#that we talked more about his pain aversion

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Genuinely don't think I've seen anyone talk about chapter 25 as a pivotal moment for Dazai so I'm gonna put this out here because I think his reactions here kind of negate that whole omnipotent Dazai interpretation which I hate with every fibre of my being.

Firstly, he's like, clearly caught off guard here. And don't try to tell me he wasn't, because this is just one instance of his genuinely horrified reaction to Q's release and when he realized what was actually going on with Atsushi, Naomi and Haruno.

Him being caught off guard carries significance here because you'd never catch him screwing up this bad later in the series - which is exactly my point.

I wrote a post earlier about how I don't think Dazai really is very much like Mori or Fyodor at all, and I stand by that, because their motives are different. Tldr for that post: Mori and Fyodor are ambitious and proactive, while Dazai is empty/numb and reactive.

What this leads me to believe is that Dazai is less a chess master like those two and more of a contingency planner - he's so good at "predicting" because he is uncannily good at thinking like his opponent and then planning for literally any possibility under the sun he can come up with. He's no gambler. Everything and everyone is practically (and unknowingly) micromanaged. It's almost paranoid in a sense, and I definitely think it's a trauma response to something he went through that we don't know about yet - after all, he was more than capable of this before he even met Mori.

...which brings to me to Mori's influence here. It's straight up like Dazai forgot how willing Mori is to gamble huge risks for a good outcome. It's like he forgot the mafia could be a real threat to his best-laid plans.

Going to throw out a wild claim here that I don't think is actually all that baseless - I think it's widely assumed that Dazai molds himself to what he needs to be (true!) but I think this misses the idea that he is also easily influenced by the mindsets of the people around him (see: the difference between Entrance Exam Dazai and early manga Dazai, the whole "the longer he was in the mafia the darker and more incomprehensible he became" thing from Stormbringer, how dark his eyes get in the prison sections with Fyodor, etc.). I could go on, but for the sake of not making this post too much longer, let's assume this is true because it suddenly makes sense as to why he failed to predict Q but predicted other events much later that were inherently more difficult to predict:

He was in the wrong mindset. He was thinking like an Agency member, and dare I say, he even got a little complacent. He started to get used to not having to manipulate every last variable - he was removed from a toxic environment - only for Mori to pretty much instantly fuck that up in one scene.

Let's also not forget what happened the last time he miscalculated Mori's intentions.

The consequences of this blunder could've been a lot worse and he knows it.

In his mind, thinking like an ADA member wasn't good enough to stop a potentially awful outcome - awful outcomes that could bring him pain. So, he goes back to what he knows - think like the demon prodigy. Think like Mori. Later on, think like Dostoyevsky. Because it seems to me that he believes as long as he is still working for the light that it doesn't matter if he uses these horrifically manipulative and inhumane methods of getting there. But he is wrong. Darkness within the context of good intentions is still very much darkness, and it hurts people all the same.

In the very next chapter, Dazai arranges Ango's car accident. And he only gets worse and worse throughout the series as he regresses back into his paranoid darkness that manifests as this omnipotent facade - his safety net that ultimately prevents him from developing in a positive, more human direction.

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 14 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, risky motorcycle ride? (idk nothing bad happens but always wear helmets, friends), some fun flirting & jokes, but mostly ANGST AND PAIN (including explicit descriptions of very intense anxiety at the very end)

words: 12.3k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 14 ► this isn't over 'til we talk in the light, said i was sober, but you knew that i lied

In the lounge area outside the changing rooms of “013” in Tilburg, Jungkook was engaged in a very intense game of table tennis against Seokjin—and winning, even though Seokjin would have disagreed—when you entered to inform the band that they were going on stage in twenty minutes.

The game wrapped up as the members began to stretch while simultaneously accosting Jimin about their in-ears. There were never any serious issues – Jimin made sure he was the Sound Technician of the Year –  but they enjoyed seeing him panic when everyone started moaning, “could you turn the backtrack up a bit?” or “I literally can’t hear myself.” This last one was Taehyung’s favourite, until Jimin started retorting with, “well, maybe you’re deaf,” and then continuing with his day.

The pre-show ritual was always chaotic, but it was endearing chaos, full of nervous laughter and sparkling eyes as the members of Rated Riot prepared for their performance.

Then, just as Jungkook left the dressing room, putting his own in-ears back in, he turned the corner and almost collided with Sid, who looked more than pleased when Jungkook took a surprised step back.

What an absolute eye-sore, Jungkook thought. As the tour went on, he began to understand your aversion to his friends better.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and it sounded like he wasn’t just asking about Sid being in this room. He was questioning Sid’s constant presence on this tour. Surely, with Jungkook no longer participating in his little games, he had to get bored and go back home.

The past few weeks have taught Jungkook that some friendships had an expiration date, and sometimes stupid bets accelerated that process. He was okay with that now—he realised that holding onto Sid would be much worse than being left alone.

“Just came to wish you luck before the show,” said Sid, who had never genuinely wished anyone luck before. “We’re here if you want to talk.”

Jungkook frowned and glanced at Minjun—who stood further away from the rest of their friends, and rolled his eyes—then he looked back at Sid.

“I’m good,” he said slowly and cautiously as if Sid was a snake that attacked when it sensed defiance.

Just when Jungkook thought he was safe and tried to walk away, Sid’s saccharine voice—the venomous kind—called out, “don’t forget we’re going out racing tonight!”

Jungkook stopped and turned to him again. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Don’t be like that,” Sid taunted. “This could be your chance to practise riding a rental since it seems like you’re going to lose your bike in five—”

“You really don’t have anything better to do, do you?” Jungkook interrupted. Maybe it was the pre-show adrenaline or maybe he had finally grown tired of Sid’s bullshit, but he added, “I feel sorry for you.”

Sneering because people felt many things for him – mostly contempt – but pity wasn’t one of them, Sid leaned in closer. It was a tactic that Jungkook had already grown immune to, but Sid was a creature of habit.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he hissed, not bothered by the emptiness in Jungkook’s stare. “See you later.”

“You won’t,” Jungkook asserted. “I’m not going out with you. This is all over, including the bet.”

Sid raised his eyebrows. With a very specific sense of justice that no one else in this hallway—or in this world—possessed, he declared, “I get the Katana, then.”

There was something questioning about his tone, however. As if he needed Jungkook’s confirmation that he did indeed lose this bet to Sid.

But Jungkook was firm: “You don’t.”

Sid threw his head back and scoffed with an exasperation that could have put a two-year-old to shame. “Well, then neither do you!”

“That’s fine,” Jungkook said. “Minjun can keep it.”

As Sid huffed and growled in frustration, Jungkook looked at his friend again. Minjun seemed about ready to interject—he was the one person here who did not want the bike and, in fact, wished it did not exist at all—but Sid finally found his words.

“You think Minjun can—the bike is mine,” he insisted. “I won—”

“Sid, you don’t give two shits about the fucking bike,” Jungkook cut him off, very tired of the repetitive argument. “Get over it.”

The conversation with Taehyung at Hoseok’s party weighed heavily on Jungkook’s mind. He knew he had bigger things to worry about right now—forget losing the bike. He might lose you.

In his usual dignified manner—so, not dignified at all—Sid rolled his eyes and snarled, “I agreed to bet on it, didn’t I? Obviously, I do give a shit.”

“No,” Jungkook said. “You give a shit about winning. But it’s over. We’re not doing this anymore. Deal with it.”

There was a redness on Sid’s face that hadn’t been there before. A week ago, Jungkook would have been excited to see it—it would have certainly meant a point in his favour. Now, he didn’t want to see Sid’s face at all.

“It’s not over,” Sid argued, persistent like a fly that keeps hitting the glass of a window. “There’s still five days left.”

“Five days until what?”

Four heads whipped around to see you standing at the end of the hallway, confused by the snippet of conversation that you’d overheard. You had returned to find Jungkook because the rest of the band was already pacing – or, in Hoseok’s case, doing restless sit-ups – by the side of the stage.

Jungkook, Sid, Jude, and Minjun stared at you with eyes so bright and wide that they could have guided ships off the coast.

You’ve never met four boys who looked more stunned to see you. It was as if you had accidentally stumbled into the latest concert of the Masculine Ritual, Absolutely No Femininity Allowed, God Forbid Someone Who Identifies as Female Enters The Room tour, and they could not believe this was happening.

“Uh,” Jungkook was the first to react as he immediately approached you. “I’ll tell you later. They’re just excited about, uh, London.”

You did the mental calculations while Jungkook gently squeezed your shoulder to turn you around and steer you away from his friends and towards the stage.

The London show really was more or less in five days, so you decided not to question that part. But the quick pace at which Jungkook was pulling you away from the others still unsettled you.

As you turned a corner, you looked back and saw Sid frowning at you, while Minjun—as usual lately—looked like he regretted being born, and Jude—as usual always—was picking his fingernails.

“Is Sid in one of his chaotic moods again?” you asked as you walked—nearly ran, actually, with the way Jungkook was pulling you. “Should I be concerned?”

“No, no. Everything’s fine,” he assured with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He’s just… doing Sid things. You know. Nothing to worry about as long as—well, as long as you don’t get in his way. I have everything under control.”

Your primary goal on this tour was to stay out of Sid’s way as long as he stayed out of yours. But now was not the time to discuss it, because Rated Riot had three minutes until their performance.

“Alright, then,” you said. “Leave me out of it and we’re good.”

Jungkook coughed in response and stopped once you reached the other members of the band. You thought you saw Taehyung raise his eyebrows when Jungkook took his hand off your shoulders, but maybe you were just imagining it.

You turned to the rest of the band, all of whom looked pale and fidgety and unsure.

The speakers had malfunctioned during the soundcheck earlier, so Jimin and Seokjin had to cut it short to fix the problem. Naturally, the disruption of their usual routine made the band anxious. The table tennis match between Seokjin and Jungkook—arguably the most unhinged members of the team when it came to games—had distracted everyone, but now they returned to the unpleasant arms of anxiety.

“Come on,” you said, trying to sound more energetic than you were feeling. “Stop looking like you’re going to get hanged. You’ll do fantastic out there. Go and have fun. And don’t bother coming backstage until you’re drenched and the crowd won’t stop changing your names. I mean it.”

Finally, a small smile appeared on Yoongi’s face as he rolled up one of his pant legs—for no reason other than he thought it looked cool. Honestly, it worked for him.

“Why did that last part sound like a threat?” he quipped, standing up straight.

“Because it is,” you replied. When you turned to Jungkook, he had his eyebrows furrowed as if he was still worried about something, but he started to smile as soon as he felt your gaze. You added, “I’ll be out there watching you. Kick some ass.”

You high-fived all four of them and pulled back as the boys erupted battle cries and huddled together before taking the stage.

They were still nervous, but they had you and each other, and there was a room full of people excited to see them perform. This was supposed to be just another day at the office.

Smiling, you headed back to your usual spot by the stage where Luna was chatting with a few girls at the barricade, and Maggie was snapping pictures of the audience nearby.

It occurred to you while standing there, that you were thousands of kilometres away from your house, away from everything familiar. But with Rated Riot on stage, and Luna and Maggie by your side, you felt right at home.

There was nothing you wished more than to stay like this forever.

It was an unwritten law that touring with a rock band was fun, but quickly turned very hectic. Insomnia often became an unwelcome friend—especially for the members of the band who had fashionable bags under their eyes almost every day. But when they were on stage or meeting their fans after the show, they looked alive. They looked happy.

And the more drinks they had after the concert, the more that happiness seemed to grow.

“You know what I think?” Yoongi said on the couch in the dressing room where everyone had gathered after the show. He was tipsy as he swung the green Heineken bottle around, nearly splashing you and Namjoon as you sat on either side of him. “I think next time we’re in Europe, we’ll be performing at Wembley. Stade de France. The fucking Coliseum.”

“And Camp Nou?” you teased.

Yoongi and Namjoon—both avid Barcelona fans—nodded in eager agreement.

“And not as guests at festivals, either,” Yoongi continued. “Headliners.”

You smiled. “I can see that.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi’s own smile widened. “When we announced our tour, Kerrang! called us ‘The Next Reconnaissance’ on their Instagram.”

You felt an uncomfortable twinge in your stomach at the mention of the other band and turned away from the two boys. You remembered the alternative culture magazine running rampant with the moniker—always “The Next Reconnaissance,” never just Rated Riot.

“I… don’t think you’re the next anything,” you said. “I think you’re you. And being Rated Riot is already amazing.”

Yoongi needed a moment to process your words. For some reason, he had expected you to agree with the nickname. Part of him wanted to be “the next Reconnaissance,” considering how much they had achieved. But you were right.

“I like that,” he said. “That’s good. Yes. We’re Rated Riot. We’ll get Wembley. And Camp Nou.”

“I second that,” Namjoon said, pointing his beer bottle at the other boy. “But, oh, we saw Reconnaissance at Rose Bowl last year, remember? Might be the best concert I’ve ever been to. I know they were in town again before we left for Europe, but I didn’t get to go. It was at a smaller venue anyway, I think. Rose Bowl, though... Stadium shows are something else.”

You raised an eyebrow as you looked at Namjoon over Yoongi’s head. The producer didn’t normally say this much in one breath. He was clearly getting drunk.

Yoongi, on the other hand, didn’t notice anything wrong. He was likely equally as buzzed. He hummed as he threw his head back and took a large swig of his beer. Then he turned to face you.

“We’ve never opened for a band their size before,” he said. “Do you think we even could? I mean, they’re not The Rolling Stones, but they’re… well…”

He let the sentence falter because he couldn’t find a fitting word, but both you and Namjoon understood.

“Uh, well, who says you can never work with them in the future? I know their manager,” you said, trying to sound uplifting, but quickly catching yourself. You could have made your point without mentioning this. But because the two boys suddenly looked at you as if you’d just said you were Kurt Cobain in your past life, you had to explain, “he’s, uh—he’s Nick Zhou. I worked under him after university.”

“No shit?” Yoongi raised his eyebrows even higher. “Are you still in touch?”

“Not really,” you mumbled, finding yourself in a tough spot. Avoiding the subject now, when you were the one who mentioned Nick, would essentially mean lying to them. You didn’t want to do that. Awkwardly, you admitted, “although, he did, um—he called me a few days ago. Back in Oslo.”

“What?” Namjoon leaned forward to look at you over Yoongi, who stopped drinking his beer, distracted by the conversation. “Why didn’t you say anything? What did he want?”

Suddenly, you regretted finishing your beer before you joined them on the couch.

“Well, see, that’s the thing. He, uh—he wasn’t calling about the band. Or, well, he was, but it wasn’t—okay.” You closed your eyes and took a breath. This was a very long detour to get to the most important sentence. “He said he’s looking for an assistant manager.”

The two boys next to you exchanged a look.

“And… he wants you?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “But only because he needs someone quickly and he’s already worked with me before, so—”

“Well, fuck,” Yoongi concluded, cutting off your humble explanation, while Namjoon offered an equally insightful, “wow, shit.”

You nodded – both observations accurate – and quickly added, “I didn’t—I’m not going to do it, though.”

“No?” Yoongi asked. “Why not?”

The hint of surprise in his voice made you uncomfortable. It sounded like the reasonable decision would have been to accept Nick’s offer and leave Rated Riot to work with this much bigger, much more intimidating band.

“I-I guess I don’t want to be anyone’s assistant anymore,” you stammered. “I like running the ship myself.”

The guitarist’s expression softened. But before he could speak, Namjoon slapped his palm on his thigh and cheered so uncharacteristically loudly that you and Yoongi both pulled back from him in surprise.

“I know that’s fucking right!” Namjoon cried out. “Steer us all right and Rated Riot will surpass them. You’ll be calling that guy to get him to be your assistant.”

You laughed at the unexpected proposition, and Yoongi gave your knee a friendly pat.

“We won’t let you down,” he said, much more collected than the boy next to him. “You know?”

“I know.” You were smiling with all the warmth in your chest. “I believe you, that’s why I don’t want to leave. But, uh—would you mind not telling anyone else about this? I don’t want it to, you know, blow out of proportion. It wasn’t even an official offer, really, he just mentioned that there was an opening. But I just… I thought it would be unfair if I didn’t eventually tell any of you.”

Yoongi nodded knowingly. Rated Riot didn’t have a designated leader, since Namjoon—as their main producer—and Seokjin—as their stage manager—called most of the shots, but as the oldest member of the band, Yoongi was typically the one to talk to you about the heavier topics.

“It’s cool,” he said. “As long as you’re staying with us, no one else really needs to know about this, right?”

What he’d just said—paired with the way he looked at you for a few seconds longer than necessary—seemed to imply something else. Your eyes automatically drifted to Jungkook, who was talking to Seokjin and Jimin on the other side of the room.

You lowered your eyes. “Yeah.”

Yoongi finished his beer in one swift gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, he looked at you again.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” he said.

You met his gaze. “For what?”

“For believing in us enough to stay.”

Namjoon felt himself smile as he quietly finished his beer. He knew he was tipsy, but he wasn’t drunk enough to interrupt the moment between you two.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” you said. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.” Here, you turned to Namjoon. “Right?”

Looking at you in surprise after you addressed him, the producer scrambled to nod.

“Oh, hell yeah!” he said, leaning forward to reach Yoongi’s completely empty bottle with his own. “Here’s to Wembley next year.”

You smiled as the older boy clinked his empty bottle against Namjoon’s, then tipped his head back to get the last stubborn drops.

“Oh, by the way,” Yoongi spoke as he swallowed and immediately coughed. “D-did you find out what was going on with Jungkook and his lyrics?”

It took you a minute to recall your last conversation with Yoongi—the one that had led you to Jungkook, where he had dodged your questions and later snuck into your bunk on the tour bus and kissed you.

“Uh, well.” You tugged at the sleeve of your leather jacket. “He said that the song he played you was just a demo. He’s still working on the melody. And he said that he just has someone who reviews his lyrics for him, nothing more.”

Yoongi nodded to the rhythm of an unusually slow Asking Alexandria song that played from the speakers of the dressing room.

“So, we shouldn’t worry?” he asked, clearly hopeful.

“Apparently, no,” you said with an uneasy smile.

“Alright,” he decided. “Then let’s not worry.”

He looked at Namjoon who nodded in support of this decision.

And so, not worrying was exactly what they did. Instead, Namjoon brought three more bottles of Heineken and you all decided to just feel happy tonight.

As you scanned the room with a new bottle in your hand—while the boys finished their beer in under a minute and Namjoon got up again to bring more—it seemed to you that everyone had made the exact same decision.

Except Taehyung for some reason.

For a good minute, you watched him walk in circles in the very centre of the room. Then, just when you thought he’d stopped, he started another lap around the carpet.

“Excuse me for a minute,” you said to the two boys on the couch—they both nodded—and stood up.

A brief, unexpected fight broke out over the bottle of beer that you’d handed them—Namjoon won—and you hesitated for a moment as you realised you had a new problem and weighed it against the previous one.

The new problem was that Yoongi and Namjoon were getting very drunk. It was almost ridiculous, but probably harmless. Taehyung, on the other hand, seemed to be waiting to perform at four more gigs as soon as he left this room. You had to go to him first.

He had noticed the commotion by the couch, but he did not acknowledge your approach.

“Is everything okay?” You had to stop right in front of him to ask as he continued his frenzied pacing. “You’re kind of walking in circles here.”

Taehyung stopped as if in a daze and looked at you. “Hm? Ah. Lots on my mind, I guess.”

You nodded slowly. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“Uh…” He looked around. The movement seemed thoughtful, but without a clear purpose—it seemed like he was just avoiding your eyes. Then you saw his gaze land on Jungkook. Taehyung looked at him for a moment, then turned back to you and scratched the back of his neck in a telltale sign of universal discomfort. He said, “honestly, maybe it’s not me that you should be talking to.”

You glanced at Jungkook, too—he was explaining something to Jimin with very wild hand gestures. He still appeared to be on a high from the concert.

“You mean Jungkook?” you asked, shifting your attention back to Taehyung. “Is he the reason why you’re pacing?”

“Sort of,” the bassist replied, blinking at the carpet.

You didn’t like the trepidation in your stomach. And you definitely didn’t like the unexpected memory of the alarm that you had seen on Jungkook’s face in your hotel room in Amsterdam.

“Why?” you asked because, despite the ominous dread that you were feeling, it was still your responsibility to know what was going on with the band.

“Just talk to him,” Taehyung advised. “But don’t tell him I said so.”

You hesitated, wanting a bit more information before you dived off this cliff headfirst. You asked, “at least tell me if something happened, so I can be prepared.”

He glanced at Jungkook again. This time, the younger member seemed to sense his gaze as he turned around. Taehyung looked away immediately.

He muttered quickly, “ask about his friends,” and then retreated to the very back of the room until he was fully concealed by Hoseok and Maggie.

A reluctant “oh,” passed your lips, but knowing that Jungkook’s friends were involved meant that there was nothing else that Taehyung could have said to you anyway.

You had to go straight to the source.

You couldn’t say this surprised you. You already got an odd feeling when you walked in on Sid and his Asshole Alliance before the concert tonight, but Jungkook had assured you that everything was fine.

However, if this was something that made Taehyung stomp around the room—which never happened unless the situation was extremely stressful, like the time Luna was getting surgery and he almost rubbed off the soles of his shoes, walking back and forth in the waiting room of the clinic—then it most certainly wasn’t fine.

Your original plan was to wait until everyone was back on the tour bus, since you’d be spending the night in Tilburg anyway. But then you remembered all the times you’d asked Jungkook if everything was okay—and all the times he said it was—and you decided that waiting would not cut it this time.

“Hey,” you said right in the middle of his conversation with Jimin. You added an apologetic, “could you excuse us, please?” but Jimin could tell as soon as he looked at you that he’d better leave.

As quickly as it was humanly possible, he nodded and jogged to join Yoongi and Namjoon by the door of the room. The two of them were loudly discussing their plan to go out and find a bar, but they paused after noticing Jimin.

You watched them for a moment, wondering if you should have stopped them from leaving when they were already so drunk, but they noticed you, waved, and left before you could open your mouth.

Sighing, you turned to Jungkook just as he asked, “what’s up?”

He didn’t appear unusual when you looked at him. But he rarely ever did.

“Are you okay?” you asked in return.

You were both tired of the question, but Jungkook disliked the sound of it particularly much this time. He’d seen you—out of the corner of his eye—take six steps in his direction right after you finished talking to Taehyung.

What if he’d told you?

“Uh, of course,” Jungkook said, looking at you with just as much confusion—and a sprinkle of suspicion—as you were looking at him with. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” you said. Your heart rate increased as if you’d already heard the bad news you were expecting to hear. “How are, um—how’s Sid and everyone else?”

Jungkook disliked this question even more.

“Oh,” he said in a relaxed tone that sounded forced even to him. He cleared his throat and scanned the room for the older member, but didn’t find him. Even more nervous now, he turned to you and tried again. “You mean Sid and the others? They—they’re okay. Sid’s just being annoying, but what else is new? But I’m—we’re all okay. Thanks for, uh, for checking in.”

“Of course,” you said. You waited for him to elaborate so you could discover the reason for Taehyung’s anxiety which resulted in two more members of the band that you needed to worry about.

Honestly, Hoseok was the only one who wasn’t playing with your nerves tonight. You saw him peacefully tapping his foot to the music in the room as he chatted with Maggie and a few other staff members.

Jungkook did not pursue the topic further.

“What did you talk about with, uh—with Taehyung?” he asked instead with all the subtlety of a frightened elephant in a porcelain shop.

“Oh, this and that,” you lied. Then, feeling uncomfortable about lying, you scattered a bit of truth in there, “Luna’s face-timing her mum on the bus, so he was—he’s bored.”

“Ah.” Jungkook nodded. “Makes sense.”

He didn’t think—or didn’t want to think—that Taehyung would tell you about the bet after he asked him not to.

And, really, he tried to be reasonable. If Taehyung had told you, would you be here, peacefully asking him if he was okay?

No. You’d use fists, he presumed. Possibly knees.

“So, there’s nothing you want to tell me?” you asked suddenly, interrupting his masochistic fantasy.

Jungkook swallowed. Whatever it was that you talked about with Taehyung, it was clearly neither this, nor that.

“There is, uh, one thing,” he admitted slowly.

You inhaled. “What is it?”

“What are you plans for the rest of the night?”

This was not what you had braced yourself for. Annoyed by his stalling, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket.

“Well, depending on what you tell me, either I’m arguing with you or going to sleep,” you said. Glancing at the phone in your hand, you added, “it’s two in the morning.”

“We have tomorrow off,” he reminded you. “Well, today, I guess.”

“I know, but we’re going to Cologne—”

“That’s only in the evening.”

“Okay.” You looked around to see if anyone was close enough to hear the two of you. Not that you were doing anything forbidden—just merely bordering on it. “What are you getting at?”

“You’ve finished all your work for the night, right?” he asked and you nodded apprehensively. He said, “come do something with me.”

Once again, the dilemma that plagued your mind whenever you were with him returned.

The responsible thing to do here would be to, of course, gently suggest going to sleep. There was a long day of travel ahead of you, after all.

However, this could be your chance to determine if there was truly something alarming happening between him and his friends. Not to mention, he clearly still had something to tell you, despite appearing to have lost courage after the strange moment in your hotel room.

And, alright – the truth was, you wanted to do something with him.

“That’s very vague,” you finally said. “What do you have in mind?”

“Come with me,” Jungkook said, gesturing towards the door of the dressing room.

You agreed to follow him to the door but paused before leaving the room.

“I’d like more information,” you said, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest.

You tried to convince yourself that there was no logical reason for the entire room to be watching you and Jungkook right now, but you still felt phantom eyes all over yourself.

This wasn’t Hoseok’s party. You were still at the concert venue where Jungkook was the performer, and you were the manager.

He noticed your unease. First, he sighed. Then, as if he was compromising, he extended his hand.

“Take my hand,” he said. “And come with me.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant—”

“Come on,” he cut in, waving his hand in front of you. “Less talking, more holding my hand.”

Because your back obstructed the view of his outstretched hand for everyone else in the room, you knew you didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing this. Still, you let out a slow, anxious breath.

“Fine,” you said with exaggerated irritation to emphasise your displeasure about being kept in the dark. Then you took his hand.

As the two of you exited the room, there were ulterior motives firmly set in both of your minds.

You had to find out what was going on.

He had to tell you what was going on.

And Jungkook had a plan here somewhere. He knew he needed to tell you about the bet tonight, especially since you almost found out about it accidentally right before the show. And also because Taehyung looked about ready to start climbing walls.

He had a rough idea of how he’d like to tell you: it had to happen in a beautiful spot that would make up for the awful revelation he was about to make. If not make up for it, then at least make it worth your while.

And he’d done his research—as always. This was the one lesson from your relationship that he hadn’t learned as he continued to strenuously plan everything in the hopes of making it memorable and unique.

“There’s this spot. The Wandelbos,” he said as the two of you walked hand-in-hand down the corridor of the venue.

He pronounced the word with relative ease, making you wonder how many times he’d heard it. Then he showed pictures on his phone.

“This looks like a forest,” you commented, stopping to scroll through several photographs of squirrels and autumn trees—which wasn’t easy because he refused to let go of your hand as you held his phone.

“It’s a baroque park,” he clarified. “It’s beautiful, supposedly.”

You handed his phone back to him. “I’m sure it is. But not at two in the morning.”

“The path is star-shaped,” he continued, ignoring your interjection as the two of you kept walking. “And there’s a clearing in the middle with a pond and a bridge and—oh, and it’s only about six kilometres away.”

He held the exit door open, allowing you to walk out into the brisk night air.

Crossing the threshold, you looked at him with your eyebrows raised. “You want to walk over there?”

Actually, he did. But your question made him pause. “Uh... no?”

You stopped and waited until he walked out into the parking lot, but his attention was suddenly drawn to something behind you.

You ignored that and said, “well, we can’t rent bicycles at this time and—”

“Sorry—hold on for one second,” he stopped you abruptly.

You turned around and followed his gaze until you spotted Minjun by the restaurant across the street. Your lips parted in involuntary surprise, but it wasn’t Minjun’s presence that really startled you. It was the fact that he was leaning against a motorcycle, of all things, and there were two more bikes parked right next to him.

When you looked back at Jungkook, he looked almost relieved.

How wonderful it was, he thought, that Sid was such an insufferable idiot that he would decide to have a drag race in the middle of the Netherlands.

From across the street, the bike Minjun had rented out appeared to be a Kawasaki. Despite Jungkook’s previous bad experiences with the brand—involving a mild concussion and a dented metal fence, which, in his defence, appeared out of nowhere—this gave him an idea immediately.

“Could we go over there? Or maybe you could wait here for a minute?” he asked you while already walking away—and pulling on your hand until you had to let go because you were absolutely not going over there. He promised, “one minute!”

You could tell right away that he’d just found a potential means of transportation.

“Jungkook, that’s probably not a good idea!” you called out as he neared the street.

“I’ll be right back!” he shouted, forming the shape of a heart with both of his hands as he went.

You cringed as he crossed the street without looking both ways, but fortunately, there weren’t a lot of cars around. Unfortunately, however, you couldn’t hear what he and Minjun talked about due to the distance and the heavy gusts of wind.

You waited alone, with only your confusion for company.

If Jungkook stayed with the band while his friends went out, and now he went over there to borrow some devil-sent motorcycle, then clearly, that had to mean that he finally started to make smart(er) decisions while still being on good terms with his friends.

So, what was it that worried Taehyung so much?

“Dude!” Jungkook exclaimed across the street from you when he finally reached Minjun and scared the hell out of him with his shout—he flinched so vehemently that he nearly knocked the bike over. “Whose is this?”

“Uh—mine. We rented bikes for the race,” Minjun explained and glanced at you standing by the exit of the venue. “Sid was about to call you and force you to come with us—”

“I need it,” Jungkook interrupted, choosing to ignore the fact that there wouldn’t have been enough bikes if he had come along.

Minjun turned to him with raised eyebrows. “Huh?”

“I need to borrow it.”

“Borrow—it’s a rental.” Minjun turned his head to look at the neon green motorcycle. He knew that riding down the city streets with Sid and Jude on rented bikes was already reckless. Subletting the motorcycle to someone else, however, might be equally as stupid. “It’s in my name.”

“It’s the least you can do for me,” Jungkook said right away as if he had planned this in advance instead of only noticing Minjun and the motorcycle a mere two minutes ago.

His words weren’t entirely true, considering that Minjun wasn’t the one who had manipulated him into this mess. But Jungkook was appealing to his conscience—and that thing was eating Minjun alive. You could see it from across the street, even without knowing the reason for it.

Minjun bit his lip, fighting a very unpleasant battle with his own self.

“Okay. Fine,” he conceded, even though he knew very well what Sid would say about his impartiality and about the fact that he’d now have to ride as someone’s passenger—likely Jude’s, because Sid would rather cut his own head off than allow someone else on his bike, even if it was a rental. Hurriedly, Minjun added, “you have to return the bike back by midday tomorrow.”

“Perfect,” Jungkook replied brightly. “That’s more than enough time.”

“I’ll text you the address of the rental place,” Minjun continued, getting his phone out.

Jungkook kept on nodding. “That’s great. You do that.”

His friend typed a text message and pulled out the keys to the bike from his jacket pocket. He tossed them to Jungkook just as his phone vibrated.

“Don’t wreck it,” Minjun warned. “Or yourself.”

Jungkook grinned, swinging his right leg over the motorcycle and putting the key in the ignition. “I won’t. Thanks again!”

His friend glanced back at the restaurant, suddenly grateful that the take-out was taking so long to prepare. This meant that Sid and Jude wouldn’t notice Minjun giving the bike away—even though they would notice it gone and would probably realise where it went.

Meanwhile, Jungkook revved the engine and turned towards the parking lot of the venue.

The Kawasaki felt unusual underneath him and it made him miss his Katana, but he swallowed the disconcert. Beggars couldn’t be choosers—this was better than nothing in any case.

He stopped right in front of you in the parking lot, switched the engine off, and leaned back from the handlebar to give you a smile.

“So?” He patted the side of the bike. “Ready for a ride?”

You shook your head, disapproving of the cheesy grin on his face, and sunk your teeth into your tongue to resist a smile.

There were numerous—numerous—reasons why you weren’t ready to climb on this bright green monstrosity that must have been visible from any space station above. If not visible, then certainly audible.

“There’s only one helmet,” was the one concern that you chose to voice.

Jungkook hadn’t considered that as he glanced at the helmet, attached to the tail of the bike. He leaned over to unhook it and offered it to you.

“No,” you said before he started to speak. “If anything, you should be the one wearing it. You’re the driver. And the vocalist of a band that’s literally on tour right now. You can’t perform if you get your head snapped off.”

“Can’t perform if I get yours snapped off, either,” he argued. “Put it on. I’ll go slow.”

This was still a safety hazard, and at first, you debated arguing. Then you tried to rationalise.

Jungkook hadn’t had any alcohol after the show—which was very unusual, now that you thought about it. He must have been planning something all along.

Additionally, the streets were mostly empty, except for one car whose driver gaped suspiciously at the many motorcycles on the street, narrowing his eyes at each and every one of them as he drove past.

There was also Minjun across the street, looking as though he was praying that you and Jungkook would drive off quickly.

“Come on,” Jungkook encouraged. You understood his impatience—if Minjun was here, the rest of the Insolent Idiots couldn’t be far behind.

You looked back at the helmet in his hands.

This wouldn’t be the first time you’d gotten on a motorcycle with Jungkook, but it had been a while.

He had always been a huge fan of anything that could reach over a hundred in under five seconds, so he’d been riding bikes since before he was legally allowed to. However, the two of you had already broken up when he purchased and restored the Katana that he never stopped talking about—so you’d never ridden with him when he actually owned the vehicle.

It occurred to you suddenly that Jungkook had probably never mentioned his motorcycle since the tour started. You made a mental note to ask him about that later.

Now, you finally took the helmet from him and pushed it over your head. Maybe the most important justification for your decision was this: you’d missed the excited twirling of your heart when he took you for a ride.

The joy that Jungkook felt as he watched you put the helmet on surprised him.

He remembered the first time you struggled to fasten the straps under your chin and managed to graze your skin. Now, listening to you sigh as you squeezed the helmet over your head and tightened the straps without his help, he realised that you hadn’t forgotten. That you were still used to this.

Excited shivers ran across his skin as you climbed on the bike behind him. But he could sense your apprehension—your initial instinct was to hold onto the back of the bike.

“Come on, now. This isn’t your first time,” he said, looking at you over his shoulder. “You know I won’t go unless I know you’re holding on tight.”

“I assure you,” you said. Your voice was muffled by the helmet. “I’m holding on tight.”

He clicked his tongue as he turned to face forward again. “I happen to not believe you.”

“Tough.”

“We’ll be here a while, it seems.” He released the handles and leaned back. “Maybe we should see if Sid wants to join us, I’m sure he would love to—”

“My God!” you groaned. “Fine.”

You wrapped your hands around his waist but kept your touch light, almost nervous. Grinning, Jungkook reached for your hands and pulled them closer to make sure you had a strong hold.

When he squeezed the clutch, he felt you tighten your arms around him even more. Satisfied that he could feel more of your weight against his back, he finally pressed the starter and pulled the bike off.

He raced down the street—much to Minjun’s relief—at a speed that definitely would have been dangerous for someone without a helmet if there had been other cars around. But the road was empty and there were hardly any turns to make.

And as he sped down these empty streets, you had to admit to yourself that this was, simply, thrilling.

The rapid pace seemed to elevate your insides, forcing you to hold onto Jungkook more tightly as you rested your head against his back and watched the streetlights blur together. The deafening sound of the engine, the dark visor of your helmet, the intoxicating speed, the rough metal underneath your thighs, and the soft leather of the jacket that he was wearing—all of it was absolutely exhilarating.

Jungkook knew—he’d always known—that you would have enjoyed the thrill of a late-night ride far more than a simple walk down the Tilburg streets.

And he was excited to see your silly grin and dilated pupils after you took off the helmet outside of the park. He was almost flustered by your glow—and by the fact that he was the reason why you looked so happy and so overwhelmingly full of life.

He nearly forgot to lock the bike as he looked at you.

But then the sudden memory of why he’d brought you here caught up to him like a painful crash.

“Uh, so,” he turned away, “should we go explore?”

“Might as well,” you joked weakly. Your legs were still a little shaky from the ride. “Since we’re already here anyway.”

“Right. Well, I wouldn’t mind taking another drive,” he said with a more confident smirk—that only grew in size and arrogance when he saw you smile at the suggestion. Then, he looked down and added, “but I also wouldn’t mind just walking and… talking.”

The two of you had done a lot of that—just walking and talking—since the tour started, so agreeing to this felt natural and harmless.

The park was beautiful indeed, just as the pictures on Jungkook’s phone had promised. Granted, walking through it at night when the streetlights were so sparse, provided a layer of eerie uncertainty—but even now, you were mesmerised.

In addition to the bold squirrels, peeking at you through the tree branches—their fur barely noticeable among the dark foliage, but their little beady eyes glistening—you could also see the sky above. You could see all of it, it seemed. And the patterns of the stars were so bright that you found yourself stopping several times, utterly captivated by them.

You regretted not learning the names of constellations—or how to differentiate them—but looking at the night sky was a breathtaking experience regardless.

The sky looked different here. And it felt closer, too. It was something you didn’t believe you could ever get used to, no matter how much you stayed here.

After a short while, you and Jungkook arrived at a pond, and he informed you that this was the very centre of the park.

It reminded you of home in an odd way, even though there weren’t many ponds back home—and none of them looked quite as charming as this one. Yet there was something familiar here, something homely. Even at night, in a park that resembled a forest more than a cosy picnic spot, there was something heartwarming here.

You could have been feeling this way, you supposed, because Jungkook was holding your hand as he guided you down a narrow plank over a dark creek. Without him, the eeriness of spending the night in an old park alone would have been much more noticeable. But with him here, it just felt comfortable. As if you both knew that you were destined to be safe from all harm here.

The stream ran deeper into the forest, and there were several benches scattered in the clearing on either side of the creek. The two of you sat down on one of them and listened to the silence of the trees and the gentle flow of the water.

Remembering suddenly, you spoke up—quietly, mindful not to disrupt the peace of all living things around you. “Did you know that my parents actually had their first date by a creek?”

Jungkook turned to you. He was more comfortable being loud, because he didn’t feel like a guest here. With you there, he sort of felt like the night—and everything that it touched—belonged to him.

“That’s a… very specific location,” he commented.

“Yeah.” You snickered. “There were no creeks in our town, dad took mum to the city where he grew up.”

“Oh, that’s actually nice,” he said, a little surprised. He’d never met your dad, but he knew that ‘nice’ wasn’t the adjective that was usually used in the same sentence as his name. “Was the creek special to him?”

“Not really,” you replied, shattering the romantic image that had already formed in his head. “It was the only pretty place that he could think of at the time. At least that’s what my mum thought.”

Careful, because this was a delicate topic and he didn’t want to come off like he was defending your dad, Jungkook asked, “she never found out if there was, maybe, more to it?”

“She never asked,” you said. “Either way, that date didn’t exactly end well. In the long-term, I mean.”

Jungkook looked down at the dark ground beneath his boots. A few blades of grass poked through the dirt on the shore of the creek.

“I know what you mean,” he said slowly. “But can you really say that with such certainty? She has two kids. And you’re both pretty great.”

You smiled at this, and it gave him the courage to smile, too.

“Thanks,” you said. “And yeah. I guess you’re right. Some good did come out of it.”

The two of you were quiet for a minute. It was a comfortable minute, too, but only as long as you managed to keep your mind empty.

You succeeded—the memories of the stories that your mum had told you were slowly fading, overtaken by the calming whispers of the trees around you—but he didn’t.

“I never asked—and I don’t want to intrude now, but, uh,” Jungkook started, “from what you’ve told me before, I assumed that your parents got back together at some point, right?”

You nodded with an exhale from somewhere deeper than just your chest.

“Several points, actually,” you said.

Happy that you seemed willing to share this, he encouraged, “yeah?”

“Yeah. She kept taking him back when I was young, and my brother was—well, a baby, essentially,” you said. “Everyone told her not to do it, not even for the kids. They told her to move on, maybe find someone better. My uncle—mum’s brother—protested against this especially much. He had been against their marriage from the very beginning. But my mum loved the guy.”

The smile on your face when you said that last part made Jungkook tense—it contradicted so much with the sadness in your eyes.

“Did he love her back?” he asked.

You were about to respond with a reflexive answer that had been ingrained in you by years and years of your mother screaming about how your father was a good-for-nothing loser, how he could never love anyone other than himself, and plenty of other colourful descriptions that you probably shouldn’t have known at your age at the time. And yet, despite the intensity of her emotions after every break-up, she still took him back. Until one day she didn’t.

And now you had to pause.

“That’s probably a million-dollar question,” you said with a sad chuckle. “I don’t know. Is that awful of me to say? She doesn’t think he did, but she still got back together with him so many times. So maybe he did love her in his own fucked up way. But I-I don’t think someone who loves you is supposed to hurt you like that.”

Jungkook had leaned back as he listened to you and he nearly toppled over backwards at your words.

You were right, of course.

Someone who loved you should have never hurt you.

He swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking. “That’s, uh—that’s not awful. That’s sad, I think. Your mum deserves better.”

“She does,” you agreed. “But I understand now that—well, in a way, she is who she is because of all that happened to her. She’s very strong and she cares so much. And the fact that her only flaw is loving people too much, it’s—I don’t know. Lately, that just makes me admire her more. Because she sees the best in people. No one does that these days, everyone’s always afraid to get hurt. But my mum, she’s like—she’s fearless. You know? I genuinely respect that.”

“Even if she really does end up getting hurt?” Jungkook asked.

“Yeah. Even then. And maybe that’s the thing,” you said, looking up at the sky again. “I mean, in general. The people we love are the only ones who can hurt us like that. Or, rather, it’s precisely because we love them that it hurts so much.”

“Hmm.”

He wasn’t sure if you were still talking about your parents by the time you reached the last few sentences, but he was too afraid to ask. He couldn’t even look at you as he stayed frozen in the same spot.

“I’m probably not making much sense,” you added with a small, uncertain laugh. “I just meant that it took me a while to understand my mum. Actually, I don’t know if I even fully understand her to this day, but um… I watched her give second chances to people who held the most against her and could hurt her the most. I thought they didn’t deserve it. But she... She knew the risk, she was familiar with heartbreak, and still, she stayed hopeful. For a long time, I resented that. I thought that was a—a weakness. It sounds cruel. But I thought I could never do that.”

You paused again. The memories—of more than just your parents—flashed in your mind a little too quickly for you to collect your thoughts. You looked down to compose yourself and felt Jungkook’s hesitant glance.

Finally, you finished, “all these years of watching the back-and-forth between my parents… It made me think that I could never give someone a second chance.”

Digging into the dirt with the heel of his boot, Jungkook asked, “you, uh… you don’t think so anymore?”

He glanced at you once more and then looked away again, even though you weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was fixed on the creek in front of you.

“I don’t know,” you said after a moment. “I think I’m less decided about it now. I admire my mum for having the courage for it, even though it rarely ever works out. And now I guess I think that it is more of a case-by-case kind of thing. It depends on the person.”

Feeling as if his chest had absorbed the water from the pond and everything inside of him was being flooded, Jungkook didn’t dare to inhale.

Breathlessly, he asked, “what about me?”

“You?” you echoed awkwardly. He gave the smallest of nods in response.

You realised quickly that you hadn’t said this to him in over four years, and it felt terrifying to admit it now with the solemn trees, a hurried creek, and curious squirrels for an audience.

“Well, fuck.” You swallowed. “I mean, I love you. You know?” You chuckled to hide your unease and leaned down to touch the blades of grass growing under the bench. “Too much for my own good, probably.”

Jungkook suddenly forgot how to breathe. He looked up instead, but only caught a glimpse of the stars in the sky before he closed his eyes. The view behind his eyelids felt more special to him than the shimmering sky above—it was all darkness and dim echoes of you saying you loved him.

He couldn’t tell you now. How could he? You loved him.

And a second chance with you was all he’d ever wanted.

When he opened his eyes again, you were watching him. There was a haziness in your eyes—from the starry night, from the motorcycle drive, from the long overdue confession—and a small smile on your lips.

The moment that his eyes drifted to your lips, he felt himself inhale—more than once and he would have floated away—before he leaned in, responding to everything you’d said with a kiss.

He’d tell you about the bet, he would—but not now. Not when he felt your breath hitch as his lips touched yours. Not when you kissed him back, replacing all air in his lungs with your taste.

Right now, neither of you needed to say any other word as the forest around you settled. The leaves were frozen as if the wind didn’t dare to rustle them for fear of interrupting you.

The thought made you smile into the kiss—what a self-centred way to interpret your surroundings—and Jungkook pulled you closer.

For a minute, he made it feel like the world really did stop turning for the two of you. Like the forces of the universe had interfered to—

He pulled away all of a sudden, breathing so heavily that he was nearly hyperventilating.

He couldn’t do this. He’d already done too much.

The time that he’d borrowed—that he’d stolen—to be with you in peace had run out. Not even the universe could give it back to him.

“I’m sorry. There’s just, um,” he began, looking down and bringing a hesitant finger over his lower lip. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You felt your heart skip over a beat.

Immediately, you found yourself returning to the hotel room in Amsterdam. It felt vastly different now and the difference sobered you up—you had been in your hotel room then, but you were alone in an empty park tonight. And you realised that discussing it here would be a mistake.

Whatever he was about to tell you might make it difficult for you to stay here and you would have no way to leave.

“Wait,” you said. The word caught him off guard. “Tell me when we get back.”

He blinked. The very reason why he’d brought you here was to tell you the truth in a place that was yours for the night.

“W-why?” he asked.

“It’s not fair to me otherwise,” you said. Your heart had shifted from pleasant pounding to near-panicked banging, and you were starting to feel nauseous. “I’d be very inconvenienced if I was left here alone.”

Jungkook appeared even more perplexed. “Why would you be—I’m not leaving. I’m staying with you.”

“That’s assuming I don’t kill you after you tell me what you’re about to tell me,” you tried to joke. There was a small—almost desperate—smirk on the corner of your lips.

Jungkook looked away.

“Oh.” Nervously, he licked his lips. He hadn’t considered you being so uncomfortable after he told you that you wouldn’t want him around. And now that he thought about it, he felt a little dizzy. “Well, that’s, uh… that’s fair enough. Should we—do you want to go back?”

The dread in your stomach seemed to grow at this question.

You knew that you had to be aware of what was happening with him, but the ceremony of it—the trip to this beautiful spot and the kiss that unintentionally coaxed him into the truth—scared you.

You wanted to resist the rational parts of your mind and stay here, where you had just forbidden him from speaking about this.

“Not really,” you admitted.

Jungkook nodded, relieved by your honesty. “Me neither.”

So, you stayed still for another minute. Then another minute. And another one. Until all the additional time you’d given yourselves had run out, too.

You peeked at Jungkook out of the corner of your eye, afraid suddenly that he would look back at you and then you’d have to talk, after all.

He seemed very far away. Much further than that first night in Amsterdam, when he came to your hotel room to talk.

Now there were sirens blaring in his head and a relentless pounding in his chest. You could almost hear it when you looked at him.

At last, you said, “but we can’t stay here forever.”

Despite looking like he had drifted into another realm deep inside of his mind, Jungkook sighed. He’d been listening to you breathe, listening to the way the wind played with your hair. He was here.

But he really wished he wasn’t.

“I know,” he said.

Still, the two of you remained on the bench for another five minutes, surrounded by the quiet rustling of the weary trees. Even they seemed anxious for you.

This might be the last silence the two of you would share, Jungkook thought grimly.

He felt terrified.

Finally, he took a breath and turned to you. “Let’s—”

A faint buzzing from the back pocket of your jeans startled you both. The sound seemed so foreign here, like something that had travelled across time and space, and accidentally ended up here—in your universe, where it didn’t belong.

You pulled out your phone and saw, first of all, that it was four in the morning, and then that Namjoon was calling you.

“I should take this,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the tension that had left your hands very cold.

“Go ahead,” Jungkook mumbled.

This was fine, he tried to tell himself while you stepped away from him to answer the call. He would take you back to the truck stop where the tour buses should have been parked by now. And then he would tell you.

And whatever happened next would—

“So, that was Namjoon,” you said, returning to him with your phone in hand. The call had lasted for less than a minute. “Apparently, someone stole Yoongi’s laptop.”

Nearly thrown off balance at the news that sounded somehow disrespectful, considering the many things you already had to process, Jungkook frowned.

“Someone stole Yoongi’s laptop?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” you said, sliding the phone back into your pocket. You knew something like this would eventually happen. “Namjoon said that he and Yoongi went out for more drinks, and when they got back to the bus, the laptop was gone. They’re not sure when was the last time they saw it.”

Jungkook stood up from the bench. “Well, why do they think someone stole it? Maybe he just lost it.”

“Yoongi’s not the kind who loses things,” you pointed out.

“Well, Namjoon could have lent a hand with that.”

You shook your head to conceal your small, involuntary smile and shrugged, acknowledging that there was a chance that this really was a false alarm. Especially if Namjoon was involved. You all loved him very much, but he had a talent like no one else to consistently misplace his own—and others—belongings.

“They were already quite drunk when I talked to them backstage before leaving,” you said. “So it’s possible they got even more wasted and just lost track of it. Either way, I need to go back and find out what happened.”

You returned to being the band’s manager, and Jungkook wasn’t sure how to handle the sudden switch. He wasn’t sure how to handle anything that was happening. This whole park was spinning around him.

He felt a little bit like the creek behind him as he watched you—flowing somewhere on pure instinct, with no clear destination in sight.

“Yeah. Okay,” he said. Hesitantly, he extended his hand for you to take—to help you over the loose wooden plank again. And to ground himself with your touch. “Let’s go, then. We’ll talk later?”

You took his hand. “Yeah. We’ll talk later.”

The truth was, you did not want to talk later.

You had a terrible feeling about it, and however irresponsible it may have been, you wanted to delay it as much as possible.

When you and Jungkook returned to the truck stop, Yoongi and Namjoon had already figured out where the laptop was. They looked very pleased to have remembered the Locate My Device app, never mind that you were the one who had kindly reminded them about it over the phone.

The laptop was, as it turned out, at a McDonald’s across the city. Neither boy could recall ever going there, so they remained convinced the device had been stolen.

You listened to their hypothesis with a serious face. But, unlike them, you were sober—the few beers you’d had after the concert were long forgotten—and you knew that the “thief” would probably be smart enough not to stop for a McFlurry after stealing someone’s computer.

The logical explanation was that your usually lovable and dependable boys had gotten so drunk that they’d forgotten about the fast food trip and left the laptop there themselves.

Regardless, you had to investigate. Because Yoongi and Namjoon were both pale with terror—and still buzzing from the spontaneous beer-tasting adventure that they’d gone on—it was up to you to find the computer.

You didn’t mind. This was your job, anyway. And you were eager to do something that did not involve talking about whatever it was that Jungkook wanted to talk to you about.

Jungkook, on the other hand, did mind. And it was evident when you exited the bus and saw him standing by the doors, pouting.

“I have to pick up the laptop,” you said, “and maybe report it to the police if it was really stolen.”

“Should I come with you?” he offered, not meaning to give you the option to refuse—which you took, of course.

“No,” you said, “you need to rest.”

“And you don’t?” he countered. “You’re the one who’s so overworked that—”

“Don’t start with that again,” you said, raising a stern hand to cut him off before someone overheard. You caught the flash of surprise in his eyes and the expression on your face softened a little.

You hadn’t meant to sound harsh, but you’ve had an impossibly long day.

“Don't worry about me,” you said. “This is my job. I have things to do. Laptops to save.”

“If I come, then—”

“Stay here,” you interrupted. “You had a show tonight. Now you have to get some sleep. I’ll be back soon.”

Biting his lip as mixed feelings of guilt and regret bubbled in his stomach, he asked, “we’ll, uh—we’ll talk, though. Right?”

“We’ll talk,” you promised. “Tomorrow.”

He fought with himself for another moment and then ended up saying, “okay. You never take me with you anyway.”

You didn’t have time to argue, so you kissed him before you went—quickly, softly, and with a nervous smile as you pulled away—and his heart seemed to leave with you as empty echoes of his racing pulse reverberated through his chest.

Tomorrow was very far away.

That would have been good if Jungkook still felt the paralysing panic from a few days ago. But even though he still felt scared now, he had already braced himself for the emotional consequences of telling you about the bet. Delaying it—against his will, this time—felt excruciating.

He knew he was the one to blame – he kissed you in the park instead of telling you about it right away, and then he agreed to wait until tomorrow.

And maybe this was what he deserved. He should have told you. But he hesitated and tried to convince himself of all sorts of irrational thoughts—and now here he was.

Alone.

And he was so frightened of being alone that he climbed right back on the motorcycle and headed to the address of the rental shop that Minjun had given him. He needed to do something, because he couldn’t sleep and he couldn’t scream at the top of his lungs, either.

Easily enough, Jungkook found himself in the bar of a hotel across the street from the rental shop. The shop didn’t open until eight, so he had a little over two hours before he could return the bike. A little over two hours before the night ended and he had to figure out what to do next.

He finished his first glass before a single thought could occur to him. By the second one, he felt his body start to relax, but chaos continued to reign in his mind.

What will I do, what will I do, what will I do?

As Jungkook lost track of how many drinks he had, he pondered every which way to reveal this to you and all the questions that you might ask.

What was the trip to Paris for? And the persistent way he followed you around? The conversation on the bridge in Stockholm? On the rooftop in Oslo? The bicycles in Amsterdam? The nights in your hotel room?

None of that was truly for the bet. But would it matter?

You said you loved him tonight. But you’d hate him tomorrow.

Maybe he could wait for five days until he formally lost the bet. Maybe he should tell you then. Maybe the fact that he lost something important to him would make up for—no.

Jungkook shook his head, nearly spilling the bourbon in his glass. He paused then, not even sure if he was still drinking bourbon. It all just tasted wet to him at that point.

Regardless, he couldn’t tell you after losing the bike. Even losing it didn’t seem like such a tragedy right now, compared to losing you.

While he agonised over it, the bartender continued bringing him drinks—always on the rocks, even though he couldn’t feel the cold anymore. The bartender was a kind elderly man, who probably should have known better than to keep serving alcohol to someone at six in the morning, but his experience told him that Jungkook was someone who needed it tonight.

Soon, however, Jungkook’s pride—his high tolerance for alcohol—became his biggest foe. He didn’t even realise how intoxicated he had become.

For all intents and purposes, he believed he was still fairly sober, considering how easily he spilt everything that was bothering him to the bartender. He even understood the advice he received in return—not that there was much to it.

“You have to tell her, son.”

He did have to tell you. He knew that.

And he was going to, he decided. Right now.

Jungkook found his way out of the bar with relative ease. Sure, he forgot that he had driven Minjun’s bike there, but he was able to walk without stumbling much, and that surely had to be an achievement.

Swaying only slightly, he stopped in the lot where the bus was parked and found your contact in his phone. Of course, the many emojis he’d used ensured that your name was the first one on the list, but he still found it easily enough.

Now, he had to admit this: he wasn’t sure if you actually answered his call. But he asked you to please, come outside, and within three minutes, you were standing in front of him.

If he had been aware of how drunk he was, he would have realised that he was screaming, so it didn’t matter if you’d picked up his call or not. You would have heard him anyway.

“What’s going on?” you asked, too confused to feel worried. You’d just returned with Yoongi’s laptop about half an hour ago. You weren’t sure if you’d even fallen asleep before coming outside again. “Are you drunk?”

There was exhaustion in your posture that Jungkook was too drunk to identify. You were very tired of dealing with the problems of drunk people tonight.

When Jungkook spoke, words poured out before he could properly think them through.

“Listen,” he said. His tongue felt oversized in his mouth. “I have to tell you something. I can’t—I should’ve told you this a long time ago. Maybe on the same day. Actually,” he hiccupped, “I never should’ve done this at all, then there would be nothing to tell.”

He hesitated for a moment, because in his mind—which was positively swimming in whiskey—he worried that his words may have caused a misunderstanding. He saw the frown on your face and cut in before you started to speak.

“Actually, no,” he said. “There would be things to tell. Because I like—I really—I like to talk to you. I want to tell you all kinds of things...” he paused here. Shook his head. “But not this. I don’t want to tell you this. But I must.”

He thought he came off very determined here, very confident. Really, he just sounded tired and drunk.

“Jungkook,” you said. “When I said we’ll talk tomorrow, I meant in the morning.”

“It’s—” He hiccupped again. “It’s morning.”

He wasn’t wrong, of course.

“After we got some sleep,” you clarified.

“Well, I can’t wait that long,” he insisted, stomping his foot and throwing himself off-balance. He had to lean against the side of the bus to stay upright.

You could tell that whatever he wanted to tell you was far worse than you expected. He was so drunk that he could barely stand, yet he was as determined as ever to get it all out right now.

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest. The anxiety that you’d evaded was quick to resurface, and even you felt a little unsteady on your feet.

“Okay,” you said. “Well, what is it?”

Jungkook straightened as much as he could.

A deep inhale, followed by a sharp, rushed exhale.

“I made a bet with Sid that I’d get back together with you.”

Silence came next.

You felt a sinking sensation deep within you as if something—an invisible current—was pulling you under the surface of the water. The ground beneath you swirled in uncertain whirlpools.

“Sid said I couldn’t do it,” Jungkook continued after a moment, his eyes cast low. “And I was—I wanted to prove him wrong. He is wrong. He’s always wrong, he’s such a—anyday. I mean, anyway. T-that’s not—I didn’t—this isn’t making any sense.” He slapped himself on the forehead in newfound frustration and you flinched at the abrupt motion. The slap only made the truck stop start to spin around him. Pressing his hands to his hips, he tried to explain, “I didn’t win or anything. Which you obviously know, since we aren’t back together.”

He laughed sadly here. You narrowed your eyes and felt one of them twitch.

The night was cold, and you clutched your arms tighter around yourself. Your posture was not aggressive—you gazed somewhere past him and you appeared frightened. You looked as if the wind might snatch you and carry you off to a place that he could not reach.

But then your eyes met his and there was a frigid emptiness there that he didn’t recognise. He shrunk into himself when he noticed it.

“I-I bet my bike, so I lost that,” he continued. “Well, not yet, but I’m going to lose it soon. Not on purpose, but Sid won’t fucking let me end the bet—” he cut himself off by inhaling again.

It seemed like there was so much oxygen in his lungs—he kept breathing in as he spoke, but never breathing out.

“That’s not the point,” he finished his thought. “What I wanted to do—to say, I mean—is that I’m sorry. I wasn’t—I shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid. Sid got in my head.”

“Sid,” you repeated suddenly. The sharp sound of your voice startled him into looking up. “Got in your head.”

He looked at you for half a heartbeat. Somewhere in the whiskey haze, he could recall his conversation with Taehyung—or someone who resembled Taehyung. Jungkook remembered something about this being his own responsibility.

But then, he wasn’t sure if he remembered who Taehyung even was. Because, to be honest, he wasn’t sure if he remembered who he was.

“That’s an—that’s… that’s an excuse,” he managed to say. The letter S tasted wrong in his mouth. He clicked his tongue and continued, “he’s always in my head. I should’ve known better. I—I’m so sorry.”

You were breathing heavily, but you weren’t speaking.

He blinked his heavy eyes, each one of his eyelashes like lead.

“I just… I want you to know that everything that happened—it wasn’t because of the bet,” he said, swallowing after a great struggle. All these drinks tonight, and his throat still felt dry. “It was because I am—I really have been in love with you the whole time, and I—but I couldn’t—I can’t ask you to get back together while there’s this bet going on. Not that you’d agree—I just hope that you would—but I... i-it wouldn’t feel fair. It’s so—it’s all so fucking stupid.”

He groaned again and covered his face with his hands for a moment while he tried to collect his thoughts. There was so much he wanted to tell you and all of it was coming out so quickly that he wasn’t sure he told you anything at all.

“I had to—I should’ve told you sooner,” he said. Then, biting his lip harder than he’d meant to—the metal piercing dug into it painfully—he added, more softly, “I’m really sorry.”

You remained firm in your position and really started to resemble a statue. Contrary to what he expected, you didn’t ask him a single question. You just stared at him without any distinct emotion in your eyes.

He didn’t know what to do.

“Aren’t you,” he said shakily, “going to say anything?”

You finally moved—to inhale, then exhale. All through it, your chin was turned up as you looked at the line of trees in the distance.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” you finally said.

It was a sharp knife to his chest, this hollow voice that was supposed to belong to you.

He hung his head and took a deep breath.

None of this mattered.

It was over.

“You’re drunk,” you added then. “Go to sleep.”

He thought he caught a glimpse of sympathy in your words and he grasped at this flimsy straw and held onto it with all his might.

“Y-you heard me, though, right?” he tried, his voice desperate, eyes watery. “None of it was for the bet, I really—”

“Go to sleep, Jungkook.”

He couldn’t go to sleep, not if it meant he’d have no one to wake up to.

“Can I—” He coughed, the words catching on the sandpaper in his throat. “Can I talk to you in the morning?”

You stayed silent for a long, almost never-ending minute. Jungkook counted each second in his head, and he knew he might have messed up the numbers at least three times, but it still felt like you’d never speak again.

“I don’t think,” you finally said, “we have anything left to talk about.”

You turned around, but stopped for less than a moment, seemingly hesitating when you heard him call your name. Then you took another step and opened the door of the bus, climbing inside and leaving him here alone.

This wasn’t the first time you walked away from him, but this time, he knew it was his fault.

And there was another element to the suffocating grip around his neck—ever since you began to manage Rated Riot, you’d never left him alone when he was drunk.

But you left him tonight.

And even drunk, he knew what it meant.

He thought he’d prepared himself for this. But the sight of your back as you walked away from him, the sound of the bus door as it clicked shut behind you, and the feeling of complete silence around him at the truck stop—it all finally knocked all the oxygen out of his lungs. It made his heart beat faster, ridding his bloodstream of alcohol until all that he felt was pain.

He was not prepared for this. He doubted he ever could have prepared for it.

But he should have known this would happen.

He really fucked up. He ruined everything. It was over.

Hunching over as he tried to inhale but couldn’t, Jungkook pressed his hand to his chest. He felt something pulsating under his fingers, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Someone had emptied out the cavity inside of him where his organs had once been and filled it with rocks.

His vision was white and blurred. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t stand.

He didn’t know what was happening to him.

He felt himself slide over the side of the bus until he hit the floor and smacked his head into the bus wall as violent tremors took over his body. He tried to breathe as he counted the beats of his heart until he couldn’t listen to his pulse whispering the same conclusion to him over and over again.

It was over.

It was over.

It was over.

It was—

His hand dug into the gravel on the ground, then grabbed the front of his shirt and held it in a tight fist. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Nothing worked to stop the relentless judgment from breaching his resistant mind.

He ruined everything. It was over.

Jungkook didn’t know how long he struggled to fill his lungs with something other than the heavy, opaque pain of losing you again.

He didn’t know why he struggled, nothing even mattered anymore.

When he eventually realised that he was still here and you still weren’t, there was an early morning redness in his eyes and on the edges of the sky above him.

Most unusually, the only clear thought in his head was about the bike that he’d told Minjun he would return. Another promise that he had failed to keep as he suddenly remembered abandoning the motorcycle by the bar.

Then he remembered the bar.

He had already drunk half of it.

He struggled to his feet, rubbed his eyes with the balls of his palms, and went back to finish the other half.

chapter title credits: bad omens, “what do you want from me?”

prev ○ next

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Embroidery" - Kaz Brekker x Reader

SUMMARY: Gloves are important to Kaz - it's the only way he can relatively safely interact with the outside world. They are also slightly more privileged than you as they can accompany him anytime and anywhere. To aid this inequality, you stitch a white primrose onto one of his gloves: Someone waits for you to come back.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.2k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾

There was something wicked in your patient anticipation for this moment like a predator that seems to have all the time in the world while waiting for the prey to breathe its final breath. But contrary to a pouncing lion, you had to remain inconspicuous until your plan has been brought to life. That shouldn’t come as a surprise - Kaz Brekker is a lot more wary than a dying gazelle. 

You’re used to Kaz being somewhat restless and uneasy but today he’s jumpy. Usually, when he comes to visit you at your home, he allows you to come incredibly close to him and he doesn’t shy away from touching you. This time, however, something’s wrong. Unintentionally, he’s holding one of his hands away from his body - the same way one does upon cutting their finger. Hanging his coat and hat, he’s using mostly only one of his hands as though he did hurt himself earlier that day. Then, when you reach out to help him, Kaz suddenly flinches away from you.

With eyebrows knitted close together, you’re watching his bizarre act. Over the time you’ve known him, he’s come to you bloodied and beaten but never… averse. That’s when you notice the tiniest detail that, truthfully, you’ve been waiting to appear but maybe without this whole strange change in his demeanour: his left glove is pierced through, revealing pasty skin underneath.

“There's a hole in your glove,” you state. You’ve imagined this very scene so many times, you simply have to play your part perfectly in spite of the excitement bubbling in your chest.

Kaz gives you a quick glance but it's enough for you to notice the nervousness and uneasiness in his eyes. He’s clearly on edge, barely clinging to sanity. “I’m aware,” he answers in a shaky voice.

“Let me fix it for you.”

“I can do this myself, thank you.”

“Come on, I can tell you’ve been through a lot already. When was the last time you ate? Or slept?”

Kaz clenches his jaw. Reluctantly, he takes off his left glove and hands it to you. In a vain effort to appear a lot more laid-back than he truly is, he puts his bare palm into the pocket of his pants.

“It’ll be over before you know it.”

You disappear around the corner, leaving him to his own devices. Without anything better to do, too restless and shaken up, Kaz just sits down on the edge of the sofa. He rests his elbows on his knees and places his chin atop his fists, staring into the corridor you have just disappeared in.

After a moment, his eyes begin to wander around the living room. What caught his eye the first time he came here is the amount of knick-knacks gathering dust. Windowsill, table, mantlepiece, windowed cupboards - items he’s never seen moved or used. For the longest time he couldn’t understand why you’d leave this clutter around but the better he’s got to know you, the more he understood. All of those useless things are like postcards sent by the people you care about: ‘Life goes on and maybe we don’t talk as much as we used to but I’m thinking about you’. There was a time when Kaz felt envious of the knick-knacks as their immovable character is to your life like a scar is to skin. But then he realized his position is much better. He’s here, after all. His presence in your life can not be limited to a porcelain doll or a cross-stitch of the port in Os Kervo. Kaz is not a scar but more a knife that’s still slicing open a wound. Maybe he’s even more than that - maybe he’s a blade piercing and penetrating your body. And the only way to live is to leave the knife in to stop the bleeding, despite the pain it brings.

Thinking about knives and porcelain dolls, he doesn’t notice you come back at first. Only when you speak up does he shake away from his slightly macabre thoughts:

“I fixed your glove.”

In a strangely panicked manner, Kaz almost snatches back his garment. He’s quickly putting in on and when he turns his wrist to examine your sewing, his breath hitches in his throat.

He recognizes the flower almost immediately. The white and yellow petals make him remember a painting he’s seen somewhere, although Kaz can’t be sure where exactly but that doesn’t matter. What he is certain of, however, is the scenery presented on the canvas: an army marching out of Os Alta. Women run after men in uniforms, shoving white primroses in their hands. Silently, they beg the Saints, generals and kings to let their husbands, fathers and sons return home safely. Maybe a frail flower is nowhere near enough to protect a soldier from a Fjerdan or a Shu Han highlander but it’s the only thing they can do for the men they love so desperately.

“A little silly, I know,” you interrupt the tense silence. “I just wanted you to have something to remind you of me.”

What a stupid thought, that he could ever forget you.

Kaz clears his throat. “Thank you,” he answers slightly awkwardly. He wants to say something meaningful to you, make it known that not only does he understand your thoughtful gesture but he also shares the sentiment: ‘As long as you’ll have me, I’ll always come back. Even if I have to cross the world tenfold or fight death itself,’  he wishes to say, ‘The days I spent without you are mere existence, not living.’ Nonetheless, Kaz can’t force words of vulnerability past his lips.

For a moment he thinks a shadow of disappointment dances across your beautiful face. It pains him, even if untrue. If only he could make his doting known…

“Anytime,” you say casually with a slight shrug of shoulders.

Time seems to slow down significantly as he’s watching you smile softly at him and promptly leave the room, heading to the kitchen to make tea. If he could, he’d spend entire days just watching you calmly go about your life. Sometimes, when he’s staring at you doing mundane things, he swears he can almost figure out why he’s so drawn towards you as though his downfall began with the way you hold the bread knife or carefully stir your coffee. One day he’ll know how come you’ve tied and bonded his very soul to you, he’s sure of it. 

He looks down at the glove again. The small, white flower makes his chest sting. Maybe there is, after all, a way for him to show you his devotion without using words.

If Kaz Brekker was a better man, he’d think of the white primrose as a reminder to be careful and wary, to choose his battles wisely. Alas, he’s nothing short of a crook and the flower begs him to be callous and merciless, to become feral and willing to do absolutely anything to find his way back to you; like raging seas that relentlessly wash tall cliffs until the soil gives in and landslide falls into the deep, dark abyss. 

He can’t be a lighthouse so he settles for a wildfire.

[dead-enby-detective]

To continue my comparison of the Dead Boy Detective show and the Doom Patrol episode with them in it, I wanted to talk about the exploration of Charles’s aversion/fear of water in Doom Patrol, I thought that was an interesting way to give him some more depth in the short time frame (especially since we get to see more of Edwin’s depth with his pain being used to open the door to the afterlife and Larry reaching out to him to discuss his feelings for Charles).

In the scene above Charles has to work himself up quite a bit in order to cross the lake and continue their case.

DBD Charles, in comparison, doesn’t seem to feel the same way about water.

In episode 2, he’s delighted by the enchanted ocean container.

In episode four, he even calls the view “pretty brills” while staring out into the ocean.

He doesn’t hesitate to run to Crystal when she’s dangling over the ocean.

He walks on the ocean side later (probably partially to ensure she doesn’t try to throw herself into the ocean) and even walks toward the water without any fear.

And when the Night Nurse has him relive his memories she sends him to the lake.

To me he seems more confused, maybe frightened because he doesn’t know where he is or what’s going on and than is far more scared when he gets attacked by the boys again rather than afraid of the water itself.

Then after the Night Nurse lectures him he’s angry,

and willing submerges himself to get away.

Then when he returns he, in his anger, sends her over the wall into the water.

To me, if he was afraid of the water, he’d be less likely to want to go towards it, or he’d at least hesitate before putting his plan into motion.

In my first post comparing and contrasting the Agency from the two show, I said the Doom Patrol Boys feel far less reactive to violence, especially their own. They doesn’t seem scared of it or using it themselves. But while DP Charles isn’t afraid of violence, though it did cause his death, he is afraid of water, which also played a role in his death.

In the DBD show Charles is scared of violence (especially his own) - as violence impacted him greatly in live with his abusive father and bullies but doesn’t seem to be of the water which also played a part in his death.

It’s very interesting to me which parts of his death the writers focused on for each show, the DP writers focused on the water/hypothermia and the DBD writers, the bullies.

As I said in my first post, obviously there’s far less time to explore the boys in the Doom Patrol episode than in the Dead Boy Detectives show so that absolutely could have been part of it.

I haven’t yet read the comics so I’m unsure which version of Charles’s fears is more accurate to the source material, if there’s an exploration of it at all.

It makes sense, in the Doom Patrol episode to show his fear of water. It naturally introduces his death, just as the door to the afterlife being opened by open naturally introduces Edwin’s experience in Hell.

The actor handles it really well. Just as the DBD actor handles his fear of violence really well. Both feel natural and important within the context of their shows.

Additionally, I tired looking up to see if Charles’s father was also abusive in the comics and I couldn’t find anything (please let me know if you know otherwise) and according to his wiki Charles actually died from burn injuries - though he did have to spent time in the icy lake as well.

So it’s definitely interesting that both shows focused on the hypothermia from the lake rather than the burns and it makes sense that if there’s isn’t a major storyline about his father in the comics that DP Charles has less negative feelings about violence than DBD Charles and thus, going back to my first post, reacts differently to it even though he too was bullied to death.

It’s incredibly interesting to me to see how the same character can be played/written in two very different ways based off the same source material and the ways the writers chose to focus on their traumas and fear differently.

What do you all think about how the shows chose to handle Charles’s fears?

[hajihiko]

Any fuyuhiko headcanons?

-he mentions fishing with his dad, so I imagine in their future lives he does a lot of the fishing

-still can't decide if I think he's gay or not, on one hand I think it really fits into his theme on the other I think him being into Women Who Can Kick His Ass is also very on-brand

-either way, the moment he realized he was into dudes he crumpled that thought up and locked it down. He's already small, feminine, and "too soft", he can't afford to be a mlm on top of it all (his own thoughts)

-the pain tolerance thing is something he had to train. Like through exposure.

-that said? Bit of a masochist

-this man CANNOT cook

-gold tooth in there somewhere

-sunburns very easily

-good at braids, he did them for peko (because when she braided herself she made them SO tight it hurt) and natsumi on occasion

-hes raised in a traditional way so he might have some archaic beliefs he hasn't had a chance to challenge in the game

-i feel like we don't talk enough about the fact that his parents almost killed him more than once. How?? Why?? On purpose or accident??? Hc that he tried to get in between his parents fighting only once or twice and leared not to do that again because they're not above going through him when they're angry enough.

-"that scar? Uh I think that's from when my mom stabbed me" (cue appalled reactions from everyone but Akane who has a weird baseline for how adults treat kids, she's mad but not surprised)

-tattoos he gets post-wakeup are personal and often reference the people he cares about

-sometimes he says horrible things in anger. It's mostly stuff he learned from his surroundings but it's still something he really needs to work on.

-hes team Touch Averse and Touch Starved at the same time (shared by: Gundham, Hiyoko, Impostor, Peko)

-dainty little hands but the knuckles have been split open and scarred over multiple times

-he knows how to wrap gauze and load a gun and pull teeth but not laundry or common medicine stuff. Like he's kinda helpless in a normal domestic setting. He genuinely didn't know what the laundry labels on clothes were for.

-He didn't realize he was lactose intolerant for the longest time and just thought milk was one of those things that make you feel shitty

-he hates alcohol so much largely because he was raised with the belief that Real Men only drink man drinks, like whiskey and beer (his father made him try it). An occasional sweet cocktail with a little umbrella in a cute glass? He'll sip the fuck out of that fuggetaboutit

[ellenembee]

I agree with all the posts out there talking about the Persuasion "adaptation's" character assassination. From what we can see (though I fully admit trailers aren't always true to the movie), Anne is not the calm, reserved, rational, reliable, sensible, and above all self possessed woman of the books, but rather some kind of modern construct built from Austen's more popular women like Lizzie and Emma. (In reality, Anne, Elinor, and Fanny Price would be on a blanket sipping tea while Lizzie, Emma, Catherine, and Marianne were off vexing men and making trouble.)

One thing I haven't seen mentioned, though, is that from the context of the times, Anne was not just being swayed because she valued her family's continued support and Lady Russell's opinion, but because Lady Russell's concerns were real and frightening. Marrying Wentworth *before* he made his fortune was an *incredible* risk to her safety and wellbeing. Throughout the book, we see countless manifestations of "what if" scenarios:

Mr. Elliott as an example of how she likely would've been disowned by her family if she'd married Frederick anyway

Anne's old school friend Mrs. Smith as an example of her life if she'd married anyway, been disowned, and Frederick had died or become injured enough to not be able to properly support her

Benwick and Fanny Harville as an example of what might have happened if she'd kept the engagement but agreed not to marry him until he'd made enough to support them

Her sister Mary's comfortable life as an example of what she might have had if she'd said yes to Charles Musgrove.

Louisa Musgrove as an example of how Anne might have acted if she'd been less risk averse and less prudent in her youth.

You can argue the validity of Anne's situation compared to these manifestations (likely Lady Russell would have risked angering Sir Elliott and taken Anne in with the idea of an eventual reconciliation), but there are countless other examples throughout the book. They are meant to reinforce the point that Anne is reconciled to her own actions, much as she might regret them.

This is not a book where Anne blames herself or her family. She did the "right" thing by breaking it off with Frederick. She just now wishes with her whole being that she hadn't done the "right" thing.

"... but Anne, at seven-and-twenty, thought very differently from what she had been made to think at nineteen. She did not blame Lady Russell, she did not blame herself for having been guided by her ... She was persuaded that under every disadvantage of disapprobation at home, and every anxiety attending his profession, all their probable fears, delays, and disappointments, she should yet have been a happier woman in maintaining the engagement than she had been in the sacrifice of it."

And later, to Frederick:

"If I was wrong in yielding to persuasion once, remember that it was to persuasion exerted on the side of safety, not of risk."

In hindsight, she sees all the risks and all the examples of her possible life choices, and thinks now it would have been worth the pain and risk. To be disappointed by fate would have been far better than the constant estrangement from the man she has loved for eight years.

Anne sees all the possibilities of how her life might have played out in the people around her, and she accepts it.

And the best part is that Frederick acknowledges that Anne was right to be cautious.

"He had imagined himself indifferent, when he had only been angry, and he had been unjust to her merits, because he had been a sufferer from them ... He had learnt to distinguish between the steadiness of principle and the obstinacy of self-will, between the darings of heedlessness and the resolution of a collected mind ...

Fredrick knew he'd been resentful and proud. And he owns up to his mistake of thinking ill of her for so long. He admits he was his own worst enemy when it came to his happiness with Anne. And Anne reinforces this with her words to him near the end:

I have been thinking over the past ... and I must believe that I was right, much as I suffered from it, that I was perfectly right in being guided by [Lady Russell] ... Do not mistake me, however. I am not saying that she did not err in her advice. It was, perhaps, one of those cases in which advice is good or bad only as the event decides ...

Anne is calm. She follows her conscience. She is sensible and, yes, resolute when she needs to be. She's amazing as she is and doesn't need to be made into something she's not.

She is appealing because of who she is, and it's also why she's my favorite Austen woman. To divorce Anne of these things is to create a new character and inherently alter the story.

So call it something else. Say it's "inspired by" Persuasion if you want. But don't pretend that you can alter the main character's very personality and still call it Persuasion.

[twst-kumi]

Weeping Maiden

Warning: Mention of child abuse (mental and physical)

[ACT I]: CHAPTER 2

[Name] sat in a daze and slight horror.  She shouldn't have asked about Vil.  Mercury patted her shoulder with pity; he knew how it felt to be stuck with Neige and his collection about Vil. He was a fan, but maybe he was a little overboard. 

“_Don’t worry, little lady. It's a one-time thing. Hopefully…

_I regret everything…” 

The purple-haired boy laughed, feeling sorry for her. It wasn't her fault. She didn't know he was like that. Neige babbled on and on about Vil and how wonderful he was. Vil was great and talented as a child actor and in his actual career. 

“_He looks incredible in every role he plays. That's why I decided to give my shot in the film industry. I wanted to play with Vil-senpai, but… 

_But?” 

Neige laughed a little sad. He lowered his eyes and played with his hand. 

“_I don't think he is fond of me. He always looks uncomfortable around me. I think he found me annoying.” 

[Name] couldn't help but feel familiar with his words. It was kind of similar for her and her brother. Even more so when she was young. One time, she won first place in a pageant contest. She ran up to him to show him her little crowns, only for him to shove her away. She can't deny the 3-year-old girl was hurt by his aversion then. But growing up, she now understood it. Even so, she guessed she was still hurt by it.

Neige smiled at her before thanking her for her kind words. The group continued talking until it was time for them to return to their dorm. The young girl bid them goodnight before walking down the main road. She looked surprised when she saw Aurelius waiting for her. The young boy fell asleep on the bench. [Name] could even see a squirrel nestled inside his shirt. 

She couldn’t help but laugh a little. He was so adorable and peaceful. 

“_Aurelius… What are you doing here?”

She shook him gently as he groaned softly before blinking at her. He gave her a dreamy smile before rubbing his eyes. 

“_I was waiting for you but fell asleep while waiting. 

_You didn't have to, you know? 

_And letting my princess return home alone? Never…”

He chuckled before taking her hand in his soft one. He was humming a song as he seemed caught in his daydreaming. His sleepy eyes never left her. 

***

It has been days since Yuu was in this state. He looked depressed and tired. Everyone could see his alarming lack of energy. The most worried was the Adeuce duo and Grim. Yuu rarely slept as he was riddled with nightmares. That locket was his only support all this time, and now everyone was noticing some mental problem on his part. 

Of course, all those overblots were bound to leave some unwanted trauma on the magicless prefect. But those who stayed in Ramshackle were able to see the extent of his trauma. 

It was one of those nights Pomefiore was the one who decided to look after Yuu this time. The dorm leaders agreed to do it one by one. Having gone to bed early, Vil was awakened by a loud sound.  He walked to Yuu’s bedroom and found the boy crouched down. He looked in pain while Grim tried to shake him. 

“_What happened?? Yuu, are you alright? 

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

_Yuu!! Hey, wake up!”

Yuu looked up in a panic; his chest heaved up and down as his eyes darted around. He slowly calmed down while Vil carefully wiped the sweat off his forehead. 

“_Sorry, did I wake you up? I didn’t mean to ruin your beauty sleep. 

_ I’m more worried about you than angry. Was that necklace so important?”

Yuu blinked at the young actor in front of him before leaning against the bed. He pondered if he should talk about it. 

“_It was a gift from my little sister. Our parents didn’t know what unconditional love was…”

He chuckled bitterly while reminiscing about his old world. 

“_ And I was a bad brother, the worst we could have.

_That’s not true.

_No, I was. No brother wishes for their newborn sibling’s suffering. I… When she was born, I was happy that I would not be alone in suffering from our parent’s cruelty. But when she was born, the opposite happened. She was such a pretty baby, and our mom loved how much attention she was gathering. At that time, I was jealous of her and did something terrible. 

_What did you do? “

Yuu couldn’t help but shake. 

“_I pushed her down the stairs. She was 5, and although every attention was on her, she always tried to get close to me. I… It pissed me off. I was always the wicked child, while she was the perfect child. Loved by everyone, always good, and always kind. A living doll. She was my mother's ideal doll. No one knew what we were enduring, and I thought she had everything. So when she ran up to me with that bright smile and that gold tiara she won in some kid’s contest, I angrily pushed her away. I shoved her down the stairs. She almost broke her neck, and I was beaten up and locked up until she got back home. Do you know what she did when she came back? She ran up to me and hugged me. She never once stopped smiling at me.”

Vil shivered as he saw the sickened smile on his face.  Yuu chuckled as he held himself. 

“_ She was the only one to have given me that unconditional love our parents lacked. Since that day, we have been together. I mean, had since I’m here now. It has been almost a year now… I wonder how she is doing now?”

Vil stayed silent partly because of how unhinged Yuu was right now. He looked at him, laughing before slowly falling back to slumber. The actor sighed, cursing himself for his soon lack of sleep.

< previous next >

[pendwelling]

Is it confirmed yet or foreshadowed that they ( Jesse, Sadie, and Christelle) will be a couple?

CedYesChris have actually been foreshadowed to be building up to the very relationship TWSB has been implying they'd become since the beginning, ever since the first mention that Riester royalty had to take up both a political companion that is tied to them by matrimony, and a religious companion that is tied together by soul through a covenant. Later on, it is very apparent that the roles will be taken by Ham Ga-in Christelle and Jung Yeseo in particular! (And not even in the way you'd initially expect!)

More elaboration and spoilers below (with novel support and chapter citation lolol):

This is all viewed in a primarily objective light where I interpret what we are given. While I love my shipping, I do believe, in the context of the novel, that there is no romantic basis for their relationship at all as of yet (800+) nor do I believe that there will explicitly ever be, but to deny that there isn't any sort or form of love would be lying. CedYedChris have a complex relationship: friends that are more than just friends but not at all lovers, one that cannot be fully described with words—forged through trials and pain and reverence and companionship, making for a unique relationship of understanding and solace. This sort of queerplatonic relationship is actually very fittingly in line with the power system and world-building of the novel, simply by virtue of the covenant system between Holy Knights and Priests, and the acts of special partnerships that tie individuals by souls.

I find it very funny actually when people say they cannot see Cédric and Ga-in getting together because of how different they are (and how much they seem to repulse each other lmao) but the more you read and understand about their relationship, the more you realize that after all these hundreds of chapters, there is no one that would who could fit the role of "Crown Prince's political companion" more than Ga-in herself—not even as a romantic partner, but as a mere companion.

There have been attempts at Cédric having to find a potential consort candidate, and Cédric himself has mentioned that whoever is INEVITABLY picked he will agree with unconditionally as it is his duty as Crown Prince to marry someone later on to help support his reign (251-4). But ultimately all of his friends agree that his happiness is something that is also very important, especially when it comes to marrying someone for the rest of his life. He might say he doesn't care, but once Yeseo starts expressing concern and dissatisfaction with him getting marriage proposals to nobles Cédric wouldn't be able to fully get along with outside of a political union, he starts expressing relief and hints of aversion to the idea of an arranged marriage that he has no say in (254). And we, as readers, know that Cédric is not the type of person who could easily open up to people, and while he is not the type to be discourteous to anyone who would become his future spouse, it's clear that for the type of person he is, a marriage with someone who he is only connected to due to duty pales in comparison to the trust he has with a comrade who has been by his side since the beginning, who knows him better than any random noble who wouldn't understand a fraction of his soul (and potentially might not ever, as the circumstances under which Cédric has ever emotionally opened up were never something that he chose to do on a whim, and probably never would have talked about, had it not been for specific circumstances [like in 602]). In all those rare and explosive instances when he went through periods of turmoil, he was lucky enough to have people by his side who understood and could sympathize/empathize with his very unique pain.

Cédric and Ga-in are very different, but funnily enough two out of three of the only people who can understand each other the best in this life and universe, as they have many life experiences and traumas and history that no outsider will be able to understand, and (HUGE SPOILERS CHAPTER 640) after the group travels 20 years in the future, it is even canon and /very/ heavily implied that the two of them are married! (Though there are mysteries about Yeseo's whereabouts and roles in this future.) BUT!

It is actually very vague on whether or not this is romantic (and doesn't even necessarily seem to be) but in my interpretation of their special relationship and based on the novel itself, I truly believe this is a very understandable partnership between two people who have gone through so much and have come out of it as partners that the other can trust, and who they know they can depend on and have emotionally opened themselves up to.

It doesn't have to be romantic. It doesn't even need to, for such a marriage to work, and if there is a hint of romantic love in it, we cannot see it nor will we know for sure, but I believe that it doesn't actually matter. CedYesChris is very queerplatonic and if you've read that far, you understand that by that point, they've all become companions that know each other from every inch of their souls. All of them consider each other as their Moon, Sun, and Earth, and have said (particularly Ga-in to Yeseo, and Ga-in speaking on behalf of her and Cédric about him) to be unable to live without each other (657, 805), and it is a sentiment echoed almost within them all. Cédric Riester, by simple virtue of being the future Riester Emperor, will inevitably have to marry, and what better partner than Ham Ga-in, who has distinguished herself with notable achievements in the Empire, and is an important friend to the Crown Prince?

And of course, their relationship with Yeseo is also something that I believe brings them together all the more. They are their partner's other partner—they are each others' partner. They are all pretty much in a Holy Knight/Priest partnership and Yeseo is the only one alive that can support the two of them with the ether they'd need, and not exhaust himself in the process (like Priest Sand). They are all soothed by each other's souls, and before you say Cédric and Ga-in physically repulsed each other, in Chapter 651 we get a confirmation that the two of them have formed a bond and tie between each other's souls following the events of Chapter 301 when they fought in the temple during Cédric's ether runaway/turmoil. Accidentally, during that fight that ended up with Cédric nearly unconsciously killing Ga-in in his grief, they managed to have a small part of each other's etheric plate chipped into the other, meaning (particularly in Ga-in's case) that she can now stabilize herself from a runaway with the help of Cédric's opposite attribute ether to calm the fury of her water (651). They have somewhat of a quasi-telepathic relationship, though they typically cannot hear much of anything but as their souls are tied in a unique way, they can feel in some abstract instinctual sense when something is going on with the other's soul/ether, even if not within the same vicinity (727).

As for Yeseo being Cédric/CedChris's religious companion, it has actually been confirmed by Yeseo himself that he would have agreed to pledge a covenant with Cédric and tie their souls together, and yet hasn't and is putting off/has refused the proposal (of ch330 and onward implictly) because Yeseo is VERY intimately aware of the fact that he is not from this world and will, ultimately, have to return home in the end due to his love for his siblings, and acknowledges that he would not wish upon Cédric the pain of being separated from the soul one would tie themselves with upon forming a covenant (736). For reference, even Empress Frédérique and Aurélie cannot separate for too long without Fred feeling immense amounts of pain, discomfort, and irritation, only managing to cope by surrounding herself with piles ether stones filled with her soul companion's ether, (510, and some other chapters but i cant remember them all rn wkfjdk).

In Jibril's words, a religious companion is someone that would be able to provide support and mental fortitude to their partner, which is something that Yeseo considers about Jibril's own aspects who he hopes would support his cousin in the future (a future without him in it). Yeseo is very concerned about Cédric's circle of support and always has his well-being in mind, and this not only stems from his wanting to be a good friend, but also because of his regret and hesitation in accepting Cédric's covenant proposal due to his impermance in the universe. He explicitly says that he does not wish to hurt Cédric! The bigger the distance, the more painful it is for the companion—so how painful would being separated by different worlds, be?

Both Cédric and Yeseo want to be each other's companion and fuse their souls together (Cédric more so than Yeseo—this guy would really accept no one else). The only thing preventing that is Yeseo's fear and concern for Cédric. I don't have much to say about this than I do about Cédric and Ga-in's future political companionship, because CedChris is just a bit harder to understand for TWSB readers if they haven't gotten far enough into the novel yet. In contrast, Cédric and Yeseo’s religious companionship has been made most probable from the very start of the novel, and yet funnily enough, the difficulty and probability of the formation of the Political and Religious partnerships have been flipped 😂 It is easier to see Cédric and Ga-in becoming political companions (and is, as of Chapter 805 and ongoing, most canonically supported to be something that is in place 20 years in the future), as opposed to Yeseo accepting Cédric's covenant proposal haha.

But I firmly believe, at the end of the day, that the three of them will become companions. Not necessarily in a romantic sense (no matter how much I enjoy my shipping) but also not in a standard platonic sense, either. Yeseo views Ga-in as his continent and earth, and regards Cédric as a precious being equivalent to the sun. Ga-in speaks for both herself and Cédric when she says they cannot live without him, and she loves Yeseo so dearly and his well-being is her priority, and acknowledges Cédric as someone she respects and can rely on, and who shares similar pains with her. Cédric treats Yeseo with so much reverence and desire, and Ga-in with mutual understanding, and both are the only people whom he can be fully emotionally vulnerable with. They have a very special and unique relationship and I don't know how exactly it will play out in the end, but I sincerely believe that there is NO ONE in that universe that could understand their pains and souls and mere entirety, than they do for each other.

CedYesChris are soulmates! Whether it is made by their own hands or written in the stars. I believe wholeheartedly that Sookym has written and built up their relationship splendidly and so naturally.

[agreyraincloudd]

Sihtric x Reader

Words 1.6k

Summary Set during season 5 episode 10 in which Sihtric, Finan and Reader get interrogated in Bebbanburg

Season 5 spoilerish?

Trust Finan to never make up a plan again. 

By some miracle, Uhtred’s poor Saxon disguise had managed to allow him to sneak past Wihtgar and his men when they made their way over to us as we stood within the walls of Bebbanburg. Finan had stepped forward when he questioned your place within the grounds and his Scottish accent was a good idea in theory but the quick denial of The King of his knowledge of who you all were wasn’t good enough.

Rough hands grabbed you and the hilt of the sword on your back. You struggled against them as the three of you were shoved down into the damp burrow of the keep. Finan, having spoken up first, was taken to a different section of the dungeon to be questioned, leaving you and Sihtric alone. 

You weren’t particularly fond of the man despite all you had been through since joining Uhtred’s men. Hild had offered you to take care of Stiorra, Athelstan and Aelthwynn as their protector while they hid from the danes and since, you had fought valiantly beside Uhtred and yet from day one Sihtric had kept his distance. You were a Saxon and he was a Dane. Neither led you to trust each other during those first years. And his initial aversion to you grew a poison between you both. The way he dismissed you as a warrior when you first met caused your stubbornness to never befriend him which lead you into a no-mans-land of never speaking causing you to bite at eachothers throats and bicker like an old married couple when you finally broke. He would never look your way when you spoke and your few conversations with him felt like pulling teeth. Like he couldn’t wait to move away from you.

The tight rope wound around your wrists burnt as a guard slung it over a beam and hoisted you arms above your head. They did the same to Sihtric as he stood across from you but he didn’t look your way as the guard punched hard into his stomach. 

“Check her for more blades” One of the Scottish guards nodded over. There was three of them. Another began removing the small knives from their sheaths over your body when his greedy fingers fumbled up your thigh where a dagger sat. You kicked out as he did and a grunt from behind him caught everyone’s attention as Sihtric pulled against his binds.

“Touch her again and I’ll be sure to kill you first” He spat at the feeble guard. His dark hair curled around his face as he seethed, staring down the man from across the room. 

You let out a sigh. He had just offered them you as bait to get him to talk. 

The Scots man knew this too. 

“Why? Is she your wife?” The guard smirked your way. 

Sihtric stood silent. 

“No?-well I’m sure one of my men will take her if she’s not”

You felt ill. Sihtric had stopped moving but his stare was deadly, if only his hands were free.

“Now that gentlemen is the look of a man with bloodlust in his eyes” The guard laughed aloud, his men following.

"But what are you going to do about it Dane?” 

“Why are you here?” The guard interrogated. His hand grappled your hair as he pulled your head back, looking over to Sihtric for the answer. Your eyes met his and you practically begged him silently to keep his mouth shut. You could not reveal the reason you were here or who you truly were to these men as Uhtred snuck around the keep and nothing you said would stop the guards from torturing you. They’d never believe you even if you spoke the truth. 

The man waltzed over and punched you, his knuckles meeting with your cheek. Sihtric fought against the robes as your nose began to gush with blood, the metallic taste filling your mouth. 

The guard hummed. 

“Nothing?”

Sihtric only looked at you, at the way you bled before the guard swung at your stomach. Your body convulsed at the pain as you hung. Sihtric had to look away. 

The two of you had remained silent as he tried to break you. You prayed Uhtred was near. 

“Well I’m sure we could apply a little more fuel to the flame shall we?” The Scot turned to the glowing fire, pulling a poker from the hearth. The metal stick shone bright amber as he turned your way. You pulled at the binds around your hands but a guard behind you held you still as the man stood closer, bringing the boiling rod toward your face. 

“You okay?” Sihtic’s sweet voice startled you. His hand cupped your own. The skin of your palms was raw and angry from you holding tight to the binds before. 

He was just about to press it into your skin when the other guard behind him stepped back in Sihtrics way. The Dane kicked forward and shoved the man into the Scotsman. The two stumbled and as they did you kicked back, knocking them to the floor. With the men distracted, Sihtric pulled up against the rope and unhooked himself from the beam in a swift display of strength. He went for the men. As the Scottish guard rose, you wrapped your legs around him and took the second to mimic Sihtric, landing less gracefully as you did but flipping the guard with you. Sihtric took two of the men and you picked up to fire poker in your bound hands as you swung for the Scott. Embers flew as the metal smashed into his face knocking him out cold. Sihtic met you with a knife as he cut through the rope around your hands. 

“I’m-” Gods above the way he looked at you melted your heart. Did he usually look at you like this? “I’m fine. Thank you”

As if realizing what he was doing, Sihtric dropped your hands and cleared his throat. 

“Come on, let's go get Finan and find Aelfwynn” 

You followed behind. 

You snuck down dark hallways and around open doors throughout the keep in search of Finan or Uhtred. 

“Didn’t know being your wife would offend you so much” You whispered as you stood side by side waiting for a guard to pass through a door. Sihtric was close to you and you felt his breath against your neck as he spoke lowly. 

“I wasn’t offended at his suggestion of you being my wife” You both twisted under a stairwell. “I was offended at the way that man was too close to you”

You shoved him against the wall as two men walked down the stairs above you. You both waited for them to pass when you spoke once more - 

“Like we are now?”

Sihtrics hand was on your hip holding you still as you lent into the shadows with him. 

“Exactly. Except I would prefer other circumstances for you to be against me like this” 

You studied his face, the way his eyes stared you down. Testing the waters?

“Since when?” 

Sihtric scoffed. He ducked under the stairs and led you further into the keep where you saw them take Finan. Men carrying troves of silver barged down the hallway and it was now Sihtric’s turn to pull you into a shadow. 

“Always.”

The men had left but you remained pressed against his chest. 

“Always? You avoid me as if I were the plague and you Finan”

He seemed at war with himself before he sighed. 

“I avoid you because you make me feel weak”

“Excuse me?” 

He smirked at your scoff. 

“Odin above, I’ve been in love with you since we met and the way I feel about you, how you make my stomach flip and my heart warms scares me. You make me feel like a mortal man. I’d drop my blade if only you said the word and it terrifies me”

“You-” You stuttered “-you ignored me for the first few months when we met”

“I was intimidated by you. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

You tried not to laugh as he looked panicked. 

“You love me?” 

His fingers brushed away a stray curl against your face. 

“Since the moment I saw you”

You smacked his chest hard. 

“Gods you’re an idiot, Sihtric. I’ve loved you since I don’t know when”

“You have?-” He mouth formed a smirk as his hands found their way around your waist. “-You do?”

You lent into him, you lips just brushing against his before you whispered into him-

“If we make it out alive, I’ll kill you for being so stupid” 

“It’s okay guys-” You jumped in your skin as Finan appeared from the doorway looking out of breath “-I’ll just get myself out while you two hump against the wall” 

He went to shut you up with his mouth when a hushed voice broke beside you.

The two of you pulled away quickly to follow him up the stairs. The three of you bumped into Hild as you spotted Uhtred and you tried to slow your heart as the five of you looked down from the shadows of the mezzanine onto the great hall The Scottish King, Aethelhelm and Aetheard. 

You all spotted Aelfwynn from across the hall on the other side. Uhtred told you and Hild to collect her and take her to safety as the three men would continue on to attempt to find a way to stop Edward from advancing outside the keep walls. You nodded silently and went to move when Sihtric’s hand stopped your own. You froze as he leant forward and captured your lips in his, his forehead leaning against yours as you both pulled away. A silent good luck. You didn’t need to say anything else as you followed Hild but you heard a small scuffle and turned back to see Uhtred and Finan playfully shove Sihtric with smiles on their faces. 

“Finally” Uhtred huffed out. 

[commander-rahrah]

Talking to the Moon: Part VII

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Word Count: ~5600 Warnings: swearing, blood, some borrowed in game dialogue, violence, nudity, canonical warnings apply!

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

part I: here part II: here part III: here part IV: here part V: here part VI: here

Summary: Set in Act III, in Cazador's Palace. Continuing from part 6, Astarion has been captured and forced into the seventh slot of the ritual. But there is more conflict then just the physical fight before him. There is still the fight between his broken mind and heart to finish.

Notes: Hi everyone! So, we made it to the big bad fight... Parts of this is based off of how my actual first playthrough went when completing this mission (my character got one shotted and died in the very first round LOL,) along with head cannons that I created months ago as soon as the fight was finished and I finished bawling my eyes out. There is descriptions and some dialogue pulled straight from these scenes, just like the previous chapter, but there is a lot of stuff that I added to read between the lines. I also created a scene for after the fight but before Astarion invites you to the graveyard, as I feel like that poor man needs time to decompress and think before all of that happens! I will include some other quick notes/comments up here, which is slightly spoilery for the chapter - but I wanted you to be aware before you read.

(1) There is a bit of "main character" energy from reader/Tav in this one. As it has been established, reader is blessed by Selûne and this factors in heavily into this chapter! It is a big set up for things to come for completing their own personal arc :)

(2) I know there is a lot of discourse about some people wishing you could hug/comfort Astarion after the fight, and others who believe it is his moment and to just let him be. I agree with both sentiments - so I wrote it in the way that I envision Astarion would be okay with aka he initiates it himself. This is my opinion and characterization for Astarion, and is something that as someone who has touch aversion would be comfortable doing myself.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading. I truly hope you enjoy this chapter and all of the angsty, sad, happy, tender moments it holds. As always, kudos and comments are very very appreciated ♡♡♡

·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨

It was like fire was in his veins, pain seeping into every nook and cranny of his body in a way he’d never known.

He would take whips and chains. Teeth and claws. Coffins buried in the ground again. Anything but this.

Astarion couldn’t help the broken scream that escaped from him, the sound echoing throughout the chamber before perhaps his last words escaped him. They were a desperate shout for you, your name shredding his vocal cords. He could barely keep his eyes open from the pain, but what he could see was the searing red that filled the entire room from the infernal magic. And blurry figures through the tears forming in his eyes — his friends gathering together defensively around you.

His mind was a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts. He wanted to you to run — to know that you would at least survive this… that would be his only comfort before he died. He needed you to run. To be safe. To live.

But that selfish voice in him, the devil on his shoulder, whispered and hoped you wouldn’t. Knew you wouldn’t. That hoped maybe, somehow, you could pull through. That after fighting the chosen of gods, an undead dragon, hoards of enemies… just maybe you could defeat the vampire master. Maybe Selûne was watching, and his prayers would finally be answered all these years later in the form of you.

His heart and mind continued to fight as his body kept burning, the pulling of the red magic on his limbs stretching his muscles and bones, pulsing through every pore of his skin.

But he knew what the answer would be — regardless of what he thought, what he hoped. You said it yourself, you would do anything for him. You would die here for him, if it came to it. And at this rate it would.

He was your undoing. He knew it would come to this and yet he still fell for you. Let you fall for him. Let you kiss him and teach him, comfort and protect him. Knowing it would one day lead to something like this.

An end just as violent and bloody as he was.

Astarion had never hated himself more.

His tears broke free, sliding down his face as he silently screamed from the pain and anguish. His voice too broken for anything more than a fragmented choking sound to come out.

It happened in an instant. A flare of blue magic that cut through the scarlet light around them. Then a loud snap echoed through the cave. A teleportation spell — someone was leaving.

Or coming closer.

Then your scent, so sweet and warm washed over him. His eyes closed as he breathed it in, realizing he was must be slipping into delusion from the pain. His brain, or maybe the tadpole, offering the hallucination as a final comfort before death.

“Quickly!” A male voice hissed with urgency.

The voice broke him from his stupor. Gale? He could barely open his eyes, but he forced them open the tiniest smidge.

You were in front of him, your eyes slightly glowing from the magic everywhere as they focused just behind him. “Darling,” He mumbled in confusion, so unsure of what happened, of how you were here.

You spoke so softly to him. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He looked down to see your hands flashing with their own magic as they cut through the incantations binding him.

He felt the pressure on his ankles dissipate, his eyes flicking to you and the rest of your friends. They were shouting as they launched spells and swung their blades at the beasts and creatures under his master's control. Karlach’s scream of rage vibrated the stone floor as she cleaved through a werewolf like it was nothing.

But where was he? Where was Cazador?

And as he thought it, he appeared. His master’s red eyes piercing through Astarion as he felt the final piece of the incantation snap free, his body started to fall the few feet back to the stone ground he was hovering above.

The ancient vampire must have felt it, the spell breaking, the moment he was free. His eyes snapped to you instantly and if looks could kill… Cazador’s jaw set and his nostrils flared as he took a single step forward with his staff raised.

"Wait, no—"

And just as fast as you had appeared, Cazador was launching a powerful spell at you. Astarion screamed your name, lurching forward to shield you. But it was too late. It was as if time slowed completely as he watched you whirl around, your hair splaying as you turned to him, your eyes widening with shock. And fear.

And then you crumbled to the ground.

“Such a waste.” The ancient vampire snarled from across the dais, waving his staff as he finished the incantation.

Images flashed into Astarion’s mind of your lifeless body in his lap in the Shadowlands, the sound he had buried of your heart slowing until it stopped. You had promised back in the Shadowlands, on that tiny dock — you promised you would stay out of harms way. This wasn't happening, it was a nightmare. It should be him, not you.

No, no, no, no.

“NO!!” His words were echoed throughout the chamber as Shadowheart thrust her hands forward — a blinding, golden glow in her hands rocketing towards you, unmoving on the ground.

It struck your chest where Cazador’s dark spell had hit just mere seconds before — seeping into you, spreading across your body until it radiated with magic. Your unconscious form was raised into the air, floating with a golden outline. The tips of your silvery-white hair waving with a breeze that came out of no where. Then your eyes flashed open — but they were not their usual shade, his newfound favorite color since he met you. No, they were glowing silver, radiating authority and power as they stared at his old master.

You opened your mouth to speak as you remained floating, but it was not just your voice. A female voice that dripped with authority echoed your words, like something was speaking through you. Someone.

Gods, it couldn't be.

“Your reign of terror and abuse ends here, Cazador Szarr. I refuse to let your hate and cruelty fester any longer." You dipped your chin down, your blazing eyes narrowing as you remained locked on the ancient vampire.

Cazador cocked his head, an eyebrow raised at the spectacle of you. Astarion knew the gears were turning in his head, calculating and trying to figure out how he would turn this into an advantage. What he would get from you.

But your voice continued, the second one still joining you as you floated closer to the center dais, closer to the vampire master. "You believe yourself to be all-powerful. You believe yourself to be a blessing, a mercy to the creatures you keep at your feet. A benevolent master who can make himself a God."

Everyone in the room had stopped to watch, the ritual stopped with Astarion freed. Friend and foe both had weapons at their sides, mouths slightly agape as they tried to process what they were seeing. Who they were seeing.

There were not many beings of Faerûn who could say that they had seen a God in the flesh.

As it was Selûne who spoke through you know, who granted you this power, who had created this vision of blinding radiance in this dark, decrepit crypt.

"But what you really are… is a result, from a cycle of venom and greed and fear. And that cycle ends today.” You, she, said it so matter-of-factly. Declared so simply that it was both of your wills, so it would be so. Closing your eyes softly, your hands lifted up like you were summoning something deep within yourself.

Astarion's mouth fell open as light began to radiate out of you, silver and bright like the fullest moon on a clear night. He had become so accustomed to the talent of his friends — Shadowheart's golden light, Gale's purple and blue, Wyll's fiendish red. But this, this was something different. Pure and unfiltered power from the Goddess of the Moon. Then the light erupted, traveling so fast and loud that his elven senses twinged.

It hurled into the Vampire Master, his face mirroring yours from moments ago — filled with shock and fear. Astarion had never seen his master afraid, not in two hundred years. His steps faltered, off-kilter as he reeled from your blinding light that clung to him.

Who was the weak, pathetic boy now?

"NOW!" Your screamed, your voice returning to your own — though Selûne's power and magic still radiated off of you. Determination lined every single one of his friends' faces as they rushed forward to hurl their attacks on the Master and his creatures.

Astarion's hands were steady as his fingers unsheathed the daggers at his side, his stare deadly as he stalked towards the man who had ruined his life, broken him over and over. Cazador was trying to twirl and deflect, but the attacks kept coming as he was blinded by the light that was you. Yet, he still caught Astarion's eyes, still smiled wickedly at his spawn — even though Astarion could smell his terror and rancid blood from here.

"You are going to regret underestimating us, Cazador." He hissed as he flung his magical daggers out. They struck true, one slicing through the soft flesh of his side and the other up across his cheek.

"Agh!" The vampire's knees shook as he tumbled forward, another blast of magic hit into his back. His red eyes flickered up through his strong brow as he remained keeled over, "You don't have the balls to kill me, boy. Or did you forget that every part of you is mine?"

Astarion's nostrils flared as rage flooded through him, his vision turning red without the infernal magic surrounding them. He held his palms open as his daggers returned to them, twirling them in his hands without thought as he stepped forward once more. "You can't be owned by a dead man." He spat, before sending his daggers out once more.

"NOOO-" The ancient vampire's screams filled the crypt, bouncing off the stone floors and walls. With a poof, he turned into his infamous mist but your light clung onto him — illuminating his path as it raced for the sarcophagus nearby.

"No, no!" A deep desire for vengeance flooded Astarion as Cazador tried to escape, his voice a snarl he could barely recognize. His red eyes could focus on nothing else but his tormentor's end, his pain, his misery. He could draw it out, torment the sadistic bastard to match what he had done to him for all those years. A pounding was filling his pointed ears, the steady thump increasing as he chased after the mist. Using his vampire spawn strength he tore the top of the sarcophagus off, shoving it angrily to reveal the beaten and bleeding vampire within. "No, no! No healing sleep for you. Wake up!" He growled, grabbing him by his pretentious, soiled collar and throwing him to the ground.

Cazador weakly fought back, scrambling back onto his knees. He sneered up at his spawn looming over him, "Get your hands off me, worm!"

"I'm not the one in the dirt," Astarion spat, gripping the dagger in his hand so tightly that is already pale knuckles turned completely white. His bare chest was rising up and down, not from breath but with deep emotion. "One last thrust and I'll be free of you. I'll never have to fear you again."

The vampire spawn put on the mask he had mastered for centuries, his face a lethal calm as he suggested, "But if I finish the ritual you started, I'll never have to fear anyone, ever."

If he did this, there would be no hiding, no running. No more fear, for either of you. He would destroy anyone and anything who would come to harm you. Who would stop him? You both could be anything you wanted, matched equals backed with powers that equaled those of the Gods.

His old master only scoffed, "You think me a fool? That I would allow anyone to usurp me, speak the words, and ascend in my place? The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual. Complete it and those bearing the scars will be sacrificed - you included. You are simply a means to an end. I made you to be consumed."

"I AM SO MUCH MORE THEN WHAT YOU MADE ME!" Astarion roared, bending down more to scream in his face. He felt the intoxicating feeling of power, control flooding through him when Cazador actually flinched, "You fucking leech." His jaw was set tightly as he breathed in the scent of blood that was filling the room, desperate, primal need suddenly filling him. He was losing his focus, his bearings — what was this all for? Who was this all for?

Safety. Agency. Freedom. Power. Control. Dominance. Ascendancy.

The words were twisting darker and darker in his head as once again his broken mind and heart battled against each other. His hands started trembling as he finally looked away from the ancient vampire beneath him. Looking up to his siblings still bound by the remainders of the spell, up the stairs to the thousands of souls — real, present souls — who were trapped down here for centuries. He could feel his heart starting to climb up his throat as two separate sides of himself battled internally.

Remember who you are, Astarion.

You had said that — so softly, with such a gentle touch as you had tried to ground him. No one had ever looked at him like you did, touched him like you did. His red eyes flickered over to you, and his half-dead heart fluttered strangely. He spoke with less of a bite, the edge disappearing, "If I do this I will be free. Truly, completely free. Isn't that what you want, my love?"

Your eyes looked at him, boring into his soul like no one else had. You stepped forward, so unafraid unlike him. There was no tremble in your hands, nor shaking in your knees. You didn't even look at the vampire master cowering on the ground, the immortal male who minutes ago had killed you. No, your beautiful eyes remained only on him as you stepped forward.

Silver was still lingering in your eyes, but he realized it was not latent power from Selûne. It was tears, threatening to break free as you spoke. The saddest smile spread your lips, your brows tugging in the middle. "I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

When would it end? Cazador had everything, his every whim met, more riches then one could imagine, thousands of spawn under his control. Even if he had completed the ritual, the vampire bastard Cazador was already plotting his next plan for cruelty by taking you. When would it end? Would any of it had ever been enough?

Could he live with himself, if he became that? Could you?

You spoke again, your voice so soft it was a whisper, "Let the cycle end here, Astarion."

His name on your lips struck him hard. It made him feel alive again, blinking back to reality. He shook himself out of the dark daze he was descending into, "You - you're right. I can be better than him." His gaze went back down to the man below him, the stirring feelings in him resolving as his fingers closed on his dagger once more. "But I'm not above enjoying this."

Fear glimmered in Cazador's eyes as Astarion fisted his long hair and plunged his blade into his chest.

And again.

And again.

Astarion imagined every lash, every carving cut, every scream and howl.

Again.

Again.

Every tremble and gulp he pushed down in an alley or tavern or forgotten hallway. Every moment of self-loathing. Every broken thought of wishing for it all to end — for someone, somewhere to just end him already.

Again.

Again.

He was covered in blood, the sticky red liquid splattering over his bare torso, creeping up his arms, neck and face. It was not appetizing, it did not cause a frenzy.

No, only a strange satisfaction.

Like a cleansing of his body and mind. His soul.

Complete catharsis.

Cazador's body had stopped moving long ago, laying mutilated at his feet.

His magical dagger, soured with the blood of his old master clattered onto the stone floor behind him. His trembling fingers losing hold of the blade, then his knees buckled and he was kneeling on the floor. His whole body was shaking, gasps escaping him as choked sobs climbed up his throat. He could not keep it down, not after all these years. Not after centuries of suppressing it, forcing it down to not give him the satisfaction.

Hot tears fell fast down his cheeks, and the howls of anguish, triumph and rage finally escaped.

Astarion wasn't sure how long he knelt in that pool of blood for. Time had no meaning at the moment, all of his senses suddenly turned off as he cried and howled.

“It’s over.”

Your voice. You.

Fluttering his eyes open, he found you kneeling in front of him. Your eyebrows were furrowed, your own cheeks stained with tears.

“It’s over,” You whispered again. You had kept your distance — your hands resting on your thighs, as you too knelt in the blood. Not from fear of him, but to give him space. You couldn’t ask to touch him, not at this moment but you needed him to know he wasn’t alone.

Astarion launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around your body as he buried himself into your neck. His cries started all over again.

“It’s over. You’re okay. We’re okay.” You continued the comforting whispers, holding him against you — you started to rock, swaying the both of you back and forth.

He couldn’t stop the sobs escaping him — they had been building up for so long and now these they had broken free he wasn’t sure how to stop. He tried blinking away the lingering tears from the bottom of his vision, taking you in. “You, he—“ He put his stained hands on either side of your face, drinking you in in. “What did I do? What did I do?”

"He's gone. He's gone." You whispered.

Astarion pushed his forehead onto yours, mumbling incoherently, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, M'sorry..."

"Shhhh, my love." You said tenderly, your fingers caressing the nape of his neck in a comforting touch. "I've got you. I've got you."

• • •

Astarion wasn’t sure how he got back to the inn.

The journey back was a blur of healing spells, quick decisions and whispers of worry. He had stumbled back next to you, your arm wrapped around his waist holding him close to you. It was his only reassurance as the rest of the world swirled around him. He hadn’t let you ask — gluing himself to you in a silent answer before your mouth could even open. Now you both were in the group’s room in the Elfsong Tavern— the rest of your companions out for the remainder of the day. He was sure there was an exchange of looks and whispered words about him before the decision was made. He was sure that if he had been really looking he would have seen pity across all of their faces. But he didn't care to. He couldn’t really bring himself to react to anything but what had happened.

Cazador was dead. By his hands.

He was free. Yet stuck. Forever a spawn. Forever fragmented and damaged probably — if how he felt right now was any indication.

But free, nonetheless, he guessed.

You had pulled across the privacy curtains and made him a hot bath, the steam and smell of oils clouding throughout the room. Hints of magic too. Then you asked him in a gentle voice if he would like to get cleaned up, gesturing down at him. Astarion blinked as he looked down at himself and his ruined clothes. The shirt he was wrapped in wasn’t even his own — Wyll had thrusted it at him in that good gentlemanly way he was trained to do since he was a boy. The knees of his pants were shredded from the stone floor he had knelt on. And blood. So much of it. There was red splattered everywhere on him — dried and caked on by now. He wondered if the feeling of Cazador’s blood would linger like the other phantom touches and feelings that haunted his skin. Maybe he would be scrubbing at it long after it was physically cleaned off of his skin too — turning his almost pearlescent skin dark pink.

The vampire could only nod at you, lifting his arms up to attempt to pull off his shirt before wincing. Even with his immortal body and vampiric strength, he was sore. The pulling and stretching of his muscles from the binding magic would linger for a while he imagined. "Help me." He muttered weakly. You averted your gaze as you helped him peel the shirt off of him, your touch the most gentle it had ever been. Astarion was so lost in his own mind that he didn't even realize he had stepped out of his ruined pants, his blood-soaked boots moments later. He barely registered his movements as he crawled over the large wooden sides of the tub and slipped into the water.

The heat of the water instantly warmed his muscles, giving him some reprieve from the physical pain that lingered. It even lifted the fog from his mind as he sat for a moment in the water, watching the water move around him slightly - barely tinting to red before some kind of enchantment cleansed it away. As he watched the blood and dirt drift off of him, he felt the numbing going away too. The tremble in his hands returned, shaking under the water as he blinked back to reality. That feeling from down in the crypt was returning — he felt like he was back on his knees in the puddle of blood, his heart crawling up his throat, his skin hot and crawling—

His red eyes flicked up to search for you, finding you seated near him but with your back turned — trying to offer privacy but to be nearby if he needed you. Astarion’s throat closed up again as he looked at you, the comfort he so desperately wanted. It was almost overwhelming. Just weeks ago, he was trying to wrap his head around why someone would want such soft, simple touches. Why someone would just want to be held, nothing more. Now he felt his body shaking and tears forming from your absence.

“Join me,” He finally croaked out to the back of your head. His voice was a weak whisper — gods, he sounded pathetic.

You twirled in your chair, looking over your shoulder to him with furrowed brows. “Astarion, I—”

But he cut you off, your name was a choked sob from his mouth. “Please,” He begged before you could say anything else.

You immediately relented, standing up, taking off your clothes unceremoniously and sliding into the wooden tub. It was the most he had seen of your body in months, and not at all how he pictured it would go. Astarion felt your knees brush his as you sat across from him. Even just the barest touch had the crawling sensation across his skin calming. He took a steadying breath, before he finally took you in.

Only your shoulders and up could be seen in the deep wooden tub. Red blood had dried all over you, shaped like handprints— his own handprints had smeared the blood that crusted over your soft skin and stained your silvery-white hair. A pang shot through him. “Look what I’ve done—” His wet hands cupped the side of your face, echoing the action that probably put the stains there in the first place. Guilt flooded through him.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” You laid your cheek flush into his hands on your face. Then you turned your mouth, pressing your lips to his palm gently. Kissing his hands like they weren’t capable of monstrous, violent things. Like they hadn’t been covered in blood moments ago. “Are you?”

He stroked his pale thumb across your cheek before withdrawing it. Instead he searched for your own hand under the water, intertwining his fingers with yours. He kept his eyes on the water, shifting slightly back and forth — thinking quietly. “I don’t— I’m not sure how to answer that, right now.”

“Take your time, my love.” You said softly, squeezing his fingers. Astarion was thankful for your calming presence, but he needed more. He knew once you longed to just hold his hand, and it was a terrifying thought. But now he needed to be wrapped up in you, held so tight he would forget where he ended and where you started. In the small space of the tub, he barely had to move before he was pressed against you. His head in the crook of your neck, his nose pressed into your soft skin, inhaling your addicting scent. His arms around your waist as he held on to you for dear life. Within an instant you had your arms wrapped around him, fingers twirling in the ends of his hair, as you comforted him.

“I— I’ve lived with this all for so long. This pain. Who am I without it?” He whispered into your ear, so afraid to admit such things while looking in your eyes. But you pulled away, just enough so you could see him. Your eyes searching his — and they were so tender and full of deep emotion. Love, he finally realized. His half-dead heart fluttered at the realization. You loved him — even as the broken, undeserving creature he was. But instead of falling into deprecation and self-loathing, he savored the realization. He let himself get lost in it, the feeling of being loved by you. The reality of being loved by you, and it was so good… after so many years of shit.

“You are so much more than your pain, Astarion,” Your thumb stroked his side gently, your hands still wrapped around him as you held him close. “Or your past. But now you can define yourself however you want to be.”

Fresh tears slipped from the corners of his red eyes as he buried his face into your neck once again. His emotions were too intermixed, too hard to communicate out loud now as they all vied for his attention. But instead of numbing himself like had for centuries, he let himself be calmed by you instead.

Astarion stayed in that tub with you until there was no trace of the blood and dirt, nothing left to remind the vampire of him. He had made a silent vow to himself to never speak that name again, to not give the dead vampire master power over himself anymore. You seemed to catch on quickly to that too, the poisonous name had not been on your lips since you left the crypt. There was of course the giant fucking ritual carved into his back. And his fangs and sanguine hunger that could only remind him of who had cursed him to this existence. But one thing at a time. Cleaning off the blood would be a start. Burning those retched clothes that he had suffered in as well…

You both were pruny, but clean, when you finally emerged from the tub. Your beautiful eyes never strayed from his face as the pale elf stood up and slipped out behind you, grabbing your extended hand for support. Damp footprints were left behind as the two of you trailed over to your bed hidden in the corner of the room.

You were lying in bed now, both of your naked bodies wrapped in the warm blankets and each other. There was nothing sexual about it… nothing like Astarion had experienced. To be fair, such thoughts were not even registering in his mind right now. But he was surprised at how much he enjoyed this — simply skin to skin with you, no lust or biting or anything.

It was the most at peace he had felt in weeks. Months. Years, really.

Despite everything else that had happened today.

His pointed ear was pressed to your chest, listening to the steady thrum of your heartbeat like it was his own personal lullaby. But he felt it stutter a few times, your breaths a bit shaky — pushing up he found you scrambling to wipe tears away from your cheeks. Before he could open his mouth, you were giving him a sad smile, "I'm fine." You whispered.

"Darling, you're crying," He said softly back, his thumb catching one of the tears you had missed, starting to roll down your freckled cheek.

"I'm just relieved you're here with me. I was terrified all day, but when he took you — when you were bound by that magic... Gods, I've never been so petrified in my life."

Now you know how I feel. He almost blurted it out, but stopped himself. No, in all of his selfish wallowing these last few hours, he hadn't even brought that up yet — that once again, you had fallen. Taken away from him, from this world. Even if was for just a moment. "I seem to remember having this conversation once before... on a dock in those wretched Shadowlands. What of your promise to me then, hmm? To stay out of harms way."

Your mouth and brows quirked down, "I was supposed to just standby and let you die?"

"I had to watch you die today. Again." His voice broke, his bottom lip trembling as he tried to keep even more tears at bay. "If it wasn't for...," He trailed off. If it wasn't for Shadowheart. If it wasn't for Selûne really — who both powered their cleric but had also done something more. Taken over for you? Imbued you? He wasn’t sure how to describe what he witnessed in that crypt. “What happened today with her? With Selûne?”

“I— I’m not sure," He watched your throat bob as you swallowed, your face furrowing as you thought. "One moment I was with you, and the next... I don’t know. I was there but not. Filled with divine fury and... I wasn't going to allow anything to happen to you. Apparently, neither was she."

Astarion placed his head back on your bare chest, your hand instantly finding the side of his face. Your fingers traced the bottom of his jaw, his strong cheekbones and up to the tops of his ear — before you repeated the smoothing motion all over.

"I will never just standby when it involves you, Starry. Whether it is a physical threat... or something deeper within yourself. I will always shield you, defend you..." You licked your lips nervously instead of finishing your sentence

Love you.

Astarion's mind finished the words instead as you trailed off. He moved his head so he instead shared your pillow, moving so your faces only an inch apart. He studied your face carefully, “Why… why do all that for me?”

Your eyes stared into his, shining with emotion before you lowered your voice into a soft whisper, “You know why, my love.”

His heart fluttered at the unspoken declaration. His cold fingers reached up, curled and delicate as he had ever been, “I can’t help but think— Do I deserve this? Am I worthy of this? Of you?”

“Astarion...." You pushed your warm, flushed check into the palm of his hand, "All you need to ask yourself is do you want this?”

Gods, your eyes and the intimate way the stared into his soul. Your lips, so tender as they pulled into a gentle smile. Your patient touch and desire for him. Your quick wit and sharp tongue. Your big, stupidly kind heart. All of it. He wanted every part of you, to call you his and for him to be yours.

But before he could gain the courage you spoke again, “You don’t need to answer today — enough has happened, my love.”

Hot tears escaped from his red eyes as you displayed your patience once again. He pressed his forehead to yours, a sob escaping him. But it wasn't a cry of anguish, or pain. He wasn't howling with rage and grief. They were tears of overwhelming joy.

The vampire gave himself a moment before letting out a little puff, “Gods, I can’t stop crying. I feel ridiculous.”

“You aren’t ridiculous.”

“I’ve cried more today than I have for my entire life I think. The first one and this one combined.” Despite the crying, he found himself hoping of having yet another life. A third on with you. A chance to start over, all over again.

“I think it’s justified,” You said kindly, "Rest, my love. We will have tomorrow. And the day after that."

At your whispered words and gentle caresses, Astarion finally fell asleep, dreaming of that promise. Tomorrow and the day after that... with you.

[jazminrhode1]

Chapter 1: The Inc*st Map

Word count: 629 words Trigger warning/s: suicidal ideation, drugs, sex, bullying, swearing.

I walked into Hartley High School on the first day of term with Ant’s arm around my shoulders. Without him, I don’t think I would have the nerve. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me like I was Jesus Christ risen from the dead. In a lot of ways, I was - Miss V told me that.

“Ignore them,” Ant whispered in my ear. Easy for him to say. They weren’t fucking staring at him, were they?

From the table that we had claimed on the first day of Year 7, Spider and Dusty hollered over. Ant squeezed my shoulder three times before he ran over to the boys.

I wondered what the first day would be like if I didn’t come back this year. Would they have had a vigil for me in the quad? Would anyone have actually cared that I was dead? How fucking depressing.

Dustin came walking over to me with a smile on his face and pulled me into his chest. The hug lasted a little longer than usual but, I wasn’t complaining. If there was one thing about this school it’s that us kids were not good at talking about our feelings. Maybe that’s why there were so many fights or why half the kids in this shit hole were so depressed.

“Vassaaaaa,” Spider said as he grabbed Dusty by the collar and shoved him toward where Ant sat at the table.

A moment of silence and a quick aversion of eye contact before he said, “I’m glad you’re not…”

I could have been sick. I hated that people felt sorry for me. It made it all worse. I didn’t do it for pity, it wasn’t an attention grab. At the end of the day, I didn’t want to die. I wanted the pain to stop.

“Me too...” I replied.

With an awkward laugh, Spider threw his arm around my shoulders and we walked over to the table. “Gummy?” Ant offered.

I ignored him and took a seat. Nothing here had changed. The nerds were nerd-ing, the lesbians were making out, the boys were trying their hardest not to get a hard-on.

“Oi! There’s a fully-gacked sex map in the old stairwell,” some chick called from the other side of the quad.

“A sex map?” Ant asked.

“Don’t need one of those,” Spider joked.

“I’d beg to differ,” I scoffed. Thanks to him, I’d perfected faking an orgasm by the ripe old age of 15 but, I wasn’t about to tell him that. 

~

We were all on it. Spider, Dusty, Ant, Me, Darren, Cash even Amerie. We were all interconnected in some disgusting incestuous web of wristy’s, scissoring and penetration. 

“You got a wristy from Darren?” Spider asked. I’m pretty sure he’s just jealous but, he’d never admit to that. Ant looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him up. He buried his head in my shoulder and shook it in disbelief.

I was focused on all the lines drawn out from my name. One to Spider, one to Dusty, three to Ant, one to Cash and a few to the boys in Year 12. I even gave Darren a wristy in 8th grade behind the bike shed. 

It’s like the walls in this fucking school had ears and betrayed our secrets to some lonely loser who was stupid enough to draw this map and think they wouldn't get caught. It was like Gossip Girl but way more lame.

If there was one good thing to come out of this, I think my little trip to the hospital was old news.

~

As we filed into the gym, I saw Mum standing by the podium. At that moment, I actually wanted to dive into a swap of starving alligators. My MOTHER had seen the map. She’d seen all the stuff that I did and to whom. Luckily it didn’t all make it on there. 

I could be kidding myself but, I’m pretty sure that up until this moment, she was convinced that I was still a virgin. I’m pretty sure that that ship has sailed with my last shred of self-respect. Fuck.

I slumped on the nearest chair and wrapped my arms around myself. I could feel her stare burning through me and I needed this to end. Pronto.

“Oh shit, your mum saw,” Spider said.

“I’m well fucking away you dumb cunt,” I snapped. I knew it wasn’t his fault but, it kinda was. I wouldn’t have been on that wall if he didn’t tell the basketball team 5 seconds after the first time he had his dick inside of me.

Mum started her grand speech with, “I am a woke woman.” Nice to see she's been on Urban Dictionary again.

To make things worse, she continued for 20 minutes about how much she loved sex, how she thought high school house parties were satan’s cesspool for STIs and how we’re all dogshit at making good choices. That last one might have some merit.

I could not have run out of that gym any fucking faster if I tried. My mother giving the whole school and fucking sex talk was not on my bingo card for today and whoever drew that map was gonna cop it.

Where the fuck was Ant and those goddamn gummies now?

[archer-kacey]

Joey Drew is Gay and there's no way around it (Pt 5)

So what about the women in Joey's life? Well, we hear a fair amount about two women in particular- Lottie, and Abby Lambert.

First, there's Lottie, a telecommunications girl who befriends Joey. She takes a quick liking to him, but Joey seems to have an aversion to any displays of affection she shows him.

In fact, he claims to "not have time for girls" in general, and this seems to be his reasoning behind not pursuing Lottie romantically.

Immediately following this...watertight explanation, Joey goes on a little side quest. See, Lottie notices odd initials on his boots:

She goes on a long search to find the previous owner, updating Joey with her findings often. However, she gets very down on herself when the effort seems to lead to nowhere, and grows weary as many of the men she's been sending messages to are continuously reported dead.

Note how Joey responds to her more somber attitude as the days go on:

He creates an elaborate lie in order to "solve" the mystery, entertain her, and spare her some of the pain of her depression.

It seems the "I don't have time and I'm too selfish" excuse doesn't really hold up. How odd, I was quite sure Joey Drew was being honest and introspective here.

This story gets even weirder, though. Nathan points out via footnote that he couldn't ever find the correspondences between Joey and Lottie- so the legitimacy of this tale is immediately called into question.

If it is completely fabricated, then Joey literally made up a story in which he keeps 99 feet away at all times from an extremely attractive and sweet woman who was very interested in him. If this is the case, it also seems to be some hardcore fishing for cool guy points. Joey comes out looking like a saint, AND he doesn't actually have to go out and catch girl cooties.

This brings us to the end of Lottie's tale, so let's talk about the (only?) confirmed real woman friend of Joey's.

Abby Lambert is the initial artist friend that introduced Joey to Henry. She seems to be his closest woman friend and confidant, and he ends up trusting her to run the art department as a whole.

Notice both her and Joey's reaction when she invites him as her date to an art salon.

In the middle of the skit they perform at said art salon, Joey takes a second to emphasize that they were just friends- an already stated fact.

It's all fake, but even during something so simple, he still makes it a point to clarify that they aren't involved romantically in any way.

If Abby and Lottie are anything to go by, he has a weirdly hypervigilant attitude when it comes to romance with women.

Regarding Abby specifically, here's more food for thought.

While not outright stated, Abby is very queer-coded herself. She's outside the "norm" for women at the time, both in wardrobe choice and attitude. She has a commanding presence, a streak of "rude" humor, and seems to be uncomfortable in dresses, preferring not to wear them at all if she can help it.

While there is no outright confirmation of her sexuality or identity, she sits outside the strict male/female roles of American society at the time.

This has no bearing on Joey's sexuality in a direct sense, but it still does beg the question: could there be a reason why Joey felt more comfortable around a woman who was not as rigid in her gender presentation? He doesn't seem to care that she wears men's suits, in fact he seems to be drawn towards her differences rather than repelled by them.

Even if there is no gaydar involved in how they found each other, there is a marked difference between the women Joey keeps close (Abby), versus the women Joey does not keep so close (Lottie.)

Now, to attempt to end this juggernaut. How about I cram in some odds and ends in the final part? Because yes, believe it or not, there's STILL MORE.

Part 6>

[marshmallowprotection]

Hi Kait! So about Saeyoung being parentified, can you share more about that?

Saeyoung Choi was parentified at a young age by his mother and this action left a deep impact on him that plagues him to this day. It does not matter what Route you're playing, Saeyoung reacts to his brother in the way a parent should. His dynamic with Saeran is founded by a bond of brothership, it's more like Saeyoung is the parent and Saeran is a child. It's that way by design, and you can thank Mother Choi for starting this unfortunate cycle.

So, to start off, I should explain what it means to be parentified, huh? Parentification is a form of physical and psychological abuse where a child is forced to take on the role of a parent for their fellow siblings in the house, or even their parents.

There are many kinds of this type of abuse, but two key types are notable in Saeyoung's arc.

Emotional Parentification is when you, the child, take on the role of a confidante or mediator. The child feels responsible for the emotional state of the people around them.

You're handed adult emotions and subject matter well before your pain can process what you're going through, and your mind reacts to this by trying to mend the distress. This can look like comforting your parent after they reveal something deeply distressing, like the details of a divorce, or financial issues to you. This can also look like trying to take care of younger family members when they're upset, leading the older child in this situation to comfort and control the situation in the way the adult should.

Instrumental Parentification is the act of giving a child tasks that are too large for them. That looks like a parent telling you to do grocery shopping, pay bills, cook meals for the family, or take care of a sick sibling, for example.

This is the act of giving a child responsibility in the household that they are not ready for. The adults in the situation expect the child to be capable of understanding adult concepts without failure, and the weight of that stress is more than a child's brain can comprehend. It shouldn't be on a child's shoulders to find food for the family or pay the bills, but that's what happens in this type of abuse.

So, now that I've given a definition of this abuse, let's go ahead and talk about Saeyoung's parentification. I don't think a lot of people in this world want to talk about the effects of parentification because a lot of people have suffered this abuse and don't even know it.

Most people see it as a child "stepping up" in a time of need, but that's not something we should condone as a society.

Saeyoung's first foray into the grown-up world was handed to him when his Mother decided she didn't want to leave the house to get her alcohol. She told him to go and fetch her for her, among other a number of other tasks, like grocery shopping and picking up some medication if needed. He has no choice but to obey her whims if he wants to eat and take care of Saeran, too.

This is how Mother Choi talks about him when he's not there. He was useful because she got double the money for the twins, and because he was strong enough to leave the house, run to escape the threat of anyone looking to kill him, and get the alcohol and food she wanted for herself.

Saeyoung knew everything was going to go to his mother first before he or Saeran got to eat or drink.

Because I don't know if you guys are aware of this or not, but Ray reveals to the player in V's Route that their mother used to only give them white bread and rice to eat. The boys were given scraps and if they got lucky... something hardier because Saeyoung managed to smuggle it.

To the point where he has a strong aversion to the taste of bread now. He doesn't want to eat it. It reminds him of being trapped in that house. He'd eat it if he had to, in the same way, Saeyoung and Saeran can eat anything because if you're hungry enough, trust me, you'll try to do anything to not starve.

I know a lot of people haven't played Rika's Behind DLC, but years into running errands and taking care of tasks for his mother, Rika sees mistrust and fear on his face. She doesn't get it at first, but considering the fact that she also suffers from abuse, it starts to make sense to her the longer she interacts with him. She saw her trauma in Saeyoung... similar to how she starts to see her pain in Saeran, too.

Rika's intentions were compassionate at first as a person who saw her tortured self in these boys.

Do you know what it would feel like for a child like Saeyoung to spend years running errands for his family on a minimal budget that mostly gets spent on alcohol, not only fearing that the money he had wasn't going to be enough but knowing his biological father was around the corner waiting to kill him?

Saeyoung lived in fear every day of his life but he wasn't allowed to be afraid. He had to be a big boy for Saeran and survive the scary places he was sent to otherwise his brother would be alone. Saeyoung knew he had to survive so Saeran wouldn't be alone. That place was bad as it was when it was the two of them, but if they were alone...?

If it was just Saeran alone or Saeyoung alone?

Well, we know how Saeran later describes it in the secret ending. It took V and Rika a few weeks to get everything together for Saeran, but in that time, Mother Choi spent hours denying Saeran food and water because she couldn't find Saeyoung. Saeyoung was right to be afraid of those things, but the problem is that he shouldn't have had to have lived that way.

He was a child just like Saeran.

Saeyoung would never acknowledge that fact, though. But, he was a child forced into the role of an adult. There hasn't been a moment in his life where he wasn't playing the grown-up... unless we counted a couple of years where he couldn't walk or talk.

There's a reason why he wouldn't admit he suffered this, though. He doesn't want to ever admit he was hurt because he thinks Saeran's trauma is valid in comparison to his. Sure, he got hurt, but he's the "responsible twin". He is the "grown-up". He is the "big brother". I'm sure Saeyoung's MCs are aware of that because that's why he's so damn resistant to being vulnerable with you!

It's because of this trauma!

I'm not going to dump every example into this post, but I will point out these screenshots in particular to make my point. This is how a child who is aware of financial instability acts.

The next thing Saeyoung became aware of was how important money was. He spent all his time trying to run these errands for Mother Choi, and even if he didn't know how to count on his fingers and toes, he had to learn fast.

If he's only given so much money, he has to debate what to pay for and what he can and can't get. "Mother told me to get the "x kind of alcohol and that costs y, but we need more of this food for us to be able to eat, but the food costs z. What do I do?" He learns faster than anyone that if he wants to get out of that house, they need to get a lot of money, fast. They can't touch whatever Saejoong sends them.

She'd notice Saeyoung taking that money. Mother Choi might not be all there in her later years as alcoholism rots her brain, but if there is one thing she knows, it's that her brand costs XYZ and she better be able to afford that since Saejoong sends the "ZYX" amount.

Money is a serious problem for many families. I can tell you from firsthand experience that being exposed to the money insecurity around me at a young age made me paranoid about the concept of money. Why do you guys think Saeyoung buys those cars? He has those cars because they're easy to get rid of for quick cash if you're desperate. He loves being a mechanic, but it's not just about those cars.

It's about the money.

Every dime he makes from the agency isn't something he considers to be safe. That's why he keeps extra items in his bunker to get rid of if he needs to make quick cash. The game itself doesn't go into detail about how many different bank accounts Saeyoung has or where he stores his money, but it's worth noting that Saeyoung has as much in his pocket as Jumin does, if not more. He just doesn't spend it due to the fear he has.

What if Saeran needs that money?

It's not "What if I need that money?"

It's "What if Rika or V asks me for money to help him and I can make that happen?" and it's "What if the agency explodes someday and I'm free to live with Saeran? I want Saeran to have everything... all of it. I need to be able to have a limitless amount of money so he's never without."

So, he's determined to find another way to make money to help his brother escape. Have you guys ever noticed Saeyoung's language in the game when he talks about escaping? It's never about him. There isn't a moment where he considers his wants or needs. That's due to the fact that he's been trying to care for Saeran first and foremost. It is his job, not only because his mother told him to do it, but because he feels like it's his destiny to protect Saeran as the big brother.

That brings me to what Saeyoung understood as his job from the minute he could understand abstract thought and walk.

The fact that Saeyoung believes it's his job to take care of Saeran's emotional regulation. Every choice he's ever made in his life was to protect Saeran from becoming aware of how much danger existed around them. Every time Saeran cried, Saeyoung took it personally, and he jumped into action to help Saeran calm down.

He spent those days trying to distract Saeran, tell him stories, or he would create games to keep his mind off the ropes on his ankles and the storm in the other room. Of course, Saeyoung was a child just as his brother was, and he wasn't the best at "being the parent".

There were moments when Saeyoung couldn't help himself, and he would cry or scream at Saeran without meaning to. Saeyoung would feel a great deal of shame after it and mask his emotions even deeper to survive as Saeran's caretaker. In fact, I had a bitter chuckle when I glanced through the Secret Ending to grab examples of this fact and a nurse outright called Saeyoung "Saeran's caretaker".

I can clip hundreds of examples where Saeyoung focuses on Saeran's emotional state before his own. This is an example I explained. Where Saeran mentions a time when he tried to argue with Saeyoung about how he felt and Saeyoung screamed at him. Saeyoung wants to make a better world for Saeran so Saeran can be a child... and he just can't accept that Saeran is aware of how dire things are.

He's been trying for years to keep Saeran in a state of naivety for his protection. Saeran was never naive, though. He knew better, but he saw how hard Saeyoung was trying... he didn't want to get yelled at for telling Saeyoung what he really felt.

Saeran wanted to be just like Saeyoung because Saeyoung was the "strong one". He saw his twin brother being "grown-up". Why wouldn't Saeran start to view Saeyoung as more of a parent? You don't have to call someone your parent to view them as a parent, and that is very much the case for the younger siblings who count on their siblings for that bond.

Saeyoung has a horrible habit of saying: "If I am strong, then you are strong. You're me and I'm you." It was the only thing he could think of to help Saeran when they were kids. It's poetic and thoughtful, but it isn't helpful for Saeran's emotional regulation. It placed the weight of his strength on Saeyoung and Saeyoung alone. Saeran didn't want to do that, but Saeyoung kept doing that over and over again.

Saeyoung was a child who tried his best with what he was given, but again, he was a child who had to throw glue at the wall until he made himself believe something stuck. A major problem with Saeyoung at his core is that he can't see Saeran as anything but a helpless child... he infantilizes Saeran quite often. The last time he saw Saeran, that situation was different.

He was playing the role of Saeran's parent and Saeran depended on him for everything. He has a very hard time stepping outside of that role. Saeyoung plays the role of a caretaker as best he can, but that's a problem. Saeran isn't a child and neither is Saeyoung anymore. He's got to do what's right for Saeran, but Saeyoung continues to think he knows best no matter what because he's Saeran's caretaker.

He can't shut that mentality off. It's going to take a lot of therapy for Saeyoung to confront this fact, but in the Secret Ending, there isn't any moment of time he can spare for that. He's still busy living in the worst nightmare of his life. He won't let himself focus on recovering from the gunshot wound, nor will he work on physical therapy when he needs to. He neglects his needs because he's afraid for Saeran at every turn.

In some regard, we, the players, understand why that is. We know the truth that others don't. If Saejoong finds out about them, they will be killed for it. There is only so much Jumin can do to protect them, and he's already doing more than any average person would.

Saeyoung is aware that the hospital wants to sedate Saeran for the violence he's displayed to doctors and nurses. But, he knows that his brother doesn't want to be drugged again. He is in a crisis of morality for days. What's the right thing to do? He knows Saeran needs to be in the hospital but he can't let that continue.

He feels that he knows better for his brother at the moment.

He knows Saeran will stay in a hospital room to get the help he needs.

But, how long before someone finds out? Even Jumin points out that the risk of his father finding out about Saeran is high. Saeyoung has to make a painful choice. Remove Saeran from the hospital knowing that it's not good for Saeran's mental health or keep him trapped in a psych ward knowing it might get him killed. He did what he thought was right.

It's a difficult question.

But, Saeyoung didn't think twice. He knew he had to make a hard decision to save Saeran's life. He didn't discuss anything with anyone else. He just acted. He acted with the knowledge that he is the only one who understands what Saeran needs. He is the only one who is capable of protecting Saeran. He can't trust anyone else ever again.

He will be the adult, the grown-up, the parent, and the big brother. I have to point at this exchange as a good example of Saeyoung being the one who feels like he has to regulate Saeran's emotions. Look at how he speaks to Saeran, begs with him, pleads with him, and tries to play the parent who doesn't know how bad it was but wants to do something to make it right.

"I was awed there was something in this world I had to protect. I'm blessed to have someone that I need to protect. Thank you, Saeran... for being there so that I can protect you. You existing beside me gives me one more reason to live."

That is the language of a man who has no life purpose but to be a parent to his twin brother his entire life. He says outright that his job was to make sure that Saeran could stay alive no matter what. He is the last person who should be trying to break through to Saeran in this situation about what it means to want to live or die, but he feels that there is no other choice.

What is Saeyoung's purpose if not to be Saeran's parental figure? His caretaker? Even as he starts to heal and learn how to live with his MC in a world that he wants to live in forever... he is going to be grappling with that question.

This doesn't change at the End of Secret Ending when Saeran and Saeyoung have their "breakthrough."

Saeran still looks to Saeyoung for an answer and Saeyoung wants to give one. In fact, the reason why Saeran decides that it's not worth it to kill himself isn't just due to the fact that he realized that Saeyoung would do anything for his happiness, even die.

It's also because he realized that Saeyoung will not let him die. He doesn't want Saeran to die and he won't Saeran do it. That doesn't stop Saeran's suicidal thoughts. He simply becomes apathetic after this. He knows he can't die no matter what he does, what's the point in trying again? He doesn't have a sudden revelation. He just learns that Saeyoung won't quit trying to save his life.

Saeyoung: "Let's go back to how we were. We've survived so much. Our happiness now can shine brighter because of that."

Saeran: "I hated that about you. I hated how you were positive about the future, and yet, I admired it at the same time too. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt this time if only because that's the only choice I have right now."

Saeyoung, my dearest, you can't go back. This sets up how I view the way Saeyoung will treat Saeran going forward until he gets into some therapy and acknowledges what he went through. This doesn't make Saeyoung a bad person, but it does show the player how Saeyoung's unable to stop seeing himself as a child who had to be a grown-up to survive. He needs to accept that Saeran is a grown-up and that he's a grown-up, too.

Saeran should be allowed to do what he wants, and outside of doing the right thing by removing sharp objects and more things like that outside of that bunker, as well as offering emotional support when it is asked for, Saeyoung should learn who his brother is today instead of thinking of him as the baby who clung to him when they were both stuck in that nightmare home.

Just as Saeran should give Saeyoung a chance to show who he is as an adult, too, when he's ready. He doesn't need to see Saeyoung as a savior or a caretaker, and he doesn't want to, but they need time, the both of them, to get out of that place. I think with time, therapy, and the help of MC will do wonders for this.

I know I didn't get into where this would play out in Another Story, but it's the same sentiment. But, in that situation, Saeyoung has no choice but to be forced into seeing Saeran's autonomy as an adult. It's far different than what we're shown in Saeyoung's Route. I know the game doesn't cover this either, but I have to add something else to this.

You know V's murder is something that Saeyoung is going to take the blame for. Saeran is never going to be blamed in Saeyoung's eyes and I don't see that changing even as they get better. He will say it's a sin he committed since he was the one who put Saeran in that position, to begin with.

It's painful to think about but it's the truth.

Saeyoung will gloss over Saeran's actions because he is his brother. That's going to cause issues later on as Saeran takes ownership of his actions. He won't be able to talk about those things with his brother... because Saeyoung will excuse him. "It's my fault. Blame me. I failed you as a big brother. Your actions were mine. They weren't yours. I'm the filthy sinner. I am Luciel. I am Lucifer. I take your sins and cleanse you of them."

Saeyoung became a monster and he feels like Saeran shouldn't be called one when he already took the burden as Saeran's other half. That's a part of what he can't admit to himself. That he feels like a parent who must take care of everything that happened to Saeran as if it were his sin instead.

I feel like this is a part of Saeyoung Choi that a lot of people can relate to, but it's the pain of knowing that he hasn't realized how deep this trauma runs in him.

[doyawalker]

Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind #8

chapter 7.

contains swearing and alcohol consumption

i promise next chapter will include jungkook's pov <33

previous chapter

masterlist

taglist: @namjooning-94 , @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad , @parkinglot-nights

__

What’s The Reason Why We’re Still Out Here?

You didn’t text him, but he still managed to sneak himself slowly but steadily back into your life and you didn’t even notice it until you found yourself sitting next to him in class on Thursday two weeks after classes started and you laughed at one of his stupid jokes. It was the first time you ever laughed at something he said since you met him again and it didn’t go unnoticed by him either. His eyes focused on your face, his lips tugged into a confident smile, he almost seemed proud of making you chuckle. 

But class wasn’t the only time in your life when it became almost normal for you to see him. He waited for you outside the gym every morning after he quickly figured out your schedule and at first you had told him to piss the fuck off but he hadn’t budged. Sometimes he came over to you when you were resting in between your sets, chatting casually to you even though you almost never responded to him, and he also started to show up early to class to save the seat next to him for you. And even as you ignored him and chose a different seat somewhere else in the class, he always made sure to come and sit down next to you. 

And so, at one point, it became hard to ignore him. 

It wasn’t like he was trying super hard, often times he just accepted the silence between the two of you, but sometimes he would drop random comments about his day, talk to you about his cooking fails, or a heated debate he had with Jimin about whether there were more dogs or dog toys in the world. Or he would help you to add weight plates to your bar, give you a thumbs-up after finishing your last set, and even hold doors open for you wherever you were headed.

He did it so well. Acting so casually as if nothing ever happened and sometimes you looked at him and the memories and the pain weren’t the first thing that came to mind. 

It was weird and even though you still remained cold and distant most of the time, the reluctance and aversion you felt toward him got weaker with every passing day.

“And when exactly are you gonna text me about the project we two are supposed to be doing?”

His words cut through your clouded mind, as you stared into your laptop screen in front of you, class passing you by without you even noticing much. 

You turned to look at him, his dark eyes resting on you so comfortably that it made you squirm in your seat. For how long had he been looking at you?

“Since when are you so eager to do school work?”, you asked, furrowing your brows together.

“I’m not, but I’m eager for you to text me so that I can save your number and bother you from afar.”

“You don’t have the balls to just ask me for my number like a grown person?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I know your answer’s gonna be no, so why bother?”. Leaning over to you, he tapped his index finger against his forehead. “Think smart, not hard.”

You eyed him in distaste, your arms crossed in front of your chest, a humorless chuckle escaping your lips.

“Wise words from someone who doesn’t seem to think at all.”

He grinned.

“Oh, believe me, there is a lot of thinking involved when it comes to you.”

Taken by surprise by his words, you looked away, trying to calm the heat that crawled up your cheeks. 

That, he also did often. Random flirts, suggestive comments, looking at you for a little too long. And you tried to not pay it too much attention, but how could you ignore the small little butterflies sitting at the pit of your stomach, hitting their wings against the cage your mind had set around them? Because, whether he was doing it on purpose or not, he was doing things that two-year younger you would have died for. The undivided attention, the way his body was so close to yours sometimes, not to mention the apology for his behavior at the party. And even though you weren’t your two-year younger self anymore, a part of it still lived inside of you, because every past self is still a part of yourself. And telling that part of yourself that you shouldn’t listen to what he was saying, was like telling a kid to not eat so much candy. Pointless.

Clearing your throat, you focused back on your laptop, aimlessly searching around your mail account. 

“Well, I thought we could start brainstorming a bit next week?”, you suggested, referring back to the original topic of the conversation.

“You don’t have time this weekend?”

You shook your head.

“No, I’ve got plans.”

He tilted his head to the side, curiosity flashing in his eyes.

“What plans?”, he asked.

Tae and Sori wanted to go partying. Before the midterm phase starts, they had said and they weren’t wrong about that, now was the best time to have some fun before your Saturday afternoons would be filled with sitting in the library. 

There was this club very near to campus that was known for its student parties and through Tae and his contacts you had gotten on the VIP list for this Friday’s party. Exciting stuff.

“None of your business.” “Well, it is my business if we can’t work on our project because of it.”, he argued, his voice turning into a mumble, as the professor’s sharp eyes landed on the two of you amidst your constant talking.

Giving her an apologetic smile, you turned to glare at him, but he only gave you another nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. Asshole.

“I’m going clubbing.”, you whispered, your eyes wandering back toward the blackboard, but the words written on there weren’t making sense to you either way. Another class you had to touch up on at home, it seemed.

“So it was really your name on the list.”

“What list?”

“You really think Tae has different contacts than me?”

You closed your eyes for a second as you realized the meanings of his words, a sigh escaping your lips. Should’ve thought of that.

“So, I guess I’ll have the pleasure of meeting you there tomorrow?”, you asked, the sarcasm almost distorting your voice. 

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head, the muscles in his arms flexing casually.

“Now that I know that you’re gonna be there for sure, I guess I can’t say no to that.” “Real funny.”

The professor was sending another death stare in your direction, forcing the two of you to shut up. And so, for the rest of the lecture, your thoughts span around how exactly you got yourself into this unfortunate position.

You arrived home around the time Taehyung had started cooking and when you opened the front door, the smell of garlic and fresh herbs was penetrating your nose immediately. Your stomach was already wildly protesting, demanding food for the past hour, so you carelessly threw your bag on the kitchen table before walking up to your roommate’s side to take a look at what he was creating.

“Hi.”, he said, as he noticed you. “Hungry?”

“You can’t even imagine.”

Spying over his shoulder, you hummed in approval as you saw the pasta already boiling in hot water, slices of tomato sizzling up in a pan beside it. 

“I’ll set the table.”, you said, opening the cabinet above his head to get two plates out.

Silence settled around you for a moment, both of you busy with your own tasks, before he spoke again.

“How was your day?”, he asked, fishing a noodle out of the pot to try it.

“Nothing special.”, you said, shrugging your shoulders.

You hadn’t really told Tae or Sori about your constant encounters with Jungkook. They knew about the group project, and Sori had cussed the shit out of him for just randomly setting a group up with you, but otherwise, it seemed like the three of you were avoiding the topic altogether. Which you didn’t mind. If you would talk with them about it you would have to think about it even more and you didn’t feel like doing that.

“What about yours?”, you asked back, placing two glasses down on the table. 

“It was okay. Busy kind of. Had to run from campus to work.”, he chuckled. 

Tae was working in an office in the city, basically acting as an intern, but it was easy money. Plus, he was telling you all the gossip about Catrina and Brent, who you knew nothing about except that their marriage was falling apart and Brent was possibly cheating.

“Oh, and you know who texted me?”, he added, turning around to face you.

Looking at him in anticipation, you raised an eyebrow.

“Jungkook.”

Upon hearing his name, you slightly flinched, a bit of the water that you were currently pouring into Tae’s glass spilling over to the side.

“He asked me why I didn’t invite the rest of the group out into the Attic as well. I guess he knows the same dude as me that works there.”, he continued to explain, turning back around to the stove to stir the sauce. 

“Yeah, he told me.”

“When? Today?”

“In class.” 

“So, he’s coming too?” 

Tae’s voice turned somewhat bitter and you saw the way his lips pressed together in disapproval.

“I guess so.”, you said, but you couldn’t ignore the obvious anger that made its way up to his expression, his jaw clenching hard. “What’s wrong?”

 He didn’t answer immediately, keeping himself busy with cooking, until he finally sighed and looked back at you. 

You sat at the table, waiting for him to speak. 

“You remember the girl I was seeing a few weeks back? The blonde one?” 

You nodded. The girl you saw at breakfast a few times, but never really interacted with. She hadn’t been very talkative.

“I really liked her. I thought we were having a great time together and I was thinking about eventually asking her out.”, he said, his eyes now aimlessly wandering around the room. Another sigh broke out of him. 

“I don’t know if you noticed but she was the one that ran up to Jungkook at that party.”

Oh, shit.

You hadn’t recognized her because frankly, you hadn’t paid her much attention, your mind had been too busy feeling the pain and running away, but thinking back you realized that it had actually been her. 

“I’m sorry.”, you said, unsure of what to say. What was there to say? You knew how he felt. It sucked, especially after seeing that so shortly after things end with a person. And even worse, with someone that was supposed to be your friend. Yeah. You knew that feeling really well.

“That really sucks. Are you holding up okay?”

He shrugged his shoulders, turning off the stove and draining the noodles. 

“It’s not like she was the love of my life but I guess it always stings a bit, doesn’t it?”, he said, his face contorting into a grimace. “So, I’m not really the biggest fan of being around him right now.”

“I can understand. We don’t have to go to the party if you don’t feel like it.”, you offered, watching him bring the noodles and sauce to the table.

Shaking his head, he sat down next to you.

“No way. Do you understand how stressful it was to get us onto this fucking VIP list? We’re going.”

You chuckled.

“Okay, Boss. We’ll just stay far, far away from him.”

You had planned to do so either way. You didn’t need another close-up encounter with him, especially not when you weren’t sure if your body would be able to resist him so well anymore now. 

But adding the fact that he was mingling with Tae’s ex to your personal list of reasons why Jungkook was a seemingly awful person, helped you to take your mind off him.

“How’s this one?” 

You stepped out into the living room, Sori’s and Tae’s eyes immediately on you. This was the third dress you were showing them and Tae was definitely already over it by now, while Sori was still the enthusiastic personal stylist she usually was. 

“Oh, I love it.”, she exclaimed, clapping her hands together and bouncing in her seat, while Tae only gave you a lame thumbs up.

You were wearing a black, tight dress with long sleeves and a cut-out around the cleavage, making your boobs look just right. But was this the one? 

“Looks very sexy.”, Sori added, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. 

Scoffing at her comment, you turned back around to walk into your room again. “I have another one.” “Of course, she does.”, you heard Tae mumble, followed by the sound of Sori smacking his arm. That was the support you needed.

You opened your closet, pulling out the last dress you would consider for tonight. It was silky and light green, and you thought it looked beautiful against your skin color. It had a waterfall neckline and was flowing nicely around your hips while being cinched around the waist. And as you put it on and let it fall over your body, you already made up your mind.

“Guys, this is the one.”, you announced, walking back out to your friends, stretching out your arms to the side to present the dress in all its glory.

Shrieking, Sori almost jumped up from the couch, clasping her hand in front of her mouth.

“Yes, bitch, you ARE wearing THAT!”, she yelled, grabbing Tae’s shoulder and shaking him from side to side in excitement. And even Tae seemed happy with the choice, his eyes glued to you, as he nodded in approval.

“Looks very good.”, he stated simply, his gaze darting back up to your face.

“Perfect.”, you remarked, smiling contently, and pointing toward the kitchen area. “Let’s drink on that.”

“Finally.”

Tae got up from his seat quickly, jogging over to the counter to grab three shot glasses. 

“Tequila?”

Hell yeah.

__

[reikunrei]

okayyyy so i made a post abt this last night that was just a short ramble trying to piece my thoughts together but basically... i’m just really curious how will’s (possible) powers might manifest and what they might be, and i’m trying to like. reason out how i feel about them and what i personally think would be cool or fitting...

lots of people have talked about this before (like user pinkeoni has made some really good posts abt it, and i think heroesbyler has had good discussions abt it too) and what his powers might be, and a lot of them revolve around creation or light, both of which i’m very fond of

this isn't so much a theory or prediction as it is a "these are things i noticed and i think this would work well with the themes of the show" type of spiel. it ended up way longer than i wanted it to and goes off on multiple tangents because i can't stop myself, so i'm putting it under the cut lol

it's more just for me to try and articulate what i'm feeling about it, but if anyone actually reads this mess, you're more than welcome to share your thoughts :3

with the creation stuff, it automatically makes me think of the UD taking the shape of hawkins... because we know that henward grew to hate that town so why would vecna shape the UD to look like the place he hated? i suppose it could be bc he wanted to take revenge on the town, so why not daydream about it and destroy your scale model of it to get some catharsis, right? but... then it's frozen on the night will went missing? it’s possible that the UD could have simply taken the shape of hawkins when the s1 gate was opened and made the two worlds touch, thus making the UD a true "mirror" dimension of hawkins. but i also really like the idea of will getting sucked into the UD, panicking, wishing he had his hiding places to go to to escape from this monster chasing him, and poof! now he's in hawkins and all of his hiding places are there (he's good at hiding!) but it's still the "wrong" hawkins

but anyway, i want to move on to the "light" angle because there's so many things that i love about the possibility of will's powers taking the form of some kind of light to counteract the darkness created by vecna and the UD ("hide in the light" thank u max)

i especially think it would be cool for it to take the shape of some kind of fire or flame, even if the powers themselves don't behave like fire, like it's just a stylization choice to give some sort of visual that the characters and audience can see

i don't recall if there's any specific moment where any version of henward/vecna/001 or other characters talk about burning or fire as a form of destruction in a metaphorical/symbolic sense, but we see it enough of it literally throughout the show. fire is a means of causing pain, of killing, of destroying

season 1, nancy and jonathan think to burn the demogorgon to a crisp because, hey, that'd be a pretty effective way to kill something, right? so they carry that theory over into all the other seasons

season 2, we see hopper using his lighter to maneuver through the tunnels below hawkins, and the vines flinch away from the flame. we see owens and the lab using fire to cull the "weeds" still growing out of the gate. we see will react physically to the burning, feeling the pain through the link with the hivemind, and requiring it to be cold in order to not be in physical agony

season 3, uuuh i can't remember any direct usage of fire against the fleshflayer other than the fireworks, but that's more about the explosions than the flames imo lol. but we do get the sauna test (best s3 episode hands down mwah love it) and the aversion to heat that we see in billy and also in heather, though less prominently

season 4, we get murray's killer flamethrower scene and hopper using the flaming spear to keep the demogorgon at bay. our hawkins crew relies heavily on use of fire (flambé) in order to take out vecna's physical body

so there's just a lot of fire and fire as a means of destruction. but i can't help also thinking about how fire isn't purely a means of harm. fire keeps us warm, it brings us light in the darkness, it cooks our food and brings us health. the sun, a giant ball of fire, is essential for life to exist on earth. i especially keep thinking about how wildfires are a necessity to the planet, and in places like healthy grassland ecosystems, fires are crucial to burn out old growth to make way for new, fresh green, which the animals there then rely on. letting old growth continue to sit and dry out and die isn't good. it has to be removed completely so that new grass shoots can take over

(not to mention that allowing for controlled burns and letting wildfires run their course in a regular system ultimately allows for fewer, less destructive wildfires to happen. if there's no old, dry growth to burn, then there's less stuff to catch on fire)

how does this tie into the show, though?

to me, it makes me think of the concept of simply living with your trauma, not talking about it, and pretending everything is fine, when all that's doing is creating more kindling for a bigger, more destructive fire. it makes me think of season 2 and the conversation will has with jonathan about how everyone keeps treating him like he's gonna break, and the instructions joyce and hopper got from owens to just "treat him how you normally would." you can ignore trauma all you want and pretend everything is fine, but it's going to be more destructive in the long run. instead, letting him talk about it, listening, letting him burn things down a little bit, will be healthier because it'll clear out that old, dry grass clogging everything up and leave a clean patch of earth for him to build back up with new, healthier growth. you can take a weed wacker to it all you want, but those old roots are still there

not to mention the way they get rid of the mind flayer is to "burn it out of him." they literally let the "fire" run rampant, cranking up the heat to make his body inhabitable to the mind flayer, clearing out those nasty "weeds" so will can grow on his own (more or less) unimpeded

and then there's the s1 flashback scene between will and joyce where he's drawing will the wise shooting green fireballs. joyce asks, "why does he need fireballs if he's so wise? can't he just outsmart the bad guys?" but will explains that sometimes the bad guys are smart too, so he needs the fireballs

only here, they're green because he doesn't have a red crayon. this specific tidbit makes me think of how will's powers are currently repressed in some way. at that time, it was possibly because his powers "hadn't come in" yet, if we want to follow the idea that powers are a symbol for puberty or coming of age

he hasn't "found his flame" yet, so to speak (which is what got me thinking about all of this at all last night bc of the song 'find your flame' from the sonic frontiers ost the absolute slapper that it is) and at this point it's obvious that any awakening of his powers will happen in s5 when he's no longer being suppressed, much like how he currently has to suppress his true feelings, or how he's been unable to move on from what happened to him in s1 and 2

he has to use "fireballs" because sometimes the bad guy is smart. sometimes the bad guy has a trick up his sleeve (like *checks notes* literally not being able to die) and your original plan won't work. you can stock up on weapons, you can create as many sneaky ambushes as you want, you can solve all of the bad guy's riddles, but sometimes you need the fireballs

and, once again, we come back to how i feel like will's powers won't be literal fireballs, or something he physically wields. when it comes to el, henward, and kali, as well as the other powers that we see from other subjects, it's all something that they do. and here's where i start to struggle with how i want to articulate what i think about will's powers...

to me, will's possible powers aren't a weapon in the way that we've seen other powers used, or at least framed as, a weapon

like... i guess i do think that it's something that he can "do," but it's less "i'm going to move this thing with my mind" "i'm going to go into your head and walk through your memories" "i'm going to make you see something that isn't really there." like, he himself, his person, his mind, his essence, his intent, is the power. will byers is the light. why else constantly bask him in rays of sunshine, hm?? lol

again, i want to touch on the possibility of the UD hawkins manifesting simply because he wanted it to. he didn't think about it, he didn't deliberately go like "okay and now this house is here and this place is there" it simply... was. it just happened without much of his input other than a vague wish and panic

if we want to make it into something more deliberate, it makes me think of lio fotia in promare. the movie is basically about this group of people who suddenly developed "burnish" abilities, where they contain fire and have some sort of fire powers. they're persecuted by the rest of the planet, and are treated as terrorists and locked away in prisons and experimented upon. the fire, or "promare," inside of them is a double-edged sword, where they supposedly rejuvenate their bodies, but if they don't let it burn, it instead kills them and they turn to ash. spoilers i guess (you should definitely go watch this movie i highly recommend it), but near the end of the movie, lio is taken captive by the antagonist, kray foresight, and our other main chara galo thymos tries to save lio. kray lashes out using his burnish powers and tries to burn galo, but lio launches his own flames toward galo to protect him. when galo's firefighting team finds him, he's on fire, but he doesn't notice because the fire doesn't hurt him. it's a special kind of flame that doesn't burn! in the end, in order to save the world, they have to let it fully burn one last time, and galo and lio work together to wrap the entire earth in a massive wave of fire, and it's fire that takes the form of water. it engulfs everyone, but everyone realizes that it doesn't actually burn

i'm getting off topic but !! now we start getting less into "will has fire powers" and more "his powers are light and warmth" instead. like lio and galo's combined powers and intent (that's the other thing, that final big burn is different than the rest because of the intent behind it), it's not actually about the fire, it's about its purpose

he needs the fireballs to fight the bad guys, but in the case of our "bad guy," literal fireballs don't work. henward's past is a complicated one, and a lot of where he's been led was caused by his lack of a proper support system. he was villainized for being different. even when he was found by someone who "cared" for him, it was for that man's own personal gain, not because he actually cared about henward

henward was only ever burned and then left in the cold. nobody gave him a second chance like el, nobody listened to him like will. he was forced to fend for himself on his own in the darkness. he came to rely on the darkness. vecna literally focuses on the darkest thoughts of his victims in order to gain enough power to open gates. and sure, focusing on negative emotions gives all of our characters with powers some burst of strength

but then we're shown that love is what makes them even stronger. focusing on happy memories, memories of friends and loved ones, memories of the love itself, is what allows el to overpower 001 in the lab and to close the gate in s2 and to break billy out of his tether to the fleshflayer. and even in that final showdown in s3, she's not using her powers. she's burned out. in that moment, it's not the powers themselves that save them, it's the message behind it

will's whole character is about love and understanding. he puts himself last consistently, he puts the needs of others above himself, and he does not know how to be a little bit selfish when it comes to his feelings. he's sensitive, he's kind, he's artistic, he cries easy, he relies on his friends and family to feel safe and loved, and without them, he feels lost and hurt and alone. and there might be ups and downs, but he gets that love and support from them. they always have his back. he knows what it's like to feel pain and to suffer, but to have people who will stay by your side unconditionally through it all

and that's something he can offer to vecna and his alternate versions. he can offer that love, and that warmth, and that light in the darkness. and once again, i think it would be neat if it was less of a literal flame or source of light, and that it was will who is the source of light. like, he is the example for henward/vecna to see. he's the proof that despite all the bad shit there is in the world, there are people who will still love you anyway. there's people who will listen to you and care for you even if everyone else shuts you out

and even if it does take the form of something literal, of an actual flame or glowing ball of light or more of those glowy particles, it's not a weapon like the other powers we've seen

it's also about just shining a light on all the good stuff that's mixed in with the bad stuff. again, there is no black and white (thanks brenner, you fuck). henward was miserable in his life, he hated it and was frustrated that he felt trapped in a cage, and he only saw all the bad in the world. he couldn't see any of the good mixed in (ie. the possibility that he was friends with scott clarke as a kid, or even the fact that victor was really so caring and loved his son so much) because he just assumed it was all bad and he'd have to start from scratch to get any of the good he wanted

even focusing on the negative thoughts and feelings of his victims, vecna was able to be evaded by thinking of happy memories that took place at the same time as the bad ones. "hide in the light." again and again, we see max use memories, both past and present, to free herself from his clutches. good memories that still exist alongside the bad ones. and if vecna acknowledges that there's still good mixed in among the bad, his whole source of power, the foundation for his plan, completely crumbles

if will's power has to do with light, then he'll be the one to shine the light on all of the good memories that henward had mixed in among the bad. and this isn't to victim blame this 12 year old boy who was miserable and didn't know what else to do, but it's instead about his lack of support system, and how it's understandable to have grown so jaded, but that doesn't mean everything is bad, and there's still a chance for him to come back from it and change his way of thinking

henward was a wildfire waiting to happen, and rather than having someone to let him burn a little, to let out his anger and listen, he was trimmed back and suppressed. he had his old growth left there to dry out, which only added more kindling. he was never given the room to bring in new growth

and then to really tie in the use of fire to match the theme of "no black and white," i think about avatar the last airbender, and specifically the sun warrior temple that aang and zuko visit in the final book. in book 1 of atla, aang tries to learn firebending and jumps in too quickly, ends up burning katara's hands, and swears off ever learning firebending because he doesn't want to hurt anyone with it. in book 3, zuko offers to teach him, but aang is still very timid about it because of that incident in book 1. zuko also finds his firebending ability diminishing, and they surmise that it's because he no longer has this drive to find and capture the avatar. that was his source of power, his purpose, and now that it's no longer his purpose, he has to find the true way to master firebending. so, the two boys travel to the sun warrior temple to try to find answers. there, both zuko and aang admit that they really only see fire as something destructive, but the sun warriors remind them that fire is warmth and light and life. fire can be destructive, but it is not only destructive. it's something beautiful and necessary, you just have to respect it

feels pretty fitting for stranger things, yeah?

so, to wrap this all up before i go fucking crazy:

i personally think that will's powers will predominantly take the form of fire or light

i do also still adhere to some of the creation power theories, but it also wouldn't be crazy for him to have more than one power, right? after all, el can use telekinesis, track someone's physical location, and go into their minds. that's 3 pretty different things that she can do!

will is directly tied to the behavior of the lights in s1 and called back to in s4. throughout the show, and especially in s4, will is basked in sunshine on multiple occasions. sure, those instances are mostly about his bond to mike, and how mike sees him in this halo of light all the time...

but that still ties into the theme of love. those rays of light are about mike's love for will, and vice versa. but that kind of unconditional love and acceptance is something that will have to be extended to henward and vecna. therefore: light is the key

and again, it just feels very fitting to have the key be something like fire. something that's so often villainized and only seen as bad and destructive, when it truly is something that's misunderstood. unchecked, it can run rampant and cause pain and grief, but when respected, it can bring life and healing, for lack of a better word

so far, we've only seen fire used as a means of harm. it does keep our characters safe (ie. hopper's flaming spear, the flame thrower, the moltovs, etc.) but it is wielded as a weapon first, when it doesn't have to be

fire can cause pain, yes, but fire is also passion and love. light is something to be extended, to help people find their way out of the darkness, and i just think it would be really cool to see vecna, who's always shrouded in darkness, or henward who hid away in the dark attic surrounded by candles, to have a ray of warm sunshine like will byers hold out a hand to him and try to help

[inmarbleimmobility]

1.1.6 - How He Protected His House

THE ONE WITH THE CHAIRS!!! my youngest brother and i goof about this chapter All The Time because this is as far as he ever made it in the brick. so sometimes we'll be at a holiday gathering and my mother will inevitably ask about how many of us there are while setting the table and my brother will go, "seven? yeah we have enough chairs for that, we could do up to eleven actually, it would be more but that one upstairs is too big-"

anyway!

"the most beautiful of altars [...] is the soul of an unhappy man who is comforted and thanks god" is fascinating. on the surface obviously he's talking about how compassion and love are more important than material goods. but also, the altar is *the* single most important part of a physical church to the point that the church is essentially built around it - compassion and love are the center around which Myriel's entire belief system (and the one Hugo argues for) is built.

I love that Myriel has "pupils from the secondary school" over!!! I'm imagining like tea in the headmaster's office but it's with the nice old bishop who just loves hearing about everything you've been learning lately

the bit about Baptistine's sofa dreams is actually kind of crushing?? "whoever attains the ideal"???? Hey Hugo, I know this is The Miserable Book but that's a little bit of a downer even for you. like, no, material things shouldn't be the ideal, of course! beautiful furniture is no substitute for the things that truly matter! (which, if I had a nickel...) But I feel so bad for her here. Let a woman have her one velvet sofa. (also, for someone who's going to talk so much about a certain "priest of the ideal" later, that's a weird way to talk about your ideal!)

it's fascinating also that Myriel still has the "grooming articles that betrayed the elegant habits of the man of the world"! it's a surprising bit of vanity that maybe he doesn't even realize is vanity? or maybe his 10 step skincare routine really is that good.

Myriel's "copper crucifix with traces of silver" caught my eye, because Valjean's crucifix in his terrible room in the Rue de l'Homme Arme is copper too. probably I'm reaching here and and all 18th century crucifixes were made of copper, but either way it's an interesting bookend.

i'm about to get very Red String Conspiracy Meme here for a second BUT! The Candlesticks. the church says you Must have a certain number of (specifically beeswax) candlesticks present on or near the altar at any mass. the absolute minimum is two, but the number increases up to 7 depending on who's celebrating mass/what type of mass is being celebrated. someone who needed a quick 1500 word essay could make something out of this - the fact that aside from the silver cutlery (which there were practical reasons for keeping) the only other Thing he has is those two silver candlesticks, the fact that two candles specifically are used for the low mass, the table/altar comparisons, the altar being a surface on which a sacrifice is made... all of this is an extreme reach but playing with catholic aesthetics is fun, okay, so sue me.

"The beautiful is as useful as the useful. [...] Perhaps even more so."

there sure are a lot of Guys Who Like Flowers in this novel, huh! Myriel, Mabeuf, Jean Prouvaire, even Valjean... I'm sure that means nothing at all!

"Nisi Dominus" etc is Psalm 127:1, "Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchman stays awake in vain."

"[the bravery of priests] should be peaceable" - and this is where we run into the limit of the Myriel Approach. his need to remain peaceable is the core of that whole interaction with G- and his aversion to the scaffold - he does not believe violence can be justified, which is why he can't change the system, he can only try to mitigate the pain it causes. it feels to me like a direct parallel of Enjolras' "death, I abhor thee, but I use thee".