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#and becomes a memory and an urge and a drive and a concept
sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year
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Yandere DILF! Headcanons
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Warnings: Obsessive Behaviour, Non-Explicit Implications of Smut, Implications of Infidelity, Age Gap, Non-Consensual Surveillance, Mention of Assault, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.
♡ Yandere DILF who has always had everything he could ever want handed to him on a silver platter: women, highly paid positions in some corporation or another, wealth – etc.
♡ Yandere DILF who, before today, never actually thought love existed. True love, that is.
♡ Yandere DILF who, even with a beautiful wife to his name, one he settled for before because he thought that was the normal thing to do – what was expected of him – has never felt his heart shutter or his cheeks set ablaze with the anxiety of first love, making the whole concept null. Void.
♡ Yandere DILF whose life changes the second he meets you – whose world begins turns upside down as he spots you sat on his sofa, his wife beside you, speaking with kind, smiling eyes.
♡ Yandere DILF whose interest, for the first time in his entire life, is piqued, and whose urge to pursue any information he can get his hands on is ignited.
♡ Yandere DILF who is convinced that it’s only to extinguish this newfound interest in the beautiful stranger in his home.
♡ Yandere DILF whose wife gives him the perfect guise to do so – to “get to know you,” just as she requested – seeing as you are their new babysitter, after all.
♡ Yandere DILF with the perfect house, a well-paying job, a loving family and good looks, feels as if he has nothing but his image of the ideal suburban father when he sees you, when he knows that, regardless of how wrong it is, he must have you.
♡ Yandere DILF whose resolve to remain loyal to his wife cracks every time he hears you call him “Sir” or “Mr. Laurier”.
♡ Yandere DILF whose thoughts become increasingly centric of you the longer he knows you, yet knows nothing of you save for whatever his wife tells him, a finite, human resource he can only mine so much before she becomes suspicious.
♡ Yandere DILF who, for the first time, feels as if he is the pursuer rather than the pursued.
♡ Yandere DILF who initially tries to fight this growing infatuation of who you could be – who you are – and tries to keep his dear, sweet wife in mind. One which he cares little for.
♡ Yandere DILF who finds himself having discovered loopholes in his own logic by, quite simply, for brief samples of memory, replacing his wife with you.
♡ Yandere DILF, whose mind has been buzzing with you for the last month, just before going out for the evening, considers “falling ill” to have an excuse to stay at the house with you, to talk to you, to touch you. To see what made you so special as to drive him up the wall.
♡ Yandere DILF whose idea crumbles as he realises such a plan would entail him spending time with (and potentially being caught by) his two children, for whom he held no particular affection.
♡ Yandere DILF who is drip-fed information in the time between you arriving and he and his wife leaving, from which he gleans only shards of a larger puzzle that paints no clearer a picture of the mysterious younger person who has so seamlessly captured both his heart and his attention.
♡ Yandere DILF whose mind doesn’t recoil as the first thought – image – of you doing something less than decent with him, born from you bending over to pick something up that fell from the kitchen counter, giving him a view he’d previously tried to avoid for his own sanity’s sake.
♡ Yandere DILF who has to try and look his wife in the eyes as that picture of you – and others which emerge from the cracks in his mind – remains with him for the entire evening.
♡ Yandere DILF who has to resist the urge to take you into his arms and bury you in his bedsheets, or drape you in his coat, on the rare occasion you’d fall asleep on the sofa, his children safely tucked away in bed and exhaustion having taken you somewhere far from here.
♡ Yandere DILF who can’t help the dangerous thought that you need a protector – him – to protect you from other boys your age who would gladly take advantage of your vulnerable state.
♡ Yandere DILF who unabashedly succumbs to those same fantasies of heroism and lust in an isolated private bathroom stall at work.
♡ Yandere DILF who can’t help but begin to wonder if he’d be your first; your first kiss, your first love, your first time, and if you’d take to him as strongly as he’d taken to you.
♡ Yandere DILF who, after many months, many yearning, daydreaming, dragging months, eventually receives the God-given opportunity to invite you into his house when you swing by for something other than your job – to pass on a message to his wife, or something or other – while she’s out shopping and his children are at school.
♡ Yandere DILF whose heart palpitates in ways it never did for his wife – or any partner, for that matter.
♡ Yandere DILF who actually felt as if what he said and did here mattered, that you would not be so quick to overlook any of his transgressions as his many conquests before you had.
♡ Yandere DILF who offers you a drink and, just for a second, has the nasty little thought to spike it, to whisk you away somewhere where it will only ever be the two of you. Then thinks better of it since he knows you will be missed.
♡ Yandere DILF who considers offering – insisting – a glass of whiskey, much like the one he’s poured for himself. ‘To be hospitable’, is what he’d tell himself. Though, he knows the true reason; that being to excuse anything unsavoury that may occur in your inebriated state, absolving both of you of guilt if the instigator was in his system, too. Despite his ability to hold it undoubtedly exceeding yours.
♡ Yandere DILF who, after you decline the beverage, claiming to be ‘in a hurry’, sits with you as if you were an idol, and finally comes to know your likes, dislikes, preferences for music and weather and everything outside and between purely by making you forget why you had to leave so soon to begin with.
♡ Yandere DILF who desperately draws your attention from the setting sun outside, or distracts you from checking your phone and seeing how long you’d been there, how long ago you were supposed to have left.
♡ Yandere DILF who only realises the age gap between the two of you when you tell him it was your birthday recently, and divulge your age and the gifts you’d received, making him feel, for a brief moment of true lucidity, wrong for all he has thought of and done in the name of you.
♡ Yandere DILF who is taken aback when you ask him about himself, and seem to show such a vested interest in his answers – his interests. Rather than his body count or his salary. Especially when all he’s been talking about is you.
♡ Yandere DILF who only falls deeper into this pit of obsession, feeling himself having to fight the urge to sit closer to you as each hour ticks by.
♡ Yandere DILF whose resolve dissolves, losing the battle as you look at him with nothing less than sheer enthusiasm for everything he’s saying, hanging on his every word in a way that his wife seemed to have forgotten. And, inching closer, his knee touches yours ever so gently, his arm sliding round the backrest of the sofa and encircling you like a snake.
♡ Yandere DILF who, for the first time, finds himself pining for even a morsel of accidental contact, of a misplaced brush of your hand against his side, to feel you touch him.
♡ Yandere DILF who, by the end of the afternoon, just as his wife returns, sees you notice the time and rush to hurry away, a cold aura gripping him as your glistening presence evacuates. His mood, inflated with what he could construe as no less than joy, deflates in a heartbeat.
�� Yandere DILF who, as you urgently relay the message to his wife, stands nearby, hands in his pockets, waiting for something – anything – to happen.
♡ Yandere DILF who, as if being struck through the heart by Cupid’s arrow, feels his body go rigid as you rush to him and bestow upon him a small hug, no obvious intent behind it as you gift one to his wife, too, who, seemingly not so lovestruck, is much more receptive.
♡ Yandere DILF who, that night, chides himself for not having taken you into his arms, who makes love to his wife to forget his lapse in action. And he sees your face – your body – instead of hers, hears your voice in her stead, calling him by his name in a way he could only hope to make you one day.
♡ Yandere DILF who, finally, with the know-how, begins buying you small gifts; nothing too grandiose as to rouse the suspicion of you or his wife; just acts of implied selflessness you initially refuse as you tell him “Your kindness is reward enough !”
♡ Yandere DILF who knows you’re only being polite, seeing as he’d also begun to increase your wage (without his wife’s knowing), telling you that you’re “a hard worker,” “deserving of much more than this.”
♡ Yandere DILF who wants to give you so much more than the gift he holds behind his back for you – who wants to give you himself and all that he could provide for you.
♡ Yandere DILF who doesn’t take your modesty for an answer and gives you your late birthday present; a plush toy.
♡ Yandere DILF who relinquishes its purpose to you; “To keep you safe if ever you’re scared. Or even just alone or upset.”
♡ Yandere DILF whose heart almost explodes as your face lights up in a smile when you take the bear into your arms, your fingers brushing his, and hold it tightly to your chest. He can see your nostril twitch as the purposefully placed scent of his cologne reaches your senses.
♡ Yandere DILF who feels something South of his logic twitch in his pants as your mouth forms around his name.
♡ “Thank you, Mr. Laurier,”
♡ Yandere DILF whose lips curl into a smile, his eyes catching the camera within the bear’s.
♡ “Please,” he says, shedding his coat, having chosen a light-coloured shirt to reveal the physique he’s maintained just for you. ♡ “Call me Dominic.”
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost
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dearsnow · 10 months
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Hello!
Could I request a Jon Snow x female reader, where she is a seamstress for the Stark family and they become friends and talk during her visits to Winterfell and slowly become lovers?
A PATCHWORK OF BLOOD AND BATTLES
- you are a fighter, and so seems to be the needle stuck in your thumb. and, of course, the man that unintentionally put it there (jon snow x fem!seamstress!reader ⚠️ mentions of blood and a needle-based injury).
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word count: 1058
a/n - this took absolutely forever to finish i’m so sorry 😭 i think this request was from literal months ago, but here you are!! i love this concept so much, i hope you don’t mind my artistic liberties :)
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You have fought for everything in your life. For your right to simply exist in the same world as the nobles, for your trade, and most importantly, you have fought for yourself. You have climbed the ranks of peasantry with chipped nails and a needle, asking for more and getting less. Now, you have won. At least, you have won as much as the earth beneath your feet will allow you to win. You are a seamstress for one of the most prominent families in Westeros, and as you patch a hole in a fancy evening dress, you can’t help but smile.
The night is dark, but you are not unfamiliar with the flicker of a candle flame. Snow falls lightly outside, and the wind rustles your hair as it sneaks through your open window. As you thread your needle through the lacy fabric, your door slams open.
Your eyes widen as the needle between your fingers is driven straight into your thumb, sending a shooting pain through your entire hand. You let out a sharp yelp, clutching your injury. Who in the gods’ good name was slamming doors at this hour? And why the hell didn’t they warn you?
The thumb clenched between your hand is throbbing and dripping red around the needle still stuck in the middle of it. You look up at the man who startled you, eyes burning with distaste.
It’s him. Lord Stark’s bastard child, the one that sits alone at feasts. And the one that comes to you with sword slashes in his vests.
“May I help you?” You ask. Your finger is still in burning hot pain.
In truth, you have grown to like him. He is also someone who has fought for his status, though his came with a lot more cushion. You recognize the burn in him, the drive that your own eyes carry. He will do great things someday; you’re sure of it.
He looks at you like your hand is made of dragonfire. “Sorry.”
You press your lips into a thin line. You need to keep him on your good side if you wish to keep your job.
You tuck your hand behind your back, hoping he just drops off whatever garment he needs repaired and leaves you to nurse your sores. Unluckily for you, he is a gentleman.
He moves to kneel beside you, dark curls almost glowing in the dim lighting. He looks positively angelic as he reaches for your hand.
“My lord?”
“Allow me to help.” He utters, voice as soft as the wind. He is an honorable man, you cannot deny it. You have seen him in the courtyards during your visits to the castle. He is always improving and always helping others do the same. He gets it from his father, you assume.
You comply with his urges, slightly in fear that you will lose your position if you do not. That worry is always in the back of your head. Will sewing this neckline a millimeter too short cost you your life? Is this cuff good enough for Lady Stark? Are you up to the task? Your thoughts almost consume you long enough to not notice Jon Snow pulling the needle out of your finger.
Almost. You feel a sharp sting of pain, but you bite your tongue. He swiftly wraps the undershirt in his hand around yours. For a brief moment, his rough hands brush the tip of your pinky finger. You have never felt anything so electrifying.
The hairs on the back of your neck stand up like the angels have come for your body at long last. When he pulls away, your thumb shouts with new pain, but all you can focus on is the memory of his hand. You shake your head.
“Shall I call the maester?” He asks, ever the responsible one. You wave your good hand.
“I will be alright, my lord. I will wash and patch your shirt, if you wish.” You don’t exactly love the idea of taking the pressure off of your wound, but you must be willing to sacrifice your own comfort in this moment to assure your future.
He stands, and an owl outside hoots. His eyes flicker to the window, then back down to you. “Don’t worry about it. Keep the thing.”
This shocks you. It shouldn’t, but it does. He is being kind to you. For the first time in a long while, someone is being kind to you.
“I mustn’t, my lord.” You speak, hesitantly standing up next to him.
“It’s no trouble. I insist.” His voice is smooth, and the sound tickles your ears. You think you could hear him speak all night if you ever had the opportunity. Something in you wishes you did.
You nod slowly. It would be rude to further refuse it. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. You hope it is not the fact that you suddenly hope your finger never stops bleeding.
Jon turns to leave, exiting just as swiftly as he had come. You clutch his shirt, heart beating wildly in disbelief of what just happened. In that moment, you suddenly decide that you have another thing to fight for.
Gods, did you fight for it. You took every opportunity to see him, and it worked like a well-oiled hinge. From patching more sword slashes to custom-tailoring a pair of riding pants, you were able to take any of his sewing work off of your coworkers’ hands. And through that, you began to learn why exactly he was fighting.
He often sat in your quarters while you worked, and you were beyond glad for the company. Eventually, he began to open up as beautifully as a flower in spring.
He was neglected and outright hated by Lady Stark, as he was the bane of her married life. He wishes to take the black and become a watcher of the wall. Most importantly, he does everything possible to maintain what little honor he has in his family.
Like you, he is a fighter.
Sometimes, in the quiet night, words spill from his mouth like he has never held them back. You do the same. And every once in a while, very softly, he takes your hands in his larger ones and whispers that he will fight only for you.
comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!
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Taglist: @lovelyliliya @the-jess-life @hopelesswritergall @watercolorskyy @cecespizza01
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ao3wasntenough · 1 year
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Allspark Sam brainrot
The mentally ill transformer urge gripped me again.
Anyway, the idea involves the concept of Sam still having allspark energy dormant in him, that energy eventually needing to reformat its host yet adapt to the planet and era it’s now in and this changing Sam and Jazz reanimation being Sam's first allspark achievement.
its going to be a long one,
feel free to use anything
its a lot of rambling have fun lol
this kinda happens after the first two movies but its whatever suits my narrative :p
The Autobots in have left earth with what remains of the physical cube allspark, this is more then the shard from the movies but idc to think about it to much. It’s enough to give off allspark energy and the autobots just hope the Decepticons follow it back with them. They don’t. Megatron knows what remains of Cybertron is useless and frail remnants and what Allspark power does remain is finite and probably just had deleted records. So they stay on earth and start integrating humanities world powers into controllable forces. They can’t say “conquering” because then humans become violently resistant so Megatron relies on a slow methodical take over that humans just think is all under control by their side. (It’s not)
By this point the autobots had practically ghosted Samuel for two years before departure so he’s pretty much just dealing with the embers of having your life ruined, hobbled back together with help and then those who helped hobble something together again abandon you. But Sam would swear he understood what Optimus did. Logic and all that he can’t comprehend as a human and stuff, and Bee always told Sam it was his pride how well he ha stayed by primes side through it all, no merger human lifetime would make a difference. Sam is on a long drive cross country to once again move location, he doesn’t want to know what could happen if he’s put in the hands of any government with his acute sense of paranoia that all government one way or another is being overseen by Megatron. And Megatron has a long history of holding grudges.
what is relevant is that Sam is in a confined space.
Because abruptly energy rapidly starts generating inside him. Ancient energy older the earth, uses Samuel Witwicky as an anchor across time and space to reforge. Due to Sam being in a confided space the energy is forced to reforge and reformat with Sam within the car, using the anchors understanding of mass and the fact he does know what a cybertronian is and has the idea of what they look like Sam is transformed into a bot. larger then a human but stunted and smaller then what could be expected of that much raw constructive energy.
Sam is left travelling across earth, in a weird haze of dissociation and vividly living through the archived history in the allspark, settling down once again. Sam has no idea how to transform or what allspark transformation should look like so he's left footing it from both humans and Decepticons trying to come to terms that there is no help but every element of his anatomy now screams about running now the allspark is able of independent moving, with very little ability to tell the difference from anything approaching him.
Stuck exploring history and what's real and what has been Sam decides to chase a ghost he knows himself and finds the deserted base Jazz's remains. Well he hoped the remains were there, never told exactly where they were hope is all Sam has to chase. He's lucky because Jazz is there, dead and ripped apart but its the closest Sam has been to anything familiar in 3 years. The raw power and emotionally driven energy the allsamspark releases seeks out beyond space and reaches into the well and grabs onto that familiar feeling of Jazz Sams memories can generate and reforge and reignite Jazz's body and spark.
Jazz is feels just as lost as Sam has been upon resurrection. And its obvious Sam realizes the hell his woken Jazz back to. But as they get away from Jazz's old tomb, and Jazz travels with Sam and comes to a few thoughts
the goal was always find and keep the allspark outta the wrong hands, so keeping an eye on mr AllsparkWicky (Jazz takes to coming up with and using nicknames for Sam, seems to help him feel a little more like a self then a nexus point of energy and get something of a smile on his faceplates) is generally the logical thing to do and also feels like the right thing to do.
SparkSam spends a lot of time lost to things Jazz can only imagine and a regular bot would probably feel awed to be watching the Allspark observe anything Jazz can almost feel the turmoil it makes Sam feel in his own spark.
If no autobots are coming back hes glad Spam has an the ability to run like a bat outta hell and doesnt feel the need to run from Jazz
unknowingly to Sam and Jazz, the bat outta hell instinct not being triggered because the allspark energy took the choosing of Jazz to respark as quota enough to run the allspark guardian protocol. A spark he now knowingly trusts to guide and help protect him . And that now Jazz is marked to the spark as a guardian of the new allspark. Visually indicated by a new set of guardian sigils only Sam could ever truly decode and understand.
the idea that the Allspark has its own language and system code, that the matrix and prime are given a cypher code to understand to some degree. And Sam as a reformat of the Allspark has created a new codex.
i have a bunch of more ideas and things i wanna think about so maybe ill write more, nice to just get the basics outta my head
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moodmother · 7 months
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Witch's Dozen - Part IV - End
Blessedly, the hag is still there, crouched atop the blob. Wordlessly, she slips a tenth biscuit into the thing's mouth. As the thing swallows eagerly, its cheeks, already wider than wagon wheels, swell out once more, spreading across the upper surface of the mass, merging fully with the monstrous jowl and upper back to form a thick, singular layer of burgeoning flesh. Not to be quite overtaken, the masses that had been the upper arms burgeon to unthinkable proportions, to the size of horse carts and beyond.
Again the whole mass grows taller as its new bulk seeks room and purchase within its billowing skin. But gravity is as cruel as ever, crushing down to drive most of the multiplying mass across the ground. Foot after foot of grass, in every direction, is trampled, consumed beneath a tide of flesh.
It takes hours for the thing to reach its next plateau. The sun is hanging low in the sky, its rays lancing harsh against the surface of the impossible blob. The thing cannot know and does not care, but its weight is now comparable to whole barnful of cows.
The thing is a feature of the landscape now. A fleshy, gently-sloping hill unto itself.  The face is still there, floating at the apex of the mass, eyes fixed on the darkening sky. The sky is just about all that it can see. The sky and, at the periphery of its vision, the nearest edge of its own endless expanse of flesh. Its own body forms the very horizon, and it will never see anything else. However long it may have taken, the growth has felt cruelly short. Too soon, the thing is left again with only itself and its own crushing, maddening immensity. The sky seems to taunt it. The breeze blows cold against its acreage of skin and it can do nothing. Nothing but sit, inert and vast.
It needs to grow. And before it can cry out in frustration, the eleventh shortbread biscuit is slid down into its gullet. The sensation of its unfathomable mass growing yet again, every particle quivering with the pressure of being filled once more from that demonic source, is exquisite.
The sun sets as the thing swells out into the clearing around it, a sea of flesh surging hungrily toward the horizon. And the mass is still growing steadily as darkness falls and stars appear. Amid the ecstasy of its relentless growth, the stars seem to pulsate, urging it on to bloat out bigger, and bigger, and bigger. It can feel as the cool wet grass slips beneath the rolling tide of its furthermost edges. It smothers and crushes all other life in its path, filling the landscape with itself. And yet the stars are unreachable. It grows upward only by another few feet, the secret hidden core of its body, the miniscule part of it that was once a human being, buoyed upward by the tons of fat and skin filling in beneath it.
In the small hours of morning, just as dawn is about to break, the thing becomes dimly aware that it has stopped growing yet again. Its size is beyond all possibility. Its sheer oceanic weight has squeezed out any lingering human thoughts and impulses from its brain. The very concept of movement is a distant memory. It has become one with a landscape that it cannot see, and will never see again. Nearly the entire clearing--the grass and flowers and crawling animals--has been obliterated beneath its bulk.
The face that still floats atop the thing is not visible from the ground. Its surface, mounded with rolls and heaps of yielding skin and fat, is covered, of course, with soft skin, but there is nothing about it to indicate that it has ever been a human. Not even a singular vertical cleft could reliably mark what have once been firm buttocks, because multiple clefts cut into the sides of the thing, around the sweep of its glacial belly.
As the warmth of day blooms across its skin, the thing can only quiver in fury. It is left inert again, mocked by that endless blue sky. Far, far too big, driven mad by the immense weight of its own bulk crushing down upon itself. And yet also pitifully small. It is driven by a singular need to grow ever larger, to lose itself forever in that sweet sensation of growth. It longs to crush the very earth and surge out endlessly to fill that empty sky.
Somehow the hag is still there. "End of the line," she whispers to the thing. Her gnarled hand pushes the final biscuit into its mouth. Greedily it swallows and is rewarded with the magnificent ecstasy of growth. The sweet agonizing pressure explodes across every cubic micron of its bulk.
The thing is a horror. An inexorable tide of fat smothering the landscape. It has no separate parts or features anymore. Just endless flesh pouring out from its center in ever-widening terraces. It becomes the heaviest creature on earth, heavier than the largest whale that will ever be measured. It even threatens to outgrow the clearing itself, its outermost edges pressing up against the trunks of the surrounding trees.
Flesh just heaps senselessly upon itself, swelling wider, and wider, and wider, and finally higher. The thing swells slowly upward, the center of the vast dome rising toward the sky. And then...the horizon of its own flesh rises up around the edges of its vision. The sky is obscured and then blotted out. The face sinks deeper and deeper into the mire of fat that was once its cheeks and jowls until no semblance of humanity remains. Eyes, nose, and mouth are finally covered over completely, vanished into the mass. The witch's cruel laughter rings out and then fades into silence. The thing that was once a woman is finally, ultimately, smothered by its own bulk.
+++
The squeal of a pig from somewhere behind the cabin snaps the woman back to reality. With a shiver, she shakes off the lingering horror of her strange daydream, and turns away from the tray of shortbread biscuits cooling on the windowsill. She has lost her way, and she is very hungry, but it can't be far.
And sure enough, on the other side of the clearing, she regains the track. Amid the clamor of late morning birdsong, she makes her way safely home.
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frutiylaris · 1 year
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Signalis. How and why?
I apologize for intruding on the signalis tag with my autistic love for this little game. It will most likely happen again. Signalis is just beautiful. I find it hard to enjoy most games that are released nowadays, be they indie, double-A or triple-A. I've become bitter about games and media and I'm only in my 20s.
So when my friend introduced me to Signalis thinking that I would enjoy it, I thought it would be another run-of-the-mill indie game about depression or some such nonsense. But then I played it... The first ending I got being the promise ending. Seeing Arianne and Elster embrace and just love each other made me weep. The sheer devotion this damned robotic woman had for her lover made me pause. And when I replayed it recently for my second playthrough just to make sure I didn't miss anything. I got the memory ending and my heart sank into sadness once again. I... I don't know how to describe my feelings towards the game. On one hand, I do not appreciate the heavy-handed foreshadowing, but at the same time a part of me now understands why it was done that way. Admittedly the moment I saw the King in Yellow and references to HP Lovecraft and cosmic horror my brain tipped me off on how it would end. I had a conception and then it was shattered and in its place a potted plant. A lily, covered in marble. Its blue veins still clearly visible. I want to understand Signalis. To comprehend that which I cannot, its an innate human urge to find some meaning, some purpose! But Signalis doesn't do that. Perhaps I became like Adler, once I understood what I was trapped within I so desperately wanted it to stop. To get out. To save the one I admired but in the end, I was twisted and left to a fate worse than death. I lost my purpose. And when Elster came by once more the events repeated themselves, no matter how much you try to reason and make arguments to one who is deeply in love. They will ignore it all. For it's not logic or thought that drives them, but love. That endless yearning for the one you know is gone, but yet you still chase after them. Even if you remember your promise. Forget it or whatever else. The cycle repeats itself. The world deteriorates more and more with each passing cycle until the rotted corpses arise from their graves and begin to roam the earth, unable to rest, to think, to feel. All being puppetted by something greater. I admittedly have not played the game a 3rd time since I wanted to get the artefact ending, but I just can't manifest the strength to do so right now. So I looked it up and... and it... I cried once more. I know what happens each and every time and that no matter what, it all ends the same. In tragedy. My second playthrough gave me a feeling of lucidity. Everything for but a brief moment connected together and I witnessed what lay before the black gate. And when I came back I couldn't tell anyone. I was paralysed with knowledge. Knowledge that I was never supposed to have. I traded in a part of myself unknowingly to even begin to comprehend what I had seen. And now that I am seated once more in reality, I fear speaking about it. About Signalis. Its beautiful. Its story is absolutely wonderful. Its gameplay whilst not groundbreaking is good, and the puzzles are a decent challenge. The music gave me a sense of primal fear and each moment I spent on Sierpenski and rotfront was unforgettable. I want this game to reach more people but at the same time, I fear it becoming popular. It feels so special, so unique that I want to hoard it away to myself. But that is selfish of me to do. I remembered my promise. I forgot my promise. I offered up something to the red eye and in return, it gave me one final dance to enjoy. The game about two space lesbians doomed to fail their mission made me feel genuine emotion. More than any other game has and I will forever cherish it. This forbidden tome of a love story. I have journeyed far into Silent hill and confronted my trauma. I have watched raccoon city burn and Umbrella fall. I witnessed Isaac clarke meet his final moments. I have gone to the depths of the Zone and seen the Wish granter. Signalis deserves a spot with all the greats. My only issue is its love of making a fair few too many homages. Thank you, if you read through all this babble.
From the Zone I came, to the Zone I return.
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nyaagolor · 7 months
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Ah, sorry for that, let me explain: Chronicles of Darkness is a Tabletop RPG where the players (and the setting in general) are in a world just like ours, but with tinges of supernatural and horror, the secret world just behind the normalcy... It's honestly very dark, so TWs are advised. As of now, there are 9 different gamelines (plus the Core Manual if you want to play as a simple Mortal):
Vampire: The Requiem - A Vampire is You. Creatures of the night who need to feed on the blood of the living, who need to deal (or embrace) the Beast, the name given to the urges that drive vampires away from their Humanity (one of them being an endless thirst for the blood of the living).
Werewolf: The Forsaken - A Werewolf is You. Beings half-flesh and half-spirit, they act as a border patrol for the Spirit World and other nasty thing of that world, like shards of broken mad spirit gods or spirits of malevolent concepts. Not counting those Werewolves that see humanity as prey and cattle, of course.
Mage: The Awakening - A Mage is You. People who dreamt of Atlantis, undertook a spirit quest and gained the power of warping reality... now, players have to face evil mages and the ever-looming threat of the Abyss.
Promethean: The Created - A Frankenstein Monster is You. Reanimated corpes (or similar) fueled by a "divine fire", they follow the Pilgrimage (a quest to refine themselves and understand humanity better) in hope (and very real possibilty) of finally becoming human... although their mere existence gets rejected both from humans and the Earth itself.
Changeling: The Lost - A Fairy is You... more or less. People kidnapped by the True Fae and brought to Arcadia, morphed and warped into whatever their Keeper needed/wanted and kept like that for who-knows-how-much... until a memory of home or whatever made them remember and escape, but forever changed. And between dealing with their life and the rest, it might be that the Fae want their plaything back.
Hunter: The Vigil - A Hunter is You. Simple Humans (most of the time) who knows more than the average on the supernatural, and will do whatever it takes to understand, eradicate and deal with the unknown... then again, each hunter group has its own approach, and the "When you stare into the abyss for too long, the abyss gazes back" thing is very real.
Geist: The Sin-Eater - A Possessed is You. People who avoided the Reaper by making a bargain with a ghost at the brink of death, now they can see more than the average human, have an incorporeal buddy always with them, and can deal with spirits and the Underworld... whenever they like it or not.
Mummy: The Curse - A Mummy is You. Chosen people of old who underwent the Rite of Return and now walk the line between Life and Death. Which is good because they're immortal and extremely powerful. And it's also bad because they can only be awake for short periods of time, their power slowly fades and they're still preserved corpses.
Demon: The Descent - A Demon is You. Fallen angels of the God-Machine, bio-mechanical horrors that can make bargains and con their way into humanity, now they try to wage a secret war with their former employer and their legions... or just try to live a semi-normal life.
Beast: The Primordial - A Nightmare is You. I'm not even going to talk about this one, it has... a lot of problems.
Deviant: The Renegades - A Mutant is You. People who changed into... something else by the hands of scientists, cultists, you name it. Now they escaped, but those who made them what they are now are still searching for them.
So yeah, there's a lot to unpack and the settings are very bleak, but also very fun to play with (except Beast, fuck that). I may talk about them more in the future, who knows.
OOOO this is really neat! thanks for the explanation :)
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jcmarchi · 3 months
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From Binge-Watching to Binge-Scrolling: The Impact of Short-Form Video on Our Attention Span - Technology Org
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From Binge-Watching to Binge-Scrolling: The Impact of Short-Form Video on Our Attention Span - Technology Org
Short-form video content has become increasingly popular in recent years, with platforms like TikTok and Instagram Reels dominating the digital landscape. These bite-sized videos, typically ranging from a few seconds to a few minutes in length, have captured the attention of millions of users worldwide. However, as our consumption of short-form video content continues to rise, it is important to understand its impact on our attention span.
In this article, we will explore the rise of short-form video content, delve into the psychology of binge-watching and scrolling, examine how short-form video affects our attention span, discuss its connection to social media, analyze the role of algorithms in short-form video consumption, explore its impact on mental health, learning and memory, creativity and productivity, and finally, discuss strategies for managing short-form video consumption.
Watching a movie on a home theatre system – illustrative photo. Image credit: Frank Reppold via Pixabay, free license
The Rise of Short-Form Video Content
Short-form video platforms have experienced exponential growth in recent years. According to a report by App Annie, the global time spent on short-form video apps grew by 210% in 2020 alone. This surge in popularity can be attributed to several factors, including the widespread availability of smartphones with high-quality cameras, the rise of social media platforms that prioritize video content, and the increasing demand for easily consumable and shareable content.
Platforms like TikTok and Instagram Reels have become household names, with millions of users creating and consuming short-form videos on a daily basis. These platforms offer a wide range of content, from comedy skits and dance challenges to educational tutorials and product reviews. The appeal of short-form video lies in its ability to capture attention quickly and deliver information or entertainment in a concise and engaging manner.
The Psychology of Binge-Watching and Binge-Scrolling
Binge-watching and binge-scrolling are two behaviors that have become increasingly prevalent in today’s digital age. Binge-watching refers to the act of watching multiple episodes of a TV show or series in one sitting, while binge-scrolling refers to mindlessly scrolling through social media feeds for extended periods of time. Both behaviors are driven by the pleasure principle, a concept introduced by Sigmund Freud. The key points about the pleasure principle are:
The Pleasure Principle is Part of the Id: The id is the primitive and instinctual part of the personality that operates on the pleasure principle. It seeks to satisfy biological urges like hunger, sex, aggression etc.
It Seeks Immediate Gratification: The pleasure principle strives to fulfill desires instantly without considering the reality of the situation or possible consequences. It wants to avoid pain and achieve pleasure right away.
It Drives Behavior in Early Childhood: Young children are more likely to act solely based on the pleasure principle. As the ego and superego develop, the reality principle becomes more influential on behavior.
It Can Lead to Unhealthy Behaviors: Seeking pleasure without restraint can result in short-term satisfaction but long-term problems. Addictions, unhealthy relationships etc are maladaptive behaviors driven by the pleasure principle.
It Plays an Important Motivational Role: While unrestrained pleasure-seeking is problematic, the pleasure principle is an important motivator to fulfill basic needs for nourishment, relationships, etc that are important for survival.
The pleasure principle suggests that humans seek pleasure and avoid pain. Binge-watching and scrolling provide instant gratification and a sense of pleasure, as they offer a constant stream of new and engaging content. This constant stimulation triggers the release of dopamine, a neurotransmitter associated with pleasure and reward. As a result, individuals are more likely to engage in these behaviors for extended periods of time, leading to a decrease in attention span.
While binge-watching and scrolling share similarities in terms of their psychological underpinnings, there are also key differences between the two. Binge-watching is typically associated with longer-form content, such as TV shows or movies, while binge-scrolling is more closely tied to short-form content found on social media platforms. Additionally, binge-watching often involves a higher level of immersion and emotional investment, as individuals become engrossed in the storyline or characters. Binge-scrolling, on the other hand, is characterized by rapid and superficial consumption of content.
How Short-Form Video Affects Our Attention Span
Research has shown that short-form video content can have a significant impact on our attention span. A study conducted by Microsoft found that the average human attention span has decreased from 12 seconds in 2000 to just 8 seconds in 2021. This decline can be attributed to several factors, including the rise of digital media and the constant bombardment of information.
Short-form video content is designed to capture attention quickly and deliver information or entertainment in a concise manner. While this can be beneficial in some cases, it can also lead to a phenomenon known as “continuous partial attention.” Continuous partial attention refers to the state of constantly dividing one’s attention among multiple tasks or stimuli. When consuming short-form video content, individuals are often simultaneously engaging with other forms of media or distractions, such as scrolling through social media feeds or multitasking on their devices. This constant switching of attention can lead to a decrease in focus and concentration, ultimately impacting our ability to retain information and engage in deep thinking.
The Connection Between Short-Form Video and Social Media
Short-form video content is deeply integrated into social media platforms, further contributing to its impact on our attention span. Platforms like TikTok and Instagram have incorporated short-form video features into their interfaces, making it easy for users to create and consume this type of content. The seamless integration of short-form video into social media feeds encourages users to spend more time scrolling and engaging with content.
Social media platforms are designed to be addictive, with features like infinite scrolling and autoplay videos that keep users engaged for extended periods of time. The constant stream of short-form video content on these platforms provides a never-ending source of entertainment and information, making it difficult for users to disengage. As a result, our attention becomes fragmented, and our ability to focus on one task or piece of content diminishes.
The Role of Algorithms in Short-Form Video Consumption
Algorithms play a significant role in determining what short-form video content we see on social media platforms. These algorithms use data on our browsing habits, preferences, and interactions to curate personalized feeds that are tailored to our interests. While this can enhance the user experience by delivering relevant content, it can also have negative effects on our attention span.
Algorithmic curation often prioritizes content that is more likely to capture attention quickly and generate engagement, such as flashy visuals or clickbait headlines. This can lead to a constant stream of short-form video content that is designed to be attention-grabbing but lacks depth or substance. As a result, users may become accustomed to consuming content that requires minimal cognitive effort, further contributing to a decrease in attention span.
The Impact of Short-Form Video on Mental Health
The relationship between social media and mental health has been a topic of much debate in recent years. Research has shown that excessive use of social media, including the consumption of short-form video content, can have negative effects on mental well-being. Studies have linked social media use to increased feelings of loneliness, depression, anxiety, and low self-esteem.
Short-form video content can contribute to these negative effects by promoting unrealistic standards of beauty, success, and happiness. The constant exposure to carefully curated and edited content can lead to feelings of inadequacy and comparison. Additionally, the addictive nature of short-form video consumption can lead to excessive screen time and a neglect of real-life relationships and activities, further impacting mental health.
The Effect of Short-Form Video on Learning and Memory
Short-form video content has become a popular tool for educational purposes, with many individuals turning to platforms like YouTube for tutorials and instructional videos. While short-form video can be an effective way to deliver information quickly and concisely, research suggests that it may have negative effects on long-term retention.
A study published in the Journal of Applied Research in Memory and Cognition found that individuals who watched short videos were less likely to remember the information presented compared to those who watched longer videos or engaged in other forms of learning. The researchers hypothesized that the limited duration of short-form videos may not provide enough time for the brain to process and encode information into long-term memory. This suggests that while short-form video can be a useful tool for initial exposure to new concepts, it may not be as effective for deep learning and retention.
The Influence of Short-Form Video on Creativity and Productivity
The impact of short-form video on creativity and productivity is a topic of much debate. On one hand, short-form video content can serve as a source of inspiration and creative expression. Platforms like TikTok have given rise to a new generation of content creators who use short-form video to showcase their talents and creativity.
However, excessive consumption of short-form video content can also have negative effects on creativity and productivity. The constant stream of new and engaging content can be distracting and make it difficult to focus on one’s own creative pursuits or tasks. Additionally, the addictive nature of short-form video consumption can lead to procrastination and a lack of motivation to engage in more productive activities.
The Future of Short-Form Video and Attention Span
The future of short-form video content is likely to continue its upward trajectory, with platforms constantly evolving to meet the demands of users. As technology advances and attention spans continue to decrease, it is important to consider the potential long-term effects of short-form video consumption on our ability to focus and engage in deep thinking.
One potential solution to mitigate the negative effects of short-form video on attention span is the development of platforms that prioritize quality over quantity. By curating content that is meaningful, informative, and thought-provoking, these platforms can encourage users to engage in more focused and intentional consumption. Additionally, individuals can take proactive steps to manage their own short-form video consumption, such as setting time limits or engaging in activities that promote deep thinking and concentration.
Strategies for Managing Short-Form Video Consumption
Managing short-form video consumption is essential for maintaining a healthy balance in our digital lives. Here are some strategies that can help:
1. Set boundaries: Establish specific time limits for consuming short-form video content and stick to them. This can help prevent excessive screen time and ensure that you have time for other activities.
2. Practice mindfulness: Be aware of your consumption habits and how they may be impacting your attention span. Take breaks from short-form video and engage in activities that promote mindfulness, such as meditation or journaling.
3. Prioritize quality over quantity: Seek out short-form video content that is meaningful, informative, and thought-provoking. Avoid mindless scrolling and focus on content that adds value to your life.
4. Engage in other forms of media: Balance your short-form video consumption with other forms of media that promote deep thinking and concentration, such as reading books or engaging in hobbies that require focus.
The Importance of Balancing Short-Form Video with Other Forms of Media
While short-form video content has its benefits, it is important to balance its consumption with other forms of media. Engaging in a variety of media can enhance attention span and cognitive abilities. For example, reading books or long-form articles requires sustained focus and concentration, which can help counteract the fragmented attention caused by short-form video consumption.
If you feel that your ability to concentrate for long periods of time and read effectively has declined, watching a long movie in a private, distraction-free setting may help rebuild these skills. Consider creating a simple home theater just for yourself where you can immerse yourself in a two-hour film without interruption.
Some ideas: set up a comfortable chair or sofa facing a TV or projector screen, don’t forget to prepare an HDMI cable; dim the lights to minimize visual distractions; silence your phone and other devices; prepare some snacks and drinks ahead of time so you don’t need to get up; let others know you are not to be disturbed; and select a compelling movie that will fully engage your attention for the entire duration. Make watching the movie your singular activity – avoid checking your phone or multitasking.
Committing your full attention to an entire movie in an environment dedicated just to focused viewing can help strengthen cognitive abilities like sustained concentration, information processing, sequencing, and reading subtitles. Making this a regular practice can reduce attention fragmentation and rebuild immersive reading skills. Start with a movie genre or director you already enjoy so the activity feels rewarding.
In conclusion, the rise of short-form video content has had a significant impact on our attention span. The addictive nature of binge-watching and scrolling, coupled with the constant stream of short-form video content on social media platforms, has led to a decrease in our ability to focus and engage in deep thinking. While short-form video can be a valuable tool for entertainment and information, it is important to consume it responsibly and set boundaries to maintain a healthy balance in our digital lives. By understanding the impact of short-form video on our attention span and implementing strategies for managing its consumption, we can navigate the digital landscape more mindfully and ensure that we are using technology in a way that enhances our overall well-being.
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Leveling Up Customer Engagement and Loyalty
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In the fast-paced world of marketing, brands are constantly seeking innovative ways to capture the attention and loyalty of their customers. Gamification has emerged as a powerful strategy, transforming the marketing landscape by infusing elements of gaming into non-gaming contexts. By incorporating game-like features and mechanics into marketing campaigns, gamification creates immersive and interactive experiences that captivate audiences, boost engagement, and foster lasting customer loyalty. In this article, we will explore the concept of gamification in marketing, its benefits, and how it levels up customer engagement and loyalty.
1. Understanding Gamification in Marketing
Gamification is the integration of gaming elements, such as points, badges, leaderboards, challenges, and rewards, into non-gaming contexts to motivate and engage users. In marketing, gamification is applied to various initiatives, including loyalty programs, customer engagement campaigns, product promotions, and brand awareness efforts. By leveraging people's inherent desire for competition, achievement, and recognition, gamification compels them to interact with brands in a more enjoyable and rewarding manner.
2. The Power of Customer Engagement
a. Interactive Experiences: Gamification turns passive customers into active participants by engaging them in challenges and activities, resulting in deeper interactions with the business.
b. Emotional Connection: Gamification elicits positive feelings such as enthusiasm, satisfaction, and a sense of success, which fosters emotional ties with the brand.
c. Retention and memory: Customers are more likely to return for subsequent interactions when they have an engaging experience, which increases brand retention and memory.
3. Building Customer Loyalty
a. Incentivization: Gamification incentivizes customers to stay loyal to the business and engage with its products by delivering incentives, discounts, or exclusive access.
a. Loyalty Programs: Gamified loyalty programs encourage clients to progress through various levels or tiers, unlocking unique perks and driving the urge to remain loyal.
c. Personalization: Gamification allows for individualized experiences based on individual preferences and actions, increasing the customer-brand tie.
4. Benefits of Gamification in Marketing
a. Improved Customer Experience: Gamification adds excitement and enjoyment to the customer experience, making it more pleasurable and memorable.
b. Customers become more active players, spending more time engaging with the company and its content.
c. Data Collection and Insights: Gamified campaigns collect important data about customer behavior and preferences, allowing data-driven marketing strategies to be implemented.
d. Viral Potential: Gamified experiences that are engaging and shareable have the potential to become viral, improving brand awareness and reach.
5. Examples of Gamification in Marketing
a. Loyalty and Reward Programs: Gamification is used by airlines and hotels to reward regular passengers with elite status and special incentives.
b. Mobile applications: Health and fitness applications employ gamified challenges and achievements to encourage users to stay active and meet fitness objectives.
c. Social Media: Brands utilize social media platforms to offer competitions and challenges, inviting consumers to join and share their experiences.
d. E-commerce: To engage customers and give special discounts, online shops utilize gamified components such as spin-to-win wheels and scratch cards.
6. Implementing Gamification in Marketing
a. Know Your Audience: Understand your target audience's tastes and interests in order to create gamification experiences that they will like.
b. Specific Goals: Establish specific goals for your gamified campaign, such as improving engagement, generating sales, or creating loyalty.
c. Select Appropriate Mechanics: Select game features that correspond with your campaign aims and cater to the tastes of your target audience.
d. Offer Meaningful awards: Make certain that the awards offered are worthwhile and relevant to the consumers, in order to motivate them to engage.
7. Measuring Success
a. Engagement indicators: To assess engagement in web design company in kolkata , track indicators such as participation rates, time spent, and completion rates.
b. Customer Retention and Return Visits: Determine whether gamification improves customer retention and encourages return visits.
c. Conversion Rates: Examine how gamification affects sales and conversions.
Conclusion
Gamification in marketing has evolved into a dynamic technique for firms seeking to increase client engagement and brand loyalty. Brands can build immersive and engaging experiences that engage people and encourage significant connections by incorporating gaming aspects into marketing efforts. Emotional connections are formed as a result of engaging experiences, which build consumer loyalty and increase brand retention. Gamification's advantages, such as improved customer experience, more interaction, and data-driven insights, make it a valuable tool in the modern marketer's toolbox. In the dynamic and competitive marketing landscape, embrace gamification as a creative and successful strategy to elevating your marketing efforts, engaging your consumers, and unlocking the full potential of customer loyalty.
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notmuchtoconceal · 10 months
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Epilogue -- from "V / --III -I" (excerpt)
--
(-- big man weren't there to give me huggles,
>>>
don't know what i might do.)
what you recorded most frequently in your evaluations of cpt. haruspex was a readiness and ability to tolerate his trouble showing up -- but no inclination whatsoever to tolerate his trouble shoving off. 
- just makin up for lost time, sir!
in the end, in keeping with his puckish nature, brux saw to it that if he could not seize the mic, he'd stick it with the penultimate laugh.
- joey, the fact that i go around sayin i like girls is no different from you goin around sayin your dick got hard when ya enlisted in the marines. now it's perfectly right and normal that a man of our generation should have his dick get hard when he enlists in the marines, but it's kinda like, y'know -- i realize i'm an outsider to our fair country still in many ways. i know i wasn't born here -- but i was born to serve here. i serve with 112-126% fuel efficiency, cause i view your hysterical covert xenophobia as a challenge, and i know there's no visage, no matter how towering or how glacial, that can't soon enough be weathered with enough warmth and good cheer! -- but get this, mate. the concept of a dude's dick gettin hard when he enlists in the marines -- you know that's not like... a thing that occurs in nature roight? that is not a naturally recurrin phenomenon. not unless you'd wannna argue it arose recently, as an instinctual urge, say within the last few generations, as part of tradition depositin a topsoil upon a delta basin many layers deep -- okay, okay. not completely batshit. i'd be willin to sit and have a pint and listen to two dudes talk about that -- so long as it was fair and balanced, y'know -- like a boxin match.
… you should always pit two ideas of equal weight against each other, mates. some little people are evil. some big people are evil, too. i see em. you'd see em. you'd see a lot when you pay attention. person's worth ain't in the weight a their body, mates. appetite drives men to ruin just as much as instability. evil people of any size ought be given little attention, for to know evil is to become evil -- and one oughtn't become evil if one can avoid it, though there are a course benefits to knowin evil...
and if one cannot become evil, then stay safe, mates :--
but if one can become evil once, to have acted with perfect intention in perfect malice -- well, that's all well and good. one needs only the memory of the act to have known good and evil. from then on, you would walk among men as a god, seein in them their heart's most secretive desires, and you would be good to them. for you knew now what they lacked -- and wished for them to know their lack -- for you longed for them -- and wished for them to know you knew their lack.
cpt. schreibemachen. obliged him. 
- this is, of course, presupposing the listener has either an ethical conscience or a sensitivity to feeling -- that is to say, if you will pardon the lack of fanfare, that they are more than merely bestial.
- right true, mate. some men are vicious dumbasses who ought just be treated like animals. there's no helpin it. i don't like it. you don't like it. they sure as hell don't like it. a blackly comic farce -- an outrage.
... our otherwise pristine society lacks the imagination to have a use for these people -- or else they lack the will to order themselves -- their violent urges the echo of some vital compulsion which would have allowed them to thrive in the state of nature!
they went silent. they looked to you.
[ ]
cpt. shreibermachen broke the silence.  
- all present company is, of course, pre-supposed to have both an ethical conscience and a sensitivity to feeling -- not that there is any reason we ought to state this presupposition aloud. it is simply a traditional rite of the pious that one's own secret guilt should be publicly broadcast under the pretense of compassion as though it were somehow deeply and innately entwined with the symbolic ritual drama of the nation-state. 
- everybody's relation with the nation-state is different, joey. for some people, it's a benevolent father. for some people, it's a vicious bitch who shone like the mornin star on a cold autumn night in skies you longed to never see again, skies you'd loved more intimately than any woman, who made you play piano and drink breastmilk over the age of four and made ya slip on her panties and rub your clitty through the nylon and call yourself a good lil slut! tee-hee! brux is a good lil slut, yes he is! ... everyone. everyone come give brux a huggle. brux wants a huggle. brux demands huggles -- give brux a huggle right now or brux's brain will go haywire and maybe injure itself and others!
it was the law -- the will of the speaker must be upheld.
- hehe. who has huggles? brux has huggles. tickin time bomb, mates. always works. never go off, but they sure love to see me get wound up! 
his mandatory huggle order was abusive and weird.
- so safe and warm when you hold me, sir.
the seven of you were entitled to tie a kink into the cord of law. from the ceilings of the chandelier over the stairwell to the west wing, the umbilicals hung rosy in the red velvet arabesques which spilled open from the patina of bronzed wood paneling into an open wound.
- lil tight mate, lil tight. you know how much i like it gentle. 
though you were not an arrogant enough man to think that cpt. haruspex had nothing whatsoever to teach you about the art of indiscretion.
a petrified mask rose from behind the memorandum.
- ritual funerary consumption of officers slain in combat, why major! that's um -- that's quite a novel tradition to enact right there! i'm sure, i uh... i'm sure i'm gonna love eatin all my dead friends.
on trembling hands -- two thumbs rose to gritted teeth
-- yeah... yeah, mate… heh-hehe … eeeeh. 
--
tendrils of molten plastic arose from the bubbling crucible. into shapes, did they coil and knot. 
the calm of the forge provided daily release.
you were working on a sword, it's hilt would crest among the surface.
objects for manufacture were performed in the home for our most affluent citizens -- though in our public centers, in vast aisles spanned the consoles, lined throughout with cubes and stacks of material, where through the interlinked terminal, schematics could be retrieved, and objects rendered through joystick and button-press.
public schematics were the most simple in style and design, though more advanced labors could be purchased through access to the guild conglomerates. the conglomos who, once proud craftsman in their youths, or the children of proud craftsman weaned servile on the hog, now trapped the brightest technical and artistic minds of your generation into stationary galley slavery, wasting away in the night, to visit homes superfluous and parasitic to resource.
though as a high ranking government official, the simple pleasures of more articulate craft were now yours for not even a song --
for this was a gift you lacked.
as the nights dragged on, you saw less reason to return to the barracks. you could lose yourself, as the long days became longer nights, at the private forge at the end of the long hall -- that which you left unlocked, and had room for others -- so if any should approach you in the night, you could meet them and keep their company. the nights you lingered long past midnight, and sleep overtook you as you sat -- where by the dim light of the flame danced past blue to ochre, you sat reclined against the wall in your uniform, dreaming undreamable things.
 ( o )
for your own edification, you had decided to make a stew. you followed the instructions to the letter -- and found them wanting.
you would taste, and the wateriness, the tepidness of its flavor, would dissuade you from eating more. it pained you, this mediocrity so foul it could wrest from you your appetite. you cut, and you rent. you tasted. you added what you would, and you would what you added.
of their squares, they gave freely. the meat and the roots, they yanked and chopped. their ecosystems spans apart, yet their bulbous shapes and striations so eerily similar -- you hacked them down into a paste, and dissolved them into a sludge. the chunks came -- of things like men threshed into component parts -- their colors so unlike, so well-fit together, inside and out. vegetable, mineral and animal.
it was as pleasing to the eye as it was the palate.
the amber light gauzied the mesh of the eggshell wall. arabesques of ambergris shone in gilded embossments. you sat with your brothers in one of the dining compartments which ended the officer's longue.
- maj, this is your best damn bowl yet!
- i saw the sweat drip from his brow, and splash along the surface as a lily among muck, cpt. haruspex. as though an unkindness mid-flight in some erstwhile augury, a mist rose forth to spice the open pores of its maker. perhaps in his next, he shall too include his blood and tears.
- it would not flatter my reputation as a brute to flatter you so openly, sir -- but i must echo the sentiments already on display by my brothers -- you are showing a remarkable improvement to your craft, no doubt in part due to your refusal to fear the personal touch.
(they were only sayin that cause they didn't want ya to eat em.)
- …
- …
- ...
was it something you didn't say?          つづく
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the-psyche · 10 months
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Integrate The Shadow
The Shadow Psyche
   What if i told you, that there is a side of yourself that fosters evil and macabre within your soul. Well, swiss psychologist Carl Jung claims that there is, he calls this side of the psyche, the shadow. His concept or “map” of the psyche is similar yet different from his mentor, Sigmund Freud. He believes that there is consciousness, personal unconscious, and collective unconscious. In consciousness there lies the persona and the ego. In the personal unconscious are the archetypes, and in the collective unconscious lye the self, the mana personality, soul image, and today's topic, the shadow. In many ways the shadow may be similar to Freud's, “ID” concept. To find out more on these other topics you can find information on sources such as, www.verywellmind.com/what-is-the-collective-unconscious, www.thesap.org.uk/articles-on-jungian-psychology, and books such as “Jung's Map of The Soul”. 
   Now, in this segment we will focus mainly on the concepts of the shadow self, and the process of individuation used to recognize and overcome your toxic shadow.
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What Is This Shadow?
   The shadow is a complex and one of the deepest parts of the self, or psyche. It can be categorized as the side of yourself that you hide from yourself, its the force behind your behaviors that you disagree with, your insecurities, your repressed memories or emotions. The shadow provides shelter to all which you banish, or to what you may believe you have overcome. The shadow creeps up whenever you may wrongly judge people, project, or allowing unconscious urges and drives to take over.
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The Evils in The Urges
   You may have heard plenty of people justify unacceptable behavior by saying “It’s a natural urge” or “Everyone does it”. This is an obvious sign of the shadow coming out to gain control over the person as much as possible. You see, urges, impulses, and instincts all originate in the unconscious, so if you succumb to these impulses you are allowing them to take control over your life, striping you from any freewill you may have had otherwise. 
   Some perfect example of what most people would play off as “natural urges”, or “animal instincts”, would be some toxic behaviors such as, overeating, staying up late, and worstly, even brutal aggression.
Individuation
   In reality, the subconscious drives most all action and movement, so if you allow the unconscious to control the subconscious, you will not have any conscious control over your own life and outcomes. In order to gain any sort of control it is crucial to learn to program these subconscious drives. But in order to do this you must accept all the thoughts and emotions you may be blocking out and may even be unaware they exist. You must accept them when they come but do not allow them to overcome you, instead you resist and know your morals. 
   This not seem like a difficult process. But it is, and a long one at that. But well worth the effort to achieve individuation. You may be asking “What is individuation?”. Well, in the words of Jung: “It is about the realization of the Self.” It is to integrate the conscious with the personal and collective unconscious to become a more whole and well rounded person, with more self awareness and understanding, resulting in a more unique, individual, self. 
Achieving individuation
   You may be left wondering, how it is possible for one to achieve such levels of self understanding and unity. This process requires immense commitment and courage, so if you are cowardly i would not recommend this process. But, for those with the courage to continue, the steps go as follows; firstly one must recognize the shadow, encounter the soul image, meet the mana, and finally see the ‘self’
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Shake Hands With The Shadow
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   Now, this process does not involve eliminating the force of the shadow, we know that would be quite impossible, for as we learned through physics, energy cannot be created or destroyed but it can be manipulated and changed. So, in this same way, the energy going towards negativity cannot be destroyed but we can control that negative energy and foster it to spread more positivity in our lives. The rose cannot suddenly cease to exist, but it can be striped of its thorns with meticulous attention and resilience. 
   Some common shadow behaviors to be aware of are harsh judgment, unwanted impulsive behavior, quick temper, projection, victimizing oneself, throwing others under the bus for personal gain, unknown biases and prejudices, and having a superiority complex.
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   Though an important disclaimer to address, is the risk aligned with this process is potentially becoming overcome by it, due to weak will and low self control. One must be prepared to battle with the unknown and you may prosper.
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   “And the longer thou gaze into said abyss, you may begin to see the light shine through.” 
Dr.Jordan Peterson
An Encounter With The Soul Image
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The Mana Personalities
   Think about the wisest person you know. Likely an older fella. What would he say to you? Why is he so wise? What if i told you that the wisest person in your life, may just be you. Only that you may have suppressed that part of yourself out of self awareness of your own ignorance, and you may even project your wisdom onto other and call them wise. Of course there is nothing wrong with recognizing the wisdom and intelligence of others, but it is crucial that we also recognize our own. The word “Mana” originates from the Melanesian people, meaning “divineness”. In this context of Jungian psychology, It is a part of the psyche that holds a strong presence of wisdom and power. To gain greater insight on this concept one can relate this to a force that contributes to your intuition. Although it is noteworthy that the risks aligned with allowing it to take over, instead one must always stay in control. For example, usually when people allow this mana to take over, many people begin to form a messiah complex or consider 
themselves gurus or superior. It feeds the ego and inflates without limit. Nevertheless, it is not all bad when cultivated properly. This mana is the core of the internal wisdom we all hold. You see, we all hold some wisdom internally. Of course, there is tons of knowledge and wisdom we are taught by life, people, or books. But, what can explain the fact that we can learn more about the world and make better choices purely by listening to our intuition and rationalization. This part holds great power that is very important to cultivate. So, it would make sense to not give that power to others or to suppress it, but instead to keep it for yourself in responsible moderation. Many of the evils in the world we have learned about, are people who allow this Mana and rarely the “self” to consume them and inflate there ego endlessly.
                                  Discovering The Self
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breezeriderebike · 1 year
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Find the Fun
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It's November now, and 2022 will be less than two months away. Because of the global health situation in the past two years, we have become more aware of the importance of health and find fun. As the clock strikes midnight in the New Year, so do our memories of the past year. At the same time the good and bad things of this year are washed away in an instant. What is left for us is an intricate mixture of nostalgia and hope. As we look around as the new year approaches, you see the dusty home gym you purchased earlier in the year. Are you thinking that it might make a good hanger.
Have fun
Have you ever made a vow to keep working out and lose some weight this year? Just like you did in high school. So what happened? You started out strong, even buying undersized clothes as motivation to keep your new routine going. But then your new fitness program turned into this. The honeymoon period is over, the novelty wears off, and your new fitness machine becomes just another part of your day. The part that's not so relevant to you, lying quietly in the corner! You're losing weight, and you're pretty sure you see the belly starting to form, but you're losing more than just a few pounds in the meantime. You've lost the fun. Maybe you're looking in the wrong place, or maybe you're trying to trick yourself into feeling fun. But fun is a stubborn mule; you either feel it or you don't.
Fun! It's such a simple concept, but it seems almost impossible to capture. Fun is the driving force behind many activities, and those who find it will do whatever it takes to keep it alive.Breeze Rider Ebike is a company that was founded out of necessity, just like we mentioned inside our story. We hope that our bikes will take everyone to the fun that is yours. It can also turn the dreaded commute to work into an exciting daily adventure. We venture into new territory and explore our surroundings in ways we've never done before. We overcome physical limitations and go places they couldn't possibly go before we got on our BRE bikes!
Fun time
When you were a kid, you must have had fun times going to the park. When we describe our bikes to people, there's a phrase: "Taking you to your happy hour". That's a phrase we hear over and over again when people are out trying out our bikes. Fun is the most important thing in our lives. For your 2023 New Year's resolution, we urge everyone to get out there and find your fun! Learn to paint, play tennis, ride a bike! It's up to you! Fun is different for everyone, so don't be afraid to be a little selfish and do something that's just for you. Have fun. Stay safe. Stay energized.
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taylastudio2022 · 2 years
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TUESDAY WK 4 - RESEARCH LECTURE SIMON MORRIS:
SIMON MORRIS:
In Time: where painting meets pottery - Simon Morris. 
Notes: 
Turned an interesting corner - making pottery. Where painting meets pottery, connections and energy’s
what can I learn from both
When Each Action Opens. Jhana Millers Gallery, 2021. When two colour become one. 2021. invited to do this wall paper - commercial gallery. Interesting, not easily bought, brought into homes etc. 
Simon Morris, Wen Each Action Opens - some writing for the show
Started thinking differently about practice. 
Napels Yellow, Yellow Ocre - only use one brush. 
Method of that - two colours mixing together, becoming one. 
a few things going on here - making wall drawings since the mid 90s - sub canvas for gallery space, architecture nature of the work - considering all spatial elements. 
time becomes inherent in the work 
daily life -human interaction, the world that it occupies. Painting = the wider world. 
Temporary work - gets painted out at the end, important for me. Doesn’t get stored, turns into a concept that can be re-made.
made work all over the world - only needs an air fare. 
point of tension - for our desire for objects - complicated this idea of things, owning, things, objects, looking after things. 
museums have purchased the work. - own the right to it? Private homes etc.
daily paintings 2010 - morning studio ritualistic paintings - one stroke each day - to stop procrastinating
black water colour - different process - maths, formula - very particular method, algebra 
similar conceptually
Black Water Colour, 2015, Ilam School of Art Gallery. 
Walking Drawing - development for exhibition - 2022, City Gallery project. for 2023. 
10 week residency - san fran , big studio, time to make work. Headland Centre For The Arts, - routine, working with other people, communal, having dinner together, back into studio, out for a beer together etc. 
experiences, walking in the Himalayas - spiritual wellbeing, aligning, budda monks. w/ sherpas. 
Future Memory, 2022 - Lithuania 
Driving creek pottery, coromandel
functional objects - working with others 
Engine Room
Quarts Museum, visiting potteries 
ceramic practice
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Yellow Ochre Room, 2015, acrylic paint. Commissioned by Christchurch Art Gallery. Photo: John Collie. (Above). 
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Simon Morris, Daily Painting #32 Acrylic on linen 36 x 36 cm 14 3/16 x 14 3/16 inches (Above).
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Colour light (yellow ochre), 2020  Acrylic paint, jute, wood, light 45 x 45 cm 17 11/16 x 17 11/16 inches (Above).
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Blue Water Colour, 2011 (Above).
Reflection:
I was really intrigued by Simon’s lecture, in particular the idea of daily ritualistic painting. I absolutely appreciate having a method to get out of procrastination stuck zone. I’ve experienced that a bit more so this semester for some reason, and I suppose my version of these daily paintings would be just to start knitting. It does really get me doing something, and allows me to relax as my body focuses on the knitting - or relaxes as I am doing something = any who it helps to clear my thoughts and get a base for ideas going. I spoke about these mental &well being benefits last semester in some of my research and reading which is probably worth revisiting. 
I also found the way Simon spoke about objects, and human’s urges to own objects / material, and look after things, quite relevant as I think over the materials and objects used in my work. I just have been thinking over reasonings behind materials, why I choose what I choose, who they belong(ed) to, what they become, how they affect the work etc etc. This lecture just sparked ideas surrounding that aspect. 
The social aspect and communal experiences Simon spoke about was another story I really enjoyed. I love the idea of energy and experiences with others while creating and working on artworks. I just thought it was a fond memory and something I appreciate being a part of my art process, talking to others about it, having a break together from it, revisiting it.... :) 
Thinking of sculpture/materials in relation to another practice like drawing or painting, similarly to how Simon compared pottery to painting, is also relevant to how my practice has developed, and is something I continue to work through. 
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liketheinferno2 · 3 years
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NO OFFENSE to the artists some of this stuff is really beautiful but every time I see wholesome gay pride seph/cloud I lose my mind laughing
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shadyteacup · 3 years
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Hi!!! I was wondering if you could write a fluff/comforting with Dazai where reader is going through a depression episode and finds it difficult to get out of bed and feels a lil hopeless in life. (I can't find the post where you specify what themes you're not comfortable with, so if this is one of them, just ignore this. Regardless, your writing is amazing and love how you portray Dazai in your fics. Thanks for your work ♡ )
Hey there! I saw this and decided to work on it immediately.. I rlly hope that this is what you were looking for.. if not, do lemme know, and req again! ♡
I'll Be There For You
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You laid in bed, facing away from Dazai, as you curled up against your pillow. You were clutching it with full force, hugging it.
Your mind was swarming with thoughts. Dark, sad thoughts. They kept flooding your mind, incapacitating you of movement, for they weighed you down. They chained your physical body to the bed, almost as if an anchor was tied to your body, and the bed was the ocean floor. No matter how much you tried to get up, to move, the weight of your thoughts kept you down.
You remembered the times of your life that you worked hard to forget. Embarrassing times, sad times, times when you had wanted nothing more than to melt into the ground, and dissappear in thin air.
Your failures kept swarming your conscious mind. It all boiled down to feeling helpless, unmotivated, and tired. Oh, so tired.
You were tired of everything. Tired of this body, this life. All you wanted to do was go to sleep, and dream of happiness and love, and hopefully, never wake up. You didn't mind if your eternal sleep rotted away your physical body. You couldn't care less about what happens to it. All you wanted, was some mental peace.
Maybe death is your only salvation. Maybe all you have to do, is borrow Dazai's book and find an interesting way to go. That way, you'll be free.
The voices in your head agreed and unanimously urged you to take your own life.
'That's the only way out', they kept saying.
You agreed with them. Maybe you should just listen to them, and, for once, end this misery. This way-
A warmth spread across your back, and you felt arms wrap themselves around your torso.
"Love? It's time to get up."
Dazai whispered in your ear. His honey like voice reminded you of all the good times you've had with him. Dying meant letting go of all those sweet memories and ignoring all the laughter you shared with him. Would he be sad if you left? You hoped not. In your opinion, you were worthless, and so he mustn't feel anything when you die. But what if he does feel sad? Could you do that to him?
Dying meant saying goodbye to Dazai. You can't do that. You loved him. He was your only support, only hope and only light. You don't want to part with him. Ever. Not even in death.
"Will you commit double suicide with me, Dazai?"
Your voice was hoarse and quiet, but he heard it. His breath stuck in his throat. He had suspected that you were going through an episode, but now he knew for sure. He only joked about suicide as a means to appear weak to his enemies, and to keep the office jovial. He never meant to actually take his life. There was so much to do. He used to hate living. But, now, he had you, his colleagues and Atsushi. He wants to see you all happy. He also wants to see how Akutagawa grows to become a fine leader. He wants to see you grow old, hear your laughter and wake up to your smile. He wants to spend decades with you. He secretly wants to become a parent with you. He never once asked you to commit suicide with him, as he never wants to hurt you. You deserve to live a happy life. And he'd die ensuring that you do live a happy life. He hasn't told you yet, but he looks forward to living. And you're one of the major reasons. You unknowingly drive him to get back up every morning, and to see the good in the world. You taught him to admire and appreciate the little things in life.
He rubbed soothing circles on your back.
"Why? Do you not want to continue living?"
He asked.
"I just.. I.."
Your voice cracked, and the tears welling up in your eyes broke through the wall of control you had built, and crashed their way down your cheeks. They pooled on the pillow, increasing the dampness as they fell, one-by-one.
Dazai got up and crawled to the other side, facing you. He laid down and kissed your head, hugging you.
"I know.."
He whispered. He noticed your body freezing from the sudden contact.
You closed your eyes shut and sniffed from time to time, finally easing into the hug.
"I can't do it anymore... I can't... it's all so heavy... and I'm tired..."
Dazai understood your feelings very well. He'd been dealing with them for so long. You helped him get out of it. Even if you weren't aware of your effect on his mental health, your mere presence helped him stay happy. You became his medication. Spending some time with you everyday helped him see the beauty of life and the concept of living. He wanted to help you. Even if he wasn't your recovery drug, like you were his, he would be there with you every step of the way. He will help you escape the confines of your depression.
"I understand, love. Want to talk? About anything and everything?"
He asked, staring into your eyes, waiting for them to open.
You hesitantly opened your eyes, only to be met by the comfortable sight of his gorgeous mocha irises gazing lovingly into your own orbs.
"What about work?"
He smiled, his eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the corners.
"Let's ditch work! I can call your office and tell them that you're not feeling well."
You smiled too, observing the messy locks that were strewn across his face.
"And what about your work?"
He grinned.
"We have Kunikida. He can handle an extra pile of paperwork today."
Your soft giggles and the beam of happiness on your face was enough to lighten his mood.
"How about we watch that show... what was it called again? The one that makes you laugh?"
"How about we just lay here?"
He kissed your forehead.
"Sure."
You leaned closer to him, his heartbeat lulling you to a peaceful trance.
"But what if I have to pee?"
He hushed.
You snickered.
"Then you'll have to carry me with you!"
"To the bathroom?!"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't to be away from you."
"You just want a chance to see me naked, don't you?!"
He teased.
"Ew, Dazai! You're disgusting!"
You didn't know how he did it, but he always managed to drive your sad thoughts away.
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milfnearyou · 3 years
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                 𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧: 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞.
      “𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦.”
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𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟑.𝟐𝐊 | 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑 | 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏
𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐗 (𝐗-𝐄𝐗𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐈)
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𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: KIDNAPPING. TORTURE. PTSD. TRAUMA. WHIPPING. HARASSMENT. NO SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER. MENTIONS OF PSYCHOLOGICAL ELEMENTS. LIGHT TALK OF PERSONALITY DISORDERS AND SCHIZOPHRENIA WILL BE DELVING INTO MORE DETAILS ON THE NEXT CHAPTER.
I ALSO DECIDED TO MAKE THIS A SERIES TO PREVENT MAKING THE WHOLE THING REALLY LONG ON ONE POST SINCE TUMBLR GLITCHES A LOT BUT ALSO FOR PEOPLE WHO CAN’T FOCUS ON VERY LONG FICS :)
VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
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To say that you were hurting would be an understatement.
Everything and anything served as an infernal memory. Whether it be an object or something as simple as the weather, the effect it had could potentially be triggering for you. This new way of life felt more like a slow, painful process in which you were dying.
Overwhelming, things were now always overwhelming. Your anxiety shooting through the roof, the small person inside of you crumbling away into nothing as you screamed at the top of your lungs only to never be heard.
Your life felt orchestrated, the strings and rhythms conducted by no one else but Lucifer himself. With your pain, he created a symphony for a play, one that was to be forever engrained within your mind, body and soul.
It felt surreal, a simulation with you as its subject and yet, it was in every way authentic. None of it was a figment of your imagination, it wasn't just a bad dream but it was your reality. The scars that littered your body like a tormented and abused piece of canvas served as proof that it had all happened.
Your body ached, countless spikes of excruciating pains rushing through your many vessels and arteries, the nerves on your body were almost always on edge. It was difficult to hold onto reality, the point of returning being so far away that the thought of just letting go, would be a much quicker and simple solution. After all, you were halfway to insanity and the thought of being sane no longer remained a possibility.
It didn’t stop there. Your biggest enemy was your mind. The cursed piece of soft tissue that sat right in the middle of your enclosed skull was the one thing quickest to abandon you, betraying you within a blink of an eye and letting your body act on its own. It was impossible to control your thoughts when you almost always gravitating towards self-destruction.
Day and night, your mind screamed at you, unleashing a cacophony of howling, piercing screams that made your head ring. Blaring on and on, it had no limit. Going as far as venturing into your dreams late at night, filling your only moment of peace with countless nightmares. It was driving you mad. Always pushing you to constantly fight with yourself. You tried your best to ignore the urges but it seemed impossible.
Loudly, you'd scream into the emptiness of your surroundings telling yourself to shut up, to make it stop. Occasionally going as far as becoming physical, slapping the palms of your hands against your temple in attempts to strike yourself awake or hitting your head against a flat surface in attempts to knock the thoughts out. 
But there was no chance to wake up. You were long gone. Stuck in a deep slumber that caused your physical state to act like a zombie. Almost as if your frontal lobe had shut down. Everything occurring in a rather monotone way. Laced with a sudden breakdown that hit you every other day, exploding with fear and anger. The effects of your past trauma reminding you that you still had feelings within, that you had emotions but that they were no longer positive. The negativity overflowed within you and was always ready to burst.
You saw people, individuals who claimed they could help. Medically known as psychiatrists but in your opinion, middle-aged women who seemed lonelier than you were. Portraits of Persian cats hung all over their workrooms, the scowls plastered on the faces of the felines were ones also visible on the psychiatrists themselves.
They always said it was the voices, emerging from your previously traumatic experience. Well no shit, of course, you knew that. It was a no brainer that there were voices in your head, you had diagnosed yourself of having un-welcomed people inside your mind a long time ago. 
However, unbeknownst to the therapists themselves you also knew that they'd been planted into your mind from god knows how long ago. They simply waited for something to set them free, triggering the alarm and giving them proper cause to make you lose your mind.
All they needed was freedom and they were granted access to that with the help of a certain someone. A man who shared the same looks, name and identity as someone you grew close with, someone you developed feelings for. A man you fell in love with that had a terrible secret. It was hard to determine what exactly his secret was until you came face to face with it yourself. And when you did, you wanted out. Pandora's box had been opened and yet, it wasn't even your fault that it had.
You simply had to face the consequences of falling in love with someone who had a duplicate. Was it a clone? Or was it a twin? It was hard to say because he seemed to be from another world, a different planet even but in reality, he was conceived by the hands of a twisted mind. Fabricated inside a laboratory, only to be sent out many years later to wreak havoc upon your life.
And one dreaded night, he arrived. Snatching you away and hiding you for what added up to be weeks of torture. A show in which you were the leading role, the subject to many horrendous acts that one could never imagine. Acts that he always said were done because he “loved” you.
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“You know I love you?” He’d say, all while his nimble fingers danced along the grains of your skin. Brushing up and down your arm as the fear raced through your veins. Your blood running cold, the hairs on your neck standing upwards. Your body was all too familiar with reacting with terror.
A few painfully quiet moments would pass, the sound of water dripping from the faucet, filtering into your conversation until he’d clear his throat. Leaning in forwards and resting his lips just above your left ear, his hot breath burning against your skin as you feel yourself holding in your breath.
“Silence isn’t an option, you either speak or be spoken for,” He warns and you nod rapidly in response. You knew the protocol and you knew exactly what it meant when he said that.
“Do you love me like I love you?” He asks. Circling from your back as he stands in front of you, using his calloused hand to hold your face upwards. Cupping your chin, his touch is moderately tender but you know that with one wrong move, everything could change.
“Define love,” You respond, not wanting to give him the direct answer he wanted. It would feed his ego all too much if you were to be so direct and yet, secretly he enjoyed you defying him. He loved how you didn't give in so quickly, it allowed him the chance to get physical and boy, did he love to get physical.
“Define love? I— obviously, don’t understand the concept of love as much as I'd like to admit. But when I look at you, the sickening feeling that emerges within me makes me think that yes, this is love. It’s everything that suppresses inside my chest, threatening to explode at any given moment. The oxygen that carries through my blood, that fuels the life inside me is filled with the thought of you. Love is, being alive and there’s nothing else except for you that makes me feel more alive.”
You fall silent at his response. Simply because none of it made sense, a cluster of babbled words falling out of his mouth as you stare at him watching as his expression slowly falls apart. The look of love is no longer there, replaced with infatuation, obsession and anger. He acted as if he’d known you for an eternity, professing his delusional love as if it mattered. As if you’d have a change of heart and drop everything within a blink of an eye just for him.
“...You must also understand that I love you because I can’t let him be the only person who loves you too,” He adds, “So do you love me like I love you? It’s only fair you do.”
“Love is a blessing in life. Something that isn’t forced upon, a concept in which— it may hold the key to your life in its hands but cannot be obtained without the honest feelings of another. It takes two to tango, not one, but two." 
Momentarily pausing, you swallow the lump inside your throat, pushing it downwards. Allowing the newly found courage inside your body to come forward, "...And I'm afraid I can’t dance with you.” 
Your rejection is something that hits him hard. Time seems to stop as the fleshy look on his face drops, the expression in his eyes have been replaced with a newfound fury. But it quickly wipes away as you watch him throw his head back letting out a cackle, his voice echoing inside the dingy, dark basement. 
Like a slideshow, his emotions were quick to change moving from pure anger to joy as he laughs at your response. You can't help but sit there and think that he's absolutely mad. A man who shares the same body, face and voice as your lover but seems to be much more cunning and sinister. He's evil and he proves himself to be just that with his following actions and honestly, you aren't even surprised at this point. 
His large hand that once caressed your face had now found its way to the knotted locks of hair, gripping it tightly as he shoves you to the ground. Pushing you down from the chair you once sat on and glueing you to the floor. The coldness of the surface is somewhat, soothing against your painfully hot skin as he presses your face against the ground. The weight of his body adding more pressure as he straddles you from behind, moving strings of your hair aside just so he can see your face. Amused, he smirks to himself when he sees you withering in pain, strings of saliva dripping past your chapped lips and leaking onto the floor.
"Oh dear, what a waste," He pouts, bringing forward a free hand to wipe your drool away. The tip of his finger now covered in your bodily fluids as he brings it to his lips, licking his finger in excitement. His eyes practically rolling to the back of his head as he moans in delight, "Deliciously, sweet." 
Disgusted by his actions you can't help but shut your eyes. Shielding yourself one way or another from looking at his grotesquely beautiful visage. Naturally, the tears also begin to seep past your eyes, drifting down your cheeks. You can feel him lean in, hovering over you. A whimper squeaks past your lips when you feel his tongue dragging itself across your cheek, it feels like he's about to eat you alive. Like a lion licking its prey.  
Removing his tongue from your cheek, he brings it towards your ear. Licking your helix before sucking gently on your earlobe, “I hope, you consider this next special thing. Perhaps, as a warning of some sort?” 
Pushing himself off of you, you can hear him rummage around in the drawer he’s got next to the chair you once sat on. The sound of metallic objects rattling around and clinking against each other until it comes to a halt. The silence isn't soothing, it's terrifying. 
Your heart begins to thump profusely, rapidly beating. You find it hard to breathe, to possibly calm down as your mind races with all the possible objects he could’ve chosen to use on you. A knife? Perhaps a nail gun.
The possibilities were essentially endless due to his massive collection of murderous weapons. But you receive your answer when you feel the long, multiple strips of leather entwined in cotton and tiny pieces of cattle bone brushing against your skin.
“Cat o’ nine tails,” He answers, introducing the weapon to you. Teasingly he brings the weapon up and down your bareback. Shuddering in fear as you feel the item grind against your back, the softness you feel now will be nothing in comparison to what you'll actually feel. 
"Baby, remember that I have to do this because I love you."
Thwack!
The first blow that hits you makes your ears ring. The sensation feels hot, tingling at your skin. It's a mixture of pain along with pins and needles, only getting worse with each blow that he gives you. The stinging had a pain so strong and immense that it was hard for you to even lay there still, writhing around on the ground like a worm on hot pavement. You began to feel overwhelmed with pain, your nerves essentially on fire as you struggled to keep yourself awake. 
Thwack, thwack, thwack!
You could feel the skin on your back begin to rip open, the crimson blood seeping from your wounds as he kept going. There was no mercy as you screamed, your vocal cords straining so hard your voice went hoarse. Slowly, you began to shut down. First, your hands falling limp at your sides, your body cased in sweat as you felt drained to a pulp. Then your screams came to a halt, the breathing in your voice drastically slowing down. Finally, your eyes began to droop, fluttering shut as you saw nothing but black. 
Was this the end for you? 
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Jolting upwards, you topple off your bed and collide with the ground. Gritting your teeth in pain when you feel your back begin to burn, your semi-healed scars becoming agitated from the impact. Slowly rising upwards you panic at your dark surroundings but calm down once you realize that you're at home. Your sweet Maison, inside your calming bedroom with your lover sound asleep on his half of the mattress.
He's at peace with his soft and supple cheek squished against the fluffy pillow. Strands of his brown hair sticking about, his eyes shut tightly. You can't help but mumble to yourself about how adorable he is before leaving your room. Quietly heading towards the kitchen and flickering on the lights, flinching when everything seemed to be much too bright.
Your eyes gravitate towards the clock on the wall, it was four in the morning. You decided that there was no way you were going back to sleep at this hour. Shuffling towards your coffee machine, you brew yourself an iced coffee mixing in a shot of almond milk with your drink. Adding in a few ice cubes, you stir your drink slowly trying your best to ignore the pain in your back.
"You alright?"
Turning around you see Jongin, standing there shirtless in his teddy bear PJ pants. He rubs his eyes a few times before putting on his circular framed glasses, giving you a sleepy smile when he finally sees you properly through the lens. He looked beautiful in his groggy state and so did you to him with your hair flowing freely. Dressed cosily in his white tee with your supreme briefs underneath it.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Did I wake you up?" You ask, taking a sip from your drink.
"No, you're good. Can you make me one too baby?"
Nodding in response you turn towards your coffee machine, your back facing towards him to brew him a drink. "Latte?" You ask.
"Mhm, you know me so well," Slowly he wraps his arms around you, failing to notice how you slightly flinch at his touch. His hands travel towards your stomach as he hugs you tightly, placing his nose in the crook of your neck as he inhales your scent, "I love you so much."
The scene feels all too familiar and it makes you nervous. Gently you push him off of you, unaware that your gesture has hurt his feelings. Departing from your back he comes to your side, leaning against the marble counter.
"Are you sure you're okay?" He questions.
"I'm fine, just...don't, do that," You reply, the tone of your voice is soft, almost delicate as if you spoke any louder something would break.
"Do what?" He asks while bringing his hand towards your shoulder, frowning when he sees you dip your shoulder away from his touch, "You don't want me to touch you?"
Sighing you turn to face him, observing his hurt expression. His eyes are slightly glassy as he looks at you for an answer.
"Nini, it's not that I don't want you to touch me. It's because I'm still injured from the incident, so everything's just a bit fragile," You explain, partially lying through your teeth. It was true you were very hurt but you also didn't want him touching you because everything he did reminded you of the other him.
He nods quietly, smiling softly at you as he slowly gestures you to have a seat at the coffee table, "I'll cover the drink, you go rest."
Sitting down at the coffee table you quietly enjoy your beverage. Jongin soon joining you, seated at the front. The kitchen is quiet, dimly lit by the singular overhanging light you've got on. Jongin's caramel complexion shining underneath the lightbulbs rays. His eyes are affectionate, his gaze never leaving you as he chews on his bottom lip.
"I'm sorry," He starts, "I know it's been hard and I'm really sorry that you have to be hurting. I just wish that the incident could've brought us closer somehow but it's just, pushing us apart."
Drumming your fingers against the table you avoid his gaze. You don't know what to say, you can't blame him for what happened. But you also can't help but think that had you not known Jongin then you would've never met the other him. His twin or, whatever he was.
"I should've told you about him. Then maybe I could've prevented this somehow," His voice falters as you look up to see him. He's wiping his tears away, the whites of his eyes are slightly red.
"Jongin—”
"Tell me," He interrupts, "Do you see him when you look at me?"
Looking at Jongin, you can definitely see the other him. Except for the fact that the other him or Kai as he liked to call himself had dark green hair. Besides the difference in hair colours, they were pretty much identical. Opting to remain silent, he receives his answer.
"I wish it had never happened but, now that everything's passed I want to be by your side to help you heal. I want to help you through this," He explains. Nonchalantly sliding his hand forwards, he offers you to take his hand and you do, though not right away. Intertwining your fingers with his, you feel his thumb rub the skin of your palm gently.
"You know I love you?" He says and you can't help but shudder when those words come fluttering out of his mouth. Looking up at him you momentarily see Kai rather than Jongin and your heart stops. Afraid that you'll be punished for not speaking back. You say it back, in an almost trained responsive way. Even if the man that's in front of you isn't Kai but Jongin. You say it back because you're still afraid, you're still scared and those affectionate words do nothing but terrify you.
"I love you too."
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   𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃: 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐅𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐔©︎
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misfitneo · 4 years
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charmolypi | lee donghyuck
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(n.) a mixed feeling of happiness while being sad; “joy-making sorrow”
terminally ill au
pairing | lee donghyuck (haechan) x reader
genre | kinda crack, fluff, angst
words | 14.1k
warnings | cursing, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, various illegal activities, neglect, dark themes, mental health, a bit of blood, mentions of death, jaemin is a v bad person. we all know how this ends. read with caution.
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ amicus usque ad aras
You were 12 when Lee Haechan accidentally hit you across the head with a basketball during PE. It's a blurry memory but you recall waking up in the nurse's office with your head trobbing, a piece of dressing shoved up your nostril as to stop the continuous flow of blood, and a raven haired boy with an apologetic expression sitting awkwardly by the bed. There was no reason for him to stay with you for the rest of the day and take you to your classes apart from the overwhelming guilt eating him alive from inside out. You liked his presence though.
Haechan's bag was too big and his glasses too small but he still managed to be on top of the school's foodchain, known for his charisma and impressive ability to make people fall in love with his many talents; there wasn't a single soul who didn't know his name.
So, before he could apologise for the 4th time, when you asked him what his name was the boy stopped right in his tracks, having forgotten what it was like to introduce himself since there wasn't really a necessity for that anymore. After a small pause he answered, seeing this as the start of a sincere friendship as opposed to a hard pill to swallow.
"Haechan." You knew. "What's yours?"
"Y/n."
He knew.
You were 14 when you spotted Lee Haechan across the hallway and through the crowd of people, who were too busy throwing compliments his way to notice the morning bell going off. His hair was a freshly dyed cherry red colour, fiery as his soul and wild as his spirit, almost like an alert signal heralding the arrival of chaos into your life. Maybe if this had happened 2 years ago you'd have understood the warning and stayed away - too late now.
"So..." He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth following suit as he finally reaches you, arms spread out as if it was some kind of unplanned surprise. "How does it look?"
"Like one of those reflective stop signs on the road, you know?"
You were not about to tell him he looked absolutely heavenly - you were never one to further stroke his ego and that's what made you different from all the others who simply idolised him. That and the fact that you'd oppressed whatever feelings made you completely at his mercy.
"Does that mean I make people stop and stare?" He responded with feigned hope and an unwavering smirk.
"No, that means you'll disturb traffic if you walk on the streets." Strolling right past him and towards your class, you bite the inside of your cheek before the truth slips bitterly past your tongue, hands gripping the books to your chest a bit tighter. "Anyways, don't you have a class to go to?"
Haechan is all gentle grins and loud laughs, his eyes squint when he smiles too widely and he pouts when he's making up some excuse as for why he didn't bring his homework - of course that's enough to fool the teachers into forgetting about it. He is kind even though the world was never kind to him back, neglected by his parents and left to figure life out as he goes. It's simply impossible not to like him.
"Yes, but I gotta escort you safely to yours, to make sure you don't get mobbed on the way. I noticed guys have been staring at you weirdly and I don't like it." It'd be easier not to like him if he didn't say stuff like this that makes your heart skip a beat or if he didn't throw an arm over your shoulder mindlessly.
Once you reach the classroom door, Haechan grabs your shoulders with both of his hands and lowers his head just enough to be at eye level with you.
"I'll protect you, I promise."
Too bad you couldn't protect me from yourself, Lee Haechan.
Being 15 felt weird.
It was the kind of age where you felt old enough to do the stuff you weren't old enough to do or where life is moving too staggeringly for your liking but so fast it makes it hard to catch a breath.
Lee Haechan had no boundaries though.
He wanted to live life to the fullest, the true definition of a free spirit, to do the things he was too young to do and forget about the concept of time. Of course you didn't realise how much of a bad idea it was to let the boy drag you into his dad's old wreck of a car, and drive it around the neighbourhood without knowing which pedal was the brake, until you crashed into a tree.
Fuck.
Haechan first felt thrill, adrenaline sweetly poisoning his bloodstream in a way that made his breathless pants twist into a smile. Haechan then felt guilt. Not because he just destroyed his dad's antique gem or the neighbour's precious tree whose leaves always managed to end up in everybody else's front yards - no, that wasn't why his throat dried up and his heart beat faster than any amount of adrenaline could make it beat. It was the sight of blood, quite a few shades deeper than the faded orange of his hair, dripping down your forehead and cheekbone. It was the realisation that he broke his own promise and hurt you.
"Shit. Shit, Y/n, are you okay? Fuck, I'm sorry." His words got stuck midway up his throat and made it hard to breathe, hands brushing the hair sticking to your skin back and tugging it behind your ear with a certain urgency before he grips your hand apologetically. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to get hurt, I-"
He stopped his rambling the moment a tight lipped smile started growing on your face, small, hushed sniggers gradually morphing into loud laughs and he couldn't even explain the relief that washed over him at that precise moment.
"That was... Wow, what the fuck just happened?"
"We're about to get beat, that's what happened." He answers but there's still a mischievous glint in his eyes and grin plastered on his face.
Getting himself in trouble was Haechan's way of capturing his parents' attention throughout the years, but even that only got him so far, maybe a 5 minute long heated argument if he was lucky enough. It was, in fact, peculiar that his one desire was for them to get angry, to shout at him, to teach him that what he did was wrong, to take his phone away or ground him for a whole week - hell, two weeks if necessary. He wanted to feel like he was important enough they'd want to discipline him and maybe someday they'd look back and be proud of how far he's come.
Haechan ended up not receiving much of a punishment, his parents were rich enough to replace and compensate for whatever he'd destroyed, and merely got told he'd have to pay for his own license in the future - which is... Understandable.
You, on the other hand, got Haechan's biggest desire without asking for it: no phone for a week, grounded for two, and you'd definitely not be allowed to go over to his for at least three.
Lovely.
There was something about the beach that made it feel more like home than Haechan's ever did. Maybe it was the smell of something other than brand new furniture and a suffocating amount freshener, the warmth the sun gave even as it touched the horizon or the sound of birds chirping, waves breaking, your laughs, anything other than just unbearable silence. Times like these were rare but everlasting, you two sitting on the bench facing the ocean - it was all Haechan could ask for.
Sadly, the beach is precisely 3 hours and 15 minutes away from your hometown (an extra 25 minutes if it's your mum driving) but it was worth all the pain and whining you put your parents through for the last 2 weeks. It's hard to pinpoint, but you guess they gave in the moment you told them you and Haechan would go there yourselves if they didn't take you - and we all know what happened last time you two were alone in a car.
You're 16 yet nothing has changed - well, nothing but his hair colour which looked like it'd been painted on with a yellow highlighter.
"I'm tired." You state as if your yawn hadn't given that away already.
"You can lay on my lap if you want."
"That's lowkey weird but I'll take it." Today had been exhausting, to say the least. It was a mix of running like a madman into the water and getting pushed in instead. Choking on unpleasantly salty water was a newly found terror of yours but you should be used to that kind of taste by now, after all you have eaten Haechan's rice before.
"Today was fun..." He sighs almost relieved, as if he can finally let out a breath that had been stuck in his throat for a while.
"It was..." Your mumbles cause the boy to look down at you on his lap. A sudden urge to caress your cheek or run his fingers through your hair overcomes him, seeing the high point of your face glowing with the sweetness of the sun and softness of its heat. He snaps himself out of his trance, coughing awkwardly, not knowing where to look although there is a horizon that extends through miles in front of him.
What the heck, Haechan?
"We should come back here every summer, even when we're old and grow apart, we have to meet here every year even if our memories are shit and we have ten kids to take care of."
"Here, what? On this bench?"
"On this bench." He consolidates.
"Deal." With your eyes still comfortably shut, you hold up your arm, pinky finger pointing up until you feel his own grasping it.
There's a pleasant moment of silence between you two yet your thoughts are deafening.
I don't wanna grow apart.
It will happen eventually, it always does.
Not us, not to me and Haechan.
You wish you'd savoured your moments alone more instead of letting the worries of the future consume you. 'Live the moment' they say, but if only that was a choice humans have. We're set to fear the future and regret the past, the present is just a passing moment that was once what you feared and will eventually become something you regret, the middle, nothing.
(It's not fair, but it's human nature.)
"So, uhm..." You start in order to run away from your own thoughts. "You want how many damn kids, now?"
The age of 17 was probably the worst and best year of your life, you believed.
There were parties to go to and no exams to worry about. Although it started with Haechan having to drag you out of bed and blackmail you using some of your prepubescent photos he'd saved in the darkest depths of a damning photo album, it was definitely worth the whining. In the span of a month, your social life went from virtually nonexistent, to awkward conversations with acquaintances, to being invited to more parties and not minding all the eyes on you when you dance - even if it does still take a few drinks to get to that point.
You liked the atmosphere, the feeling of escaping the outside world and seeing it through a rose tinted glass instead - you took the saying so literally you actually started bringing your pink glasses to parties. It wasn't like that to everybody. Depending on the day, you'd see girls sitting on the staircase or in some corner of the room crying on their friend's shoulder, with their eyeliner smudged and heels discarded somewhere along the way, mascara tears staining their cheeks, pitiful, miserable, broken. The contrast between their sparkling dresses and dully smeared lipstick makes the scene look like an awful 80's heartbreak movie.
There were also the ones who went way too far, poisoning their system with something more than alcohol and weed, cowardly masking their pain with the illusion of happiness, absolutely no care in the world while their brain failed to resist the effects of whatever foreign substance they'd ingested.
Na Jaemin was one of the broken ones. He always went too far and got too close but you pity him more than you fear him. You wished to understand why he did what he did, what made him sell his soul to a white powder and a broken future; was it temptation or something far more tragic? It would probably be too insensitive of you to ask and it's not like you ever saw him sober enough to answer anyway.
Shuddering, you look away from the crowd and down at your drink, and you can't help but wonder if that could've been you in some alternative universe.
"Y/n, hey!" Haechan towers above everybody surrounding him, including the girl he wrapped his arm around, as they walked your way. With some courage, you throw your head back and set your throat aflame with whatever is left in your solo cup - you can't do this without it. "Woah, easy there, I thought you said you hated anything that isn't cider, and that stinks of something that isn't cider."
"It's an acquired taste." You shrug.
For the sake of god, you cannot bring yourself to recall the girl's name, even though she's all that Haechan has rambled on about for the past week or so. Selective hearing is, in fact, a blessing.
This was what made being 17 a not so great year - seeing him with another girl, having him neglect your friendship just to hang out with her - it's definitely a hard pill to swallow.
"You should be more careful with how much you drink."
"You should stop acting like my dad, it's getting boring Haechan." You snigger and fail to notice the way his body tenses up at the bitterness of your words, too busy tugging down your dress before walking up to the couple, taking a bottle with you instead of bothering to pour its contents in a cup. "I'm gonna go have fun now, please join me if you will. If not, don't forget to wear protection and please be a bit quieter, some of us don't get turned on by wails."
Before you walk right past them, Haechan's arm drops from her shoulders, wrapping his slender fingers around your wrist instead.
"Why are you being like this?" His eyebrows are furrowed and his voice dropped an octave, the excited glint in his eyes from minutes ago now long gone and you'd probably feel guilty if not under the effect of Vodka and Echo Falls.
"Like what? You know, I just really appreciated being kept up all of last night, I had to let you know. Thanks guys, definitely the highlight of my day." Through all the sarcasm, you throw a cheeky wink at her before turning back to Haechan, who seemed confused, possibly irked, at your attitude. "Also, what's up with the Joker gone wrong hair?"
It suits him.
"I preferred the last one."
No, you didn't.
With that, you're off, swallowing the lump in your throat down and feigning a smile as you greet people whose names are a blur to you.
You weren't going to be like those girls who sobbed in the corner and remind you of some John Green novel gone terribly wrong, nor would you let yourself be miserable to the point Na Jaemin is, jumping on a glass table to the beat of the music from the other side of the room with absolutely no sense of danger or self-preservation.
You weren't going to be like them.
He'd protect you, right?
You were 18 when the phone ringed endlessly at 7:34AM, the words 'smurf lookin guy' blurred across the screen, and your tired sigh was coated with frustration as you accept the call and put him on speaker.
"What would you want at such a wonderfully early morning time? This better not be about Mark almost setting the dorm on fire with the toaster agai-"
Just like your first encounter, this was a blurry memory to recall. It's extortiating thinking back and knowing it wasn't just a nightmare, that you were very much awake.
His words splinter inside you, inflicting a kind pain that you'd never felt before. Rare. Quick. Terminal. He is telling you that there'll no longer be random 3AM road trips or movie marathons, no more birthdays or improvised christmas meals and you just can't believe he is saying that to you. It's too much.
So you hang up as your mouth hangs open. The ache that once felt like Hades' angriest fire fades into an icy numbness. Your vision clouds and all you hear is your own heartbeat thumping furiously beneath your skin.
Not him, not Haechan.
You've held your breath in a pool before - this isn't like that. Although the urge to breathe is strong and part of human nature, you feel too impotent to allow yourself to do such, guilty in some strange way.
Why him? Why not me?
A beat passes and you still lay on your bed, no tears or sobs. Come on, it's Haechan, it was probably just a humourless prank...
It wasn't.
At some point, you fail to hear the door open but the hands shaking you out of your trance burn your skin. When your mum asks what's wrong, you don't really know what to say. There's no right way to tell someone Haechan is dying because it's Haechan and he doesn't deserve to have his life ripped away in this way, slowly and painfully. Not him.
You try to tell her but what comes out of your mouth sounds more like a strangled whimper. And then you start to cry, and you don't stop because all that runs through your head are memories and memories and more fucking memories - fear that one day that's all you'll have.
She holds you in her arms and coos sweet nothings into the crown of your head. It's not going to be okay.
It's not like holding your breath. It's like breathing in the water until your lungs flame away with panic. It's like drowning slowly when all you need to do is go up for air.
It's like not wanting air for a world without Lee Haechan isn't a world you want to breathe in.
"You have no idea how much I actually love you." Haechan professed triumphantly, snatching the cup of cheap, hospital machine coffee from your hands before you even have the time to shut the door, and downing an unhealthy amount of it into his system. "God, the process of dying just made my life so boring."
"Don't say that." You hiss as if the words themselves were like poison to your ears.
Lee Haechan had somehow managed to skip over the concept of the stages of death. He didn't cry, there was no time for that, he didn't run away from it, he had no strength in his body to do so anyways, he didn't rage either, what would that change?
It was some kind of miraculous leap from bring told that his heart won't be able to withstand his body's demands in less than 3 months to fully accepting it. It was baffling the way his smile remained the same, his eyes still curving into crescent moons when he laughed at one of those terrible jokes, his cheeks still very much 'pinchable' although his skin has become a lot paler.
"Sorry..."
You nod slowly, looking away from him for a moment as if trying to recollect your thoughts.
"When did this coffee obsession start, anyway?"
When his heart stopped beating as fast as it used to.
"I don't know. Probably when Mark made some back at the dorm and it actually didn't taste like ass." He shrugged and gulped down the rest of the drink without even thinking about it. "To be honest, this one does taste like ass but i've gotten used to it by now."
Briefly, you snicker at his loudmouth that always seems to have some swear word on the tip of his tongue but then the realisation that he never really had anyone to educate him hits differently.
For now, you're just glad that he isn't hooked up to machines and on unbearable amounts of medication, that he's simply here for his treatment and that he gets to leave. It's a privilege many don't have and you dread the day when this kind of freedom is taken away from him. Even though he doesn't show it, you know he dreads that day too.
Haechan wore black but his hair was the brightest, most obnoxious shade of blue. It made you wonder if this was his way of being poetic, of keeping himself from loosing his vivid personality and projecting all the pain and uncertainty onto a black leather jacket, a black shirt, black jeans. Somehow, he still managed to look as graceful as an angel yet as tempting as the devil. He didn't like talking about his illness so you didn't ask either, you can only assume the reasons for why he does what he does.
"Earth to Y/n, what are you thinking about?" He questions, sitting down on the hospital bed. He's tired, you know it.
"You."
It takes him aback but Haechan is not one to let his weak moments show through, so he merely smirks, eyebrow raised, head tilted.
"Don't get ahead of yourself. I was thinking back to that time you went all Romeo on me, started throwing pebbles at my window and ended up breaking it." You sigh, laughing briefly at the memory. It's a funny sight to recall, peeking your head credulously through the few standing glass shards and down at his 16 year old self, hand behind his head ready to throw yet another peddle but frozen in time, jaw slacked open and eyes completely void of emotion. That's the moment you two knew you really fucked up.
"Okay, okay, okay, you see... That was totally unintentional, I ran out of ways to get your attention, which is hard when you have your headphones on and the volume on max. If we're being technical here, it was basically your fault." He explains extensively, grand gestures aiding his point across but you're not taking it.
"If we're being technical here, it was you who picked up the rock from the floor, threw it after carefully aiming it at my window, made it hit the glass with enough force to break it and yet, somehow, my dad still made me pay for the damage." You whine, pointing at yourself, and if stares could kill, Haechan would certainly be six feet underground by now.
"I-" Before the boy could fire back and defend his stance, a soft knock on the door was heard, followed by a nurse entering and calling Haechan to his treatment. He nods slowly and the door closes briefly after, making him sigh in relief.
"Could you explain to me why you have the cup of coffee you asked me for behind your back?" You whisper passive aggressively, having taken note of how he managed to hide the drink from the nurse as she came in. "Were you not supposed to have it, did I just break the law or something?"
"Uh..." He drags on, swiftly getting up from the bed and walking past you. "No comment."
"Haechan, I swear to God-"
"What's this?"
Normally, on Monday mornings, you would be at school listening to you english teacher ramble on about the deep meaning of blue curtains written in a chapter of some book you don't quite remember the name of - and you don't really care, to be honest. Instead, you're here, in Haechan's room while his parents are out - shocking - as per his request. You don't mind missing some classes for him, especially if it's english. In this life, there is no time to waste, you want to spend it with him, before you can't do so anymore.
God, don't think like that Y/n.
You hold up a sheet of paper with checked and unchecked boxes that sat on his bedside table, and if you didn't know better you'd say it was his grocery list.
"Oh, that's my bucket list." Or as he likes to call it: his death wish list, but he's incapable of telling you that.
Haechan walks over and sits besides you on the bed, looking over your shoulder and scanning the list for the 500th time now.
"Uhm, why are half of the things on this list illegal?"
Good question.
"Pass." He says and clears his throat. Maybe because he liked the thrill of doing something he isn't supposed to do, the adrenaline that poisons him and tastes sweeter than anything he's ever had, no boundaries to tie him up, total freedom.
"When did you go graffitiing? You didn't tell me about that." You frown and Haechan sniggers at the memory. That was a hell of a wild night.
"Jaemin and I were bored and decided to go downtown with a few cans of spray paint his dad had. We did the shittiest, stick man drawing of the group since Renjun refused to tag along, so we had to work with what we had." Shrugging, Haechan lets himself fall back on the bed, staring deeply at the ceiling while his mind was in a totally different place, and you follow suit, laying in his arms. "It didn't last long though, the police came and we bolted out of there in less than 2 seconds, didn't even take the rest of the cans back with us."
There's something about laying in Haechan's arms that makes it seem as if there's not a care in the world, no school or loneliness, and definitely no damn illnesses that strip away life at a torturous pace. While he rambles on about his unholy adventures, you place your palm on top of his heart, feeling it thump tastefully beneath the fabric of his shirt. It's calming, relieving.
Under any other circumstances, you'd never have cuddled up to his body nor would he have reacted so calmly to such display of affection from his best friend. By now, Haechan would've pushed you off the bed playfully or said some snarky comment about how you never seem to take your hands off of him.
(You wish you'd hugged him more.)
Other than wanting Haechan to age besides you, to have many more birthdays and look back when he's old and regret nothing - to be alive - you also want him to live. The last thing you want is for him to suffer, whether it be from what has been or what could've been. So, propping yourself up on one elbow, you look down at him with a hint of determination in your posture.
"Let's do it."
"Do what?"
"Let's tick all of the boxes on that bucket list." You breathe out.
"Are you sure? I mean, some of the things are a bit hardcore and you are a bit of a pussy whe-"
"Haechan!" He laughs as you smack his chest with a spark of indignation in your squinted eyes, burning holes into his own.
"Okay, fine. But you can't back out now." He threatens, taking a hold of your wrist and holding it up to his, pinky raised.
There's a moment of hesitation as the room goes dead silent but you swiftly shake it away and lace your pinky finger with his.
"I won't back out."
For him.
"I wanna back out." You're scared shitless. There is no good way to put it, especially as you look down at the sea, which is definitely way too far away from the top of the cliff you two are standing on.
"You break the pinky promise, I break your pinky, you know the deal." He shruggs, running his hand through the faded blue of his hair, matching the colour of the horizon perfectly.
"I said I want to, not that I was actually gonna do it." There's a ping of uncertainty behind those words but then you remember the real reason you're here, so it vanishes silently with that thought.
"Y/n, if you really don't wanna do it, it's cool, honestly." Haechan sighs. He doesn't want you to feel like you owe him anything or force you to do something you don't want to just for his sake. He doesn't want you to pity him just like everybody else does - but that's why you're here, isn't it?
"I second that, don't give into peer pressure Y/n!" A voice sounds from behind and you look over your shoulder at Mark, who stood with his hands on his hips, keeping a safe distance from the abyss you two are standing by.
A sigh rolls off Haechan's tongue as you purse your lips.
"Why is he here again?" Pointing at the oldest member of the group, you whisper not-so-silently to Haechan. Mark Lee is a blend of large limbs and gracelessness, so his stance is often awkward and tense, motherly instinct floating around him like an aurora, so blithely obvious. "Really not helping."
"He wanted to come 'to make sure we don't die'. Quite unnecessary, if you ask me." He shrugs, speech slurred by the pout he wears on his lips.
He's gonna die anyways so why not let it be while having fun?
"Hey guys, I'm not that far away, can definitely still hear you..." The boy frowns.
"What an idiot." Haechan laughs, hiding away how much he truly treasures his best friend and how annoyingly caring he can be. "So... are we doing this or not?"
"Yes." There's a pause in your thoughts as you attempt to gather enough specks of courage to make you step fowards and jump off a cliff down into the sea. You breathe in, then breathe out. With your left foot set fowards you close your eyes, imagining a pool in front of you, water very not-dangerously far away, and get ready to jump. Breathe in, breathe out. Just as you shift your weight onto your left foot ready to push off, you stop in your tracks, interrupted once again by the raven haired boy.
"Guys, I don't know if you've noticed but you're semi-naked in a very public place, which is not exactly legal, so I'd suggest you hurry u-"
"Mark!" Frustration fills the air and Mark raises his hands defencelessly at your sudden outburst.
"Okay, sorry, sorry."
Breathe in, breathe out.
Before you put yourself through the whole process of mentally preparing to possibly fall to your death, Haechan's hand snakes to hold yours, giving it a reassuring grip as he looks down at you.
"On three, okay?" His low yet soft tone sends a spark of will right to your core and you nod slowly, admiring the way the corner of his lips flickers up at the response. "One..."
What the fuck, Y/n? What did you get yourself into, do you know how many people die from doing dumb shit like this? You're supposed to be the rational one between you two, how did you allow this to happen?
"Two..."
What if Haechan didn't actually check the depth of the water and both of us are counting down to our death and then our bodies get lost in the sea forever? And we're making Mark watch it, oh my God.
"Three!"
Fuck it.
With a leap of faith, and perhaps stupidity too, you both bolt fowards and push off into the air, screaming loudly as adrenaline recklessly radiates off of you, hands still tightly intertwined. The seconds that you spend falling, with no grace at all, feel like the best seconds of your life and, although the salty water scratches your skin bitterly, you get the urge to do it again and again. When you come up for air, there's an euphoric look already etched onto Haechan's face, eyes beaming with pure ecstasy yet this is something not even drugs can dream of recreating.
"Are you guys alive?" Mark's distant shout causes the both of you to break into random laughter before you're able to reassure him you've survived.
"Wanna do it again?" Haechan's suggestion is tempting indeed but you're worried about him, his heart. Although the treatment drags the effects of a decaying body and mutes some of the symptoms, weak moments can come suddenly and with no mercy, and you're afraid this will trigger one of those events.
And then you look at him in the eyes, peaking at the heavy coat of desire and joy that has become a rare sight - he refused to admit he's losing hope. Stubborn as he is, Haechan doesn't let himself pity his fate and mourn over the inevitable but that's merely a facade. You know he's hurting, you know he's falling apart but it's moments like these that glue him back together - temporary but oh so sweet.
So, you nod. "Let's do it again."
For him.
"This cannot be legal."
"I don't think it's ilegal, I did my research Y/n. You really gotta start trusting me more." Haechan argues, fumbling with his tie and twisting it in such a way that makes it look like he's tying a shoe lace around his neck. Although watching him struggle is greatly amusing, you brush his hands away and undo his mess before doing it up correctly.
"And where did you do your marvellous research?" You question knowingly, finishing up tying the material around his neck and brushing the dust off his prom suit, that had been rotting in his closet for about two years now.
"Quora."
The deadpan expression you wear is nothing that bothers Haechan. The boy merely shrugs as your nostrils flare out, hand pinching the bridge of your nose before shaking the feeling away for the sake of actually living.
"Whatever."
Haechan snickers, swiftly shifting his attention to the wedding happening just a few meters away as to decide when the best moment to intervene would be. He sports a midnight blue formal attire that perfectly matches the shade of his hair - thanks to you two staying up till 4AM yesterday, bored out of your minds - and yet you're scared to tell him how breathtaking he looks, scared he'll know the underlying truth, scared you'll realise the underlying truth.
"They're gonna start the speeches soon, we should go." While it does come out as a suggestion, Haechan gives you no time to prepare as he turns the corner you two had been hiding behind and strides towards the extravagant event going on.
"Wait- D-Do we even have a plan?" You stress, trying ardently to keep up with his pace while attempting to knock some sense into him for the last time.
"We don't need a plan." He opens the gate hidden from the guests' views, just by the stage adorned with white decorations and way too many balloons, closing it with caution after you get through.
"What the heck are we supposed to-"
"Relax, okay? I got everything under control." And by under control, he means he doesn't hesitate for a second to run up to the stage in front of, possibly, hundreds of people, including the bride and the groom whose names were still unknown to you. "Hello everybody, my name is Haechan and I'm..."
With a mic in his hand while the other points down to the groom, Haechan's eyes roam around the field extending in front of him in search of a clue of the guy's name.
"Hyunki!" You aid, coughing from beside him.
"Hyunki's brother, yes!" He claims triumphantly, smiling at everybody's confused expressions. "You know... I never thought I'd see the day when my brother gets married. It feels like yesterday waking up to our mum screaming at him for clogging the toilet again or for finding her, uhm... Toys under the bed. I'm sure our cousin has some nice words to say too - Y/n?"
Did you just get cousin-zoned?
"Yes, yes, hi." You start, trying to ignore the shocked expressions of, who you guessed to be, the groom's parents, although you take note of how the same gets up, gesturing for the security to get you off and out of that stage as fast as humanly possible. "I really do resonate with Haechan there. When Hyunki asked me to go to prom with him so his friends would believe he could actually get a girl, I realised he hit a point of uh-" You stutter as security starts to evade the stage from both your left and right sides, but proceed after a weak second, as you and Haechan jump down the front and awkwardly quicken your pace around the tables. "A point of desperation that was hard to reach. I'm glad you found someone, you know? This just goes to prove that patience is key and love appears when you least expect it."
At this point, you are both sprinting through the guests in a futile attempt to get away from those coming after you from every direction, all while trying to figure out where the actual exit is, since you can't exactly reach the gate you came in from.
"Anyways, that got deep. I hope you're all enjoying the wedding and uh... Goodnight.." With that, you let the microphone fall onto the floor and roll away - should've said 'mic drop' - just as Haechan takes a hold of your hand firmly, and all that fills the air, apart from the confused, outraged and otherwise amused guests, is his stentorian laugh. You want to record the sound in your mind and keep it close to your heart, curse the day when you can't hear it again and memories are all you have left. Even as adrenaline overflows your system, the dread is still at the back of your mind, as it has always been, haunting you, taunting you.
"Come on!" You shout as you get ahead of Haechan. He's tired, you know it, but it's either you stop and get arrested or he holds on for a little longer.
It kind of hurts - his heart, it hurts; he doesn't mind.
"There." He looks back to see a couple of security guards still persistently tailing behind but, as you run out onto the street, a hint of hope glints tastefully in his eyes. You turn the corner and then another one, having just enough time to shuffle under a van - and consequently ruin the night blue suit Haechan sported and the expensive attire you managed to find in his parents' closet.
Their worn out formal shoes are within your camp of view, uncertain and confused steps suggest you two have successfully fooled them into thinking teleportation is real and it takes longer than expected until they give up, sighing in frustration as you two silently celebrate your victory. With a hardly contained smile, you look over at the blue haired boy who was already staight at you, bottom lip sinfully trapped between his teeth. While you manage to retain your giggles, there's a moment of silence that comfortably embraces you as you're left looking into his eyes, soothing over his tanned skin, stealing a glance at his rosy lips, which are mere centimetres away from yours. You want to kiss him so fucking bad, and although the thought crosses his mind just as vividly, he knows he shouldn't. He's dying faster than you are with each breath, each glance, each blink. He's dying faster than he lets show through and keeping a smile on his face is getting tiring. Tomorrow, you will wake up while he might not be there and Haechan can't put himself through the pain of leaving you like that, he can't put you through the pain of a lingering kiss and false hopes, he can't bear the thought of hurting you.
Instead, he suddenly engulfs you in a hug - which would be much less awkward if you weren't laying on asphalting beneath a semi-large vehicle - and settles for the comforting thought that you'll keep living even if he's not there to witness it. His breaths hit your ear and his chest vibrates with joy against yours and you've never felt so warm.
"See? I told you I had everything under control." He whispers and you pretend to not notice how much he's struggling to get the words out past his breathlessness.
"You call that under control?" You pull away, quiet yet expressive voice as you realise this boy is absolutely insane.
"More like top tier improvisation." He responds with a raised eyebrow and signature smirk while all you can do is roll your eyes at him. "Oh come on, don't tell me it wasn't fun."
That'd surely be the biggest lie of your life.
"Ugh, I hate you for putting me in these situations."
No, this lie is even bigger.
The sun is shining brightly upon you but you in your eyes Haechan's smile shines brighter. You can't help but think that skydiving on such a wonderful day would've actually been a fulfilling experience but, unfortunately, Haechan's doctor did not succumb to your childish pleads when he deemed the boy unfit to participate in such activities. By the time you two exit the tattoo shop, his smile is gone, replaced with a frown and curious eyes admiring the ink that had been thrusted into the skin of his wrist.
"I didn't think it'd hurt that much." He mumbles past his pout.
"You're just a big baby, it wasn't even that bad." You snigger and he doesn't appreciate the teasing, glaring briefly your way.
"At least I didn't cry."
"Hey! That wasn't crying, my eyes were sweating." You protest, hitting his arm with less force than you usually would, accidentally pressing on the sore skin of your own wrist which makes you wince in pain.
"Be careful." As you turn into your street, Haechan stops in his tracks and grabs your wrist with the most gentle touch, placing his own wrist beside it, admiring the contrast between the small sun and moon outlines that are now permanently drawn on your skin.
He has a sun and you have a moon. It's cringy, yes, you two could barely get the words out to the tattoo artist without throwing up, but it fits. Your excuse was that they summed up you two perfectly, how you've been unable to live without each other since the young age of 12, just like there's no day without a night, or how Haechan seems to light up the whole town just with a smile while you're more preserved, choosing to spectate as opposed to act the play. In a way, your own light depends on his, and without him you don't think you'll ever shine again.
"God, what have we turned into?" Of course there's still a hint of playful disappointment over your decision.
"I don't even wanna know who came up with this idea first." You sigh, closing your eyes momentarily. "At least that's another thing off your bucket list."
"You're right." The sight of your house from afar sparks an idea in Haechan's mind, and he barely gives you a chance to process what is happening before taking off while saying "Last one to get to yours has to break the news to Mark!"
Even in his state of limited physical ability, Haechan is too far ahead to catch up with and you grunt as you take off with one last spark of hope. It's no use. By the time you climb up the front proch steps, he's already touching the door handle.
"That was so unfair! You started running before you even got your words out." You argue, hitting his back in protest but he doesn't clap back. Your smile fades gradually as you take in his hunched over position, hands on his knees and loud heaves leaving his mouth. Suddenly, Haechan loses his balance and you stuggle to catch him before he hits the floor. "Fuck! Haechan- Are you okay, can you- I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do."
Panic sets in at an alarming rate and you're hysterical, trying to shift his weight so he's seated with his back against the door. Your trembling hands run frantically through his hair, pushing it away from his face, before cupping his cheeks.
"Breathe Haechan, breathe with me, come on. Look at me. Sh-Should I call someone, I-"
"No!" He manages to plead weakly, shaking his head at such a frantic pace you realise that option is off the table.
He's scared. Calling 911 would only make this a big deal and he doesn't want it to be a big deal.
"Fuck, just- Look at me, okay? Inhale, exhale - Haechan, do it with me - inhale, exhale..." There's a glass layer in your eyes and he can see it as he gathers the energy to look up at you and imitate your breathing patterns. Worse than that, he can see the sheer panic that floods and overflows you, and it hurts that he's the one causing it.
After what feels like hours, he's finally reached a point of stability and his heart doesn't ache anymore - at least not because of his condition. A comfortable silence dawns upon you two as he traces patterns on the palm of your hand and you simply sit besides him, looking across the street into the horizon which seems to be mocking your every thought.
"I still won, which means you're the one who's gonna have to tell Mark." He mutters under his breath and you don't answer.
"Can you get up?" You say, wrapping your arms around him when he nods, aiding the boy back on his feet and taking out the keys to open the door.
He huffs as his back hits the couch and hears you shuffling in the kitchen before coming into view with a glass of water and a worried expression to accompany it.
"I thought it was getting better with all the help." You mumble, feeling that if you raise your voice any higher it'd fail you.
"What do you mean?" He knows exactly what you mean but, for some odd reason, still attempts to drag on this topic.
"With the treatment and the meds, I thought they were working well." You shrug, sitting on the coffee table so you're facing him, observing the way he avoids your gaze and props fowards as if preparing for something.
"I actually wanted to talk to you about that, I'm not..." Haechan struggles to breathe in and it's definitely not because of his condition. He knows what he's about to say will completely shatter you and nothing could ever prepare him for that. "I'm not getting treatment anymore."
Silence. Pure, deafening silence.
What?
"W-What do you mean you're not getting treatment? Why? I thought you were getting better and-"
"Y/n... It's terminal, which means my chances of surviving are shit, nonexistent even. It was a choice between fighting against a lost cause while being hooked up to a machine or living the rest of my short life freely." His heart hasn't beat this fast in so long, he wonders if the look on your face of pure heartbreak and disappointment is enough to make him go. He tries to take your hand in his and when you pull away as if the touch burns your skin and, although he expected it, his heart drops to his stomach. "I know how you must be feeling and I'm sorry-"
"No." You sharp through his words coldly. "You're not sorry. Your chances are shit but they're still there, and you're just giving up? For what, a stupid bucketlist that you can complete when you're okay again?" You get up and away from him as if sensing his warmth is too much to handle. "That's so unfair, Haechan. What about the people who care about you? Your friends, your family-"
"Oh, come on, not even when I'm on my deathbed they care to check in."
"Then what about me! I care - fuck, watching you die is worse than the thought of dying itself. And you promised you'd protect me, you promised you'd stay, you can't leave now Haechan, that's not how it works! You need to be here and grow old with me and have 10 kids so we can meet at the bench every year because the thought of not being together is just that fucking unbearable."
He takes an attentive step closer to you as tears stain your cheeks, and you let him because it's as if all the force in your body has vanished. Cautiously, as if you're made of glass, his thumb grazes your cheek, wiping away some of the dampness before more tears run down to disregard his efforts. The corner of his lip lifts into the most wretched smile at your childish daydreaming and you realise there's absolutely no hope left behind his gaze.
"I can't." He whispers.
Your whole world is about to drop on you and all you can do is watch.
"Take my heart." You plead in a broken voice, fisting the fabric of your shirt that sits on your chest. "Just... just take mine."
Defeatedly, his hand drops down to his side, no hint of life nor will to keep on fighting and you want to shout at him about how much it hurts, scream at him for loosing hope now, tell him how much you're willing to give up and hope it's enough.
It's not.
He shakes his head and grows a fear of looking into your eyes.
And at that moment, you find yourself sniggering humourlessly at his actions. "You're a coward, you know that?"
Even as the sound of the front door slamming echoes through the hallways, Lee Haechan still stands lifelessly in the middle of the living room, unmoving, miserable, lost.
"I know."
When you came back home that day, he was already gone, much to your relief. For the next couple of days, you refused to get out of your room, telling your mum you weren't really hungry everytime she came in to ask, and telling your dad to tell Haechan you weren't feeling well everytime he knocked on the door. During the night, the only source of light in your room was the moon and streetlights outside, as well as your phone that lit up with each missed call or ignored message from yours truly. He must've grown tired of the chase because, by the fourth day, the calls stopped and your dad never knocked on your door anymore. On the fifth day, the thought of feeling guilty does cross your mind but you push it away. When your screen lights up on the sixth day, you almost dive onto the floor to get your phone just to realise it wasn't him calling this time.
You answer it, after a minute of contemplation, and your friend asks you if you want to come to a party. She doesn't really know what's going on within the four walls of your bedroom, but then again nobody does, and you're sure she would deem this offer as inappropriate if she knew. It takes you almost no thinking time to reassure her that you'll be there, eager to escape this cycle of self pity.
Night comes along too slowly for your liking and, although your parents are happy to see you out of your cave, you skip telling them details about where you're going.
The party does not exhibit particular extravaganza, with a flowing mix of sweat and cheap perfume burying your body, an improvised disco ball hanging from the ceiling by a string and immense amounts of sellotape, short dresses with way too many sparkles. Peering eyes stare you down as you walk in, but that's how it has always been; people at these kinds of parties will judge others just to bust their ego.
A few drinks after, you give up on trying to find your friend, your vision is too blurry to do so anyways, and instead decide to roam around with a cup pinned to your lips, each step being a challenge to your sense of balance. You bump into someone and the drink splashes straight onto your torso - although you're far too gone to care.
"Shit, sorry, I didn't see- Y/n?"
"Jeno!" A smile lights up on your face and your squeal leaves the boy feeling uneasy, taking note of your state. "I haven't seen you in so long!"
"Where's Haechan?" He knows you two are inseparable and it's weird not to see him either parenting you around or chanting along with the crowd as you chug an unholy amount of poison into your system.
"Have you seen Jaemin?" His question made you realise the alcohol wasn't enough to give you what you wanted - you needed more, you needed to not think about him, you needed to be numb, void of all this ache.
"I think he's in the living room." Jeno answers carefully, analysing your every movement, seeing right past the facade you were putting up as you thanked him excitedly and walk the other way. Before you can do so, he catches a hold of your wrist. "Y/n, be careful. Don't do anything you'll regret."
You grin, as if his worry was amusing, and throw a wink at the boy; little does he know you've already done a lot that you regret.
The peering eyes and pitiful stares intensify as you frantically search for Jaemin, desperate even, stinking of a mix of cheap vodka and fanta that adorn your attire and stain you with shame. Once you spot the, you leap over and past the crowd that strays away from your distressed self, taking a hold of his hand, dragging him to a mildly discreet corner.
"I need... I need some of what you have, a-anything." Jaemin knows you as Haechan's best friend, the person he flirts with from time to time and who always refuses to give into his games. If he had any sense of respect and morals, he'd never give you what you wanted, but of course he can't resist the miserable, lost puppy look you give him.
"You mean this?" He holds up a small plastic bag with chip looking squares, funny patterns drawn into them that make your head spin. On any other day, you'd think twice, possibly not even think about it at all nor get to the point where you willingly talk to Jaemin, but you're too far gone.
You sigh. "Yes."
The laugh he lets out is knowing and pleasantly surprised; to see the angel fall into the temptation and trash all the discipline set over the years is, in fact, greatly amusing. As you reach out for the bag, he pulls it away as if teasing you into desperation. Jaemin feels somewhat powerful, as if he has your soul between his fingers, ready to either crush it or save it - he's never been one to try to save people.
"You're gonna have to fight for it, princess." He whispers in your ear before pulling away, grin etched onto his face and you can't help but think you should feel something - disgust, pleasure - anything. You don't.
With the lights reflecting off his hair and white shitt, blinding you with temptation more than the alcohol, you watch as he places the chip on the tip his tongue, keeping his mouth open just for you to see.
There's a weight on your shoulders that could just go away if you take a step fowards, just once more.
And so you do, forcing your eyes tightly shut as your lips mold into his. It's not romantic or passionate, fuck - it feels filthy, like something you know you'd never do sober, proof of your lack of self-control, and the way he wraps his hand around your waist, the way your fingers tug at his hair strands, the way you pull him closer so you can just feel something makes your eyes sting. It's instantaneous, how your heart beats erratically, and you know it's not from the kiss; it rises to your throat while the substance goes down and replaces it.
Once Jaemin has had enough, he lets you go, giggling as you stumble back, dragging you into the crowd that moves to the stentorian beat of some mainstream song, pushing his body against yours and throwing his head back. Moments pass until you don't feel his presence anymore and it's almost freeing. The colours sway around you as you step onto the coffee table; those that are close cheer you on, raising their drinks and singing along to the melody, while those far away stare you down so pitifully you want to laugh at them. It's fun. Having no walls, letting people see through all the fake smiles into the broken soul is fun, it's freeing, it's fucking pathetic.
And while you smile, jump to the beat, throw your arms up, there's something at the back of your mind, taunting you, always. Haechan. Although your throat is sore from the harsh treatment it's received, you don't even hesitate as you throw it back and gulp down whatever is in the cup someone handed you. I need to tell Haechan, I need him to know.
You're stumbling your way through the corridors and people are staring as if you have two heads. Perhaps I do; you laugh out loud at the thought.
It doesn't take long until tears start cascading down, mixing with the stain of vodka on your shirt, blending nicely with the cold water that starts filling up the bathtub you find yourself leaning over. Truthfully, you don't remember turning the tap on but it doesn't seem like a bad idea now. I need to tell Haechan, I need to tell him. Before you climb in, you stuggle to get up on your feet and try to fix your hair in the mirror - if only you could actually see anything other than a blurred smudge of a broken spirit.
God, you're so fucking selfish. He's the one dying, he's the one whose heart will stop, whose hands will turn cold, whose eyes won't open again and you're the one submerging your head under water as if it's supposed to muffle all your problems. You want silence, you want to feel numb, you want to feel something, you don't know what you want. You're coming up for air, gasping because your brain won't hold it for longer, you're crying one second and expelling all the toxins out of your system the next.
All of this happening at once makes you realise love is ugly and it tears you apart from time to time. Love is like a flame, and like with every flame those who dare get too close get burnt, and it's the addicting pain that makes the come back for more. You dare call it love but in reality it's the mere thought of not loving that petrifies you, waking up every morning knowing your purpose is gone along with memories of him that cruelly fade with time. At some point, you'll start forgetting how bright his smile is and what his laugh sounds like when it fills the room, there will be no photograph or video that radiates the true euphoria felt in those moments in time. When you look back, all you'll see are regrets because you should've pulled him closer then, you should've looked at him in the eyes and you should've told him.
Perhaps you've reached the point of misery you always belittled others for reaching - worse, possibly. Amidst the pounding in your head and the delusions of happiness that taunt you from the past months, you come to the sad realisation that you're nothing more than a John Green book gone wrong.
You can't breathe as the music pierces through your skull and crushes your heart, the cold water makes your legs go numb although your whole body is convulsing at the feeling. Against your body's will, you're submerged once again, and when the sounds don't fade and the lights don't dim, you scream.
You want God to know you're angry, that his whole damn life has been tragedy after tragedy and that no matter what he did in his past life, he deserves more than such an undignified end. And against this almighty being, you're nothing, absolutely insignificant.
When the door opens behind you, you think it's just part of the hallucinations and effects of whatever you'd ingested. Wrapping your arms around your knees is useless against the freezing water, rocking yourself back and forth to the sound of a childish lullaby, hiccuping in between sobs, alone. He has to know.
On the back of your mind, you hear someone call out your name and it sounds like Haechan that time in the park near your school; you'd smile at the memory if your muscles were able to cooperate. There's smoke in the air, or maybe it's just the lights filtering in, but they draw patterns that lock you in a daze. And then Haechan is there, cupping your face. His lips are moving and the corners of his mouth rip down to accentuate his frown. He makes your lungs fill with air in a world that makes you want to drown.
There's nothing but him and without him there's nothing. If your limbs cooperated, you'd wrap your arms around him and beg for him to stay, but all you can do is stare and breathe shallowly; pathetic.
Once you blink, he's no longer in front of you and you panic. There's a force pulling you upwards that dissipates as fast as it appears and you're back to the same place you belong to. Exhaustion settles in and you find yourself looking up at Jeno when you reopen your eyes, head pressed against his chest as his heartbeat drums violently against your ear, water diving in every direction desperate for contact. Why can't his heart beat like this too?
There's a towel wrapped snuggly around you and you can see the stars through the car ceiling, illuminating Haechan's harsh expression looking down upon you, gold tears seeping through the corners and it's the first time you've seen him cry in years. His touch is heavenly, he cradles you in his arms like sand escaping from his grasp at an alarming rate, though you're unmoving, gazing dumbly up at the boy.
"Donghyuck."
His lips press together and his eyebrows lift like he's struggling to keep himself together, his voice breaking. "Hm?"
"I think I love you."
And just like that, you feel like you can finally let go - let him go.
You don't need to open your eyes to register the unsettling amount of light filtering into the room. The scent of brand new furniture and a suffocating amount of air freshner seems familiar and more homely than you'd ever imagine it to be, flashes of happier times playing in your head until your eyes start to open, staggeringly.
The first thing you notice is the childish imitation of stars stuck to the ceiling, that two sly preteens had spent the whole night putting up, their only fear being that of being caught and consequently forced to take them down. The second thing you notice is his presence besides the bed, sitting on a rather uncomfortable chair as his eyes studied your silhouette, careful with each action as if you'd break at any sudden movement.
Although it feels like the light is piercing through your skull and crushing your brain to the point of unimaginable ache, you force your eyes fully open, afraid of meeting his own but even more so of not meeting them. He's shuffling quietly to your side, breaths cautious, and it's easy to see how the exhaustion took a toll on him, the effects of coffee nowhere near miraculous.
"Hey." His voice is soothing to the ear, a few tones lower than usual as if the back of his throat is raw from the chaos of yesterday, you guess. "Do you remember what happened last night?"
You do, every second of it, every thought, every word, every touch; you wish you didn't. There's an urge within you to shrink into the mattress and hide from his view, shame swallowing you whole just as Cronus did his sons, and your eyes flutter shut at the memory, heart trembling in your hands. With your throat too dry to respond, you nod modestly, nipping at the inside of your cheek, swallowing with certain difficulty.
He sighs. It's not condemning nor is it particularly menacing, it's not out of relief but it carries a weight that makes his shoulders tense. He nods slowly and sits up, nudging his head to the side as to prompt you to shuffle along the bed and make space for him to lay, bringing your head to his chest and your hand to his lips, upon which he places a chaste kiss.
He whispers a long forgotten melody that rings through his chest and into your own, honey voice dripping into your blodstream like a drug, and it gives you strength, hope, and these manage to mask the tragic side effects - dependency, addiction, chaos. And from time to time you hear his heart beat beneath the bunched up fabric in your fist, mocking you almost. If you could, you'd spend eternity like this, feeling him beneath you, hearing his heavenly voice sing random tunes that make your heart race, appreciating the scent of new furniture and freshner, reminiscing over the good and the bad. You'd recently come to the conclusion that, despite all of the heartfelt lessons that Lee Haechan had taught you, you seemed to live in the past. And when the future swiches routes and frightens you, you turn your back and neglect the inevitable, calling it human nature as if to blame the whole of mankid for your dismay. It's reminiscing over all the wasted moments in life that feels like you've been slapped awake. What should or shouldn't be, what could or couldn't be; in the end, how does it all matter? We were set to die from our very first breath and, even with that knowledge, why is it that loosing Lee Haechan feels like death itself? Life isn't about character development, life isn't supposed to end at eighteen. Just like that, all the emotions from yesterday start to waver turbulently through your mind and flow down your face to the point you're sobbing uncontrollably and the melody halts.
Please don't stop.
"Hey, Y/n look at me." He sits you up and cups your face, thumbs swiping away the tears at no cost and you shake your head as if that'd shake all the panic and shame away. "Shh, shh... Why are you crying?"
Your hiccups make it hard to speak and your desire to tell him absolutely everything is overwhelming - you just don't know where to start.
"I- I..." You try to breathe but each inhale is staggered and each exhale gets caught up midway up your throat, that starts aching from the strain. "It's just that... It's always been you Haechan, and now you're just fading away and slipping through my fingers like air and it's just so fucking unfair." Your voice is thin and it fails you every so often but it's nothing against the desire to let everything pour out like the salty tears on your cheeks. "And I get it, I get why you're tired of fighting, I do. I know I was selfish, so incredibly selfish, and I made you worry; I should've answered your calls instead of wasting the little time we have left. There's not enough words in the world for me to express how fucked up my actions were, I'm sorry. I-It's okay if you wanna give up Haechan, it hurts like a bitch but I don't want to hold you back if it means you'll suffer."
The smile on his face, no matter how gentle, was the saddest thing, and he's not ready to admit it how much it hurt.
"You're not selfish, Y/n, it was wrong of me to lead you on thinking I was getting better when that was never really an option. I would've reacted the same way, worse even." Haechan was never good with words but his tender caresses go straight to your core and make you feel an unexplainable warmth. "It's okay."
"No, it's not okay." You cry out, shaking your head to aid your point across. "I realised it should be me taking care of you but fuck, Hyuck - I need you to let me in."
"Y/n..." He sighs, voice wavering slightly with emotion as his hands drop to hold yours, eyes focused on nothing but your vulnerable figure. "I want you to promise me that you'll cry and hurt for as long as you need to but, when the right time comes, you'll move on, be happy with somebody else. I don't want you to hold onto something that can't hold onto you back, I want you to keep living. Promise me you'll keep living."
"I don't want to keep living." A static silence consumes you as pain stains your cheeks pink and wells up in your eyes, falling like the hope you once had of a better future.
No matter how close he is, it's like he's never close enough, and that feeling has mocked you since the day you met; but today was different. He's close enough that his short breaths fan the streaks of tears staining your skin, far enough that you can see his intentions, yet something holds him back from doing what he's always truly wanted to do - fear. He knows this is an act of selfishness but the urge is greater than the conscience and so he can't help as his lips mold into yours without command. It's messy and a salty taste lingers on your tongue, it's desperate, like all these years built up to this moment and above all it's sad that it took Lee Haechan loosing his grasp of life for you two to reach this point.
Loving Lee Haechan was easy, so easy even death fell for his charm. He's full of light, sometimes too much, a child at heart, he depends on seeing people around him smile. Leaving Lee Haechan was hard, because without him you're left in the dark, a kind of void that swallows you away from the rose tinted reality you've always lived in. Life didn't go according to plan, it didn't give you what you wanted when you wanted it but having Lee Haechan's lips pressed to yours at this exact moment felt so right. There's nothing else on your mind as you shield yourself in his embrace, and as he holds you tighter you decide that your plan is to have no plan. No more promises or worries for tomorrow, no expectations that can be torned down, no more.
Just you and him, like this, right now.
Although the thought of checking the time doesn't even cross your mind, you guess it's somewhere between 3 and 4AM when you're violently stirred awake from your sleep, the sound of something breaking and Haechan's grunts driving you straight to your feet and out of the bedroom. The way to the kitchen from your room feels torturously long, although your feet barely touch the ground as you speed down the hallway, eyes shaking, stomach turning with sheer fear.
The room is dark but the moonlight seeping from the window gives off enough light for you to see Haechan crunched over on the floor, one hand pressed on a cupboard door for balance, the other squeezed into a fist, obsessively hitting his aching chest again and again and again and again. He's in pain; each breath tears away another piece of his heart, the lack of air tears away the only thing he swore to himself never let go of - his dignity - and yet look at him now. There's glass shattered across the floor and the blood from his hand's torn skin stains his pyjama shirt.
"Stop! Hyuck, stop, you're hurting yourself." He doesn't acknowledge your cries, doesn't acknowledge your body dropping beside his, your hands engulfing his fist or how violent his movements are as he tries to keep going.
"It hurts, I-I think there's something wrong with-" A grunt rips through his lips, his teeth clench and his eyes shut tightly; you don't know if it's from his pain or his frustration but fear plagues through your body at the sight of Haechan, who until now has never really had a weak moment, break down. "I just wanted to get a cup of water and then- Fuck why, why me why now? My heart, arm, back, everything fucking hurts, every day I-"
He's heaving through his words and all you can do is listen. "Haechan breathe please, calm down." Panic attack. His hair sticks to his forehead with sweat and his fist is trembling in between your own shaky grip. "Haechan, I'm gonna have to call an ambulance, okay? They'll make you feel better, they can-"
"No no no no please." He finally looks up from the glass and blood covered kitchen floor, his eyes are wide and they burn with dread, head shaking frantically as if you're putting him at gun point and about to pull the trigger. "N-No ambulances please Y/n that was our deal, you said you wouldn't."
And perhaps you really were the bad guy here, but you could not stand to see another second of Lee Haechan's suffering. Your eyes start to gloss as you shake your head, looking deep into the boy's eyes just to be met with a side of him he'd never allowed himself to show before, an unimaginable look of betrayal painfully trained on you, so agonising it takes everything not to crumble down in front of him. Seconds pass before you find the courage to look away, unable to bear this sight and guilt any longer, and you see your parents standing by the door, a slow nod from your mum assuring you help was already coming.
It takes even more courage to look back at Haechan; all you can do is mutter empty apologies and let his body fall limp into your open arms, soothe his skin and brush back his hair, take his hand in yours so it no longer presses the shreds of glass further into his palm. It feels like light years pass until he no longer trembles in your hold, the sound of help nearing with each faint breath as he lays unmoving in your lap, eyes glued to the chipping ceiling paint as if it were a sin to let them flutter shut. His heart is only part of him that is not enveloped in sheer numbness, yet nothing can the agony of his own fate.
"Y/n." In a staggered, almost robotic, motion, you look down at him, stoic expression even as his eyes meet yours under faint moonlight.
There's no words shared between you two for a moment, only empty stares and, for the first time, a single tear rolled down his cheek, his bottom lip quivered, his voice failed him as he spoke.
"I don't wanna die."
And for the very first time, Lee Haechan breaks down. The tough, carefree, unbound image he'd so desperately tried to build over the last four months comes crumbling down with a single breath, everything he'd fought so bravely to keep taken away from him like candy from a child, so easily it almost sounded like a sick joke.
What do you tell someone who's dying, whose whole body suffers at the fault of their own heart? What kind of comforting words are you supposed to memorise that could ease a fading soul?
Instead, you choose silence and you choose to caress his skin with the hope one touch could speak all the words your voice couldn't, and you pray and pray and pray to someone, anyone. You tell them it's not fair and how good Lee Haechan is and how the world would never turn without his presence, that he's the reason the sun rises and graces us with warmth and light and life.
Lee Haechan has always been too good for this world. Maybe that's why he couldn't stay.
The first thing Haechan told you when he woke up this morning was that he wanted to go to the beach again; and after a 3 hour and 15 minute long drive you're where you promised each other to meet every year until death do you apart, as all naïve teens do. At 16, it seemed as though you had your whole life ahead of you, one filled with struggles and love, old endings and new beginnings, until the experiences wear you out to the point of fading away. To Lee Haechan, that point came earlier than expected and you two found a way to deal with that, although it took some time to get it right. You still resent God - if there's even one to resent - and go to sleep every night expecting to wake up with your head on his chest and a deafening silence. It ruins you.
His hair shines with a vibrant purple that, after a long winded argument over how the toxic dye fumes were probably not good for his health, stares back at you mockingly. His skin, in contrast, is paler than ever before, cheeks sunken to the outline of his skull, lips chapped, flaking in a not-so-glamorous way yet he manages to look as marvellous as ever as the warm sunlight kisses his complexion. He tries to smile once you plop down on the infamous bench facing the sea, but he's too tired. Although the boy takes a much needed deep breath, the air drawn in does not nearly fill his lungs. It should hurt more than it does, but the high dose of anaesthetics that had been forced into his system numbs it down to a persistent tingling sensation.
"Are you tired?" Lately, you've forced yourself to become more observant than before, even if Lee Haechan is one hard individual to read. Ever since what happened the other day, it's like he has let his guard down, stopped pretending like he's made of stone - unwillingly, of course. There's no more strength in his body to fight back when even walking from the car to the bench feels like a chore.
He nods, steadily. "Mhm."
"You can lay down on my lap." Your hands pat your thighs as an invite and Haechan accepts it without much thought.
"That's kind of weird but I'll take it." Chuckles fill the air alongside the steady crashing of waves and the sound of freedom as birds shy away from sight. That day, that promise, is still vivid in your minds and you damn the day it starts fading away.
"Y/n?" He says in a hushed tone.
"Hm." The way your hand runs gently through his strands draws the boy's eyes shut, breaths calm and steady into the fabric of your jeans, the image of pure bliss keeping you warm despite the chilly breeze.
"What did the ocean say to the shore?" A hushed smile plays in his lips, hardly containing the urge to say the rest of the pun out loud before you even have a chance to respond. It doesn't seem to reach his eyes.
"Hm I don't know, what?"
"Nothing. It just waved."
Though he doesn't open his eyes to see your reaction, you shake your head with fake disappointment and snigger through a contained smile.
You don't know when it happens, what triggers it, why it hurts so bad, but as the snickering fades, tears start to sting the corner of your eyes and you find that looking far into the horizon is the only thing that keeps them from falling. A moment of silence settles between you two, listening attentively to the waves with drifting thoughts.
"Is this what you pictured?" You ask as your eyes track the small boat nearing the horizon.
"Better." He whispers with content, at such peace of mind that he fails to hear you silently sniff. "Definitely better."
It's the truth. There's noone in the world he'd rather be with right now, noone he holds so dearly in his heart and who makes saying 'I love you' so easy - although Haechan doesn't really say it very often. He doesn't need to; it shows in the way he admires you from afar and his mind blanks at your smile, it shows in the way he touches your skin so delicately and lets his lips linger on your forehead for a just little longer, it shows in the way his face crunches with pain as tears flow freely into the pillow, how he swallows his sobs not to wake you and he cuddles you tighter in his hold as you sleep soundlessly on his chest. He suffers in silence, for you.
And it's not the thought of itself dying that haunts him, it's leaving you, staying up through the night imagining the suffering he'll put you through because the nightmares are way worse than the scenarios he makes while awake - it ruins him.
He loves you more than he could ever love himself.
"That's good." You nod, bottom lip trembling, hands still running softly through his hair, now fragile and dull despite the artificial hue. "Do you remember back when we met for the first time? I asked you what your name was at the nurse's office."
Despite your trembling breaths and unsteady heartbeat, your voice still managed to come out unexpectedly stable, and the shy smile you wore gave way to the stray tears to slip past your lips and rest on your tongue, a taste that had grown familiar in the past couple of months.
"You probably felt taken aback, right?" He doesn't really answer, but you know he's listening as you chuckle at the memory. It was more of  a rhetorical question anyways. "I mean, who wouldn't know the Lee Haechan, who excelled at every sport and made maths class more fun than it's supposed to be."
The sounds of crashing waves soothes through your ears, more deafening than ever, and the breeze cuddles around your body warmer than it was just moments ago.
"Of course I knew who you were, I was just trying to humble you." It's quite funny thinking back to those times of innocence and freedom, when what mattered the most was the number of friends you had and who you sat with at lunch. In a blink of an eye, those thoughts suddenly became memories, more and more distant with each breath. "I thought maybe, because we were in the same class, you'd know who I was too but you didn't, did you?"
He doesn't answer.
"I guess you really didn't." You mumble. The wind blows through your hair and dries the wet trails tears leave as they glide down your cheeks only for a brief moment before more follow the same path and pool at your chin. "You're finally sleeping after so many nights of pain..."
You don't dare divert your gaze from the small boat, even though the curvature of the earth does not aid your cause, and you admire as it calmly drifts with the waters and fades into the ambiguous line between the sea and the sky.
"You must be tired, I won't wake you up, okay?" The lump blocking your airways seems to finally come undone with a sigh - a sigh of relief. "You did well, Lee Donghyuck, you did so well."
And finally, you smile. Genuine, grateful, ardent, something you haven't been able to do in months. Lee Donghyuck is free, the freedom he'd always longed for. He's the birds roaming through the skies with no set destination, the wind that never seems to settle in one place, the boat that sets sail though the currents are strong and unpredictable. There's no more heart diseases, no more lack of parental figures, no more stupid promises from two kids who didn't even know their own address.
No more pain.
(You did well, Lee Donghyuck.)
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