim how it was

+10 XP: gained experience.

#disco elysium #my fic #kimharry #harrykim #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #the writing is about 50/50 me and excalibutt but ideally you can't tell the difference because it flows well

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munsons-mutiny · 6 months

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Let’s talk about the Watch What Happens (reprise) and why Only Davey could’ve sang it.

Like at this point they’re pushing the Katherine and Jack agenda, why shouldn’t she be his inspiration to keep going in this moment???

And the answer is cause she can’t grasp the situation fully!!!

Let me make it very clear that this is Not Katherine slander. I love her. I think this scene highlights the differences in their struggles and upbringing in a really brilliant way.

When she sees Jack wants to quit in this scene she’s so harsh with him. Doesn’t try to empathize with his situation at all, wants him to just buck up and keep going! Because for her, in her situation, with her upbringing, that’s the only way to get anywhere! She wants to be a reporter? Well she can’t listen when she’s told no. She has to push ahead no matter what. She can’t show fear and she can’t show weakness cause she’ll be called a girl like it’s a bad thing and have it used against her. But she doesn’t see her privilege in this! That in coming from a rich powerful family her physical safety can not be put in jeopardy! Her worst case scenario is moving back home and having to deal with her family’s idea of what it means to be a women in this time period. And don’t get me wrong that’s horrible, it would be a terrible and unfair outcome.

But it doesn’t threaten her physical safety!! (Not to say this is true for all women in her position but the show paints a picture that her dad does genuinely love her in his extremely misguided way and we never see him threaten her physical well being or even to stop bank rolling her). She can’t understand that sometimes you need to let a fight pass you by to survive. She doesn’t understand what it really means for Crutchie to be in the Refuge until later. So she pushes hard and it would’ve just ended in a fight where her and Jack miss each other’s points entirely.

But Davey gets it. Maybe not to the extent Jack does, but Jack said it himself Davey’s dads physical safety being jeopardized at work has threatened his whole family’s housing and food security. Something that could’ve been prevented with a union. He knows that this isn’t safe, he fully grasps the danger they’re in, to an extent that Katherine can’t because she’s never threatened by it. Not really. For her and her rich friends she involves this could just be a pet project (she would never view it that way of course) but if this all goes pear shaped all she has to live with is the guilt not the consequences. Her life continues with maybe some delays depending how long her blacklisting lasts.

But for Davey this could be the choice that means they can’t afford food or can’t pay rent. This could be the choice that means Les can’t go to school and his dad doesn’t have a safe place to recover. He gets it, he matches Jack’s fear, but he can’t backdown when they’re making real changes that Jack is having a hard time seeing in the wake of losing Crutchie to an institution that is a large source of his trauma. He needed empathy and hope not an ass kicking and Davey delivered.

Without him that scene would’ve ended with Jack running away a lot sooner and a lot more permanently. Rant over. Hopefully this is semi-well articulated it’s late and I couldn’t sleep til I got this out.

#newsies rant #this is why I love javid sm too #and don’t really ship Katherine and Jack at all #they just have such a sibling ass kicking way of pushing each other #which they both need sometimes!!#but idk not enough empathy for me to ever ship them #the whole antagonistic flirting thing is just not for me #antagonistic besties on the other hand #there’s a reason you don’t send a boyfriend to do a best friends job #jack kelly #davey jacobs #katherine plumber #katherine pulitzer #livesies #watch what happens reprise #newsies #javid #just a lil #mine

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dreamyrat · 2 months

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now that i’ve written about sappy functional middle aged labru i’m thinking about more realistic and sad scenarios…

kabru who gets married young and has children because HEAR ME OUT he believes it makes him more trustworthy than being a bachelor… not quite aware of why he feels the need to appear as normal as possible around others and encouraging laios to do the same… continuing to be unaware of his feelings for laios, writing it off as purely sexual and therefore easy to deny and ignore, despite the fact that he’s closer to laios than anyone.

laios never marrying because the idea of disrupting the status quo is uncomfortable, since he just got used to being king and kabru’s family. also fundamentally disagreeing with kabru’s opinion on needing to get married just for the sake of others, by extension never having to confront his attraction to kabru, even being afraid to get near it mentally. thinking that his jealousy and insecurity stems purely from the threat of losing his closest friend and confidant, DEFINITELY no other reason.

I think kabru would marry a working class woman rather than nobility because they can relate to each other better, the idea they both have to serve people in some capacity, and all the turmoil and triumph that comes with that. I imagine kabru performing the role of doting father and husband very well. his wife loves how attentive he is and how he notices things about her no one else ever has. he’s patient but stern with the kids and earnestly connects with them. until he ultimately burns out and his wife realizes he can’t be honest with her, despite years of trying to get him to open up. up until that point his romantic relationships had all been fun and non committal, and she took pride in the fact she made him want to settle. she never could fully explain what was off about their relationship, because he really was very kind and loving, until she realizes how deeply kabru has repressed his emotions and cant help but question everything and feel she fundamentally misunderstood kabru as a person…

maybe a near death experience with laios triggers it, and kabru’s unable to take care of himself completely, he can’t mask his fear and neurosis and rage anymore, he can’t eat or sleep until he’s okay. he throws himself into his work and refuses to acknowledge that he is struggling when she asks him about it. her realizing that despite kabru’s best efforts to love her and care for her, his relationship with laios is more emotionally intimate than theirs, will always be what drives him and centers him, and she shouldn’t have to compete with that… she obviously mourns what she thought their marriage was, and can’t help but feel betrayed, but overtime starts to feel a deep empathy for him.

I guess I want to explore how kabru’s social dexterity has the potential to be just as destructive as laios’ social ignorance… even though they both have the best intentions and care about others.

when his wife divorces him, he is forced to be honest with laios about why she left, and he has immense guilt over not being able to love her correctly, about being fundamentally flawed and strange, the child that was raised to be a perfect doll, the monster kid no one wanted to play with, how his efforts to compensate for his innate wrongness blew up in his face anyway, which obviously laios can relate to better than anyone.

I think they would dance around each other after that, both now fully aware of the attraction but being so practiced in the art of denial they dont know what to do. It just feels so good to have it out in the open, they forgot that they can actually do something about it. Also kabru feeling like he shouldn’t be allowed to indulge after causing so much pain.

when they finally do get together, it’s surprisingly shy and chaste at first, like they are scared to face the depth of their desire and the years they wasted. it’s slow until it’s not, and everything bubbles to the surface, and they have mind blowing autistic sex. lol.

as for his children i think laios always really liked them as their weird uncle and since he has no heirs, he’d leave his kingdom to them. I’m not sure if kabru’s ex wife would be able to have a relationship with kabru after they get together, but maybe… maybe they could be friends.

#labru #im crazy

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sabo-torao · 5 months

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i'm in serious need of a sabo novel. there's so much about him that can't be explored in the main manga (for timing reasons especially) but that needs to be addressed, like his grief, his thoughts after regaining all of his memories, his life before recovering from amnesia, his feelings and regrets and his turmoil after ace's death, the way he was scared to meet luffy again, his fear of being rejected or cast away, his overwhelming insecurities, and so on and so forth.

i know the novels aren't that focused on these matters, either, but they do show us the characters' train of thoughts and how they affect them, and how they act on them, if at all.

the ace novels helped us understand just how much sabo's death actually affected ace, to the point that ace didn't even have a clear purpose in mind, he didn't have any idea of who he really wanted to become, he just wanted to be better than roger so he didn't have any regrets so he could honor sabo and keep his will alive. and when he did find a place, when he swore to be a part of whitebeard's family, he showed his tattoo to whitebeard, to let him know of his late brother, to present his family to him.

not only this, but it really showed ace's insecurities quite well, making us understand his struggle to believe how someone could ever love him, not accepting/believing in his crewmates' love and care for him, viewing himself as someone unworthy of love till the very end.

law's novel, on the other hand, showed us just how much law thinks he isn't capable of being a good person, while proving time and time again that he is. it's always him saying how he only wants people to feel comfortable and be healthy because "he's a doctor, it's normal, it doesn't mean he's good", disregarding his good intentions entirely because he feels empathy differently from others. he can't be a good person because he doesn't show affection like other people, or because he's too "cold" and "distant"; basically, the novel shows us law falling for his own façade, and it helps us realize even more how much he actually cares about people, how much he's willing to give for the people he cares about, and how his heart is, ultimately, in the right place.

it also gives us an insight of his regret and guilt over corazon's death, how much he still misses his family, especially lami, it actually tells us that law has nightmares about his past, and how he is haunted by it.

again, the novels aren't perfect, these things aren't the focus, but they are explored, they're part of the story and they are used to make us understand the characters better. they're useful to us in order to get to know all the different faces of a character a little more.

a potential sabo's novel, or novels (because it would be a good thing to have one novel focusing on his life in the revolutionary army while he had amnesia, and one focusing on the consequences of ace's death and his other adventures during the timeskip, with all his memories back and robin as an ally, even though if it has to be only one the latter would be grandly preferred), would help us understand his character even deeply, and it would actually give us an insight of his thoughts, his actual feelings, showing us how he's dealing with his trauma even if for just a few sentences in a paragraph.

it would also be a great way to show the readers more of the revolutionary army work and overall organization! as a big ra's fan, i'd treat a novel like that as you would a treasure. i'd lose my mind if something gave me a tiny bit more info on sabo's relationship with the other commanders and members as well...

also, we know that sabo was on the lookout for the mera mera no mi, as he asked the revs to do him a big favor and help him retrieve it. a novel could focus on that! it would be perfect to analyse sabo's grief, mourning, his crushing guilt and insecurities while also exploring the ra's work, and it could use robin as a device to make sabo express his feelings about meeting luffy better, focusing even more on his messed up past and his (no longer) lost memories.

to sum it up, i really think sabo's character is way too interesting and way too deep to just end it in a "ace wouldn't want me to feel sad" mindset and leave it be. he's a complex, three-dimensional character that deserves something more, a side story of his own.

in any way i am saying that he's not well-developed or well-written! i think he shines in the main story regardless, i just want... something more.

i think he's worth it.

#here i come with another useless post over my favorite character #sabo #revolutionary sabo #one piece #i just want to know moreeee about himmm pleaseeee.... i want mooorreeee...#everytime i make these kind of posts just imagine me kneeled in front of a big statue begging for a miracle #it would be so awesome.. it would be so cool...#we deserve a whole novel abt robin's time with the revs actually #but i digress #fool rambles #long post

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raayllum · 10 months

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Been thinking recently about the idea in fandom that boils down to, usually, "the Character that Changes the most being deemed 'the most complex'" and that character development (i.e. character change) being held up as The Golden Standard of a Good Character and...

I fundamentally disagree, but first, a little bit more explanation about what I mean

Very often shows and movies, when being recommended on tumblr, are sold on the basis of having enjoyable/in-depth characters. Often times this also means conflating enjoyable with likeable, but that's a discussion post for another day. And even more often, it means there are characters who are seen as Deep because of how radically they change over the course of a story.

Lots of times, this falls into two camps:

Characters change radically, but early on in the story, and remain largely the same past that point of change (think anytime in a first season) until the end of the story

People recommending shows based on characters having traditional redemption arcs (enemy or bully to friend / good guy / love interest)

Now, I'm not saying that 1) character change can't be deep or 2) that character growth is bad. Neither of those things are true, even subjectively. What I am saying is that 1) character change / a character changing is not the same as automatically being a good, interesting, or well written character and 2) character growth is not the be-all-end-all of character writing. Yes, there can be problems with characters be overly stagnant, but typically that's only an issue if 1) a work is serialized and concerned with character development and they don't change at all, 2) a character never adjusts (rightly or wrongly) according to their mistakes, or 3) all of the above but they're a main character.

However, assuming that Character A has to be radically different at the beginning of a story in terms of their personality/values/etc. as they are at the end of the story is just... not how it works, necessarily. This is, I think, one of the reasons why antagonists who get redemption arcs tend to be more popular than heroes who had good values the whole time, because there's more opportunity to point and go "look, they've changed! they act on and have basic compassion now!" Which, fair enough, but again: other types of characters are fine too.

Particularly for characters fandom tends to have the hardest time with: paragons.

Paragons are characters who are usually the central hero, pretty morally if not entirely moral upstanding, and because they already start out in a place of "always doing the right thing," they rarely radically change by the end of the story. Instead, paragons are used to progress theme/messaging and inspire other characters around them to change (a good example might be Buddy from the Christmas movie Elf and to a lesser extent - as he's more transformative as a character - Aang from Avatar: The Last Airbender, who's there to return childhood to his friends as an ideal and carry on Air Nomad values).

And for TDP, that's Ezran.

He's the youngest in the main cast and by far the most measured. While Callum and Rayla are off fighting, he keeps a level head. He assumes responsiblity largely without guilt, holds other people accountable most often without being cruel, he's kind and deeply compassionate, he shows regular empathy for his enemies even when he has to treat them like enemies, he loves his father but does not idealize him, he is king without craving power, he's trusting and honest and while he has his flaws (overly optimistic, his passivity, sometimes struggles to consider other people's emotions, naivety, etc), they - as of yet - are not overly connected to his sense of morality (which is a distinct difference compared to the rest of the main cast).

Now, TDP is less concerned with the theme of Childhood compared to something like ATLA, but Ezran being a child (again, in a way the rest of the cast is not) is also very important. Ezran, and Callum to a lesser extent, is the embodiment of the concept that children aren't born with hatred in their hearts; it's learned, or earned, through experience, society, and suffering. And as Ezran spells out for us in 4x03, he has suffered and been hurt - and he believes in breaking the cycle and believing in hope for a better future anyway.

Ezran's steadfast reflection of the series' core theme of "true strength - to break the cycle - is found in vulnerability, in forgiveness, in love" in both word and action does make him the closest thing to a paragon in the series. He's the one who finds the egg; he's the one who forgives Rayla and Soren; he's the one who still tries to help Claudia; he's the peacemaker, the literal bridge between peoples and species in spite of witnessing so many of their worst crimes/actions.

In both arcs, there tended to be a trio of characters who rapidly change, and a trio of characters who are more, comparatively, stagnated. Early S1 Rayla, Callum, and Soren are radically different in a ton of ways than they are even at the beginning of S3, but especially by the end. On the other hand, Viren - post 1x03 at least - Claudia and Ezran are far more consistent in arc 1; their circumstances change, but their viewpoints and realities and choices are largely the same from season to season - they just keep doubling down. This doesn't mean they don't change at all, but they don't radically transform - they just become more of what they already are.

I'd say that in arc 2, things have switched up, with Callum, Rayla, and Viren being the three who are radically transformed (thus far) with Soren, Claudia, and Ezran still being in the more stagnated corner. (For more notes on Claudia and Ezran's shared passivity, check out this pre-S4 meta.)

Ezran starts out the series as a good hearted, slightly mischevious little boy who loves his family and believes that people can be good. The point of the series is not to change these parts of him. It's to demonstrate the difficulties - losing both his parents, taking on the kingship, struggling to make the right choices, keeping his friends together, caring about peace and sentiment in a world that increasingly does not - of maintaining those positive traits, again, in a world that is determined to test those ideals and attributes.

Ezran is not here to be transformed by the storm, the same way his friends and some of his companions are. He is here to demonstrate the strength and necessity in weathering the storm so that the world cannot make you cold, or uncaring, or violent, even when those paths and emotions would be much easier to go down.

Good character development isn't about changing your character; it's about changing your audience's understanding and perspective of your character. Sometimes that means the character is also changing simultaneously, but that's far from a requirement for a character to be interesting. Like most things in writing, what it really boils down to is execution.

And I could go on about why I think people gravitate towards characters who start off evil (often part of imperialist empires or older, institutionally backed systems) and learn that the evil was wrong actually (and sometimes not even that) but that's a meta for another day, and this one is long enough.

TLDR; Ezran, like a few other characters in the show - antagonists and protagonists alike - is not meant to be a radically transformative, even though he very much has grown and changed. Instead, he's meant to exemplify the importance of not losing your sense of self in an increasingly cruel or difficult world, and what parts we should arguably try our best to hold onto as well.

#writing advice #tdp #as an example #analysis series #analysis #tdp ezran #ezran #the dragon prince #writeblr #i've always preferred paragons / non traditional redemption arcs so my preferences are #very opposed to general tumblr's but not at all surprising #also don't think i need to spell out why paragons would be particularly compelling for ND / autistic folks

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befuddledcinnamonroll · 7 months

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Dead Friend Forever - final thoughts

I say final thoughts, knowing I will likely have many more thoughts to come on this series. Because this is definitely one of those shows that gets its hooks into you.

I file this one under "super memorable and engaging watch that I will never watch again" because I really enjoyed it, but also struggle with such dark material (and I can't stop crying over sweet baby White).

First though, major props to BOC for doing something different in the BL genre. This is the kind of creativity that I love to see, similarly to The Sign or Playboyy. It doesn't always work, and I know there are wildly different feelings about all three of these shows, but that's the point - if no one takes creative risks, no one cares about the outcome.

In this case, the ending actually worked for me. I was expecting something ambiguous, because a) horror genre, and b) there was such a huge difference in interpretations throughout the entire series that it seemed clear they were planting a lot of things that could be seen in vastly different ways. And I think the ending stays consistent with that.

I also don't mind ambiguity if it gives me a lot to chew on in metaphorical meaning, and wow was this show a juicy one.

That said, it definitely wasn't perfect, and there were plenty of loose threads that could have been tightened. But I still found so much that worked for me.

My interpretations

So here's my thoughts on the ending, speaking for myself, within my lens and my cultural context.

I see this as a story about purgatory. Not in the sense of any religious system, but in the sense of being a human, and dealing with human emotions. It's a story about the ripple effects of our own selfishness, of how lack of empathy and caring creates a cost for ourselves as well as others, of holding on to guilt, of what happens when we refuse to reckon with the harm we've done.

I don't see anything that happened on this current day visit to the house as a literal, real life, experience.

A few reasons why (and note, I'm aware there are people who will prescribe the below to bad writing/editing, I'm interpreting these as conscious choices made by production):

The road seemed quite well maintained and straight forward on the way in on the truck (and well used enough that Por's dad put a sign up there), yet when anyone tried to leave, they ended up on small forest paths or there was damage to the road.

Similarly, Top & New rode out on the bike for a while, but then New was able to get back to the house really quickly. It had a feeling of "you can check out any time you like but you can never leave" for me.

The Janta temple. This random big building with a ton of fresh blood and lit candles, yet no one else ever being around, and Phee & Jin getting locked in.

The drugs don't explain how all the hallucinations matched so well, or that they all focused exclusively on Non. You telling me Por and Top never did any other sketchy shit in their life? Tee worked for his uncle for years, but didn't have a single other regret? No glimpse of his father, of White being hurt? Fluke didn't get any visions of his parents asking when he was going to finally be a doctor and worthy of their love? White, the one stuck in purgatory because of his love for Tee, was the only one to have a non-Non hallucination.

It's also not really well explained how New could have physically done everything here - such as set up the trap for Por while hanging out with the other guys. Maybe he did, but he never confirmed Phee's explanation for everything that happened.

But my biggest reason for feeling this way is what happens to each character.

Por was used to being the center of the group, due to his wealth and status. But he gets immobilized and silenced.

Top made Non take the fall for him, and then becomes the puppet of the killer in this scenario.

Fluke always did his best to stay on the outskirts and not be seen, but everyone here sees his paranoia and selfishness.

Tee had regrets, but he was still responsible for a huge part of what led directly to Non's death, and he ends up losing what he loves the most through his own actions (he was the one who convinced White to come, like he convinced Non to work for his uncle).

Jin knew that he was violating Non by recording and releasing the video, hence his experiencing the same violation in his hallucinations. But the crux of his situation is that he had a selfish love for Non, and therefore regardless of how much he wants to believe that Phee's love will protect him, it's not enough to save him in the end.

And then of course we have Phee, New, and White. Three people not involved in the initial course of actions, but caught up in them all the same.

White is truly innocent, but sometimes when we love those who have caused harm, we pay a cost. That's the injustice of life. He was a good boy, and learning what Tee did hurt him.

Phee couldn't let go of his guilt for what he said the last time he saw Non, and for not reaching out to him in time. He knew how much Non struggled, he came in during a self-harm attempt before, but his pride wouldn't let him help Non. He also moved on with Jin, but won't acknowledge that there are genuine feelings involved. He says this weekend is all about learning the truth, but he doesn't even care that Jin released the tape. He wants to believe he knows Non better than anyone, but he doesn't really. He wants to heroically save Jin, but he is not the romantic hero in any of this. There's a disconnect between who he wants to believe himself to be, and who he actually is. And it's why he's not really free at the end.

And New. New is so fascinating to me, because like Phee, he was trapped in his guilt. But unlike Phee, through his choices at the house (despite regretting the innocent loss of White & Dang), through his passionate commitment to doing whatever he can for Non, even if it is far too late, he is able to finally let go of his guilt. He is at peace with his choices, and so he sees Non forgiving him. And I think New is able to move on.

Because in the end, I don't see this as these boys being punished by some cosmic moral authority, but rather their own choices and own feelings of guilt/refusal to admit to said guilt.

Reminder - I make no claims of "the truth", this is just my truth.

Relatedly, they did nothing to prove that Non did not fake his death, so you can't make me think he's not having a much better life somewhere with a really good therapist and a hot boyfriend (perhaps Perth).

Last note - the acting in this show was so goddamn good. Mio and Barcode were the standouts for me, but there was a lot of talent on display. I hope they all get a nice career bump from this.

#dead friend forever #dead friend forever the series #this was quite a ride #but now I need something sweet & light

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katieskarlette · 4 months

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Long time, no ramble

I read The Calling, the new short story about Anduin. It was heart wrenching, emotional and poignant...but I couldn't stop thinking about how much I disliked the plot that sent him on this trajectory.

No matter how well Anduin's PTSD and guilt are handled, I can't forget that they stem from the train wreck of Shadowlands. He should never have been put in this position in the first place.

Just as Anduin was literally yoinked into the sky by the Jailer's minions to start the expansion, he was also yoinked out of his plot arc. He was starting to come into his own as a king, moving beyond his father's shadow bit by bit, finding the balance between his own peace-loving tendencies and the grim necessity of some violence in a world such as Azeroth. There were hints that he was struggling with the balance of Light and Shadow, as well. All of that character development came to a screeching halt when he got kidnapped and turned into Zovaal's puppet.

What made pre-Shadowlands Anduin unique was his stubborn insistence on empathy in a world full of bloodthirsty warmongers. The siege of Undercity at the start of BFA was the perfect microcosm of that: he set down Shalamayne and used the Light to heal/rez his soldiers instead. He was finding ways to lead that were effective but which allowed him to be true to his ideals.

There was nothing wrong with the way Varian led his people (or at least nothing that I want to get into right now), but that doesn't mean his style is the right choice for Anduin. I've always had a soft spot for characters who are like, "Yeah, I know the world is a cruel place. I'm not naïve. But that's all the more reason to spread hope and kindness."

I would have been fine with a plot where Anduin struggles to find a happy medium between "We must strive for peace" and "We need to mercilessly obliterate our enemies to protect innocent lives," and errs too much on the side of violence. He could feel the same remorse and lack of trust in himself as he does in the current canon, feel unworthy of the Light, think back on how Varian atoned for some of his misdeeds, and grow as a person. It would mean more if he was actually making choices and working through the consequences.

As it stands, Anduin is beating himself up over something that isn't his fault, even a little bit. I sympathize with him up to a point, but by the end of the short story I was frustrated and even a little annoyed with his stubborn self-hatred. He's not stupid, and it's not like being controlled by evil forces is a new concept for an Azerothian. He comes across as obtuse when he insists that he's indelibly tainted by what happened to him, when he personally knows people who have been in similar situations and did not become pariahs.

(Yes, I know trauma responses aren't logical. Irrational guilt and survivor's guilt exist. But realism doesn't necessarily translate into a satisfying narrative. And yes, characters need to change and face challenges, but when those challenges were born from atrocious writing it leaves a bad taste in the audience's mouth.)

Is there dramatic irony in the kind, altruistic character not being able to extend the same grace to himself? Of course. But is Blizzard's storytelling capable of that level of nuance? Forgive me for being skeptical. I'm sure he will find himself again and heal through the coming expansions, but, again, I'm not optimistic that it will be handled well.

I'm probably judging the story too harshly because my patience for WoW's story ran out during Shadowlands and I'm still bitter. If they had to try to salvage a halfway decent character arc from the bullshit of that expansion, this is probably the best way to go about it.

The new short story was well-written and tugged at the heartstrings. It just didn't win me back. I didn't expect it to, though. Instead I continue to mourn a franchise that captivated me for many years before its trip to the realm of Death meant the demise of my devotion. :(

Disclaimer: I didn't hate everything about Shadowlands. Sire Denathrius can read off a list of my sins anytime. Aww yeah. The rest can be retconned to oblivion, though. ;)

#rambling about WoW #negativity ahoy #mostly

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otterandterrierwrites · 8 months

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14 Days of Scoundress 2024 ♥ February 11th

His reason why

Han had started coming to these things a few years after the war—the veteran support groups. Not for himself, at first. He didn’t need support from strangers, wasn’t going to spill his most personal experiences to a nosy bunch. No; he’d started coming to see how he could help.

It had been Leia’s idea. He’d heard that someone in his old Pathfinding group had passed away unexpectedly, and—it had fucked him up for a while. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen plenty of fucked up things in his time, known of other people who’d died the same way. Maybe it was the fact that he’d made it out alive, and with so much to boot. Who knew how the mind worked. In any case, he thought he could try to help. Listen to people, at least; tell them it could get better. He hadn’t expected the groups to be so… cathartic. The first few times, he’d come back declaring to Leia that he wasn’t going back there, it was just too much, who the hell was he to play at shrink with those people, emotions made him uncomfortable anyway.

He’d always gone back again and, eventually, he’d stopped complaining. Sometimes, he even took advantage of the space to talk about some of what he’d been through—things he hadn’t wanted to burden Leia with. It surprised him how good it felt to drop some of that weight, which he hadn’t even realized he was carrying. Han was never going to do therapy, even though he saw how good it did to Leia. He just didn’t think he needed it. But the support groups—those helped him even more than he thought he’d helped them.

And yet, some days were hard. Sitting there, listening to vets talk about the people they’d lost, the feeling of hopelessness that crept in when grief took hold, when they couldn’t see themselves moving on and building a new life for themselves… it reminded Han of the darkness he’d glimpsed in Leia during the war, how it had scared him, moved him to act. Sometimes, by annoying her into feeling. Other times, by dragging her kicking and screaming out of martyrdom. He couldn’t take all the credit—but he wanted to believe it’d helped some. (And, incidentally, doing that had saved him, in more ways than one.)

Today was one of those days. Han had sat for an hour with a former frigate nurse whose wife had passed away recently from sustained injuries she could never fully heal from. In the end, she’d decided to give up. The surviving partner was struggling not only with her grief and broken heart, but also anger at being left behind, which added a serious dose of guilt to the mixer. No word of comfort had felt good enough, and Han had headed home in a dark mood. What could he possibly have to say to someone like that, when he got to come home to his wife?

His wife.

The sense of dread that had lodged in Han’s chest all evening ramped up as he made his way back to his and Leia’s apartment, inexplicably—he knew everything was okay, but he was still eager to make sure—and then he opened the front door and walked in, the familiar scents of home enveloping him. Leia came out of the kitchen carrying two plates of food, which she set down on the dining table as she greeted him.

‘Hey sweetheart,’ she said, a warm smile lighting up her fierce brown eyes. ‘I’m so glad you’re back; you won’t believe the gaffe Senator Arbo made in session about the Candovant refugees—honestly shows money can buy anyone a seat at the table, but not an ounce of empathy or—’

In a few strides, Han had closed the distance between them and snatched her up in his arms, the inertia of the movement making him dip her backwards as he interrupted her with a kiss. There, in the safety of her warmth, the turmoil in his heart finally quieted.

‘Just shut me up by kissing me from now on, won’t you?’ Leia asked breathlessly, smirking at him. Her expression softened as she looked into his eyes. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Han assured her, bringing her hand up to press his lips over her knuckles. ‘Can’t wait to hear all about Senator Fargo.’

‘Arbo,’ Leia corrected with a chuckle, passing him a plate as they sat down for dinner.

It wasn’t wrong for Han to have survived, to have this while others had lost so much. That was something they always said in the groups—but he knew that already. Had spent years trying to make Leia believe it. Maybe it was the Force, or maybe it was sheer, dumb luck that it’d happened. But it was also… holy. His to cherish and protect. And it was the fuel that kept him going when he tried to make the galaxy the tiniest bit better.

******* Prompts:

45: without a motive

21: “Just shut me up by kissing me from now on, won’t you?”

12: [tango dip] a kiss shared while one partner is dipped backward

#asks #walkawaytallblogs #14daysofscoundress #hanleia #han x leia #han solo #leia organa #2024 #ficlet #period: post rotj #rated T #i'm just posting these later and later huh?#literally just finished writing it so... i hope i won't regret immediately posting it #i got rambly again. and sappy.

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papayanna · 2 years

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I just wrote an essay in someone else's tags about this but honestly it deserves its own post. I'm such a fan of how the writers have reframed Lestat and Louis' romance.

In the IWTV film and the original book, their entire romance is framed through the lens of Louis' bitterness and resentment towards Lestat. Though it is undeniable in both that there is underlying affection and dependency between the two, Louis seems so blinded by his own retrospective remorse about the way things ended with Lestat - plus Claudia's death of course. Plus, I got the distinct impression in both the film and book that Louis is embarrassed about his love for Lestat - I think largely because in hindsight he understands wholly what an asshole Lestat really was, and is ashamed that his younger self fell in love with him so easily. As a consequence, many of the good things about their relationship - especially Louis actually falling in love with Lestat - sort of get glossed over.

I kind of love this framing device and the use of the Obviously Biased Narrator, and I sort of hope we'll see some of that bitterness seep through in Louis' retelling in later episodes, but I think the changes to the story they made in episode one work so wonderfully!

In the TV show, we get to see Louis fall for Lestat in slow motion, every tiny event which pushes him over the edge. The writers go to careful lengths to demonstrate that the love between them was real, liberating, and incredibly significant to Louis. What's more, because Lestat is there right from the beginning, Louis falls in love with Lestat before being turned, rather than after, giving them the chance to actually know each other (and for Louis to have at least a modicum more of informed consent about being turned). In the end, Louis seeks out vampirism to escape being a societal outcast and find acceptance and empathy from someone who promises he is just like him. He seeks understanding, he chooses life and love beyond the constraints of the racist homophobic society he lives in. What a contrast to the suicidal and apathetic Louis of the books! I'm going to be honest, I love this change. It clearly puts WAY more emphasis on the love story between Louis and Lestat rather than just focusing on the themes of grief so present in the original. It also changes the idea of vampirism as something horrible foisted on Louis without his consent, to something he chooses out of love, out of desperation, yes, but also out of hope for a better future. (Though of course we've yet to see just how much Lestat was influencing events!)

In my opinion, IWTV the series and IWTV the book tell two very different stories, and Louis is two very different men in each of them. Aside from the more obvious changes to characters' backstories and appearances, the themes are different as is Louis' driving motivation. (Though I would argue that some of the more obvious changes - like Louis being a Black man - very clearly contribute to thematic changes and the difference in the way his love with Lestat is portrayed. Him constantly fighting for respect from white society and having to prove himself to people he is more than equal to definitely contributes to the thought that he can escape to a 'better' reality through vampirism.)

Anyway, I just love how the writers have changed this story! I think that although it's very different to the source material it definitely offers an equally compelling and beautiful - if thematically different - plot. I'm so excited to see where the series goes from here - for example, will Louis still struggle with Catholic guilt after rejecting Christianity so openly at the end of EP1? Since Louis actively chose vampirism/to be with Lestat, how will that impact their relationship? How will it impact the turning of Claudia? Especially in the context of Lestat's whiteness, has Louis really found the understanding kindred spirit he thinks he has? So many questions. Hopefully the remaining episodes will be just as brilliant as the first!

#amc iwtv #iwtv #interview with the vampire #iwtv spoilers #pap speaks #god. sorry for the giant post that will inevitably get like 2.5 notes but i reeeaaally wanted to write about this #i have so many Thoughts!!!

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gay-disabled-characters-showdown · 5 months

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LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 1, Wave 5, Poll 15

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included.

Check out the other polls in this wave and prior here.

Seven of Nine-Star Trek Voyager and Picard

Qualifications:

She is an ex-borg, and as such needs mechanical prosthetics to function and has PTSD from assimilation. She is canonically gay, and has dated several women in Star Trek Picard.

Propaganda:

She's a space ranger who is a lesbian!! What more could you want?

Submitted by @convenient-plot-device

Kuruto Ryuki-AI: The Somnium Files- Nirvana Initiative

Qualifications:

LGBTQ+: He is canonically bisexual (his romantic feelings for another male character are an important part of the plot, and he has a physical relationship with a different character who’s a woman). Disability: He experiences psychotic episodes as well as/possibly caused by PTSD. While I wouldn’t call it perfect rep, the game treats this with surprising empathy—the other characters are only ever gently concerned about him, which ultimately helps him into a place where he can start managing his symptoms. It’s possibly the only video game I’ve ever seen where a character discusses doing inpatient psychiatric care as a serious option that might save his life, not as a threat or a horror level.

CANONICALLY MLM!! Probably bi but they're very vague about whether he likes women. He definitely has a crush on his cringefail male mentor tho <3 And he canonically has hallucinations and dissociative episodes! Also he's missing an eye and uses a prosthetic eye instead, which feels less notable considering the same can be said for at least 3 other main characters in the games, but he's still disabled!!! I'd also argue he's heavily implied to have PTSD considering a lot of his issues come from trauma.

He is clearly Bisexual, based on both his unrequited love for "Mr. Date" (Kaname Date, who I have also submitted), and his attraction to multiple female characters, including the very difficult to categorize relationship he has with the female sentient A.I. "Tama" that is implanted in his Prosthetic left eyeball (referred to in-universe as an "AI-Ball"). Also, quoting directly from the personality section of his article on the wiki (Spoilers ahead for the game AI: THE SOMNIUM FILES - nirvanA Initiative): "Another of Ryuki's defining traits is his difficulties with mental health. Although generally calm and collected, he is shown to suffer some form of survivor's guilt and PTSD; although he tries to channel his grief into determination for his investigative work, he generally does not handle emotional stress well, and is prone to bouts of depression, obsession, deep self doubt, and self-blame. His struggles initially stemmed from the traumatic loss of his twin brother in a traffic accident in pursuit of a criminal, and his dislike of stopped clocks, and his hatred of criminals originates from the same event. Additionally, as his symptoms appear to worsen as a result of more traumatic events that occurred during the events of the original Half Body Killing investigations (specifically his feelings of guilt over the apparent death of Date and his exposure to [an extremely potent and long-lasting fictional psychoactive drug that was going to be used in a doomsday cult's terrorist plot]), he becomes prone to dissociation, memory lapses, hallucinations, derealization, and even mania. He also appears to be strangely susceptible to the videos tied to the HB-Case (though this was the case even before his exposure to [the fictional psychoactive drug]), as they seem to trigger his dissociative episodes and hallucinations that leave him questioning his sense of reality. All this, in combination with his struggle to accept forgiveness from other people, lead him to spiral easily, and give him the appearance of being self-destructive and even dangerous. However, deep down he is merely a vulnerable person who deeply struggles with guilt and self-worth, and seeks atonement for his mistakes, but doesn't believe he is deserving of it. With the support of others, he is ultimately able to find the will to pull himself out his depression and start to recover."

Propaganda:

(Qualifying answer is also my propaganda!)

He's just... so skrunkly... He's a silly guy with so many problems and relies on the support AI inside his prosthetic eyeball :) He fell in love with a guy and then that guy went missing because of him and he blamed himself for 6 years while his mental health slipped (and it was ALREADY bad before that so... yeah, it really sucks). He's going through it constantly, but he's still funny and loveable and just trying his best ;-;

(In addition to the propaganda below, I highly recommend that the reasoning for his qualification be included in some capacity for propaganda) Ryuki grew up both rich and highly educated until his parents were killed in a plane crash. He was living with his younger brother until his death in 2014 when he was hit by a truck and half of his body was utterly crushed. The only thing Ryuki has left of his deceased parents is a white Rolls Royce Phantom limousine, which he uses as his primary means of transportation. Ryuki always sits in the back seat, with Tama using the car camera to steer the vehicle remotely. As Tama is an AI, the car is technically classified as "self-driving".

Mod Note: this man is known to me as orange man.

#polls #poll #disabled characters #lgbtq characters #disability #lgbtq #lgbtq dcs round 1 #lgbtq dcs wave 5 #seven of nine #star trek voyager #star trek picard #star trek #kuruto ryuki #ai the somnium files #ai the somniun files nirvana initiative #id in alt text

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angeart · 1 month

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hhau mimic arc rambles part III bonus: mimic, alone

(~2k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

[cws physical assault, mutilation, body horror, identity crisis, fear and guilt, self image and self worth struggles, survivor guilt? in a way, panic attack]

After the disaster of the weakness dosing and Scar finding out and running off, Juni does not try to follow him. He does not try to find Grian and Scar again—he knows he’s fucked that up irreparably. He made a mistake, and it’s not one that could be forgiven.

Just like that, all the comfort and sense of belonging (however false it was) is torn away from him. He’s plunged into solitude, with nothing but his guilt pressing down at his shoulders, and he knows it’s deserved. Aimless, he picks a random direction and goes, without any purpose or plan.

He knows he isn’t allowed to hold onto anything that was Scar's or Grian’s. But he still can’t put together a form of his own; through it all, he’s still running on borrowed things— No, not borrowed. Stolen.

None of him is him.

Briefly, he had a name. Briefly, it felt like maybe he could be his own person.

It feels like a faraway dream.

All sense of identity falls through his fingers once again. He lets it.

He doesn’t want to be Juni anymore. Juni did something awful. Being Juni hurts.

Once again nameless, he tries to shed the illusion of Grian that clings to his skin. (God. He left him to die, didn’t he?) Doesn’t even dare touch the likeness of Scar. But there’s nothing else to hold on. Nothing else to grasp at.

He tries. He tries so hard, to create something from nothing. But he doesn’t know who he’s meant to be. Doesn’t even know where to start. Or how.

He keeps pushing. Forcing it and adjusting until it hurts. It feels futile. It keeps coming out wrong and twisted. Like his body can’t remember how to be.

Wearily, he settles on something that passes as looking normal-adjacent—albeit tired and hurt—except it’s still kind of distorted. He keeps feeling sick. His body feels weird. Not his. Never his.

He still has wings. He can’t bring himself to take them away, separate that vulnerable part from his form. Maybe because he saw how an avian can be loved and cared for, and no matter how undeserving, he still achingly wants that.

… Well, if he won’t take the wings away, maybe someone else will.

At some point, he has a run-in with hunters.

The attack is vicious. It’s a blur that ends with Juni the mimic pinned to the ground. There’s not a sliver of empathy or care. An explosion of agony blooms across the mimic’s back, changing the pitch of his screams from sheer terror to something much worse.

Desperate and terrified, he tries to shift, right underneath their hands and blades. He wants it to stop. He wants to shift out of the parts that sear and hurt.

It doesn’t quite work. He writhes and morphs and glitches, screaming his throat raw. His wings burn, the point where they connect to his back is drowning in molten pain, nerves flaring and making him so thoroughly aware of them that he can’t unthink them. They’re actively in pain and he can’t will them away. (They were never meant to belong to him and now they won’t Go Away.) It hurts it hurts it hurts.

It’s so helpless and terrifying. He writhes and cries and wails in their grasp.

His wings aren’t real. (But oh god does he still bleed.) They aren’t the tangible prize that the hunters desire. And once they realise—as the feathers lose their shine and slowly fade in their greedy hands, without the mimic’s active participation in maintaining their illusion—frustration and anger takes over.

This isn’t worth their time. This hybrid has nothing left to offer.

They pierce him with a damaged spear they don’t care about keeping, pinning him to the ground so he can bleed out, forgotten.

And maybe it’d be better to stay put and let it happen. To wait it out until the pain merges into something duller, number. To fade out, right here, abandoned on the forest floor. (Just like he’s abandoned Grian—)

But he’s scared. He’s too scared of death, despite everything.

Sobbing, shaking, nauseous and dizzy and weak, he fights. He struggles to get free, morphing and shifting his boddy in horrible ways until he manages to slip his form past the spear prison tearing at his flesh.

He wails and crawls and bleeds, fearful he’ll become some horrid creature’s dinner.

His body keeps morphing and shifting in uncontrolled jerks and twitches. It completely messes up the mimic’s perception of his own body by the end of it. He barely knows how to rearrange himself back into something that makes a semblance of sense, but the pain doesn’t leave and he’s so alone and afraid and woozy.

A fragment of memory comes to him. Scar and Grian talking about potential future. Of finding safety up in the tree branches. Of making nests, safe little islands high above the ground.

Juni is terrified of heights. But right now, it doesn’t seem so scary. Not when everything else terrifies him far more.

He picks a tree, and he climbs.

And man, does climbing hurt. Straining the muscles along his shoulders and back. (He sobs and chokes all the way, but perseveres, desperate for a sliver of safety. Somewhere to try to patch himself up as much as possible.) (He can’t even really reach his back properly though—)

It strikes him as odd, how much he wants to live.

He used to treat the missions from the hunters as something that could kill him. Each could be his last, and he’d be okay with it. Because maybe he’d deserve it, after tricking and luring so many hybrids in. He kept yearning for something else, something more, but would just roll over if the blow was coming.

And then Scar and Grian happened, and— And Juni tasted life.

And he still tricked them. He still brought terrible fate on them. He’d still deserve death—now more than ever.

And yet he can’t seem to let go.

The (physical) healing is an arduous process. He falls sick. His form keeps shifting. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Where to go. Who to be.

But he survives.

He survives, and then the day of the eclipse rolls around.

Thankfully, the mimic doesn’t have animal hybrid instincts that could be warped here. Although he’s donned wings again—maybe unwittingly, but he doesn’t feel right without them anymore. (A part of him still craves to be loved. Yearning helplessly and achingly for a sliver of safety and affection back. For fondness turned his way despite all his faults and flaws.) (A wholly different part of him still thinks he ought to be punished. Wearing wings is now more terrifying than ever, after surviving that attack. And yet here he is, with their weight on his back again, right over what’s meant to be horribly scarred skin.) (Because how could he take the wings off so easily, when he left Grian out there like that? Grian with his shiny wings, unable to hide them away? How could the mimic ever deserve to simply shed that danger from his own back after what he’s done?)

It’s on this day when he stumbles upon an avian caught in a net trap. A real, living avian that the hunters haven’t had the chance to get to yet. Moments before the sky would turn dark. Before all the hunting truly sets off.

The avian looks at him with so much hope. Placing his misguided, frightened trust in this seemingly winged person. Begging for help, so very scared.

And the mimic tries. He tries.

The net doesn’t give. The avian is bleeding heavily. There’s a telltale sign of the hunting party setting off. The sky darkens. The avian keeps squirming, tangled into ropes, and—

They lock gazes.

Two terrified sets of eyes. One captive, one free.

The sun is gone.

The avian chirps, high-pitched, a distressed beacon. They try to reach out for the mimic. Help help help.

The hunters approach, and the mimic panics.

Without thinking, he copies the look of the trapped avian. (He can’t keep a stable form; he can’t go back to Grian’s either, doesn’t want to, can’t can’t can’t.) He doesn’t even really realise he’s doing it, as he takes in their fear and sees his own reflected there. And— He turns away.

He runs.

He runs and he feels so indescribably horrible about it. Stacking his guilt until it’s tripping his feet, suffocating his lungs. He’s scared. He’s too scared, he couldn’t stay, they’d just both die, he couldn’t do it—

Is this all he’s good for?

He’s tired of saving himself.

(Who even is he anyway?)

His surroundings turn nightmarish and harrowing. A myriad of noises rises in cacophony—all the chirps, howls, laughter. The rise and fall and plunges into silence. The vex hollering. Wails and screams.

Tumbling down, he curls up in a ditch, shaking and trying to breathe through an incoming panic attack. His mind spins a million miles an hour, dizzying. His hands feel like they’re drenched in blood. (They are. They’re stained from the wounds of the avian he left to die.)

He listens to bird chirps come and go, a sharp echo of what he’s just done.

An echo of what he’s already done before.

His bloodied hands shake horribly. He’s wheezing, gasping for breaths that evade him, pressing himself against soil in attempts to be quiet.

But he can’t, he can’t—

He left Grian to die.

He had a chance there and he didn’t take it. He turned his back. He walked away.

He did that. It was all his doing, start to finish. All his decision.

He killed him.

A sharp howl makes him flinch, panicked gaze peering through the eclipse-induced darkness. He catches a glimpse of the vex hunting party, wild and dangerous, their magic shimmying through the air in their wake.

He wonders if Scar is out there on some vex rampage. If he’s aimless and destructive, betrayed and grief-stricken, uncaring for his own wellbeing. If he ever stopped searching for his bird.

Or if he’s dead, too.

He’s convinced he got them both killed. And for what?

He wasn’t working for the hunters anymore. And he didn’t even get what he wanted, either. He might’ve just gotten two hybrids killed for a week or two of fleeting, misplaced affection.

He used to think the world was cruel and awful and had nothing good. And then he found something good. And he snuffed it out himself.

Because as it turns out, maybe he is the wrong and cruel thing. And he doesn’t want to be. He desperately doesn’t want to be, but— He already did those awful things. He can’t take them back.

He’s got wings now that aren’t Grian’s. (Though they belong to another doomed soul.) (Another soul he doomed.) He knows he’s no longer allowed to have anything of theirs, and he can’t form anything definitely his own, and— He thought this would feel better. No longer stealing from Grian.

But it’s still so wretched. Still stitched together with blood and fear.

The black wings on his back belonged to a trapped creature. And maybe that’s a reflection of how the mimic feels, too. Trapped. And like he deserves to die. (But he’s still afraid of it. So, so horribly afraid.) And avians… die easily, right?

(A horrible thought, considering he can’t stop seeing the way he abandoned Grian, defenceless on the forest floor—)

In the end, he doesn’t pick a new name for himself. He doesn’t figure out who he is. (Besides a monster.) He doesn’t know why he’s still alive.

But he keeps surviving.

Keeps walking aimlessly, shackled with his guilt and fear, with black wings on his back, aware that their previous owner is no longer around to accuse him of theft. (His fault his fault his fault.)

He’s left to wander the world, thinking he’ll never again feel the warmth of affection he so soul-shatteringly craves.

But maybe… Maybe he’s wrong about that.

Maybe the future will be kinder to him than he’d ever dare to hope for.

(And maybe it will still amount to nothing anyway.)

#hhau #mimic arc #our little mimic </3 #pls like him despite everything he's done 🥺🥺🥺#this might be the last time we see him #(or?)#do u want good things for him?#or do u want him to keep hurting?#scared and alone #eclipse mention #he genuinely thinks scar and grian are dead #because of him #i think the line that hits me personally the most in relation to juni here is #“he's tired of saving himself”#also the whole. “he doesn't want to be juni anymore. being juni hurts.”#but come tell me yours 🥰

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rainbowmoonstonestories · 11 months

Text

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 11

Chapters: 11/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Right when you feared losing the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, Ella's suggestion turned out to be the best decision you could ever make. However, as your relationship with Morpheus grew, more secrets about yourself began to surface. Secrets that you were still unaware of.

Writing a love letter proved to be more challenging than depicted in movies. Your pen hovered above the paper, frozen, and you repeatedly withdrew it when nothing came to mind.

You didn't struggle with knowing what to write, but rather with finding the right words to express what was inside you. Guilt, love, fear and shame were all swirling within you simultaneously, leaving you uncertain about which one to convey.

Ella had graciously given you permission to leave work a little earlier, solely for the purpose of going home, resting, and potentially writing that letter without any unnecessary delay. It may have seemed absurd to leave your job for such a reason, but your friend appeared unusually eager to learn about the progress of your relationship with Morpheus.

It took you several hours to compose the first paragraph, as you frequently left the table, pacing back and forth, and consuming at least three bags of calming tea in an attempt to soothe your nerves. Ultimately, you made the choice to release everything at once, beginning with the first thought that crossed your mind and the words you would want to share if Dream were standing before you.

After discarding approximately ten crumpled sheets that now littered the floor, you took a deep breath and resumed your seat. You allowed your hand to move with the same fluidity as when you were drawing with your pencil, letting your emotions be imprinted on the page in ink.

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒖𝒔,

𝑵𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏. 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅—𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒑𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒄𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅.

𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆. 𝑰 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒋𝒖𝒅𝒈𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒏. 𝑴𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒖𝒏𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒆𝒔.

At the conclusion of each paragraph, you found yourself pausing and revisiting what you had written, carefully re-reading your own thoughts aloud.

𝑨𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒅𝒖𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅, 𝑰 𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕, 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅, 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆.

𝑰 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕��𝒐𝒏 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑨𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏, 𝑰 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒊𝒗𝒖𝒍𝒈𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔.

𝑫𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒃𝒚 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒚, 𝑰 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔, 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆.

The mere thought of losing him indefinitely, of never glimpsing his face again in your waking moments or within the realm of dreams, caused your heart to constrict with agony.

Your hands began to tremble, prompting you to slow down your writing in order to prevent any potential damage or smudging of the text.

𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒖𝒔, 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚. 𝑴𝒚 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒕 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇, 𝒔𝒐 𝑰 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖; 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒔 𝒊𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝑴𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆.

𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘. 𝑰𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒅, 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒐 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒔.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆, 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚. 𝑰𝒇 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒐 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆, 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅, 𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒈𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒖𝒑 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔.

You reminisced about the initial encounter when you first laid eyes on him, trapped in that glass enclosure, exuding an aura of desolation and defeat. The intensity of his gaze and the regal poise of his seated form left an indelible impression. You recollected how your emotions blossomed for him even before knowing his name or hearing the sound of his voice.

Maybe your love was deemed toxic, misguided, and unrequited, yet you couldn't fathom a life devoid of it. The thought of existing without the presence of that love was intolerable to you.

𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝑰 𝒔𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓. 𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝑰 𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔, 𝒂𝒔 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆, 𝒎𝒚 𝒖𝒏𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝑳𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔. 𝑨𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚, 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒖𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏.

You pondered whether your proclamation would be too audacious and inappropriate, but you were determined to follow Ella's advice and unleash the truth that resided in your soul.

𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒖𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒈𝒐 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒎𝒆. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆.

𝑰 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒐 𝒇𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒚. 𝑰 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔, 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒎. 𝑻𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒅, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒏𝒐 𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒆.

Once again, you felt the tears welling up at the corners of your eyes. You lifted your head and silently cursed yourself for being so sensitive and vulnerable, again.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆, 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅𝒍𝒚.

A tear escaped, smudging the ink that had not yet fully dried.

𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒖𝒔. 𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆, 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈.

A self-deprecating laugh escaped your lips as you felt utterly pathetic and hopeless, writing a letter that you didn't even know how to deliver.

𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒅𝒈𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏.

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆,

𝒀/𝑵

You read the entire letter once more, then twice, three times, and continued to do so until you lost count entirely. As the sun neared its descent, you clutched the sheet in your hands with such intensity that you feared you might inadvertently tear it.

A part of you believed that the letter was adequately written and required no further alterations, but you couldn't shake off the fear of him discarding it without even giving it a glance or, worse, scoffing at its sentimental tone.

In the end, you let your shoulders slump as you gazed at the folded paper with his name inscribed on the front. "Ridiculous," you muttered, rising hastily from the chair and making your way to the balcony. "It's far too cheesy. This won't work.”

You retrieved a lighter from one of your drawers, along with a small ceramic bowl that you positioned on the ground. The air outside grew colder, but you paid it no mind. Placing the folded paper over the bowl while holding it, you used the lighter to ignite the bottom corner. Your gaze remained fixed on the flame as it started small, slowly engulfing the entire letter in its embrace. Dream’s name vanished, taken by the transforming embers.

You allowed the remnants of the paper to slip from your grasp, watching as the fire consumed it completely and eventually diminished into the bowl. Sitting onto the armchair positioned in front of it, you kept your tired eyes on the flickering flames, captivated by their sinuous dance.

In that moment, you became acutely aware of your exhaustion from the lack of sleep. Struggling to stay awake, your eyelids grew heavier, making it increasingly difficult to resist the drowsiness.

You adjusted your posture and took deep breaths, but despite your efforts, your head gradually drooped to the side as the world around you faded away.

In an instant, you were engulfed by a profound sense of nothingness, until your surroundings began to take on a different form.

You found yourself unsure of your whereabouts. The environment appeared hazy and indistinct, yet you felt a sense of tranquility as you strolled along what seemed to be a lengthy bridge. Without hesitation, you continued onward, drawn towards the white light that awaited you at the other end.

As soon as you passed through the gate, vivid images began to materialize before your eyes. The place you arrived at seemed strangely familiar now, as if you had encountered it in your past.

In a sudden moment of realization, you identified it. The once shattered and deteriorating stained glass windows were now restored to their former glory, radiating an array of vibrant colors. The majestic throne above you stood with its grandeur, evoking power and significance. The curvaceous staircase at the center had been meticulously repaired and polished, exuding a newfound elegance. Even the floor beneath your feet was pristine, resembling a flawless opaque mirror, devoid of any debris or traces of dust. The Greek statues adorning the columns emanated an imposing and commanding presence, their eyes seemingly fixed upon you.

As you stood in the opulent throne room, you marveled at the lavishness of it. The embellished walls and the magical ambiance created a sense of peace and beauty, but a tinge of unease crept over you, causing you to fidget nervously with your fingers. You anxiously awaited either a transformation of the scenery or for yourself to awaken, fearful of the return of Morpheus and the realization that you were an uninvited guest in his realm.

You surveyed the unchanging nature of the dream, making a determined decision to take matters into your own hands. Perhaps by venturing far enough, you could escape the confines of the castle without losing your sense of direction.

You turned to leave, but before you could take another step, your progress was abruptly halted by the resounding voice of Morpheus. His commanding tone had a grave authority, freezing you in your tracks.

"Wait."

Sensing his presence growing nearer, you could hear Morpheus approaching with a composed gait, causing your anxiety to heighten. As he slowed down in front of you, your nervousness intensified. IIt took a moment for you to gather the courage to lift your eyes from the floor.

"I know I have no right to be here. It wasn’t my intention to come," you asserted.

“I invited you.”

As you finally forced yourself to properly meet Morpheus' eyes, your tense state began to soften. His unwavering stare mixed with yours, his countenance austere and solemn, yet there was a subtle undertone of sadness evident in the tightness of his jaw.

“You did…?”

Acknowledging your confusion, Morpheus nodded before speaking. "There is a matter that we need to discuss," he stated, his voice carrying a sense of heaviness.

You felt a spark of optimism, knowing that you still retained your connection to the Dreaming and that he wanted to communicate with you in person even after your earlier altercation. Still, the atmosphere was undeniably stressful, and you felt as if a knife was lodged in your abdomen, draining you of all your energy.

"I assumed you hated me for the things I said to you," you declared.

Morpheus was astonished and looked at you as if you had just told the most abominable joke in the history of comedy. "Hate you?”

“You don’t…?”

"My love, I may have given you the wrong impression," Morpheus said, gazing at you with a somber expression on his face. His eyes showed concern, while his features revealed a distinct degree of distress.

Once again, you were addressed in that affectionate manner, causing your stomach to flutter and turning you into a puddle of mush.

“Don’t call me that. You’re confusing me right now.”

“My apologies.”

Taking a deep breath, you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration and asked, "Morpheus, why am I here?”

The King of Dreams looked down and slowly opened his coat, reaching inside. This simple action revealed a breathtaking detail that you hadn't noticed in your dreams before: the interior of his garment was a cosmic marvel, adorned with twinkling stars and swirling galaxies that seemed to move in a mesmerizing parallax effect. Withdrawing his hand, he held a folded paper between his fingers. You observed as he contemplated it for a moment, then handed it over to you with a gentle, almost timid gesture.

"What's this?" you asked, taking the piece of paper from his hand and turning it to examine it.

Morpheus offered no response, and the way he looked at you made it clear that he wanted you to open it. The paper appeared strangely similar to the letter you wrote for him, until you noticed his name on the outside.

You quickly unfolded it and perused its contents. To your astonishment, you indeed recognized the letter that you set of fire just moments before drifting into sleep. It contained the very words that poured out from the depths of your soul, written in your own distinct ink and calligraphy.

A surge of intense embarrassment washed over you, causing you to wish you could disappear into a dark void. "This... how...? I burned it on the balcony, how is it in your possession…?”

"You are displeased. You have devoted effort into writing this for me, and yet you did not wish for me to read it?”

You stuttered. “No. Yes. I mean… I don’t know.”

"It is beautifully crafted. The words you have penned are remarkable in their composition."

"It's horribly cheesy."

"No."

"Yes."

"Then why did you write it?"

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes. "You sent me away, and I thought I wasn't welcome here anymore.”

"Severing your connection to the Dreaming is not my intention," he expressed in a calm and measured tone of voice. “It never was. And it never will be.”

Unable to continue reading the letter, you folded it back up and tucked it securely into the pocket of your jeans. His pouty expression was incredibly comical and the cutest thing you had ever seen, resembling an offended grumpy cat. But as much as you wanted to lighten the mood, now was not the time to beat around the bush.

“You haven’t answered my question. Why am I here? Is it because of the letter?”

Morpheus paused for a moment, taking a step closer to you with a hint of hesitation in his words. "You have shown me immense kindness and concern. Yet, I repaid you with complete dismissal. I had no right to exile you from the Dreaming.”

You let out a sigh. "You told me to hold my tongue.”

"I... I did not give the situation the attention it required.”

You chortled softly, looking at him with teary eyes. "Is this your way of saying that you're sorry, by any chance?"

"Perhaps."

You shook your head. "You told me about Nada, revealing a significant detail from your past without me even asking. But then I pushed you to share something more, something you weren't ready to reveal. Not now, maybe not ever."

Your anguish highlightened the contrast between your humanity and his eternal lifespan.

"I hurt you, Morpheus.”

It was in the nature of the human species to succumb to temptation and fulfill their desires, often disregarding the consequences that mere curiosity could bring. Your fascination with the King of Dreams had veered onto an incorrect path, fueling an insatiable craving to uncover details about a past that Morpheus only wished to bury in the sands of time.

"You are mistaken," he corrected. "It was them. The Three that are One twist their words and reveal only what they want you to hear. They wield control over the threads of destiny, using their artistry to manipulate their stories as they see fit.”

"What do I have to do with them, anyway? Is it because of Paregoros?" you inquired.

He hesitated. "This, I cannot explain. They utilize their abilities to trade their knowledge for inexplicable gifts, and sometimes they make such deals purely for their own amusement.”

The machinations of the Fates seemed to be specifically targeted at Morpheus himself, and the idea of being manipulated solely to harm him stirred a furious and indignant sensation in you. The manifestation of such derisive insanity provoked both anger and loathing.

Nevertheless, despite being a victim of a similar form of control, the benevolent purpose behind your intentions remained unchanged.

"Morpheus, as I mentioned in my letter, it was not my role to determine whether you should feel guilty about what happened to your son.”

Morpheus looked downward, processing your explanation and giving you a silent permission to continue.

And so you did. "I know I shouldn’t have done that. Still, you can raise your voice at me, be angry with me, or even send me away if that's what you wish to do. But whatever your decision, know that I won't stop searching for you in my dreams."

His attention returned to your face, and his lips parted in a silent gasp as his eyebrows furrowed. "Do you still wish for my company? Even after everything?"

You shrugged. "Is it really so surprising to you?"

"Y/N, fulfilling my duties as Dream of the Endless is of the utmost importance to me. I am unable to provide you with everything that a typical human man is capable of giving.”

Your blood began to boil, and you let out a loud scoff. "Oh, screw that! I never asked you to forsake your role for me. Yes, I cherish our encounters in the Waking World, but I would never want you to jeopardize your realm again just to fulfill my desires. When I chose to be with you, I understood the implications.”

Your voice echoed off the walls and columns, carrying a power that exceeded your intention.

But you had more to say. "I know I can never be deserving of you. As a human, there’s no way for me to reach your level."

His expression softened. "Do you truly believe that I see you as unworthy of my time and affection?”

"I don't know, Morpheus. Sometimes, you make me feel like the most magnificent goddess in the entire universe. But other times, I feel like nothing more than an ordinary dreamer lingering in your realm.”

"Y/N, please listen to me.”

The tears that you had struggled to hold back finally broke free, cascading down your cheeks and wetting the floor below. They served as a symbol of your inherent emotional vulnerability and sensitivity, amplified within the realm of dreams.

You swiftly wiped away the tears with your fingers, erasing the glistening paths as soon as they appeared. "Fine, I'm listening.”

"Why are you crying...?"

You averted your eyes. "Nevermind. I said I'm listening."

“Y/N-”

You raised your hand, stopping his words from continuing any further. "Don't. Please. Just tell me what you need to say. I can handle it.”

Morpheus was rendered speechless, his attention fixed on the wetness beneath your tear-filled eyes. You wished to be seen as something other than a victim deserving only pity, but you feared that you were inadvertently giving him that very impression.

The sound of a heartbeat suddenly filled the space, starting at a faint volume and growing in intensity. It seemed as if the walls themselves were trembling with each pulse, coming alive and resonating with the steady sound in the air.

And then you realized that it was emanating from your own heart, beating so hard in your chest that the dream itself reflected its rhythm. All your emotions left you feeling vulnerable and exposed in a way that Morpheus had never witnessed before, not even during your brief moments of intimacy.

As the surroundings began to blur, the Endless moved closer, placing his right hand against your chest, maintaining contact.

"Look at me," he murmured, his voice barely audible and becoming a distant echo. "Feel me.”

His eyes served as an anchor, keeping you suspended between reality and your dream, firmly rooted and focused on his aura. A surge of power burst forth from his palm, resonating in your heart and engulfing your entire being with warmth and calmness. As the sound of the heartbeat gradually grew faint, all your distress and uncertainties melted away. Your eyes remained locked on his face, and you clutched his arm tightly for reassurance and security.

You came to the realization that there was no better moment than the present to let out those essential words, regardless of the result, even though you were already convinced that it was evident from your letter alone.

“I love you.”

While you were certain that he was well aware of your emotions, a look of surprise still appeared on his face when he heard your declaration.

You smiled serenely and said, "Don't worry. I don't have any expectations from you.”

While the idea was heartbreaking, if you could have a small corner in the Dreaming and find solace in his embrace from time to time, you would be entirely content with what he could offer.

"I won't put pressure on you. I won't ask for anything you're not willing to share, either. Just... please, keep me by your side. That's the only thing I ask.”

You disliked how desolate you sounded, but in the end, it no longer truly mattered to you. The only thing you wished for was another chance with the man you loved.

His hand slid from your chest to glide through your hair and gently brush against your nape. His mouth drew closer to yours, almost grazing your lips but not quite touching them.

"The depths of my feelings for you surpass even time itself. If you truly desire me, then you shall have me. As the King of Dreams and Nightmares, as Morpheus, as all that I am.”

You quivered at his words, so profound and melodic, stirring both excitement and need. Your heart raced once more as you whispered in response, "That's exactly what I want. The real you, just as you are."

As his forehead gently touched yours in a beloved manner, your fingers tightened their grip on his sleeve.

Amidst a mix of hope and apprehension, you gathered the courage to ask the question that had taken shape. "Morpheus, do you love me...?"

You braced yourself, almost expecting a negative response despite his actions and the words he had just spoken.

Your assumption couldn't have been further from the truth.

“Immensely.”

The brightest smile graced your lips as soon as you heard his admission. Your hands reached down and took hold of the edges of his coat, gently pulling him closer. As you kissed him, the Dreaming responded with a burst of vibrant colors pouring from the windows behind the throne, surrounding both of you in their radiant glow. Morpheus intensified the kiss, exerting more pressure with his mouth and hand on your head, deepening the bond between you. Your tongues entwined, and your breaths merged into one.

You could sense his love and remorse in the way he touched you. Dream of the Endless was a fervent lover, occasionally restraining himself, yet constantly prepared to give his everything during every intimate moment. Regardless of how he spoke to you and the emotions he evoked with his actions, the fear of being merely a temporary flame always lingered in the depths of your mind.

However, now, even with the uncertainty of a future together with an immortal being, you were resolute in cherishing his tenderness - embracing each other, locked in a passionate kiss, and feeling his closeness against you - an experience you were unwilling to interrupt.

He cherished you. And he longed to be with you as much as you wanted his presence in your life. This newfound understanding propelled you to heights of bliss and exhilaration, awakening your senses as you embraced him, your arms encircling his neck while his hands settled around your waist, holding you tightly. Time seemed to slip away as you immersed yourself in kisses and cuddles, reveling in each other's presence for as long as you could maintain your clarity.

Your lips traced a trail along his cheek, your knuckles gently caressing the contours of his face as you brushed his hair aside. He was entranced by the moment, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on the lower part of your spine even further.

Morpheus was proud, hot-headed and quite impulsive. Yet he was also kind-hearted, generous, and unwavering in his integrity despite the obstacles and hardships he faced. You were determined to remain by his side until the end of your days, striving to shield him from sorrow or betrayal in a universe teeming with dangers beyond his grasp and influence.

Nestling your foreheads against one another again, you exhaled profoundly. "I suppose I am forgiven, then?" you queried him.

"My love, you have done nothing that warrants my forgiveness," he clarified.

When he pulled away from you, you felt that there was something he wished to share. You stayed composed, waiting for him to find the right words, holding his hands in yours.

"The words that I have spoken to you... I...”

You raised your index and middle fingers to his lips. "I know you didn't mean it. You were angry, and I don't hold it against you for feeling resentful.”

He tenderly grasped your wrist, holding it firmly as if attempting to prevent you from departing. "No matter. I cannot absolve myself of the guilt that stems from my mistake.”

Your lower lip trembled, not from the pain you had experienced, but from the sentimentality that his considerate words evoked within you. "And I reopened an old wound, pouring salt into it. We're even.”

His lips gently pressed against your fingers, the firmness indicating a strong need to hold them. "Perhaps, with time, I will share more with you - about Calliope, my son, my family... and myself.”

You smiled softly, but then shook your head. "Please, don't push yourself. I know you trust me, I don't need anything else.”

He released a silent sigh, his expression displaying evident relief.

"Listen," you told him, cupping the sides of his face in your palms. "I promise you, regardless of the Fates or any other obstacles, I will never let that affect me again. I want you to talk to me whenever you feel like it - if you ever feel like it.”

Morpheus maintained his gaze on you, remaining steadfast and unwavering.

"I don't need to know every detail of your past. What's important to me is who you are now, and I apologize for not realizing that sooner."

While you were aware that he wasn't flawless, your own imperfections nearly shattered your relationship. Morpheus had just as much to learn from you as you did from him. He was the missing half that made you feel whole, and you were the piece he had finally discovered for his eternal puzzle.

For the first time since you met him, you witnessed a genuine smile spread across his lips. It was a wide, sincere, and affectionate grin that made you fall even more deeply in love with him than you had ever imagined possible.

In response, you devoted yourself to expressing your feelings of love through your subsequent actions, showering him with quick yet firm pecks all over his face. Morpheus let out a brief chuckle, placing his hands on your neck and returning the kisses to your mouth, slowly but resolutely. His thumbs gently glided back and forth along your jawline, sending delightful shivers of contentment coursing through your body.

After placing one more gentle kiss on your forehead, Morpheus released his hold on you. The illumination around you took on a dreamlike quality, causing his eyes to shimmer with a mystical gleam.

As you moved your hands to your pockets, you noticed that the folded letter you had placed in your jeans had disappeared. You took a moment to contemplate the situation before raising an eyebrow in his direction, conveying your suspicion.

"Morpheus? What happened to the letter?"

He tried to conceal a smirk, but you could still catch a glimpse of it at the corners of his lips."I have no idea."

You couldn't help but let out a laugh, partly from amusement and partly from disbelief. "You're so sneaky! Did you put it back in your coat?”

With a playful demeanor, you reached for his coat again, gripping its lapels and opening it to take a peek inside. The celestial spectacle within was truly breathtaking, causing you to pause in awe and admire its beauty.

"What's on the other side? Does it work like Mary Poppins' bag?" you jokingly inquired as you peered into the depths of his garment, curious about what secrets it might hold.

"Why are you all so obsessed with this Mary Poppins?" Morpheus asked with a hint of curiosity.

"Mary Poppins is a timeless classic. Are you telling me you never watched it?”

"I did not.”

You gasped. "That's sacrilege! You know what, I can ask Hob if he wants to join us for a movie night. You absolutely have to see it, it's so delightful and heartwarming!”

His expression appeared so indignant that you had to stifle a laugh from escaping.

"I will pass."

"Oh, come on, it will be fun!"

"No."

You playfully pretended to judge him, adopting a serious expression and placing your hands on your hips. However, your self-control didn't last long, and you quickly abandoned your act, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hugging him tightly. The force of your embrace caused him to take a step back as your bodies collided.

You erupted into laughter, utterly joyful. "I'm just teasing you, my love!”

Morpheus eased into your hold, his touch growing tender as he softly stroked your back, his hands gliding up and down in a comforting rhythm.

After sharing a flurry of affectionate moments, you loosened your grip around him and looked directly into his eyes. "You know I would never ask you to do things you don't want to, right?”

He nodded in agreement, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I do.”

"I still want the letter back, though," you stated firmly.

He grinned mischievously. "It belongs to me.”

“Oh, does it now?”

“It has my name on it.”

"I set it on fire!" you retorted.

"Everything that is written in the Waking World finds its place in the Dreaming. The library contains every book, every piece of literature, and every letter that has ever been created, or ever will be,” Morpheus stated.

“Lucky me,” you responded ironically.

“Why did you burn it?”

You nibbled on your lower lip, feeling a warm blush spreading across your cheeks as you remembered the weaknesses that had compelled you to write the letter. "I thought you wouldn't like it."

"It is a thoughtful and sincere gift. One that I have never received before," he acknowledged, his words filled with gratitude. They carried a certain charm, akin to honey enveloping you with its irresistible allure.

You made a clicking sound with your tongue. "Fine. I surrender.”

“A wise decision, my dear.”

You couldn't help but chuckle and replied, "Just as long as you don't hang it on a pillar or a wall.”

"I might decide to frame it."

"Don’t you dare!"

Since your last visit, your father couldn't shake the sound of your question about your origins from his mind, and the pain that he had painstakingly tried to erase for many years came rushing back into his heart with full force.

In truth, since you left to pursue your independence, he found it incredibly difficult not to reflect on what he once had, and the experiences that you, regrettably, never had the chance to partake in. Taking care of you on his own had never felt like a burden, but there were moments when he believed you would need your mother more than anything else in the world.

A movie played on the screen in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere. He sat on the couch for quite some time, lost in thought, as his mind and heart battled each other repeatedly. He understood that he had no alternative, and every action he took was solely for your benefit from the very beginning. However, the fact that you had dared to seek further information about your family lineage was a perilous path, one that he knew he couldn't tread alongside you.

Almost instinctively, as if guided by an unseen force, he reached for the wallet tucked in the back of his trousers. Carefully unfolding it, he slid two fingers into one of the compartments, retrieving an old Polaroid picture filled with cherished memories from the past.

In the picture, his younger self was beaming at the camera, while the face of the woman next to him was barely visible. Somehow, the only photograph he had of the two of them together happened to capture the woman he loved partially obscured by a peculiar rainbow-like reflection, rendering her features unclear.

Even so, he still remembered the woman as vividly as if it were yesterday, and the resemblance you bore to her reminded him of her beauty every time he laid eyes on you. It was bittersweet, yet he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the woman you had grown into. So courageous and resolute, so resilient and selfless, never letting go of your dreams despite how much his illness may have hindered your progress.

He found himself chuckling softly, wiping away the tears that welled up in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. However, his moment of solitude was interrupted when a knock sounded at the front door, loud enough for him to hear it in the living room. He startled slightly on the couch, clearing his throat and wondering who could be visiting at dinner time. He certainly wasn't expecting you.

Your father hesitated, contemplating whether someone had mistakenly arrived at the wrong house. However, a second, slightly louder knock resonated through the corridor, convinving him to rise and investigate for himself. He paused in front of the door, his gaze fixed on the polished wooden surface and his uncertainty growing. Nevertheless, a voice within urged him to trust his instincts, to open the door and welcome whoever was on the other side into his home.

His heart pounding, he slowly undid the locks and gripped the cold handle in his hand. He had to take a deep breath to steady himself before turning it and opening the door, the faint squeak echoing in the air.

As soon as the door was open enough for him to catch a glimpse of the visitor at the entrance, he felt his breath catch in his throat. His eyes widened in shock, and his fingers involuntarily slipped away from the handle. He had to take a step back to reassure himself that he wasn't hallucinating, his hand instinctively covering his mouth as a fresh wave of tears welled up at the corners of his eyes.

There she stood, the only woman he had ever loved, the one he believed he would never encounter again. She looked exactly the same as the day they first met, so flawless and otherworldly, without a single wrinkle marring her smooth skin.

She smiled, suppressing the pain and blinking rapidly to hold back her own emotions. Her voice, like a forbidden song, whispered his name.

"It's been a long time, my love."

Since your sweet reconciliation and the officialization of your relationship, Morpheus felt as if he could walk on clouds. The ongoing work to repair the damages caused by humans in his realm was still keeping him and Lucienne busy, and while balancing his duty as the King of Dreams and your increasingly demanding job, he couldn't spend as much time with you as he wanted.

He cherished every moment he could be in your company, feeling his love for you grow with each passing second. You were a beacon of light in his dark existence, an anchor in the storm, and his hope to shape a better future for himself.

But despite the strong, unusual positive feeling he had in his heart, the weight of an undisclosed secret was starting to be a problem to him. Morpheus knew that you would have wanted to be informed, and didn’t wish to continue deceiving you when you always shared yourself openly without any hidden agendas.

Unfortunately, just as he made the final decision to reveal what he had discovered, he received an urgent request for a meeting in the Waking World. The fact that your realm had been chosen for the occasion was quite unexpected, and he couldn't help but anticipate that things wouldn't go in his favor at all.

He sat in front of a pond, watching the ducks swim peacefully. His hands were crossed in his lap, and he pouted in concentration as he waited for his interlocutor to arrive. The two of them had never crossed paths before, although they were well aware of each other's roles and reputations. However, what worried him the most was the clear subject of their impending conversation, as he was no longer welcome on that specific side of deities.

Beneath the surface, the Endless felt restless. His greatest desire was for you to maintain your happiness and well-being, but this was one of those rare moments when he wasn't quite sure what to expect.

As Morpheus looked up from the water in front of him, he was struck by the remarkable resemblance the approaching woman bore to you. The sound of heels hitting the pebbles grew nearer, each step calm and steady. He became completely still, hardly even meeting her familiar eyes.

She sat on the bench beside him, maintaining a certain distance between their bodies. For a brief moment, silence enveloped them as she calmly brushed her hand along the grey cardigan she wore. Everything about her was flawless, from the meticulously styled hair to the perfectly manicured nails.

At first glance, one could easily mistake her for an ordinary human being, but Morpheus could discern the unmistakable divine aura radiating from her presence.

"Greetings, Oneiros. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Dream Lord." she said. He immediately detected a hint of irritation in her voice.

“Greetings to you, Paregoros, Daimona of consolation. I’ve heard you wanted to speak to me.”

The deity smiled, crossing her legs and resting her hands upon them. "Indeed. We must discuss something that we both consider to be of utmost importance.”

Morpheus swallowed, stealing a quick sideways glance at her. “I suppose.”

"Let's skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point, then. What do you say?”

“Very well.”

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and straightening her posture. "I'll be blunt with you. I am fully against your relationship with Y/N.”

He pressed his lips together, his expression growing tense. "Is that so?”

"You can't possibly blame me for that, can you? Or have you conveniently forgotten what you did to Calliope?”

His knuckles turned white as anger surged inside him again. "May I remind you that she was the one who abandoned me?”

"You destroyed her life, Oneiros. Rest assured, I won't let you do the same to Y/N.”

His eyes darkened, and the tension between them grew palpable. The air crackled with electricity, to the point where the wind picked up its pace, as if two forces were clashing.

"It is not for you to decide," he retorted.

"Perhaps you're right, but I won't stand by and watch her crumble because of you. She’s not a Goddess, Oneiros. She deserves someone who can truly appreciate her, a mortal man who can grow old with her, devoted and unwavering.”

His heart sank. As much as Morpheus was deeply and completely in love with you for who you were, he knew that you were destined to leave him behind, your mortal flame getting extinguished.

"Is there any other reason for you to meet me here?”

Paregoros nodded affirmatively in response to his question. "Indeed, there is something else that we need to address.”

"Then speak clearly.”

She let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the bench. "She must not know about me. Under no circumstances should you reveal the truth to her.”

Morpheus turned to face the woman completely, and as their eyes met directly for the first time, the gravity of the situation became apparent in both of their expressions.

"Are you asking me to deceive her?"

"Isn't that what you excel at?" She retorted, her tone laced with bitterness. "You create dreams and nightmares, twisted realities that are aimed to distract the human mind.”

"I will not do that to her," he asserted firmly.

For a moment, Paregoros appeared taken aback. "If… if you genuinely care about her as you profess, then you must."

"And yet, you had the audacity to tell me that I am not allowed near her.”

His words stunned her, and he could see the sadness in her eyes as she averted her gaze. "Do you think it was easy for me? I had to sacrifice everything I held dear. You, more than anyone else, should understand the weight of fulfilling your duty.”

"As a matter of fact, I do," he replied.

"Then I trust your judgement, Oneiros.”

Could he truly face you, knowing that he was keeping such a significant secret from you? Would he be capable of looking into your magnificent eyes, pretending that the truth you had always known was the only reality?

"The consequences of her knowing could be dreadful for Y/N," she explained. "She would search for the truth, for me. She might not find peace until she uncovers it, losing sight of her own goals in this realm. She would begin to question her own nature, overwhelmed with a sense of confusion and disorientation.”

Morpheus couldn't deny that what Paregoros was describing had some truth to it. But at the same time, he had immense faith in you and your resolute determination.

"You are underestimating her, Paregoros. After all, she has accepted me despite everything I have done.”

Her focus shifted back to him, her eyes widening and her mouth slightly ajar. She pondered his words for a moment, deep in thought, before a gentle chuckle escaped her lips.

"You might have a point, Dream Lord. It appears that I don't know her as well as I believed.”

He remained silent, sitting there motionless, waiting.

“Still, there are rules that we all must adhere to. Isn't that correct?”

As someone who had broken those rules multiple times, Morpheus understood their significance.

“Yes.”

"Then I hope you won't let me down," she said, her voice filled with a blend of uncertainty and entreaty. "I know who you are, but please grant me this one request.”

He sincerely wished for an alternative solution, a means to inform you about the most significant aspect of your existence. While you never explicitly discussed your family with him, except for your father's illness, Morpheus had the power to delve into the depths of your dreams and unearth aspects that you may not even be aware of yourself. There was something missing, a part of you that you had never dared to explore, believing it to be lost forever.

In the end, he had no option but to submit to the will of the deity, even if it meant suppressing what he knew in your presence.

“As you wish. Your daughter will never discover the truth. Not from me.”

Without waiting for a response, he rose from the bench and walked away, never once glancing back at your mother. The woman’s eyes were brimming with sorrow and despair, etching holes into his retreating figure.

The following night, Morpheus took you to a place you had visited together before. It was the forest he had created for you on your first full time in the Dreaming, complete with colorful flowers and magical Moonstone rocks. Everything appeared exactly as you remembered - not a single glassblade was out of place, and the minerals glowed with increasing intensity as you both approached the majestic clusters. Everything looked like a scene straight out of an RPG, with its fantasy-inspired aesthetics and breathtakingly surreal visuals.

Morpheus remained strangely silent, his gaze locked onto the Moonstones, which greeted him with a dazzling brillance. He raised his hand towards one of the rocks as you stood closely behind him, observing his actions and marveling at the enchanting scene. His right hand was bathed in a gentle, light blue energy as something became clearly enclosed within his palm. When he turned towards you, it was apparent that he was clutching one of the stones in his fist. But as he extended his hand and unfurled his fingers, you were shocked to find a beautifully crafted necklace delicately resting against his skin.

The Moonstone was noticeably smaller compared to the ones embedded in the clusters, yet its intricate details were still mesmerizing to behold. A soft blue glow swirled around its pearly surface, adding to its magical allure. A silver pendant securely held it in place, connected to a short chain of the same color.

Morpheus patiently awaited your reaction, and it took a moment for you to comprehend that he was actually offering the necklace to you.

"It's absolutely stunning," you whispered, gently brushing your fingertips against the smooth surface of the Moonstone. "Did you make this for me...?”

"This Dreamstone will provide you with protection. A part of me resides within this jewel now.”

You looked at him in complete shock. "What...? Morpheus, no. I can't accept this," you protested, gently closing his hand again and pushing it away.

"Why not?" he asked, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. He seemed genuinely perplexed by your rejection.

"I can't take your power away. You need it," you explained earnestly with concern.

"My love, the fragment of my essence that I infused into this Dreamstone is not nearly enough to weaken me. I am far more powerful now than I ever was," he reassured with tenderness and sincerity.

"But... why...?”

"Because I need to know that you are going to be safe even when I am not beside you," he answered softly, his words laced with emotion and a deep sense of care.

Your heart pounded heavily in your chest. "Oh, Morpheus.”

He took a step closer, gently grazing your cheeckbone with his knuckles. "If you keep this with you at all times, I will always be there to protect you," he murmured. “Please, accept my gift.”

You couldn't help but notice a hint of desperation in his request, and the last thing you wanted to do was to fuel his worries with your unjustified refusal.

You smiled brightly, brushing your hair away from your neck and turning around. "Will you put it on for me?”

Morpheus responded with a soft hum, and you could feel the coolness of the metal against your collarbones as the Moonstone descended and settled delicately underneath. With the necklace securely fastened, he lovingly traced his hands along your shoulders and upper arms, planting a gentle kiss on the side of your head. The stark contrast between his sweet, affectionate gestures and the angry version you had recently encountered was striking. Yet, you found yourself growing to appreciate every facet, every aspect of his entire being.

You turned to face him, and the moment your eyes met, an irresistible urge took hold of you. you gently cradled his face in your hands and bestowed upon him a passionate, longing kiss on his soft lips.

"Thank you. I will never take it off."

"You should not," he responded with a subtle smile before leaning in to kiss you once more.

Little did you know, that pendant was about to become the key to saving your life. And much more.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 12 ->

#the sandman #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #lydbyd chapter 11

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