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mrs-gucci · 3 years

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Rough Around the Edges {Prince Kylo Ren x Reader}

author’s notes: hello, hello! taking a quick break from all the fourth of july stuff to submit this piece for this week’s writer wednesday :) thanks @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape for organizing this wonderful weekly event!

this story takes place in a medieval AU and is lightly inspired by certain elements in “Beauty and the Beast”.

warnings: angst with a hopeful ending. partially unreciprocated feelings. arranged courtship. time period-authentic sexism (women are meant to please men and that’s all). there’s a kiss.

(possible) tw’s: arranged relationship. implied age gap (not specified, but everyone’s above age).

word count: a touch over 2k

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea @gildedstarlight @mrs-zimmerman @soldmysoulagain @roseepossee @pascalisfairyy (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)

You sit in front of the mirror while Anna pulls your hair into a flattering updo. Your eyes begin to tear up at the painful sting of your hair being manipulated in such a forceful way, scalp throbbing with each of Anna’s harsh, calculated movements.

"Must you be so rough?”

She offers little empathy in her expression as she looks at you through the mirror’s reflection. “The Prince insisted that you wear your hair up tonight, madame. He was absolutely furious when you wore it down the last time, and I’m the one who had to stand there while he threw a tantrum over it.”

Your eyes roll, knowing all too well of your betrothed’s legendary fits of anger. He’s much too old to be doing such childish things, but god forbid you ever say that to him.

Anna finishes up with your hair, much to your relief, but now the real pain begins. You look over at the corset waiting on the bed and already, your ribcage aches.

“What, are you trying to turn it to stone?” She asks, and you shake your head. “Well, you’re certainly staring at it long enough. Come on now, stand up, we don’t have all afternoon.”

You sigh, rising up out of the chair and walking over to the bed where Anna’s standing, corset in-hand. She wraps it around your torso, pulling the laces impossibly tight over your ribs and stomach, caging them both within the garment.

After the corset is very securely tied, Anna grabs your dress and helps you step into the golden yellow skirt. She ties the top part with just as much aggression as she tied the corset, making simply breathing a painful process.

“Try to at least look like you don’t want to jump out of the East tower’s window.” Anna remarks as you scowl at your reflection in the mirror. “Have you ever considered smiling?”

“I have absolutely nothing to smile about.” You reply curtly, unamused by this conversation or her suggestions.

She sighs in defeat. “I’m only trying to help, madame. You need to learn how to be a princess, or at least try and act the part.”

“I’m not interested in being a princess, Anna. But, if you ever asked my opinion on the matter, then you’d already know that. Now please, I wish to be alone.”

Anna’s surprised at the hostile tone of your words, but she keeps her lips pursed, knowing she’s in no place to press the issue any further. She simply nods, backing out of the room, leaving you alone.

Your bottom lip begins to tremble as your vision blurs with tears, abruptly turning away from the mirror so that you don’t have to look at what you’ve been forced to become.

There’s nothing that you wish for more than to be free from this life, free to live the way you want to live instead of the one that was chosen for you to live. You loathe the mask you must wear, the painted face that looks back at you through the mirror.

But, you have no choice...you’ve never had a choice.

The palace is aglow this evening, thousands of candles burning and casting a warmer shade across the normally-bland ivory color. Your shoes clink on the marble flooring as you make your way to the front steps, looking over the railing at the grand room below.

Lords and ladies, princes and princesses are all arm-in-arm, walking through to the ballroom. Some have stopped to converse with each other, fake smiles plastered on their painted faces.

You huff to yourself as you reach the top of the staircase, and at the bottom, stands your betrothed. He looks up as you make your way down the stairs, a pleased smirk tugging at the corners of his lips with each step you take.

Kylo holds his hand out to you when you reach the bottom, guiding you down the final stair before looping his arm through yours. The two of you walk towards the ballroom, smiling and nodding politely at the other guests.

“You look nice.” His voice is flat, emotionless.

You huff in false amusement, physically having to prevent your eyes from rolling. “Am I supposed to thank you for saying that?”

"Ah, you’re learning.” He says, stopping to look down at you, fingers holding your chin and forcing you to look up at him while his eyes linger over your face. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet, little dove.”

You yank your chin from his grip, snarling softly. “Don’t touch me.”

His hand suddenly comes up to wrap around your throat, teeth bared. “I can touch you however I please, young one. You’re mine, and you ought to learn your place.”

Once he feels you relax, feels you surrender under his touch, he lets go of your neck and continues walking as if nothing’s happened, dragging you along with him.

He wears you on his arm the whole evening as he talks to various noblemen and you just stand there, silent with a small smile, pretending like you don’t exist.

Then, the two of you take a seat at the big table with King Han and Queen Leia, beginning to feast on the royal spread. You barely eat, partially due to the fact that you’re afraid to bust the ties on your corset if your abdomen expands even a little bit too far, and Kylo seems to take notice.

“I promise I didn’t poison it.”

You look over at him with widened eyes. He simply smirks, laughing softly to himself.

“I’m only joking, little dove.”

You’re incredibly surprised, stunned into utter silence at the fact that he’s just joked with you. You'd been convinced up until this point that humor wasn’t a part of his emotional capabilities, that he was only capable of anger, hatred, and inflicting fear.

His hand hesitantly rests on top of yours, which makes you flinch. He looks conflicted in the moment, as if he’s deciding whether or not to be upset that you react this way to his touch.

“Why aren’t you eating? You need to eat.”

You look away, jaw clenching. “I know you don’t actually care why I’m not eating, Kylo. Plus, none of my answers will be good enough to please you, anyway.”

He stiffens, pulling his hand away immediately.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the tone of his voice. He almost sounds...upset. Not upset at you, though, upset at himself.

The rest of the time he’s silent, only glancing over at you occasionally. Dessert comes around and you don’t even touch it, simply sitting up straight with your hands in your lap.

Couples rise from their tables as the musicians begin to play an upbeat tempo, gathering on the ballroom floor. Kylo stands up next to you, holding out his hand without a word.

You rise from your chair and take his extended hand, allowing him to lead you out to the ballroom floor. Dancing was customary in Alderaan and was a very popular practice at gathering’s like this.

Kylo’s large hands drop to your waist as soon as you reach the floor and you reach up to rest your hands on his broad shoulders. The two of you sway in unison and make your way around the dance floor skillfully, gracefully.

After the song comes to an end and another slower one begins, the Prince tilts his head down to look at you. His face is stoic, unchanging, but there’s something different about this look. It’s not as harsh or as emotionless as it normally is; there’s a certain gentleness to it.

Your eyes keep his gaze, looking back up at him with a curious glint in your eyes, drinking in his up-close appearance for truly the first time since you’ve arrived in Alderaan. He’s intoxicatingly handsome, there’s no getting around that, but his personality and temper leave a lot to be desired.

Yet, despite his hostility and distaste for you, you still find yourself temporarily entranced by his presence, melting under his gaze. It’s in this moment that you catch a glimpse into your own psyche, recognizing the true source of your vehement hate and closed-off behavior towards him.

All of it is done out of a desire to hide your attraction to the man that you’ve tried so, so hard to dislike. There’s always been a small part of you that’s known this, but you figured that if you pushed it down long enough and acted otherwise, perhaps you’d eventually convince yourself otherwise. But, alas, those feelings of attraction have only grown and festered beneath the facade of hatred.

It is true, Kylo Ren is a moody, closed-off, hostile and frankly childish being, but you’re somehow able to look past that and see the diamond-in-the-rough quality to the young Prince. You know that somewhere, behind the stone wall he’s so clearly built up around himself, there’s a goodness to him. You’ve seen glimpses of it throughout the time you’ve known him, but he almost immediately shuts it down instead of letting it show further, a fact you find incredibly perplexing.

“Y/N?” His voice pulls you from your thoughts.

You snap from your temporary trance and shake your head. “Sorry, I was deep in thought.”

“I gathered.” He chuckles softly. “If I asked what it is you were thinking about, would you tell me the truth?”

“Probably not.”

He nods. “I appreciate your honesty.”

The two of you continue to move around the floor before the handsome Prince clears his throat, cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink.

“May I ask you a question, completely unrelated to my previous inquiry?”

You nod, and he swallows harshly.

“What is it about me that you loathe so much?”

Your stomach drops and you suddenly feel a touch of lightheadedness begin to pressurize within your skull. You’re frozen for a moment as you try to decide whether or not to tell him the truth.

“I don’t...why are you asking me such a thing? I know you don’t actually care about the answer.”

His jaw clenches and his grip suddenly tightens on your hips. “Why do you always insist that I don’t care?”

“Because I know you don’t, Kylo. At least, not truly.” You reply, squirming beneath his grip.

“W-Well, what if...” He huffs, looking away. “What if I do care? Or am at least trying to care?”

You’re genuinely surprised by his words, taken aback for a moment. This is a turn you certainly didn’t see coming...

“I find your ever-changing moods and stubbornness often makes you difficult to deal with. You never try, at least up until this point, to understand my feelings or show any sort of interest in getting to know me, which just makes me feel even more unwanted than I already do, and I--”

Before you can continue, you’re cut off by a sudden presence on your lips. It registers in your mind, then, that he’s kissing you. You stiffen, and he pulls away slowly, eyes staring into yours.

“You are not unwanted, Y/N.” He says, voice low. “Never...p-please never think that.”

Did he just say ‘please’? That’s almost the most shocking thing he’s said thus far.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person, Kylo. Just...a little rough around the edges.”

His entire demeanor shifts for a moment, and for a split second, you swear he looks happy; truly, genuinely happy. Perhaps a bit of relief was sprinkled in, too. He wears a small, barely-there smile as he continues to look down at you.

“I would like to try and change. We should at least try to get along, considering the fact that we’ll be wed soon. I know you don’t want to be here, but I’d like to at least try to make things a bit easier, h-however I can.”

You can’t stop the smile that quickly spreads across your face, delightfully pleased to hear these words. Your expression widens his smile ever so slightly.

“I think we can certainly give it a try.”

Kylo nods, a subtly optimistic expression etched on his features.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

#mrs-gucci #writer wednesday #mrs-gucci writes kylo ren #medieval au #medieval kylo #prince kylo ren #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren angst #adcu #adcu community #adcu fanfiction #adcu fanfic #adam driver #adam driver character #adam driver angst #tw: implied age gap #arranged courtship

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kanene-yaaay-o-retorno · 4 years

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You’re a WHAT

Kanene’s Notes:

I’m weak for carzy scenarios and glitter, so BOOOM!! Why don’t get these two things together??? :D)/ This fic marks the end of my break, I will be (trying to) going back to my old projects and probably won’t be writing for some weeks kjnhgfvghjkjhg. Wish me luck! <33

This wasn’t suppose to take so much to be written but I lost my PC and life got in the way :v Buuuut! I manage to finish it and I already count this as a victory! xP

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Remy and Roman. They’re friendos yay :3. Oh, and this is pretty crazy. Context: The morning after Black Friday when you’re grumpy and wanting to kick the society in the face. A LOT of swearing, Patton does not approve.

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing Thomas Sanders in his series of Sanders Sides.

* Something around 2.900 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Try and have fun with new hobbies, be safe, talk with the one that you love, drink water and sleep well! Byeioo!~

[~*~]

Roman thought himself as a really lucky human being. Unbelievable lucky.

It wasn't due to the apartment where he currently lived - Too much dull for his personal taste and space, getting even smaller from the day he admitted a messy, sassy and with sleep problems roommate, since Roman just started his musical career and couldn't afford an own house yet. - or the fact that was finally able to pursue his dream after years and years of just picturing, painting this moment on his future, only to find out his fantastic breathtaking and incredible goals weren’t nearly close of the cold reality, at least for now (Who would know that, after umpteenth days of hard studying and training he would need years and years of experience in order to even START wondering in get out of his partial-time job on that Electronic Store) or any other reason someone would be able to consider himself a receptacle of pure, brute luck, enlightened by the spotlights of the good, pleasant destiny...

... Or at least the most pleasant it could be in the horrible and exhaustive middle of the night after a whole day filled with his attempts to survive and treat respectfully the unmerciful, dirty jungle that humanity was at Black Friday. Something around fifteen hours working with massive hordes of unscrupulous zombies starved for a sale and able to even kill and die (more likely the first option) to get what they want and with souls (if they still got one) free of any slight sight of education, patience and morals to be inserted in a society which, as it seemed, was equally rotten as them. View point only proved as Roman was obligated to be working after his shift to "clean all the mess" - more like hide the bodies of exhausted warriors after such bloody battle. – the store because those sons of a...

"... Bitch, YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!!!!" The poor, frustrated employed shouted to nowhere specific, his face turning towards the sky, seeking in some way to show his all his hate to the cinematography - because this was too much coincidence to NOT be part of a movie or some random fanfic on the black hole that was internet - rain falling at full force leading the weather to became even more freezing as soaked them both with its cool, thick drops.

Anyway, what he was daydreaming about?

"Roman." Oh, yeah, the reason why he viewed himself as a truly lucky person. "My gurl, if you try to impersonate a fucking, dramatic, bitch crow in my ear even again, I swear in the name of my life juice bean that I'm going to KILL you with my bare hands and these sunglasses."

At least his best friend since, honestly, diapers, who coincidentally was his roommate and even more coincidentally, his coworker was just screwed as Roman himself. Which automatically made the duo less screwed, however equally pissed off, something that neither of them discovered if that was a good or bad thing, yet.

"Fuck you, Remy" Roman whispered between an tired yawn, too much tired to even think about some nickname or to put real heat in his words as he got instinctively closer to the other, the one called taking off his jacket and lazily throwing it over their heads, doing his best to cover they both with the small available black leathered fabric, the act intertwined with grumpy grumbling and motions which would probably slap Roman's face if he wasn't careful. "I'm the one who buys your coffee."

"Having my incredible, unique personality in your life should be motivation enough for you to buy me the entire Starbucks Company, be glad I'm weak to your cute face and am going easy on ya."

" 'Cute'? Excuse me, I'm the most handsome, hottest and fabulous man you will ever met in your lowly life, mortal."

Remy snorted at this "Whatever helps you sleep at night, babe, but if it's going to be like that your ego soon will have to pay his part at the rent."

"Well, this 'ego' here was the only thing between your highness and jail after stopping you from committing all those murders today."

"Bold of you to assume I wouldn't use my contacts to hide the evidences." Their tune were already completely sleepy, bodies instinctively leaning onto each other as the words stumbled, mixed and almost lost themselves in the soundly wind as slipped from their lips. Roman just laughed.

"Well, if by ‘contacts’ mean 'Virgil' good luck getting him out of his bed on his free day. You would became the fucking new King Arthur." Roman rubbed his eyes, trying to physically force his eyelashes to not close, a new yawn finding its way to his mouth. He didn't even know about what they were talking anymore.

"I roll the dice to cast Badass Nerd Bitch."

“Logan??”

“He likes to study nature stuff, especially at night, I’m sure he already knows some good spots to hide bodies. Glasses.”

“Glasses?”

“Glasses.”

“OMG, the anime character with glasses.” Roman stopped, his mouth wide open as if all the secrets of the universe had been revealed to him.

“Exactly.” Remy extended each syllable, grinning smugly.

“I’ve never-“

“THIS IS A ROBERY!!”

The sentence, which appeared to came out from nowhere, cut the air in a harsh, sharp tune, breaking the barriers and tying them up in the same place in a frozen position and wide eyes staring astonished the hooded form and their unreadable features under the bad illumination of the light poles helped by the increased storm. The wind trespassed them, stirring their clothes and making the muscles shake both of the alone employees in the middle of a dark, empty street at the dawn, even if the dangerously shiny knife directed towards their direction still in a hatred silence.

“My.” Roman knew he probably should be afraid, the freezing feeling running across his veins and frightening his brain and actions as infected his words in an unspeakable terror impossible to ignore nor escape. “fucking.” However, the only thing that slipped through his next was the purest, deepest, truest... “ASS.” Indignation.

Roman thought about a lot of things. He thought about running away, grabbing Remy’s arm and sprinting across the street, about scream in the top of his lungs the waterfall of swearing already racing half way to his throat and even about kicking the knife out of the other’s hands and then kicking him - with a couple of cool moves he saw in some actions films - together with their frecking audacity to try to rob him of all the people in the world. Roman, who asked himself if he would have enough money to eat in the next week with a concerning frequency, who wondered if this is the life he will have until the end of his existence, if he will ever be able to accomplish his dreams.

His gaze changed to Remy, who was paralyzed, trembling between the poor light of the street and the massive rain. Roman swallowed. Everything was in his hands.

For a piece of Roman felt the strange urge to spill to the figure before him the story of his life, all his tries, all his battles, his everyday fights to make his dreams real. Blow by blow. Day by day. A life destined to go after everything he wished to himself, everything he wanted to life, to experience, to savor, to do everything in his hands to ignore and one day maybe, hopefully forget all the ghosts - these ones always accompanied by those emotionless, sharp whispers - asking, doubting nonstop if he ever would be able to do all of this, if he was doing the rights thing, if it was really worth all of it.

However, before the first word even slipped of Roman’s tongue or his mind came fully back to Earth, Remy was already positioning himself strategically between the robber and his friend, the currently only one with the leather jacket falling on his shoulders. However, Remy didn’t seem nearly soaked as he should be, and for a heartbeat, the same one which Remy moved his hands to his jeans’ pocket, his fingers touching and firmly holding something there, Roman could swear that the unexpectedly shiver running across his spine wasn’t due the cold wind.

Nor the sentence hurled in the clouds.

“You know what?? Fuck it.”

And then he unsheathed his magic wand.

Roman loved with the entirety of his heart all kind of magic, he could easily spend an entire afternoon (which he already had, by the way) listing his favorites movies, musicals and stories with that theme. That also could be easily said by the thousands and thousands of worlds, universes and lifes he invented – in and out of his head - about the subject trough his childhood and handful of teenage years, random ideas and inspirations appearing and dancing in his mind until nowadays. If that only wasn’t enough to convince someone then the umpteenth memories of mornings and afternoons bathed in the smell of books, rocked by the calm silene of the public library as he turned one more page, his back lightly aching by the bad position assumed behind the shelters, in a place he strategically found and claimed as his own Bridge to Terabithia, enjoying every moment as if nothing else mattered. Perhaps you wouldn’t even need to swim in such deep, ancient waters to find out his love, since at least fifty percent of his day was dedicated to shout, hummer or murmur Disney songs.

However, as rays of pure energy - shiny and kind of glittery one - involved and swirled from Remy’s, who now was floating a few centimeters above the ground, wand in stripes that got lighter and lighter, begging to spin faster around the aforementioned, creating a spere of a power stunning and big enough to stop the rain in the corner.

The silence resulting from the lack of the storm didn’t had the opportunity to fill the moment, being obligated to give its space to a soft, intense melody whispered in their ears. The notes standing some more moments in the air, the beating following the changes in the shadowed figure inside the spere. Hesitations taking over the loud, quick heartbeats when the song finally stopped.

The power’s spere finally exploded, the impact leading to an unbelief and intensive force push both human meters away.

“Get. Out.” Remy’s tune still the same, his form – Now adorned by a gleaming crop top, his fluttering skirt over shorts floating in synchrony with the veils which surrounded his clothes and wrapping his arms, the ending spreading in the air as a bunch of angry powered and fancy snakes. - even with the new vestments full of glitter (this probably would be a hell to get off, later) still the same, his gaze, powerful – a new meaning pouring from this word – strong, still the same. But yet…

Yet his wide eyed, heart hammering in his chest friend since he could remember found himself struggling to connect the same Remy who he had known – if he could still say that? - all his life with the same being who gleamed dangerously before him.

The magic wand danced in a quick flick and a trash can came of what seemed nowhere to hit the wobbled and absolutely terrified robber, who fell with a soft thumph in the ground, unconscious.

“-man, Roman!!! Don’t just stay standing there like a tree, help me here, gurl!” Suddenly the called snapped from his own sea of thoughts, submerging and astonished blinking in Remy’s direction. The rain started to fell on them again, and when their eyes met, when Roman saw the same guy who spent afternoons climbing trees and pretending they were knights and dragons attacking or saving the world, when he recalled the silent sleepovers where they just sat near of each other enjoying the mutual company, the grumpy mornings in their apartment, the comfort hugs, the looks full of words, the smiles filled with meaning, the friendship stuffed with so many, many memories...

Nostalgia. The feeling that everything was changed albeit something… something important always stayed. Roman felt, truly felt it and fixed his glare into that brilliant – quite literally - glare adorned with a ‘I’m about to punch your cocky face if you keep fucking narrating every freaking second of your life, ya bitch’ he realized...

It was Remy.

He took a deep breath, moving closer and gradually relaxing as the aforementioned focused in trying to lift the guy, swearing more frequently than raindrops fell from the sky.

“Remy?”

“Yeah?”

“First crush.”

The other stopped, frowning confused. Roman didn’t quiver, feeling he deserved some sort of answer. At least about this. “What?”

“My first crush. Who?”

“Kovu.” Remy maybe was a bit cold hearted, maybe he wasn’t the best with human interactions or knew exactly what Roman wanted with that… but he knew Roman enough to realize this was important. Essentially when the said seemed to relax, his form untensing itself and being allowed to get closer of the magic being.

“Okay. Okay, okay…” Roman took a deep breath, grounding himself. Their gaze met, his next words coming a little calmer. “Okay.”

“Please don’t make me sing that serenate you made for him. I’m gonna fucking quit.”

“Oh, shut up!! Our first love is something special, mister I-Can’t-Choose-Between-The-Beast-And-The-Beauty.”

Remy decided to ignore the words, slightly lowing his sunglasses with his special Judgmental ‘Bold of you to assume I have enough shame to be mocked’ Look. Roman just flipped in his direction, taking advantage that the other’s hands were occupied.

It was still Remy, with a whole more of style and glitter – Why are there so much glitter here?? - but it was just Remy. Like just any other day.

Before he even realized, Roman was already at his friend’s - and as it seems a magical being - side, helping him to carry the robber’s body to somewhere dry so he wouldn’t die of hypothermia.

“Why don’t you- Ouch!! My feet, dammit!” His breaths came out as puffs, the effort leading to his already exhausted muscles only protest even more and very much probably curse him later with sore movements for the audacity to transport anything heavier than a pen. “Why don’t you use your... Wizard magic or something to carry him??”

“Oh. My. Gosh. Roman, you are sooo intelligent, why aren’t you in Harvard? Ow! Ow! Ow!!” Remy’s sarcasm was cut when the other kicked, or did his best to with their actual position, him in protest. “Homophobic.” He exhaled a mix of irritation and a snort, receiving a playful punch in his arm by their inside joke. “I’m your Fairy Godmother, brainless. Unless it was you laid in this stupid, cold ground I can’t use my magic anymore... Except if this is someone of your family but I doubt-”

“Wait, wait, wait, WAIT!!! YOU ARE MY FAIRY GODM-”

“No, no way, nope, we are NOT having this conversation right now.” Remy, the Fairy Godmother let go of the unconscious body in a way that probably will make the guy wake up sore, perhaps with a concussion even, directing his index finger in Roman’s direction in a deep, determined stare full of darkness and things that Roman could swear would make Remy be expelled from the group of Friendly Fairy GodmotherS or whatever... thing he was inserted. “Let me tell you what we are doing right now: We are going to home, change our clothes then I’m getting coffee and you will get sleep so I don’t have to face nor care about the freak consequences of my damn actions.”

...

“That...” Roman stop, as if was considering his next words. Remy’s face just scrunched in a bigger, firmer frown. “That would be hella scary if you didn’t look like someone who just stole a store of glitter and got attacked by the gay, glitterly, shiny fairies who protected the place.”

“Go fuck yourself. I’m locking you outside when we get there.”

“Noo, please don’t! My evil stepmother didn’t let me go to the prince castle and now I need help! Crying emoji, crying emoji.” Roman mocked, imitating sad sobs and sniffles as quick his pace to follow the other, who flipped him.

“I’m this far from knock you out with my magical wand and then you will see who is the evil stepmother.” His wand gleamed in warning, the red color getting mixed and trembled by the fast movements of his veils, one of them getting dangerously next to Roman’s face, who cleverly got silent for some heartbeats, the sound of the rain slowly calming their heartbeats and rocking them, the tiredness gaining the space which, piece by piece, was being unhanded by their adrenaline.

They arrived home, both still quiet, feeling free as a relieved sign left their lips. Remy threw his soaked jacket in some dark corner, the bed being the only thing which was allowed to take over all his thoughts and will.

An awed gasp echoed behind him and he immediately regretted his move.

“YOU HAVE WINGS????”

Before his eyelashes closed, the shiny of the wand disappearing gradually as an ungodly amount of sleepiness gained complete control over his body, relaxing each one of his fibers and as a warm, magic good feeling fills every single cell in his being, Roman wondered if ‘Fuck it’ was the name of Remy’s spell.

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haikyuu-philia · 4 years

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Hello, Can I please about scenario with Semi where his fem!s/o picks him up from training even though she goes to another school?

FINALLY A REQUEST FOR MY BOY SEMI! THANK YOU, KIND STRANGER (*O*)

-----

Place of Yours | Semi x fem!Reader

-> 1360 words

A normal Friday. Actually a not-so-normal Friday, but you hadn't told Semi yet.

While you were sitting in the train and checking the route to his school grounds, he had to deal with much more physical tasks.

In order to be prepared for the final versus Karasuno, their coach drilled the boys of Shiratorizawa even more than usual. 20 laps instead of 15, as the warm-up.

No wonder that he felt completely drained after the intense practice.

He showered longer to prevent his muscles from hurting the next day. When he entered the locker room as the last one, the daily chit-chat was happening.

Looking forward to his bed, he didn't really listen to the conversations. Tendou was teasing Goshiki, Shirabu was complaining about the noise. Nothing out of the ordinary.

At the moment he would much rather listen to your voice, even though it would only be on the phone.

Sometimes it was hard to live in dorms at a boarding school. Semi couldn't come and go whenever he wanted to and practice was consuming so much time.

Time that he would love to spend with you. But the distance between your schools made it impossible to just go there.

The first team members already left when he had only put on his trousers so far.

To his confusion some returning footsteps echoed in the hallway until the person reached the door to the locker room.

"Semi-senpai, there's a girl waiting for you outside," one of his underclassmen called out.

It went completely silent for a minute before Tendou found his voice back first. Of course he couldn't control his snickering, much to Semi's annoyance.

His body hurt. His eyes were screaming for a break. His patience was slowly drifting away.

That he would have to decline an unknown girl's request to spend time with her or even become her boyfriend, wasn't exactly helping right now.

Still, he could only blame himself as he hadn't made his relationship status public yet. Obviously no one, except for his roommate, was aware of your existence.

Or your position in his heart.

Nevertheless he didn't see a reason why he should announce it officially. Especially Tendou would be a pain to deal with, if Semi did.

You had plans to cheer for the team at the upcoming match and his teammates would have to wait for that opportunity to figure it out themselves.

"I'm coming," the third-year mumbled while putting on his jacket.

With a flick of the wrist he swung his bag on his shoulder to leave the locker room, including those in it.

It wasn't that he had gotten a lot of love confessions before, but now he had the perfect explanation why he couldn't accept the feelings.

Sorry, I've already found my significant other.

In the end it still felt wrong to see the girls upset. He couldn't change that. So he always hoped to make it quick and short.

Finally he turned around the last corner, his chosen words on his lips while looking around to find the one that had asked for him. Then he spotted the figure next to the lamppost.

This definitely wasn't his school's uniform.

And it clicked once you started walking towards him. With this angelic, big grin of yours that he loved to see so much.

Within a breath he stood upright and glided his fingers through his hair to fix the still slightly wet mess as much as possible. He cleared his throat.

"I can't believe that you have to wear a skirt in winter. It's November!"

A bit frustrated he realized that he didn't have something in his bag to keep you warm. Besides a sweaty jersey and a soaked towel.

You stopped in front of him to shoot him a smile, which hadn't left your face during his little rant. One hand of yours reached to his forehead to brush a streak of hair out of the way.

"Said the one with wet hair," you chuckled.

A part of him still thought that you weren't standing there. It must have taken you an eternity to get here - Including the struggles to enter the grounds with a different uniform. Usually this wasn't easy.

Well, usually he would have been on his way to his dorm instead of talking to you personally.

But here you were, looking up to him: "I thought I would surprise you since it's Friday!"

Using the opportunity of you standing so close, he wrapped his arms around your quite cold body. Then he pressed a soft kiss at the top of your head.

In the beginning, affection hadn't been his cup of tea. Everytime he had wanted to hold and to touch you so desperately, but he had been too afraid to push you away.

The more time you had spent together, the more he had gotten used to showing his love, when you two were alone.

"Such a nice surprise, (Y/N). I've missed you so much," he whispered while resting his forehead at yours.

Finally you got to see a grin on your boyfriend's face.

At the same time you couldn't tell whether his cheeks had this little blush because of your presence or because of the cold. Anyway, it looked incredible cute on him.

You would do everything to stop this moment from ending: "Do you think we can sneak me into your room for the night?"

Oh, those puppy eyes. How was he supposed to resist your puppy eyes?

In the end the biggest challenge would be to bring you to the room itself without being noticed by the staff. His roommate, Reon, was the only one aware of your existence as Semi's girlfriend as it was.

"Only if SemiSemi answers all of our questions. A-L-L," a voice echoed from behind.

Simultaneously turning around, the two of you were facing a group of boys whose faces weren't unknown to you. They made Semi back off a little.

And he hated himself for the feeling of his cheeks heating up.

In the meantime you decided it would be the best thing to let him do the talking. Especially because you had close to no idea who was standing in front of you.

The red-head might be Tendou, the one that Semi was always complaining about. Next to him stood an emotionless looking giant. Probably Ushiwaka.

Still, these were only guesses since you had only seen a few pictures and had heard stories about them so far. Not at the same time, though.

"What do you want, Tendou?", Semi sighed.

By now he wasn't touching you anymore at all and was keeping his distance. Suddenly you felt colder again.

Potential Tendou grinned suspiciously before answering the question: "Just getting to know your secret. Really good, SemiSemi, really good!"

You crossed your arms in front of your chest to warm yourself. This could take a little while to deal with before you would be able to enter some heated building.

Even though it didn't exactly sound like it, the boys were more than willing to help you out.

After a short, but sarcastic conversation and asking some basic questions, like your name, they came up with a plan to sneak you in.

The boy that turned out to be the captain lend you his jacket to cover your uniform while the group took you in its middle to hide you in between. Semi totally seemed to have a fantastic squad, at least in your opinion.

Ten minutes later you had arrived at your boyfriend's room, where all boys were gathering to satisfy their need for information.

You had some good laughs. Nevertheless Semi didn't feel perfectly fine in this situation.

Sometimes his teammates teased him because of his flustered face when things like his confession to you became topics. But he remained silent in his chair.

"Sooooo, who of you is top and who is bottom?"

Obviously Tendou was the one to ask this question in order to make him blush even more.

With a loud thump your boyfriend nearly fell out of his chair as he tried to cover your ears to shield you from that perversity.

"TENDOU," he hissed.

What a lovely and extremely interesting sleepover. And definitely not a normal Friday.

-----

Posted: November 4th | Requests: Open | Match-ups: Closed

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu writing #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu semi #semi eita #semi x reader #shiratorizawa #tendou being tendou #haikyuu fluff

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aconstellationofmemories · 4 years

Text

Suppressed Love (Goowon/Seo Dae Young x Yoon Myung Joo)

Summary: On this cold, lonely night, two separate halves of a heart are connected by the longing they silently share and by their hopeless attempt to seek some respite through soju.

One desires to drink to find comfort from his supressed emotions; the other drinks in hopes of meeting him again.

Once again, the colourless beverage tightens the unbreakable bond between them; and before long, his weary feet embark on their journey home to her.

AO3 | Asianfanfics

It had been a month.

Thirty wearily long days since he broke up with her.

The only time he met her was a day after their break-up, when she openly ordered him to have a talk with her during his lunch in the cafeteria. Once they were alone without the attention of a roomful of curious soldiers on them, she had furiously demanded the explanation he denied her.

“Why are we suddenly breaking up? Tell me so that I can understand.”

He wore an emotionless expression on his face, the one he knew she hated. “I told you. I don’t feel anything for you anymore.”

Her eyebrows scrunched down slightly. She stared at him with an imploring look in her eyes to stop. “I don’t believe you. We were happy during our date just a few days ago.”

They were. Incredibly so.

But happiness didn’t exist for someone like him. Not with someone as good as Myung Joo.

General Yoon, her father, made that abundantly clear.

“There is no other reason. Whether you believe me or not, that is my truth,” he maintained coldly.

“Don’t do this,” she begged him, her desperation faintly concealed by her angry tone. “How could you have changed so much?”

The muscles around his eyes involuntarily trembled. He gulped nervously and schooled his features back into a straight line. “I’m sorry, Ma’am.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” she snapped.

There was a pregnant pause, then the quiet, “Did Dad tell you to do it?”

Carefully, so as to not give away anything, he told her, “No, Ma’am. It was my own decision.”

“So it’s Dad,” she said calmly. Contrary to her tone, an agonising mixture of disbelief and hurt displayed across her face. He didn’t know how she came to that conclusion; he did a good job in hiding his emotions. Maybe because she knew her father.

Or perhaps no matter what smoke bombs he tossed at her, she could – would always – see through him.

Retreat, his mind urgently instructed him. He needed to leave before he subconsciously exposed himself further.

“If you’re done, Ma’am, I’ll return to my post,” he said. Straightening, he saluted her and made his way back.

“Fine. Run away from me. You’re a coward, Seo Dae Young,” she told him.

Her mocking words stopped him in his tracks. The insults were launched to hurt him, but only all they did was bounce off his armour. The only pain that pierced through his iron defence was from having to break her heart.

Because he was a coward who wanted the best for her, he continued to tramp on her heart by walking away.

Not once did they exchange anything more than a few stilted words since. Sometimes he would catch a glimpse of her in passing; such encounters was inevitable in the military base, especially if that particular someone was persistent and ranked lieutenant. Every time, her furious gaze would silently attack him with undisguised longing and the unanswerable, “Why?”

Despite his evasive manoeuvres at the base, Myung Joo consistently called and messaged him on alternate days. They accumulated in his smartphone to the point where one would think the electronic device was bought solely to communicate with her. He suspected it was part of her strategy – she wanted to plant herself in his mind so he would remember her often.

Only he did think of her. Every day.

Not one to be deterred by his lack of response, she would continue to fill his inbox with texts such as, Are you doing well? Have you eaten? Did you get hurt while training? Among them, the most commonly sent was the brief yet compact, I miss you.

Never did she know, for each time he read those three words, his reply was wordlessly reflected across the longing in his eyes.

Frustrated that her strategy was working on him, he shut the locker with a heavy sigh. He felt worn-out, both physically and mentally. The long and intensive hours at work was taking a toll on him. In an effort to distract himself, he had immersed himself into his work and lived up to his reputation as the evil instructor, putting his men through rigorous trainings which often lasted through the night. Naively, he thought if he worked himself to death, the ache in his chest might fade away.

It didn’t.

Not even the tiniest bit.

Adjusting his black wool overcoat, he left the locker room and strode along the corridor. All he wanted to do for the night was to find some elusive reprieve in the clear, transparent liquid of soju.

“...a bowl of ramen after dinner.”

He stopped outside the open office to his left. Sergeant Kim Beom Rae’s cheerfully polite voice drifted out of the office.

“At 21:30, he retired to the locker room and showered. Presently, he should be making his way back home. That is all for my report for today.”

Dae Young didn’t know whether to feel exasperated over Myung Joo’s unrelenting obsession over him or to feel a hint of joy that she hadn’t moved on from him. To save him the headache – and heartache – he chose not to think about it at all and resumed his walk.

“Y-yes? Are you okay, Lieutenant Yoon?”

His footsteps faltered.

A slither of fear slid down his spine at the thought of something happening to Myung Joo.

“...perhaps, are you drunk, Ma’am?” he asked warily.

Dae Young exhaled the breath he didn’t realise he was holding in relief. So she was safe.

Hold on – Myung Joo was drunk? The great drinker, Yoon Myung Joo? The idea itself was as ludicrous as it raining over a desert.

“Ah, you’re clearly drunk, Ma’am.” Immediately after those ignorant words left Kim Beom Rae’s mouth, he pulled the phone away from his ear. Dae Young’s lips quirked in amusement. Myung Joo probably gave him a good lecture for accusing her of being drunk.

His slight smirk instantly fell when he recalled of her current intoxicated state. There was only one reason which could have led her to drink to that extent. All fingers pointed to him.

“I-I’m sorry! ...Hello? Hello, Lieutenant Yoon?” She must have hung up on him. Lowering the phone in his hand, Kim Beom Rae tilted his head slightly in surprise. “Woah, I didn’t know she could get drunk.” When the junior sergeant caught sight of Dae Young standing outside the office the next moment, he rushed to salute him right away. “Salute! Sergeant Kim Beom Rae,” he greeted, enunciating each word.

“What happened?” Dae Young asked, not giving anything away in his tone. Like the slight worry bubbling inside him.

“Ah, about that...” he began, his eyes fidgeting. It wasn’t a secret to Dae Young that his junior sergeant regularly reported to Myung Joo; he learnt of his side-job when they pretended to be in a relationship. But ever since they broke up, he had thought she would have stopped checking on him. If Kim Beom Rae’s nervous behaviour was anything to go by, his girlfriend – ex-girlfriend – still kept up with her daily reports.

Some things never change.

His undying feelings among them.

“I was reporting to Lieutenant Yoon. I’m sorry.” The junior sergeant didn’t dare to look at him in the eye. Although Myung Joo was a lieutenant, Dae Young was still his superior officer as sergeant major. Kim Beom Rae hurriedly added, “But Lieutenant Yoon is a lieutenant, so...

“Kim Beom Rae,” Dae Young warned.

The said sergeant stood at attention again. “Sergeant Kim Beom Rae,” he responded firmly, gulping.

After giving it some thought, he decided against it. “Forget it."

“Y-yes?” Kim Beom Rae asked, in disbelief that he was being pardoned this time.

If it was any other day, and if he hadn’t already had ramen earlier, he would have ordered the junior sergeant to cook ramen with the noodles made of him as punishment. However, he didn’t feel inclined to make such command tonight. Nor was Dae Young in the mood to instruct him to run around the base in the cold night. What he needed was just to get out and grab a drink. He started to leave, when the junior sergeant called him.

“But...aren’t you going to check on Lieutenant Yoon, sir?” he asked apprehensively. Rumours of their break-up spread around the base like a wildfire after she had stormed into the cafeteria. It was impossible Kim Beom Rae hadn’t heard of the dissolved formidable military couple’s drama.

Not bothering to linger around longer, Dae Young left him with the parting words of, “Lieutenant Yoon and I have nothing to do with each other anymore.”

_____________________________________

...or at least that’s what he told himself.

Half an hour later, his feet found their way back to her at their usual drinking place, San Jang. Dressed in a baby blue coat, she sat alone in her seat at what once used to be their spot, the rectangular wooden table by the window which overlooked the neighbourhood.

Even from a distance, Dae Young could see the grief which weighed on her normally straight shoulders, causing them to droop pitifully. Her despair radiated from her in waves, like an evil aura which dispelled any joy in its field.

She lifted a soju bottle to refill her large glass, the one she always asked for to make her favourite somaek, only to find it devoid of any liquid. Annoyed, she opened the last full green-tinted bottle on the table crowded with its empty counterparts. Just as she tilted the bottle to pour, he gently grabbed it from her and set it back down on the table. “That’s enough,” he chided.

Glancing up at him, her glazed eyes tried to focus on his face as they squinted. Her frowning lips quickly lifted up into a drunken grin. “Oh, it’s Seo Dae Young!” Confused, she gazed around the restaurant, then at him. “Is this real? I miss you so much that I’m imagining things.” She shook her head in an attempt to clear the illusion.

“It is Seo Dae Young,” he confirmed, staring at her with an empathetic look in his eyes.

“Really?” Her voice suddenly lit up with cheeriness. “You’re really Seo Dae Young?” Instantly rising from her seat, she swayed dangerously to the sides in unbalance. He quickly extended out his arms and held her to keep her steady. “Are you okay?”

Tentatively, she reached out her hand to touch his face, as though afraid he was a delicate object which might vanish with the slightest breeze. He couldn’t help but notice immediately how soft her slender hands felt, and how much he missed it. His body yearned to lean into her warm caress, but – by some miracle – he barely restrained himself.

“It is you. You’re real. Why are you here?” She frowned, then leaned closer to him. “Perhaps...are you here because you missed me?” She smiled goofily. “Do you remember? We used to drink here on our dates. You often got so drunk that you couldn’t drive me home,” she said, chuckling as she reminisced.

“Why are you doing this?” he finally asked, his voice tinged with sadness. “This isn’t like you.”

“Why, you ask?” she slurred, stumbling back. Clutching her torso, she told him as she sobbed, “Because my heart hurts so much.” She fisted her hands and beat her own chest to prove her point. “It feels like I’m dying. It feels like I’m dying, but,” she emphasised the last word, before adding, “you’re doing just fine.”

No.

I’m suffocating.

“It’s unfair. How can you not be in any pain at all?”

I am.

Glancing up, her pleading eyes searched his impassive ones for a sign, a clue – anything – that proved he wasn’t as emotionless as he appeared to be. “Did you not love me? Not even the tiniest bit?” she asked, her tone plaintive.

Gulping, he clenched his jaw and fortified his wobbling defences. He wasn’t going to give her what she desired to see. He couldn’t.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Answer me,” she drunkenly urged him, sloppily beating his chest.

“Tell me I’m annoying.”

Punch.

“That I’m clingy.”

Punch.

“That you don’t want to see me anymore.”

Her hands fisted his wool coat and clung onto him as she hung her head. “Anything,” her voice broke, “just let me hear your voice.”

The muscles around his throat quivered. “I’ve moved on,” he forced out, staring resolutely ahead. “So should you.”

Completely ignoring his statement, either because she was drunk and didn’t register it or because she didn’t want to accept the reality, she pushed on his muscular chest as she stumbled back.

“Why did you do it?” she exclaimed drunkenly. “No matter how much I think about it, I can’t understand. Did Dad threaten to dismiss you?” Her hands waved clumsily in the air as they gestured to herself. “Am I lacking in some way? I’m not pretty enough? Or...is it because I’m not as feminine as the other girls you’ve met? If not then...”

“You’re better than all of them.” They flew out of his mouth before he knew it. No one could compare to the courage she possessed and the passionate spirit which burnt brightly inside her. Where her pride and authoritative demeanour chased the weaker men away, they were the very qualities he was attracted to. He couldn’t stand to see her degrade herself because of the likes of him.

“Then why?” she murmured.

“You deserve someone better,” he asserted without hesitation. It was the very reason which had driven him to obey General Yoon’s order.

“Why does everyone decide what I deserve?” she wailed. “I’m me. If I love you, doesn’t that make you worthy?”

Her drunken speech rendered him speechless. He swallowed the emotions crawling up his throat which begged to be spoken and withheld his response. Instead, he merely stated, “You’ve drank too much.”

“I’m not drunk! I,” she drawled out, stumbling, “am Yoon Myung Joo.” She grinned goofily, taking unsteady steps towards him. “I don’t get drunk,” she mumbled, then promptly lost her balance and fell forward.

Alarmed, he hurriedly caught her in his arms before she face-planted to the ground. “Myung Joo?” He gently nudged her but received not the slightest reaction. She was a dead weight against him.

The great “I-don’t-get-drunk” Myung Joo was out.

The irony of the situation was not lost on him. When they were dating, it was him who used to be hopelessly drunk. He always regretted how he couldn’t drive her back. Now the roles were reversed; he had the ability to do it; but there existed an impenetrable boundary between them.

It was going to be a longer night than he expected.

_____________________________________

The cool, fluorescent LED overhead lit up upon sensing his approaching presence. His dotted black boots steadily ascended the steps of the bright stairway to the third floor of the block. Myung Joo rested soundly against his back with her arms hanging loosely on his broad shoulders. Throughout the entire car ride, she had not once woken up from her slumber. Occasionally, she mumbled some incomprehensible words, although he could faintly make out his name in a few of them.

None of them were nice words.

Once he reached the doorstep of the unconscious woman on his back, he effortlessly entered in the password to her apartment and turned the horizontal doorknob. An expanse of light filtered into the house enshrouded in darkness, then reduced to a slit as the door closed. Courtesy of his military training and familiarity of the place, his vision adjusted to the environment devoid of light within seconds.

Being mindful to take off his boots first, he confidently strode to the bedroom. Gingerly, he laid her down on the made bed and covered her with the duvet. He quietly padded to the kitchen, switched on the light and sifted through the drawers, before he returned with the items he wanted. A military camouflage mug, a jar of water and a strip of pills sat obediently on her bedside table.

Perhaps he was getting greedy, especially for a jerk who suddenly dumped her, but he needed to see her face one last time before he left. Just a glimpse – that was enough for him to endure the constant dull ache in his chest. A stretch of the hand, the flick of a switch later, and the dim golden hues from the bedside lamp pierced through the darkness to illuminate the serene features of her face. Relief washed over him. At least in her sleep, she could find solace.

Between the two of them, he would rather he be tormented and put through the depths of hell than having her feel even the slightest prick of pain.

However, the tranquil rest didn’t last long before it was broken by the sudden furrow of her brows. Her face scrunched in agony as she fought against the unknown invader to her sleep. “Don’t go,” she whispered, her voice cracking. A lone tear escaped the confines of her eyelids and rolled down the side of her face. “I miss you.”

He gazed at her with unsuppressed sorrow. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his deep voice a stark contrast to the quiet room. “I love you, Yoon Myung Joo. Whether or not I’m by your side, that will never change.”

Closing the distance between them, he placed a delicate kiss on her forehead – an unspoken promise to her which he could utter only through the act. It was his last intimate moment with her; the only time when he allowed himself to lower his defences.

A mental clock ticked forebodingly in his mind – the time to leave was rapidly approaching. He clenched his jaw, causing a muscle to tick. The muscles around his eyes tensed with the intense furrow of his brows. Their subtle movements betrayed the war raging inside him, waged between the part of him who yearned to run back to her loving embrace, and the other part who prioritised her future happiness over anything else.

In the end, the latter side emerged victorious, and he reluctantly withdrew. He killed off the only source of light from the bedside table and mustered every inch of strength in his body to pivot his feet in the other direction.

With each leaden step away from her, he thrust her a step closer to the brighter future she deserved.

One which, tragically, didn’t include him.

Crossing the border of her room, he shut the door between them; the soft click of the door preceded by the whispered, “Fool.”

Fin.

A/N: My first contribution to the powerful Dae Young x Myung Joo ship, born out of numerous 5-minute breaks during my studies! I miss them so much that I've resorted to take upon myself to write their scenes. I actually wrote this a while back but delayed posting it here.

#goowon #seo dae young #yoon myung joo #dots #descendants of the sun #my fanfic #angst #one of my longer works #turned out to be longer than I thought #thoroughly enjoyed writing it though #love and miss them so much

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trevardes · 5 years

Text

Keep that breathless charm (hankcon)

1900 words of Connor feeling very confusing things for Hank. Set after the Nest Mission. Title from The way you look tonight. Also on Ao3. For @ccrescentscar <3

Keep that breathless charm

Connor looks at Lieutenant Anderson and feels conflicted.

That in itself is an oxymoron; should be an oxymoron, a statement so outrageously impossible that it should collapse under its own weight. It should, but it doesn’t. Connor, an android made to be inhuman and immovable, looks at Hank Anderson, this man, this human, and feels.

Anderson’s facial expression is closed off, the corners of his mouth tight and his gaze downcast. His hand rests on the steering wheel, the key in the ignition turned and the car’s motor running, but Anderson doesn’t drive. He sits there, quiet, lost in thought. He seems unreachable, far away even though he’s sitting right there, close enough to touch. Connor is excellent at reading people, his programming covers a wide range of expressions and all of their possible indications. He’s had more training in this than any other android, and his system as a whole is geared towards understanding and analyzing humanity. It is not often that he has this much trouble understanding someone’s surface emotions, especially if he’s situated this close to them.

Right now he is having problems though, and it unsettles him. Anderson is thinking about something, thinking hard, but beyond this realization, Connor has no idea what’s going on inside his head.

Honestly, he’s not quite sure what’s going on inside his own head, either.

The image of Anderson hanging off the ledge of the roof is etched deep into Connor, still sending a weak spike of distress through him when he thinks of it. It was a split second decision to help him, and there was no question that Connor would, even though Anderson had a high probability of surviving on his own. Helping him cost Connor the deviant, cost him the mission, but in that moment it ceased to matter. Connor weighed his options and reflexively chose the one that would ensure Anderson’s safety.

Now that Connor returns to the scene in his mind, he begins to question his actions. Anderson is in good enough physical condition that he could very well have pulled himself up without assistance, and Connor could have caught the deviant. There was just this… pull, towards Anderson, to save him, to keep him safe. It’s there even now, when Connor looks at the lieutenant’s unreadable profile. An anomaly, a malfunction somewhere in the code that he’s made of, a stark positive instead of a cool, indifferent negative. A tilt towards something, when everything about him should be flat and neutral.

“Lieutenant Anderson”, Connor says, attempting a calm tone. It works to a satisfactory degree, but he does indeed have to actively try and make it that way, and that is jarring. His voice comes out exactly like it always does, clear but a little soft at the edges. It sounds too loud in the quiet, still air inside the car.

“Yeah?” Anderson says, still not looking at Connor.

“Is something wrong?” Connor inquires, quieter this time. He tries for a kind and open tone. It comes out falsely intimate, and a quick frown flashes across Connor’s face. He immediately runs a diagnostic of his voice box and it’s programming, but comes up with no clear reason for the strange lapse. Nothing there is in need of repair, nothing is out of place.

“You seem quiet”, he continues. Could Anderson be angry with him for letting the deviant escape? He’d seemed happy with Connor’s decision earlier, content and even a little proud, but all of that is gone now.

“Nah”, Anderson sighs. “I’m just a bit confused. Aren’t you guys supposed to be the epitome of reason and logic?”

“I suppose you could say that”, Connor muses. “How do you mean?”

“Why choose to pull me up then? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it”, Anderson chuckles humorlessly. “I just don’t get you androids.”

“I felt it was more important to insure your ability to continue with our investigation, than to catch a single deviant. There are still several cases left for us to look into.” This is not the whole truth, Connor knows. Still, he manages to keep the cadence of his voice even and steady.

Anderson hums, seemingly satisfied with his answer. His brow smoothes a bit, and he looks closer to his usual brand of grumpy. Something about his eyes is still different; his pupils a fraction of a millimetre wider than normal. His hand squeezes the steering wheel, and his left leg bounces slightly. A nervous tick Connor has grown familiar with, and almost fond of.

“Thanks anyway”, Anderson finally rasps, after a long silence. “I do like to live.”

“Do you really?” Connor whispers before he can stop himself. Anderson doesn’t seem like he does. Connor knows he drinks too much and too often, doesn’t get enough sleep, doesn’t maintain a healthy diet. Connor has analysed him and accessed all files available to him. He knows more than he should. Hank Anderson has no spouse, no known family at all. He has a note of a divorce in his file, and a grave he visits sometimes, on the rainiest days. He often comes to work late, hungover, looking tired and depressed. He pushes people away and builds walls around himself, not unlike the firewalls surrounding Connor’s essence and protecting him and every other android from viruses. In Anderson’s case though, the walls don’t necessarily signify self-preservation.

Anderson’s mouth draws into a thin line and his eyes go squinty in annoyance.

“It’s not your damned mission to investigate me, is it? Stick to your job, R2.”

A reference to an old movie franchise. Connor is only equipped with a cursory information package on older American pop culture, and he’s uncertain why Anderson would call him by the droid R2D2’s name. There seem to be no similarities between them. Connor neither speaks in beeps, looks like a large bucket, nor could reasonably be described as ‘cute’.

“True”, Connor concedes. “However, it is my duty to keep you in working condition to the best of my ability, as you are my partner and as such, essential to my work.”

Anderson makes a sound of annoyance and perhaps of contempt, and shifts his leg on the pedals. He puts the car into drive, and pulls out of the alley and into a larger, slightly busier road. He doesn't seem eager to stay on the subjects, and for now, Connor lets it slide.

Following their usual pattern, Anderson is going to give Connor a ride before going home himself. Connor could take the bus, it would be no inconvenience to him whatsoever. He’s an android, they don’t feel discomfort like that. Connor should say this to Anderson. He should leave the car and let the man go on his own.

Despite being an android, a decidedly emotionless machine, Connor feels a twinge of… unease, perhaps, at the thought of the lieutenant going home alone. Unease and sadness. He turns to look at Anderson again.

Hank Anderson is 53 years old, but life has worn him down, so much that he could pass for older. His hair and beard are silvery gray, and lines web the outer corners of his eyes. Something tells Connor they might’ve been from laughter, originally, but nowadays Anderson doesn’t have many reasons even to smile.

Despite the signs of aging, or perhaps partly because of them, there is something intriguing about Anderson. He looks pleasant and warm on the rare occasions he smiles. Often those smiles are a bit malicious and at the expense of androids or other humans, but Connor still finds them perplexingly delightful. Anderson has straight teeth and deep, clear eyes. His eyelids are a little heavy, lending a softness to his features that otherwise wouldn’t exist.

They drive in silence for a moment, until Anderson reaches out a hand and switches on the ancient CD-player on the dash. Soft, melancholy jazz music fills the car, and a small smile tilts the corner of Anderson’s mouth. Right then he looks so… so affable, so human.

Connor feels something twist up in his chest, some unidentified circuit there firing a soft pulse out of rhythm with the rest of him. His fingers twitch and his teeth dig into his lower lip on their own volition. A soft, persistent burning sets ablaze his mind, his wires, all of him.

He’s glad he pulled Anderson up from the ledge. He’s glad he’s sitting here so close to him.

He’s glad.

His thirium pump quickens it’s rhythm, adds two beats to its normal bpm. Error notifications pop up in his vision. There’s a software instability, accompanied by a strange feeling, a warm ache inside his chest and head, even though they’ve received no damage recently.

Connor doesn’t need to breathe, but he draws in a slow gulp of air nevertheless, quietly enough that Anderson doesn’t notice anything is amiss. Anderson keeps humming along to the song, and the low, scratchy sound of it takes a hold of Connor’s spine, sends a painful shiver through him. Connor doesn’t need to breathe, but he forgets that and feels breathless anyway. A new alert about rising levels of distress flashes red at the corner of his field of vision. His LED spins yellow, fast and frantic. It flickers into red and back to yellow, and Connor hopes Anderson won’t notice it.

He ignores his objectives that tell him it should be impossible, and deletes all the notifications.

His body temperature has risen 3,9 degrees above normal. He forces it down by diverting more power to his coolers, and tries to sit still.

He erases his action log for the last five minutes, deletes any traces of deleting the notifications. It’s a feeble attempt at covering up what he’s done, easily reversed by anyone with any skill at programming, but something compels him to do it. He knows he should turn himself in for examinations. He should receive a recalibration as soon as possible. It should be a given. He is a state of the art prototype, an incredibly important and expensive experiment that CyberLife can’t afford to lose to… to deviancy. He should send a message right now and tell them everything, tell them he’ll be coming in for assessment and subsequent reprogramming.

The command to report and fix any errors is an integral part the program of the android RK800 #313 248 317 - 51. It is not an entity with any authority to decide how to act in a situation like this. It should revert back to protocol right now.

It doesn’t. Connor doesn’t.

He turns sideways in his seat and watches lieutenant Anderson. He commits to memory all the details of this man; his shape, his familiar scent, his voice as he hums along with the music for a few notes. Lieutenant Anderson doesn’t know anything about what he has awoken inside Connor. He never will, because Connor will not tell him, will not tell anyone. He lets out a quiet, shivering breath and settles back against his seat. Squeezes his seat belt between his fingers and tries to let the music calm him.

Anderson doesn’t notice Connor’s distress. He looks the same as always, worn and tired, but tonight everything about him is unsettling and beautiful. For the first time since he was made and switched on, Connor wishes he could touch. Wishes he could smooth a thumb along the lines in Anderson’s skin, down his bearded cheek. It’s new, this confusing desire, but it settles inside Connor like it’s always been there, this familiar, gentle longing.

Anderson keeps driving, and Connor watches him out of the corner of his eye, feeling the sweet corruption spread through him, to every circuit and every nerve.

#detroit: become human #hankcon #hannor #connor #hank anderson #dbh #rk800 #hank #detroit: bh #vee writes #my fic #set after the nest mission #fic #english

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emeraldtawny · 5 years

Text

Edgar x OC (Eleanor): Masquerade (Pt. 3/5)

...these chapters are getting longer and longer each time. I have no self-control hoorraaaaaaayyyyyyyyy~!

I....may have been a liiiiiiiittle bit angsty with this chapter. Not a lot...just enough to hopefully tear your heart out like I did mine while writing this :^) The next chapter will likely be the last, but who even knows what will happen so we’ll just wait and see......ANGST TIME! >:3

These two people who were brought together on a whim and under very unnatural circumstances were quick to find answers to the questions they had of each other. At first, it was simply business - finding information on their target keeps them safe while also discovering the other’s weaknesses - but over time, both Edgar and Eleanor realised just how similar they were. Fabricated discussions in sparse moments of free time eventually shifted into genuine conversations with set meeting dates and times.

The two would talk about everything and nothing, probing each other to discover the type of person they were. Over time, they learned of the other’s quirks and mannerisms, their likes and dislikes - things that should’ve been pointless information was stored away in their thoughts and memories. Why? Because they wished to remember it personally.

Eleanor learned quickly to distinguish Edgar’s crafted smiles from his genuine ones, when he was stressed or otherwise emotionally compromised and, eventually, Edgar divulged to her in more detail about his work with the Bright Family and his uncle. Suddenly, pieces that had no place fit together perfectly and the anomaly that is Edgar Bright made more sense to her, almost frighteningly so.

Of course, this exchange was not one-sided. Edgar picked up quickly on Eleanor’s self-driven and occasionally stubborn personality, yet he couldn’t help but laugh when her meeker, more reserved side emerged on weary days. He noticed the way she poked her tongue out slightly between her lips whenever she was deep in thought, and he laughed like a fool when he would tease her and she would retaliate by calling him every name under the sun. And, as was only fair, she spoke of her past and revealed her secrets, a conversation Edgar could not forget even if he tried.

[ “As you guessed, I am from that Lancaster family. My entire bloodline is basically comprised of compulsive gamblers and master con artists. From birth, I was trained mercilessly and shaped into another set of hands to swindle and deceive people into handing over their money.”

“That explains your impeccable poker face. However, that doesn’t explain how you knew of my business.”

“Being a con artist means you need a stable and reliable information source. How else do you know who to target and steal from? While our main operations were in Black Territory, we had connections in the Red Territory as well...where we found out about a man called Claudius Bright and what he was the ringleader behind.”

“And you found out about me through that.”

“Exactly. After I got away from my family, I had nothing. Still kept contact with the information dealers and happened to hear about a certain party you were targeting and...well, you know the rest.”

“Indeed. One query with your story: the Black Army found the Lancaster family’s operation and shut it down, imprisoning everyone involved. How were you spared?”

“Simple. I was the one who ratted them out.” ]

She didn’t tell him everything, neither did he tell her everything. However, a mutual understanding was achieved between the two; that they were more alike in their upbringings and the way they view themselves than either could have ever guessed.

…

Edgar sits silently in the faux leather armchair that he has made his own in Eleanor’s quaint little house in the Central Quarter. His eyes flick to the clock on the wall, its ticking rhythmic.

1:46pm.

(How odd. She’s never late.)

While not one for worrying needlessly, he couldn’t help but feel an emotion bubbling inside him that he thought was long since dead. Fear.

(Something must have happened. She wouldn’t draw out a prank to this extent...she wouldn’t even try to prank me to begin with.)

Edgar’s lips press together, his eyebrows drawing taught as he contemplates leaving to search for her. The thought is immediately halted by the abrupt crashing of the door as it’s unceremoniously thrown open. Eleanor flies into the room and shuts the door in the blink of an eye. She leans against the door, her breathing laboured but gradually calming. Edgar blinks, his face illustrating his genuine shock at how dishevelled and frantic Eleanor appears to be, two words hardly fitting to describe her.

Eleanor’s eyelids open and she tenses upon noticing Edgar, her pupils shrinking similar to a prey’s when face to face with a predator.

“What are you doing here?”

Choosing to ignore the thread of venom in her question, Edgar responds, “The same reason as many times before. To meet with you.”

She huffs a sigh and pushes herself off the door, discarding and throwing her jacket to Edgar before walking to the small kitchen. He barely flinches catching it, keeping his sea green eyes on her form as she moves on steady legs. But Edgar knows better. He can see the almost non-existent twitching of her fingertips as she grabs a mug off the bench to fill with tea.

Edgar stands and walks to the bench to stand next from her, keeping his analytic gaze on her face. He knows he’s pressuring her, that she’ll catch on and give him hell for it. But at this point in time, he will take her complaints as long as he can be certain that she’ll be all right.

(Since when did I start being aware of your happiness?)

After what felt like hours, Eleanor finally lifts her gaze to Edgar. The red veins pop against the whites of her eyes, her purple eyes more dazzling and distressed in contrast. He frowns, his hand moving not from his own accord to brush his thumb under her eyes, tracing the faint dark circles outlining her face.

“What happened?”

The sound of her hand smacking his away seems to echo in Edgar’s mind, the physical pain almost non-existent to the weight gradually settling on his heart. She turns to walk away, but Edgar grabs her wrist and holds on tight, correctly anticipating her attempt at wriggling free.

“Eleanor.”

He can feel the muscles in her wrist move as she clenches her fist tight. Her shoulders bunch up around her neck before letting them fall with a long, exhausted sigh.

“They’re out.”

Whatever he was expecting her to say, that was not it.

(“They’re”? Meaning...no, surely not her family.)

“What? But I thought you said that they would be locked away for years, possibly decades. How could they be out?”

“How the hell would I know?! Don’t ask such stupid questions!”

Edgar recoils at the bite in her acidic words, his grip loosening enough for Eleanor to rip her hand free. She turns to face him, her eyes burning with a myriad of emotions: anger, confusion, panic.

“What matters now is that they’re out and they’re coming to get me! I’m not safe here and I need to find somewhere where I will be! Which is next to impossible since they used to run this entire fucking town!”

Her words spill from her a mile a minute, Edgar’s expression falling at her slowly unravelling calm demeanour.

“It’s okay, Eleanor. I can give you refuge in the Red Army for the time being and we can find a more permanent residence with time. Getting desperate isn’t going to help in any way.”

She knows he’s right, but her better judgement is outcompeted for control by her storming emotions. The agony and pure ferocity in her eyes make Edgar tense.

“Of course you can say that,” she says darkly, her teeth clenching in barely repressed rage, “You have no idea what I’m going through! You’re still stuck under the thumb of your family! You’re safe! Mine are out of prison and probably already have a plan to murder me! Don’t you fucking dare try to say things are okay because they’re far from it!”

Edgar’s eyes darken at Eleanor’s words, the barrier he erects as his uncle’s cold-blooded killing puppet surrounding him fully, “Stop. Don’t speak like you’re worse off than me.”

She laughs, the sound empty and mirthless accompanying her plastic smile, “Forgive me, but I think I have a reason to be fucking petrified right now. Nowhere is safe, I can’t trust anyone and the only one I can trust is someone who’s as fucked up as I am! Sorry for feeling entitled to a fucking mental breakdown over you!!”

As swift as the wind, Edgar closes the gap between them, grabbing Eleanor’s wrists in a death grip. She stumbles back, regaining her balance to bring her knee up to connect with his stomach. Edgar side-steps before she can make contact and he pulls her with him, the two of them tumbling to the ground in a mess of limbs fighting for control. Edgar’s leaner, more agile body pins Eleanor’s below him, his legs straddling her waist and her wrists still tight in his grip pressed hard to the floor on either side of her head. She glares daggers at him from close range, his face impassive yet the determined fire in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

“What the hell is this going to accomplish, huh?! Nothing you do is going to help me! I’m going to be murdered in cold blood by the family I betrayed!” She screams at him, her voice hoarse with torture. Her attempts at breaking free of his shackles lessen in strength each time, her voice following suit as her previously impassioned shouts now become nothing more than meek whimpers, “...I deserve this. I knew this was going to happen eventually. What does it matter, right? No one will care if a broken, impure monster gets her karma.”

Eleanor bites her lower lip, the strain in her face to hold back her tears and onto her dignity tearing down Edgar’s emotionless barrier. He blinks down at her, watching mesmerised as a single tear spills from the corner of her eye and trails smoothly down her cheek.

“I...I deserve this. God, I really deserve this. I’ll die as corrupt as I lived.”

“Stop--”

“Why? So you can remind me that you’re as fucked as me? At least you’re not in danger--”

“Eleanor, stop!”

She winces as Edgar’s grip tightens on her wrists. He stares into her eyes, the unadulterated pain and dread swirling in her usually calm and clear lavender eyes unsettling Edgar in a way he’s never felt before. He leans over her, their noses hovering a hair’s width away from each other, his breath ghosting over her skin as he murmurs to her.

“You’re here, you’re alive. We can get through this. No, we have to get through this, because there is no way in Hell I’m letting you go.”

(What am I saying?)

Edgar’s thoughts congeal into an uneasy feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach, unsure of why he feels so strongly about this woman’s presence in his life. Eleanor stares trance-like at the man above her, barely registering the words that fall from her lips.

“I...want to live. If not for myself, then for you. You...I don’t know why, but I need you.”

(What am I saying?)

She squeezes her eyes shut, another rogue tear spilling free to roll from her face to the floor. With a sigh under his breath, Edgar loosens his hold on her and moves off of her before pulling her gently upright. His hands slide to her waist to pull her into an embrace, his cold hands tingling through his gloves at the warmth of her body. Eleanor rests her head in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent as her hands move to clutch weakly at the collar of his shirt.

Who knows how long they stayed like that, both sinners seeking the phantom warmth of the other. Eleanor is the first to move, leaning back to meet Edgar’s eyes. While puffy and red, Edgar relaxes at the clear focus in her eyes that he so fondly recognises.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for and I didn’t mean to attack you.”

Edgar chuckles softly, his relief palpable as he wipes a gloved finger under her eye to catch a remnant tear on her eyelash, “I know.”

A comfortable silence passes before she speaks again, her confidence faltering, “Do you really think you can help me? The last thing I want is for you to get caught up in my business.”

“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. Like I said, I’m not letting you go.”

After so much turmoil and agony, finally, Eleanor smiles. And despite the obvious strain in the action, Edgar couldn’t be more relieved.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? How people like us still manage to find solace even when we both know we don’t deserve it.”

He smiles, his hand moving to stroke her glossy hair, “I think us being impure is precisely why we can find solace in one another.”

“Hm,” Eleanor hums her agreement, “Finding comfort in the darkness of another, huh? How fitting.”

They both laugh together, the sound neither jovial nor melancholic. They remain that way, both keeping each other close as they let the other’s impurity transfer to them - the shared darkness between them a shared burden, a lifeline to both Edgar and Eleanor to stop them being consumed and eaten alive by the impurity tainting their hearts.

#ikerev #ikerev fanfic #edgar bright #original character #masquerade #angst angst ANGST #did I mention ANGST #I'm torturing these poor souls

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lr-supernaturaladdict · 6 years

Text

Brother PT.2

Sister

Summary: You are the first Archangel god created. One of the most powerful beings in existence but you left heaven to pursue a human life, but when you finally decide you want your family back, it’s to late for some of them. Will the Winchesters allow you to release Lucifer and Michael from the Cage?

Word Count: 5271

Warnings: None, maybe some cussing

PT. 1

-Flashback-

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched over heaven. Everything had been running smoothly since your father decided not to meddle further in your existence. No one else knew some of the things he did when he created heaven and earth. You were his first, his most precious of creations, but he knew you weren’t as happy as you could have been. So he chose to create Michael, originally the idea had been that he would be your “mate”. You however never saw him as such, you saw him as a brother, not that you knew the term of endearment yet. Displeased by your rejection of his gift, he created Lucifer. You tried to accept your fathers gifts, but being able to make your own choices and do as you pleased made it impossible to care for either angels as more than brothers. His final attempt at creating a mate ended with Raphael, but when you finally snapped at him he quickly apologized and stopped, allowing you to care for your new found family as it was. You were their sister and that was that. Your father saw how happy you were even as you all were and made a choice to ask you what you wanted rather than attempt at choosing for you. When you said that what you had made you happy and you liked this odd little family you had, he chose to create Gabriel. He was different, a goofy bundle of joy that graced you with his bubbly presence constantly. You chose to believe he followed you around because he loved you, but you had assumptions that he was created to do so anyways. His grace was similar to yours, on a much smaller scale and his wings were golden in color, much like your own. He was simply beautiful, and even if they were created for you, not that anyone ever knew, you wanted them each to have their own choices.

Soon after the creation of the other Archangels, your father created the others. You lead your brothers and sisters to the best of your ability, having free will was something you cherished though. Out of all the angels, only you were made without an agenda. Your father created them with purpose, whether to be soldiers or slaves, you didn’t know yet.

Michael became your second in command when your father appointed you the leader of them all. Him being second oldest only made sense after all. He was the perfect little soldier, he knew it and so did everyone else. He made sure your orders and most importantly your father’s orders were carried out correctly. He hated when things went wrong and would easily let his anger over take him. His idea of free will was how he would decide on carrying out and order, as long as it was carried out in the most effective way possible. He had an attitude in which if you asked him to jump, he would reply “how high?” You loved him dearly but you knew that his dedication and need for fathers approval would be his downfall.

Lucifer was your best friend, if you were to put a title on who he was to you. You of course still considered him your brother, he was just the closest to you then the others were. The others were jealous of the was you two were. You could actually speak to one another without disagreeing on much of anything, at least until your father created humans. He was the only one of your brothers and sisters who knew at least a shred of free will. It physically hurt you when your father and your brothers would persecute him without proper cause. One mistake and he was the outcast of the family, no matter how much you tried to get them to see truth, they never did. He was misunderstood and you always did your best to make sure he felt he was loved. Even with all of the hate he had endured from our own family.

Raphael was another one of your fathers perfect little soldiers, although you never quite took him seriously. Of all your brothers he was the one you never quite got along with. He liked to undermine your authority, which you wouldn’t mind too much because he would be using his own choice to do so, but he would choose to make horrible decisions. They would normally end up in angels getting hurt in horrible ways. You tried your hardest to accept him into your heart, but with the horrible choices he had always seemed to make, he wasn’t your favorite brother by far.

Gabriel was your baby brother for sure. He was a very power archangel but you only ever saw him as your kid brother. You loved him very dearly and were often called his mother rather than his sister. If someone said you coddled him, you wouldn’t necessarily deny it either. No matter how old he had gotten, you would still often baby him. He was the only angel you would often times show affection to, which most of your siblings saw that as weakness. You just couldn’t help it, out of you many siblings he was the one that resembled you the most and seeing him would always make your heart swell with joy.

“Sister,” you were brought out of your thoughts by the stern voice of your brother Michael. “Is everything alright?”

“Certainly,” you turned to face him as he walked over to you. “I just wanted to appreciate the calmness of the day,” you moved your hand in the direction of where you had been looking before. You both stood on a balcony of a building that looked over the garden your father had recently created to hold his newest creation. “Heaven has been so peaceful lately, I almost cannot believe it.”

He nodded curtly at you and walked over to the edge of the balcony, looking out at the garden. “Yes, I fear that it may not last.”

You sighed but nodded, turning back towards the railing. “It never does,” you said softly as you leaned on the rails. “May I ask you something brother?”

“Of course,” he looked at you with an eyebrow raised.

“Do you ever wish that we could live like them?” you nodded your head in the direction of the garden.

He laughed slightly and shook his head. “Of course not, they’re practically hairless apes (Y/N).”

You smirked slightly. “You sound like Luci,” no matter how much they would always deny it, Michael and Lucifer thought similarly. They fought like cat and mouse, but deep down you knew they loved each other dearly.

“Yes, however I don’t refuse to love them. They are quite disgusting, but I do not wish them harm,” he scowled at the mention of the younger archangel. “But why do you ask me this?”

You shrugged. “I just get tired of playing peace maker between our own brothers and sisters. Everyone has different ideals on how to run things, but they can’t seem to use peaceful ways to resolve this. Including Raphael,” you pursed your lips in thought. “Sometimes I would like to just run away, but alas, I cannot. There is too much for me to see over here,” you stood straight and placed your hand on his shoulder. “I must oversee training this afternoon, I will see you later brother.”

He looked slightly saddened by your sudden exit plan but his face quickly transformed back into a blank mask. “Of course sister, take care.”

You smiled at him and nodded before leaving him abruptly. Within the blink of an eye you were in a large white room filled with angels, soldiers. They were stood in military fashion, backs straight and in lines. Younger angels were in front while the most seasoned were stood in the back. “Good afternoon young ones,” you said loudly, walking in front of them with your hands behind your back. “Many of you here will be among the rankings of our warriors, others may be lucky enough to be placed in higher rankings. Others may not be so lucky. God created us each with purpose, and in being here you will learn yours,” you stopped in front of one of the older angels, looking him directly in the eyes. “Some of you may even become God’s most trusted,” he continued to hold your gaze, which was bold considering who you were. Smirking to yourself, you stepped closer to him. Being in your vessel made you smaller then him, his standing well over 6’ foot. “What is your name angel?” you said coldly, not letting any of your emotions seep through. You were seen as the fearless leader, even if the other archangels knew different. You were to be emotionless and cold amongst the younger leveled angels.

His posture remained straight as his deep voice answered your question. “Gadreel.”

-Present-

Walking down the hall of the bunker, you sighed. You had been staying in the bunker with your brother, Lucifer, for about a month now and seemed to be getting nowhere with him. You were currently on your way to stop yet another argument that had begun to get heated between your brother and the older Winchester brother.

“STAY OUT OF MY DAMN HEAD!” you heard Dean yell. Great, now what did you brother do. You knew you could have just flew into the room, but decided against it because it probably was just another pointless fight.

Walking into the library you saw Dean with his back towards you and Lucifer just shrug nonchalantly. You could only see his back but the older Winchester looked as though he was going to burst with anger. His shoulders were heaving and he nearly looked like he was shaking. You cleared your throat, causing both men to look at you. Your brother smiled at you sweetly and Dean’s face seemed to go red, at least redder than it had been in anger. He reminded you almost of a cherry tomato. “Hello boys,” you said as you leaned against the frame of the entrance. “Sam told me you two were getting into it again, care to tell me why?”

Dean looked at Lucifer quickly and scowled, while Lucifer just smirked. “Well,” your brother drawled out.

Dean glared daggers at him before turning back to you. “He keeps using his powers to invade my head,” he huffed loudly.

You looked at your brother and rolled your eyes. “What have I told you about minding your own business Luci,” you cocked your eyebrow waiting for him to answer.

Lucifers smirked immediately fell from his face when you said his nickname in front of someone other than family. “Not to do it,” he scoffed.

“Exactly,” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “So, why did you do it?”

His smirked instantly reappeared and he walked over to you. “Oh well, I overheard him having a conversation with our baby brother. I just wanted to make sure the information was true. I’m just looking out for everyone,” he shrugged.

You looked over at Dean and saw him visibly freeze. You were never one who liked to enter someone’s mind without permission because you always hated it when people would invade your own privacy. “Care to share with the class?” you moved your gaze back to your brother.

Lucifer opened to answer but was interrupted by Dean. “Nope, it’s nothing,” he smiled grimly and walked over to the fallen angel. “We’re okay, right buddy. Just a little misunderstanding,” he gave Lucifer a stern look.

“Lucifer?” you watched as Lucifer took a moment to think about how he would answer.

“What he said,” Lucifer knew better then to anger you, if Dean gave you more of a reason to punish him, it wouldn’t be pretty.

“Alright then,” you pursed your lips and looked at them both questioning. “No more mind reading then, or else I’ll block the rest of your grace,” you gave Lucifer a stern look and turned to walk away. You heard Dean sigh loudly but chose to ignore it. “I will return later, behave,” he said to them both.

“Where are you going?” Dean asked, walking after you when you walked away.

“I have business to take care of in heaven,” you continued to walk, not looking at him.

“Ah,” he nodded and tried to keep up with you. You walked fast even for someone with long legs. “Anything particular?”

You sighed and stopped walking, turning abruptly towards the green eyed hunter. “Look, Dean. I appreciate the curiousity, but I’m afraid that it is my business,” you watched as he looked down at his feet when he stopped next to you. “If it makes you feel better, it’s nothing dangerous. Just what you may call a check in, there is somethings I need to clear up. It’s been a long time since I’ve returned to my home,” you placed your hand on his arm and smiled at him. “I should only be a few days, at most. I can send Castiel to check on our brother later to assure he hasn’t been to much of a thorn in your side.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat, trying not to look you in the eye. He was relieved Lucifer didn’t tell you about what he saw in his mind, if you found out he was sure you’d laugh at him. Over the month you and your brother had stayed with them, he had developed a crush on you. He wasn’t sure when exactly it had developed but it made it hard for him to function around you without getting flustered. “Well-uh, just stay safe,” he looked at you and smiled.

“I’m probably the most dangerous thing out there, other then my father and aunt, but dangerous nonetheless. But thank you,” you placed your hand on his cheek and stood on your toes, kissing his cheek. You watched as his face turned bright red, spreading even to his ears.

Before he even had the chance to react you vanished, flying to heaven. You landed in one of your favorite places to go in heaven. It was the personalized heaven of a little girl named Lila. She had died at the age of 9, unfortunately the victim of domestic violence. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t actually been to heaven since you left, you just came secretly. No one knew of your presence because you kept it hidden, much like your father would do when he wished to be alone.

Lila’s heaven was her memory of going to the park with her father before he passed away. You had learned she was about 8 when it took place. There were flower bushes practically everywhere and a playground in sight that she would play on while her father watched. Often pushing her on the swing. It always hurt you to think about, it was years ago when she passed and you wished you could’ve saved her. Her soul was innocent and pure, she deserved to live a long life, but at least the man who shot her was burning in hell.

You watched as the little girl ran across a nearby field into her father’s arms. ‘At least she had her family with her’ you thought to yourself and quickly left to leave them in peace.

You arrived in main office of heaven, looking around you were greeted by Castiel sat at the desk in the center. “Hello, sister,” you smiled at the seraph you left in charge.

“Hello Castiel,” he smiled back at your used of his full name.

“I did not expect a visit,” he stood from where he sat and moved towards you.

“Yes, well,” you paused and pulled him into a hug. “I figured I would check in and see if things were running smoothly.”

He embraced you back lightly, obviously still not used to the physical contact. “Things are going very well,” he pulled away from you. “How are things with the Winchesters and our brother?”

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. “I honestly can’t tell anymore, things were much easier when the only things we had to worry about were other angels,” you said remembering back to your time staying in heaven.

“Well,” Castiel shrugged, smirking at you. “One angel in particular.”

-Flashback-

“Gadreel, I must say that I am very pleased with your improvements,” you eyed the other angel up, while walking towards him. “Father must really believe so as well,” you smiled at him fondly, thinking about how much he had improved since you had been introduced to the younger angel. He quickly became not only your most trusted friend, but also your father’s most trusted angel, besides you of course. The difference between him and all the other angels in heaven was that he believed in what was truly right, not just because you or anyone else said so. He was also smart and very strong, he had become one of your strongest soldiers, but a part of you knew that he meant more to you than all of that. You stopped acting like a hardass with him after a short time of training individually, orders directly from your father. You found yourself growing closer to the angel, even to the point of feeling an emotion you couldn’t quite describe. You felt human with him.

“Thank you, (Y/N),” he smiled at you as he noticed you walking towards him. “Do you really think so highly of me though?” he cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Of course I do,” you said as you now stood directly in front of him. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” you smirked at him.

“You know,” he paused, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “If father knew what we do during our private trainings, he wouldn’t think so kindly of me. We’re practically breaking one of heaven’s rules.”

Stepping close enough for your chest to press against his, you looked him in the eye. “I’m the one who made most of those rules you know. I’ve told you many things over the years,” you paused, running your hand up his arm. “The archangels were practically made for me, but I didn’t want them,” you shrugged. “You are the only one who I would ever wish to know more, intimately. Much like Adam and Eve,” you felt your cheeks heat up at the admittance of your feelings.

Cupping your cheek he leaned forward slightly. “I believe I feel the same way,” he turned his head and looked around briefly. You both stood at the gate of the garden, were he had been trusted to guard by your father. Most angels knew not to bother coming to the garden because only very select angels were allowed inside, you and Gadreel included.

“Must we be so cautious every time?” you laughed slightly. Reaching up you placed your hand on his cheek, making him look at you. “No one will see us, no one dares come down here after the last angel to disobey was locked away in our prison.”

“No one but the other archangels and father,” he scowled slightly.

“You let me worry about them,” you shrugged and moved your hand to the back of his neck. “Lucifer and Gabriel will just encourage this, Raphael just won’t care. Michael is the only one we really have to worry about having backlash from. Father, well he did want me to find a mate once upon a time, and if you would have me,” you paused looking down. “I’d like it to be you.”

There was a moment of silence that made you worry for what seemed like the first time in your thousands of years of life. “I would love nothing more,” he whispered barely loud enough for you to hear him. Biting your bottom lip, you looked up at him. He ran his thumb across your lip and nodded his head, his smile reaching his eyes. You watched as he continued to lean closer, until his lips were only a breath away from yours. “Am I doing this correctly?”

Nodding you leaned forward and connected your lips together in a sweet passionate kiss. In all your years of life you had never experienced something so innocent and yet so powerful. You didn’t know when you had closed your eyes, only realizing it when you felt his arms snake around your waist. They felt strong and warm against you, something you never would have expected. You were stronger then him and more powerful then him, and yet you felt the safest you had ever been in his arms. You decided then and there, no matter what happened, he was home to you. Whether it was in heaven or anywhere else in existence, he was home and together you could be human.

-Present-

“You know, I don’t really appreciate you bringing that up,” you said to the younger man sternly. “It’s a whole can of worms I don’t want to open and think about.”

“What?” Castiel asked with an eyebrow raised and his head tilted to the side.

“Just,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Nevermind,” you cleared your throat. “Do you have the reports I asked you to get on the prison?”

“Right, yes,” his face quickly changed back into one of a seriousness. “I got them first thing when I arrived, but with trying to run heaven for the time being I didn’t have time to get them to you.”

“I perfectly understand,” you said as you watched as he walked behind the desk and pulled a stack of papers from the desk. “I used to be the person to do, well everything.”

“And a wonderful job you did,” he sighed and reached over the desk to hand you the papers. “Can I asked why you asked for those?”

Taking the papers you began to flip through them. “I’d prefer you not to, but if you must know I want to take note of all of the angels still locked away.”

“You mean him, don’t you?” he raised an eyebrow at you.

“You know what,” you groaned and slammed the papers on the table. “If I didn’t like you, I would have smote you already.”

“Sure you would,” he pursed his lips and watched you carefully. “You may have acted like a brute when you were commander, but I know you’ve never been that type.”

Squinting your eyes at him you slowly grabbed the stack again. “Someone had to put the fear of God into them, considering he himself was rarely around after creating you lot.”

“So why do you care so much about checking on him?” he paused. “And don’t say you’re not because I know you are.”

Rolling your eyes at the young angel you stuck the papers between your arm and side. “He was important to me.”

“Important how? I mean, I know of your private trainings to prepare him to guard the garden, but other then that I’m stumped,” he looked you in the eye as he said each word carefully.

Glaring at him you sighed, you knew you couldn’t hide everything from him and you were never one to lie. “He and I were mates.”

“You were mates?” he asked monotonously.

“Yes, and before you say anything, we weren’t breaking any rules. We were both angels for one and two, if there were rules against things being together that were created by the same being, he wouldn’t have created Adam and Eve like he did. Humans wouldn’t exist. In a way, all of it is just one big incestual train, which is grosser than me being with him. Why do you think the archangels were created to begin with,” you shrugged.

“They were created as warriors for heaven,” he said as a matter of factly.

“Michael, Lucifer, and Raphael were attempts at creating a mate for me,” you sighed. “He gave up when I told him I didn’t want them like that, they were all just brothers to me. Gabriel was practically like my own son, not that he would have ever admitted that. God created him in the image of me for that purpose. The rest of the angels were created to be soldiers, but not them.”

“I feel like my entire existence has been a lie,” he looked down at his hands, almost like a kicked puppy.

“You were told what you were because none of them wanted to face the idea of rejection. Why do you think Lucifer tricked Gadreel into letting him into the garden?” you sighed and ran a hand through your hair. “Michael was the one who locked him up, along with Raphael. Gabe was the only one that really never cared. I thought that Lucifer wouldn’t have cared either, which is why I never hid it from him,” you paused and rubbed your hand against your cheek. “When I left heaven, I tried to get him to come with me, but he refused saying his duty was to heaven. I was in love with a simple angel and yet his duty was to our father, I was wrong about him.”

-Flashback-

“Why won’t you come to earth with me? We could live like humans and enjoy a simple life rather than be pawns in heaven,” you said with a large smile on your face as you hung onto your lover’s arm. “We could even create our own family, wouldn’t that be spectacular.”

“Ignorant dreams my love,” he said back flatly, looking straight ahead. You had been walking in a field of heaven, filled with rose bushes and tall willow trees. It was your favorite place to meet him when he didn’t need to guard the garden.

You scoffed. “How are they ignorant?”

He turned his head to look at you and stopped walking. “Our place is here in heaven, not on earth. Our duty is to father.”

Pulling away from him, you looked at him in disbelief. “You mean to tell me that you would rather spend an eternity standing in front of a gate then with me?”

“There is no reason why we cannot do both,” he looked at you with his brow furrowed. “Why do you not wish to stay a perform the duties our father asks of us?”

“Our duties?” you scoffed and walked away from him a bit. “Our duties don’t mean anything if our father simply doesn’t care.”

“How could you say that?” he asked, raising his voice.

“Because it’s true. For thousands of years we’ve been doing as we’re told, I wish to do something for myself. I did what he wanted and I hated it, and then I found my mate. I love you Gadreel, please say that you’ll come with me. I can’t be here anymore to watch our brothers fight an endless battle. He wants a war Gad, a war no one will survive. It may take a long time for it to happen but he wants them to practically rip each other to shreds. I can’t watch this and they won’t put a stop to it themselves,” you practically pleaded with him.

He shook his head and looked down. “I’m sorry my love, I must stay. I must protect his creation.”

Nodding to yourself you could feel your chest hurt. “Who am I kidding, you were made to please him. You’ll never choose me, even if your life depended on it,” you looked up at him with teary eyes, trying your hardest not to break down in front of him. “Consider this,” you motioned between the two of you. “Done.”

“(Y/N), my love,” he walked towards you with his arms outstretched. “No, you can stay and we can be together.”

Shoving his hands away. “Are you mad?” you threw your hands up. “We can never truly be together without backlash from practically every angel in heaven, we’ve hidden from everyone for hundreds of years. I’m tired of pretending not to have feelings. I’m tired of pretending I don’t have my own wants and needs. He didn’t make me like you or them, I thought you were different like me,” you sobbed. “This was a mistake, good luck with your duties Gadreel. Tell my brothers I said goodbye, okay?” you felt a tear run down your cheek as you looked at the angel you loved one last time.

Before he could respond and reach you in time, you vanished leaving him and heaven behind for good. You got to live your normal life, just without your home. No one understood the real reason you left and many believed you were dead. You made sure no one could ever find you, only Gadreel knew the truth behind your disappearance and he never told anyone. You only wished that he would have chosen to follow you, maybe he wouldn’t have been locked away for an eternity if he had.

-Present-

“So he chose to stay rather than go?” Castiel asked. You had both moved to sit in two desk chairs in the office you were in while you explained what had happened between you and the other angel.

“Pretty much, I was hurt and upset, so I just kinda left without explanation,” you shrugged. “Lucifer had apparently been watching us and heard what happened, he then thought it was a good idea to trick Gadreel. It was just a huge cluster fuck.”

“And yet you’re willing to forgive him?” he tilted his head to the side, looking at you skeptically.

“Yes Cas, I am willing to forgive and forget. All of us, and I do mean all of us have made some pretty stupid mistakes and I’m prepared to be a bigger person,” you said pursing your lips.

Castiel stood suddenly and reached out his hand. “Alright, then let’s go see Gadreel.”

“What?” your eyes shot open wide as you looked up at him, standing quickly.

“You said you’re willing to forgive and forget, why not forgive Gadreel too?” he made a grabbing motion with his hand for you to take his.

“I’m willing to forgive him, it’s just not as simple,” you said chewing on your lip.

“It can be, especially if you’re going to forgive someone like Lucifer,” he shrugged and took your hand. “You could at least go and see him.”

Sighing you gripped his hand. “Fine.”

You were instantly transported into the hallway of the prison where all of heaven’s prisoners were held. “Come on,” he said as he let go of your hand, walking straight ahead.

Quickly following behind him. “Are you sure about this?” you asked scratching your neck.

“Yes, I believe so,” he said sternly and continued to walk with you hot on his heels.

You soon found your way to a cell that had been inhabited. The person inside sat with their back facing you, you knew instantly it was your once beloved mate. Thinking back to the day you left heaven and him upset you, but you knew it was best for the situation. You weren’t in love with him any longer but you still cared deeply for the poor captive angel. Taking a deep breath you prepared yourself to speak with him.

“Hello, Gadreel,” you said flatly, much like you would have when you first had met him. You were his commander once more. He immediately turned to face Castiel and yourself, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Hello, sister.”

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unu-nunu-art · 6 years

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I'm unaware if this has been asked before but i was thinking back to when we all found out who had the fear of physical contact((still love that lmao)) and i started wondering if pale had the fear of white emptiness, or is he just unable to notice the fear without his emotions?

(Please note that some of this might be based on my personal headcanons. I can not verify that any statement about Error or Ink I make is correct. ALSO LONG POST HERE WE GO!)

I’m gonna start with an observation: Character’s fears are an expansion of their personality and experiences they’ve made.

So in order to answer this, you would need to ask yourself why they even have those fears. And in order to answer that for Template and Pale, you should look at Ink and Error first.

Why is Error afraid of physical contact in the first place? While there is no canon explanation, I think it’s kind of understandable considering his situation. If you sat in a white void for god knows how long slowly going insane, without anyone to keep you company, you would probably be afraid of other people being too close, too. He’s used to this loneliness, not to mention that he’s unstable. Lastly, he’s super bad at dealing with other characters’ emotions. So my headcanon is that his phobia is an expansion of exactly the circumstances he had to live with.

So why is Template afraid of this, too? He’s a lot more sociable and nice, right? Why should he afraid of the same thing? Well, simply because he’s been through the same experiences. He also has been alone for so long that it’s still so weird for him to touch people. However, he is aware of his own fear and he decided to fight it. That is why it is NOT impossible to touch him. You can shake his hand (however his handshake is kinda hesitant OR disproportionately strong), give him a high five or fist bumps all you want (note he’s wearing gloves *wink wink*) and you can even hug him! However, you shouldn’t overwhelm him or he flinches back. Give him some time to mentally prepare, let him come to you and DO NOT SQUEEZE HIM! Let him work in his own pace and it’s gonna be okay to hug him. c:

And now, let’s continue with Ink.

Ink’s fear is not just the ‘white’ emptiness. Ink’s fear is the absence of things in general. While that doesn’t seem to make so much of a difference at first glance, it definitely is worth noting. I’ve seen people making the mistake of thinking that Ink is ONLY afraid of the anti void or similar stuff like that or that he’s afraid of the color white and while the anti void of course is THE WORST place you could ever bring him to, it’s not limited to that. I imagine that Ink would be afraid of standing in a wide field of some sort or stare into space. I also think that Ink could also get afraid of silence, like when in a conversation and the other one would suddenly stop responding to him completely. This kind of awkward silence everyone should be familiar with. (Maybe that’s the reason why he seems kinda chatty.)

Why is Ink afraid of emptiness? Well, there might be several reasons. For one, it reminds him of his own emptiness, i.e. the lack of a soul. It also might be his constant drive to feel needed. He wants to help people to create and be imaginative, so the lack thereof is giving him the chills. Ink found his purpose in life in helping to create and without this, his existence is meaningless. It might be ultimately the fear of death that is connected to exactly that lack of creativity or absence or everything that makes him afraid.

Lastly, let’s talk about Pale. Does he have the fear of emptiness, too? Pale is most of the time in the exact state that Ink is afraid of. The ironic thing is that fear is an emotion, and therefore Pale is not afraid of that state when he’s experiencing it. When Pale is in the rare situation that allows him to actually experience fear, he’s absolutely afraid of going back to his emotionless state, yes. (Then again, he’d be scared of almost everything in that moment.) But since his emotions fade away again, he’s not able to be afraid when it’s actually happening. So this fear is more surreal to him than it is to Ink. What Pale does have is this drive that makes him drain AUs in the first place. Pale knows that he is missing something, and he tries to gain that by gaining emotions. It’s not a fear, but maybe a desire(?) to be able to feel. Ink supports AUs, but Pale destroys them by draining them off their creativity. Pale literally creates emptiness in order to feel, which is the exact opposite of what Ink does, giving him a different ‘purpose’ in life.

So in conclusion: No, Pale is not afraid of emptiness because he’s not able to feel most of the time. He didn’t find the same purpose in life that Ink did since his way of obtaining emotions is entirely different. So there is not much reason for him to be afraid of that. c:

#It was only asked about Pale but I felt like I should cover Template here too #I doubt anyone would read this #I can never make it short *cries*#template info #pale info #ask #fakku-bun

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filmista · 6 years

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Gone Girl (2014)

“When two people love each other and they can't make that work, that's the real tragedy.”

The first time I watched ‘Gone Girl’ was before I had read Gillian Flynn’s novel of the same name. The film gripped me so much the first time, that one of the first things I did after was read, or better said devoured Flynn’s novel in about a day.

Flynn’s novel is not only an interesting look at a female psychopath (people have compared Amy Dunne to Patrick Bateman; though I think Bateman is more perverse) as scary as it sounds at least with Amy Dunne, we see things in her character that don’t justify or excuse what she does but that can make you understand her.

There is, however, a scary similarity between the two: both are seen as “perfect Americans" in a way, women find Patrick Bate hot and men admire him at his job because he’s the man that’s got everything at first sight and nothing seems to ever affect him; it shows that scary notion that being emotionless is the male ideal.

And Amy’s literally a children’s idol, she signs autographs for children and becomes an American heroine, “America’s sweetheart” she’s hailed on the news even after she has committed cold-blooded murder and vicious, sickening acts.

So what does that mean? Is too much perfection craziness? Or does striving for perfection drive us crazy? Or is it the pretense the trying to project a perfect image towards the world?

Both are characters that seemingly are perfect and they seem to at first glance have all the ingredients for happiness, but once you look underneath, well the only thing that really prevails is a killer boredom and an emptiness, both feel like they aren’t present, like they’re not there, or in Amy’s words: “I feel like I could disappear”.

The first time I read Flynn’s novel I was enthralled, Amy Dunne is one of the most interesting and complex female characters I’ve ever seen in anything, but I was also very pleased that Fincher had done Flynn’s work so much justice.

He actually worked with Flynn and allowed her to contribute to making her own book into a screenplay, and as a result of the essence of the book really transfers onto the screen.

However, Fincher’s adaptation of the book is interesting because of many reasons, not just because it is one of the best literary adaptations I’ve seen but also because it’s well made. It’s beautiful on a simple aesthetic level but it’s deep too, it’s the kind of film that’s gonna make you think after and that you can bet will stay with you for a few days after.

And most importantly it’s got respect for the audience there’s no hand-holding, it’s assumed you’re smart enough to follow what’s happening, and so no unnecessary flashbacks to remind you of what happened earlier, you’re supposed to still remember.

This does make ‘Gone Girl’ into a film that you have to pay attention to, it’s not the kind of film you can continue to watch while you’re doing say your dishes.

Before delving into further detail though, I’ll leave the storyline here:

On the occasion of his fifth wedding anniversary, Nick Dunne reports that his wife, Amy, has gone missing. Under pressure from the police and a growing media frenzy, Nick's portrait of a blissful union begins to crumble. Soon his lies, deceits and strange behavior have everyone asking the same dark question: Did Nick Dunne kill his wife?

The most interesting thing about the film though, is the titular Gone Girl, Amy Dunne. Amy Dunne is an incredibly complex and compelling female character, she’s unique, because she gets to do what a lot of women in films often can’t do without being held accountable or locked up in an institution: she gets to go utterly insane and she triumphs in the end, she’s a villainess of the first degree.

She’s impossible to run away from and to outsmart, she’s at the top and there she stays, she’s not superhuman either, because she has weaknesses and she can be vulnerable, as a few moments in the film illustrate, but when she’s not vulnerable, she can't be stopped by no man or woman.

There’s no doubt that Amy Dunne, is a monster, but she’s ultimately more interesting than Patrick Bateman and I said I think less perverse, yes she has a method to her insanity and it’s safe to assume she’s conscious and aware of her action and knows exactly what she is doing.

But unlike Bateman, external events shaped Amy; she was made into a monster by the world around her and those that were supposed to care about her, it doesn’t justify that she killed a man and that she staged her own disappearance.

But it can make you understand it to some degree, and to some degree, you sympathize with her at certain points, because underneath the layer of insanity, there’s still human emotion and vulnerability left, maybe she would never have snapped had she not been pushed.

I’ve now watched ‘Gone Girl’s more than once with different people, and I always notice something very interesting: people usually divide both the main characters Nick Dunne and Amy Dunne in two categories: he’s a good guy (that’s done nothing wrong) and Amy’s a psycho bitch.

When I watched the film though, I obviously did recognise that Amy is not normal and that she clearly has mental problems, but to a certain degree I could understand (not justify) why she did what she did, I can see the reasoning behind her actions, why she decided to do what she did.

Amy Dunne’s a brilliant woman, with an obvious eager mind, as illustrated by the various degrees of hers on the walls of her bedroom, but she became a housewife, not that, that is what drove her insane, because a woman like her would have something to do, had it been studying or whatever.

But she was not used to being ignored, she’s never been used to feeling like she doesn’t matter. Amy was the only child of her parents, she had always been made felt like she was unique and a miracle, something worthy of admiration, something that had to excel and preferably honor them.

Amy’s parents turned her childhood and adult life into a series of books, the heroine of which is Amazing Amy, Amy is essentially a literal Amy, but this Amy never disappoints and is always perfect. And more importantly, she is adored by millions of kids in America.

You wouldn’t think that this would be the kind of thing that would mess someone up, but I think that in the case of Amy it does, I think her parents created a split personality in her; in many ways Amy is trying to adapt the Amy amazing persona, she tries to be Amazing Amy, as she says at one point: “Amazing Amy has always been one step ahead of me”. And she feels that it’s her duty to walk into Amazing Amy’s shoes.

Because what she wants really is nothing more than to be loved, or receive what she thinks to constitute as love, her parents seem to adore her but they come across as very fake and cold people.

How much do they care about their daughter? (perhaps this makes fun of those people in America that force their kids to participate in atrocious television such as ‘Honey Booboo’, I honestly think that should be considered child abuse).

Perhaps they care more for the literate version than they do their own daughter, which would be a messed up thing, but then again what parents turn their own daughter into a product?

At one point Amy’s father at an event for one of her books (in which Amazing Amy gets married while real-life Amy has not yet taken that step, her mom even wants her to wear a wedding dress, just how crazy is that woman?!) forces her to go socialise and mingle, what if Amy doesn’t want to? What if she doesn’t want the spotlight?

That doesn’t matter to her parents; all they seem to care about is Amy the product, and perhaps she strives so much to become Amazing Amy because all she really wants is love from her parents like any child should receive.

And then she meets the perfect man, her dream guy. Finally, a man that seems to admire and care about her seemingly just for the person she is. Though there’s a catch, perhaps Amy’s childhood messed her up so much, that her entire definition of love became messed up.

She literally says “ I forged the man of my dreams.” She saw a guy that she probably sensed was manipulable and could be rebuilt into the kind of man she likes; and isn’t love about not changing the person you love, unless it’s in their self-interest.

Like helping them get rid of an unhealthy habit such as smoking? But Amy sees this man, and she probably is physically attracted to him and she did recognize good personality traits.

But she felt that she could make him into a better man, a man that would make her look good, a man that would fit amazing Amy. And so she presents a persona to lure him in (I believe we all do this a little though sometimes) I feel like I should include the famous Cool girl speech here:

Nick loved a girl I was pretending to be. "Cool girl". Men always use that, don't they? As their defining compliment: "She's a cool girl". Cool girl is hot. Cool girl is game. Cool girl is fun. Cool girl never gets angry at her man. She only smiles in a chagrined, loving manner. And then presents her mouth for fucking. She likes what he likes, so evidently, he's a vinyl hipster who loves fetish Manga. If he likes girls gone wild, she's a mall babe who talks for football and endures buffalo wings at Hooters. When I met Nick Dunne I knew he wanted "Cool girl". And for him, I'll admit: I was willing to try. I wax-stripped my pussy raw. I drank canned beer watching Adam Sandler movies. I ate cold pizza and remained a size two. I blew him, semi-regularly. I lived in the moment. I was fucking game. I can't say I didn't enjoy some of it. Nick teased out in me things I didn't know existed. A lightness, a humor, an ease. But I made him smarter. Sharper. I inspired him to rise to my level. I forged the man of my dreams. We were happy pretending to be other people. We were the happiest couple we knew.

And it works, he’s dazzled and falls for Amy. And while that might seem despicable to some degree, I don’t argue that isn’t. it’s always said that we should be ourselves.

But Amy has got a certain point: society’s not always content with women just being themselves, society wants amplified women, women who her always at their best.

And she knows this better than anyone and refuses to let being a woman bring her down, or believe that it gives her any less right to anything. I mean how can you as a woman (I admit that I did to some degree) or even as a man if you believe men and women are equal, not cheer her on for that belief?

She knows, better than anyone that society’s unfair and it pisses her off, she’s very very angry, and it seems to become her mission to not only get her personal revenge but in a way for every woman:

“And if I get everything right, the world will hate Nick for killing his beautiful, pregnant wife. And after all the outrage, when I'm ready, I'll go out on the water with a handful of pills and a pocket full of stones. And when they find my body, they'll know: Nick Dunne dumped his beloved like garbage, and she floated past all the other abused, unwanted, inconvenient women.”

She knows how to use every advantage that being a woman could offer you: she can go from being a man ’s literal fantasy of what constitutes his perfect woman to his worst nightmare in the flinch of an eye.

She uses her sexuality to her advantage and when she benefits from adopting the tired and cliched female victim role to appear sympathetic and inspire pity she does that without blinking an eye.

Still, it begs the question, why did she stage her own disappearance and wanted to frame her husband for murder? Just to get back at him? It took her a lot of creativity, a crazy kind of creativity but still, she made her diary into a testament of an abusive relationship and she even provided the weapon she was supposedly assaulted with, I mean you need a lot of dedication…

As I said earlier Amy craves attention and love, and in her own fucked up way she thinks she’s now found that with Nick, and that she’s now finally on par with Amazing Amy, she has the perfect husband, the perfect life, she’s become the Amazing Amy fantasy.

The first few years of her marriage are wonderful, although it’s difficult to establish if Amy ever was in love (or if she was telling herself she was) but as I said she’s someone that craves loves and attention, or at least a simulation of love, and she absolutely can’t have it when her husband starts to ignore her and only pay attention to her when he sees fit.

Amy is someone you don’t put into a corner and that you simply don’t ignore. Now you could say there is such a thing as talking to someone and explaining how you feel, but all the times we see Amy trying to do that in the film, we see Nick brush her off, and you can feel her anger building, you understand why she is pissed off.

Not that it justifies taking revenge, but in a way you can understand Amy. Nick often is seen as the “good guy, who did nothing wrong” and well he’s not a murderer and he didn’t beat Amy, but the profiteers off of her.

She bought him the bar he works in, and all the expenses are on her own, if something has to be done he leaves it to the wife. He’s maybe not even attracted to her anymore at this point, Amy’s a security that he takes for granted, he also makes decisions without her: moving somewhere entirely new, without okaying it with her, you don’t do that… and if that’s not enough he has an affair too.

And that drives Amy mad; she forged the man of her dreams, but he slips back into a man she didn’t agree to be within her own words, but what bothers her most of all is maybe not what she sees as weak personality traits, it’s the being ignored, the being taken for granted, and being used as a commodity. She senses that it’s not ok, and it really isn’t, she feels that he sucks everything out of her, she’s not a person of her own anymore, there’s no dignity left.

And yet Amy has dignity because she sees this and doesn’t think it’s okay, she compares it to being murdered; and in a way that it is a fitting description, Nick killed her spirit, she feels wronged, scorn.

Only she has a more extreme reaction to it; she’s not going to let him just ignore her, she’s going to remind him who he’s dealing with, put him back in what he believes his place, but she even goes further than just a sharp reprimand, she’s going to make him fear her, make sure he’s forced to pay attention to her and forced to play happy family.

And while what she did after, essentially make it look like she was kidnapped, frame and murder a dude is definitely not okay, it’s messed up, it’s evil, Amy’s evil. But you can’t help but feel a little sorry for her.

She’s definitely mad, but how much of her madness is her fault? How much did what was demanded of her mess her up? Amy’s ruthless; but she comes across as vulnerable at times, almost as if she believes that doing what she’s doing will really make everything alright again, that she can get the man she loved back, it’s her own completely fucked up version of a romantic gesture.

And Amy and Nick are a very fucked up couple, now at first in the film, they come across as the perfect couple, but then you see the flaws and cracks in the design and there’s many.

And still when Amy disappears the way he screams “Amy!” implies the notion to some degree that they may be right for each other, that he cares about his wife somewhere, but he got lazy and didn’t show it often enough.

Which is again a reminder that romance is not always easy to work, you can’t be in a relationship and then think it’s gonna upkeep itself, and not nearly everyone has the strength of character for it. Which in a way maybe makes it a cautionary tale for the modern romance: don’t ignore your partner, because they may just go Amy Dunne on you.

All of what I’ve written doesn’t mean that I agree with Amy’s actions I don’t, not at all. But I think she’s far more complex than just psycho bitch.

she’s actually a very tragically complex character, she’s someone that was never shown how to be happy, never told that she has the right to be happy, and so she does everything to fabricate it in her own desperate way.

Say what you will about Amy as a female character; that she’s crazy, that she’s the devil in female form; dressing up as suburban housewife, but she is absolutely not boring, she’s a scary woman, and scary women exist, it’s just that we don’t often see them in television.

‘Gone Girl’s had to deal with plenty of misogyny claims, that it’s just another women are crazy film, but Fincher does care about Amy as a character, we do see moments that create empathy and sympathy towards her, you see and understand her pain.

She’s not just a spoiled, rich girl that goes on a feminist crusade, she’s not a good woman, not a role model and that’s fine because not all women are good. ‘Gone Girl’ deals with a lot of topics though.

It’s amongst many things a satire on the media, on media circuses and the mob mentality of it sometimes. People feel like they have the right to shred someone to pieces, without proof at times, hell as long as it makes them feel good and provides entertainment.

How it demonizes and destroys people sometimes without proof, there’s no proof that Nick killed his wife yet the whole of America hates him and they’re already tearing him apart. Or the way that Amy who killed someone and framed and ruthlessly plotted the demise of multiple people is heralded as “American heroine” because no one knows, she’s just made everyone fall into his web.

And how one moment the media tears you apart and the next moment it adores. It reminds me of what Ingrid Bergman once said:

"I've gone from saint to whore and back to saint again, all in one lifetime."

Nick in the film, is at first hated, because it’s instantly supposed that he is a wife killer, just because of the way he uncomfortably smiles (my wife says he’s a killer).

How many times have people said, when they see a photo of a killer I knew it, he/she looks evil! At another point in the film, Nick basically admits publicly to being a shit husband and everyone loves him because admitted he’s an asshole, it shows that people can make or break someone’s reputation on a whim, without it necessarily being true.

These ideas are all present in the book too, but Fincher really adapted them well to the screen. ‘Gone Girl’ is truly a very cinematic film, seemingly very simple and low on special effects, but he really does do some interesting, visually impressive stuff.

The sequences that depict instances Amy describes in her diary, the films in a brilliant att way, these also have impressive use of voiceover, Rosamund Pike narrates in a way that’s chockfull of emotion, and that’s why it works so well.

Fincher’s shows us what she’s describing, and in a way, these scenes have a different feel than the rest of the film, they seem entirely rooted in reality, but at the same time there’s a sort of nightmarish haze them, something’s inherently disturbing in these scenes.

There are moments in her diary when Amy describes violence, her husband pushing her when Fincher shows it to us, it becomes a truly shocking moment, not that a woman being pushed on the ground isn’t shocking.

But here it truly feels realistically violent, he makes the violence of the scene stand out more by using a slow black fade, he makes sure that you’ve really seen it and that it’s burned on your retina for a while.

And the moments that depict the whole media circus are incredibly well done too, there’ s a scene in which an entire horde of journalists, is literally running behind Affleck’s character until he gets to his car, it’s a scene that still kind of stresses me out every time I see it, you really feel how stressful that is for someone.

Fincher does a fantastic job at placing the way a character feels into his film visually, when Amy first meets Nick, they kiss in outside a bakery that’s having its sugar delivered, and there’s a storm of it, and this scene really has something magical about it.

You buy the love story and the passion, shortly after this scene; Fincher cuts to Nick going down on Amy, apparently also controversial, people are still shocked about seeing a woman receive oral sex in a film, a little change is nice us for us ladies too sometimes, the opposite has been shown millions of time.

But Fincher does a fantastic job with this scene, not only is it’s lightning amazing, it’s dark, yet urban light streams into the room creating a very lovely effect. But he really shows the pleasure in the act of both characters, Amy lifts herself up and gaspingly says: Nick Dunne, I really like you. And you absolutely buy it.

The fairytale days are pictured fantastically, they’re not sickeningly sweet, it’s just two people very in love, we all recognize it, we’ve all been there. And then slowly the deteriorating sets in, passionately becomes emotionless, empty.

In a contrasting, brilliant sequence he shows us Amy’s heart is broken, she sees her husband outside of the bakery where they met, doing the exact same thing that he did with her on their first date, to this other woman. And you really get the sense that it’s not so much about the act of cheating, it’s that he’s sharing something personal, that was between the two of them with someone else, we feel Amy’s heartbreaking in that sequence.

Fincher’s famous yellow light is present in this one too (it bothers me with his work sometimes, after a while it seems to all have the same feel visually) but the whole of Gone Girl is incredibly vibrant when it comes to the colours and lighting, it’s seemingly simple, but when it uses dramatic effects, it’s done brilliantly and paired greatly with affecting music, that further strengthens the emotion of a scene.

However, I feel like I should say that the real star of the film is undoubtedly Rosamund Pike as Amy, the girl, woman that it’s all about. Her presence is not always that obvious in the film; throughout the first half of the film, she’s present for only a bit, and then it’s basically just Affleck and flashbacks of Amy, but even then it’s her film, her presence predominates every scene in the film.

It’s got to be said that Affleck also does a good job, Nick Dunne’s not an easy character to play, and while he’s a character that’s not instantly likeable you do after a while become to sympathise with him, he plays Nick perfectly; he’s difficult to read, he seems to miss his wife, but there also seems to be some indifference present.

He’s weary, tired, and seems lethargic throughout the film, exactly like you think a person that’s being persecuted and whose wife has disappeared would act. I definitely think it’s some Affleck’s best work. But Pike steals some of his spotlights.

Now Pike’s talent has been recognized, before this, she was always good in all the roles that I’ve seen her in, but she never had that much to sink her teeth into. Amy’s the character that has really allowed her to display her talent, not only did she put lots of work into the role: she read all the books Flynn recommended she read, and she also put work into adopting a handwriting that would fit Amy’s character.

Pike can transform here both physically and emotionally, and she does much more than the classic gaining or losing weight although she does that, and it’s not simply letting herself go either, there’s a pre disappearance and after disappearance Amy.

Amy’s an elegant stylish woman, yet in her anger and as part of her plan, she just completely lets herself go, she eats junk food, barely takes care of her physical appearance and just has a general air of sadness.

And in one scene she’s sweet when she tells Nick about her parent’s money troubles and what it will mean for them, or when she tells Nick she wants a child, these are all touching moments.

And then she snaps, and just brutally kills a man, she’s methodical, efficient, merciless, like a Greek goddess, she can be perfectly sexy one moment, and then she can literally annihilate anyone that stands in her way or that makes her feels threatened.

It’s a truly shocking image, and Pike is perfectly unpredictable throughout, the best thing about her performance is that not only does she manipulate and set other characters to her will, and in a way scarily enough, she manipulates us too.

‘Gone Girl’s scariest message, is that everything is about perception, we see things, they seem a certain way and then we come to our own conclusions, sometimes we may be right and other times we may be right, at other times if we jump to conclusions too quickly, we might create terrible consequences.

And then the scariest of all, even when we’re with someone and we love them, and though we feel like we know them inside out, they’re still a completely different person, they’re own person, with their own world inside of them and ‘Gone Girl’s seems to insistently whisper that it’s all advised to forget and disrespect that.

“When I think of my wife, I always think of the back of her head. I picture cracking her lovely skull, unspooling her brain, trying to get answers. The primal questions of a marriage: What are you thinking? How are you feeling? What have we done to each other? What will we do?”

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mcrmadness · 7 years

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Hmm. It’s been a while since I’ve written here all this personal shit. I don’t know if anyone cares but here we go, I need to vent and don’t know where else to write.

I feel like my head is full of thoughts that I can’t get out. It’s like the space in my head is so crowded I NEED to get most of them out but I don’t know how because I’ve already written about them to places and talked with my brother etc. but nothing feels to be enough. The thoughts just keep coming back and keep multiplying. Now I don’t mean anxiety or intrusive thoughts (even tho they’re there too occassionally) but just the normal way my brains function like from time to time. It feels bit lonely even, because I feel like I just can’t find the right person/people who could actually sit down and listen to me. Well, figuratively tho as I usually just write about these...

I do go to therapy about once in a three weeks but it ain’t enough either. It’s just one hour and I have hours and hours of stuff in my mind. It always feel like I was on a rush because I have so much stuff to say but the time limit is stressing me out. OR at that particular moment I just don’t seem to find my thoughts and I’m not sure what to talk about. Now, for a few times, I’ve written about what I feel to at least one place but I feel bit lonely and invisible because no one is writing me back. I kinda feel the need to have a conversation with someone but no one can understand me. And I still don’t know WHOSE company I need because at the same time I feel very exhausted from every conversation ever and the thought of starting a conversation with someone feels like... well, let’s just say that I feel like I’m missing that one best friend in my life and I don’t think that person exists at all; and I’m always very excited to get to know new people but am still kinda disappointed every time because no one still is what I’m looking for. Because that person doesn’t exist. And I have lots of people over the internet who I talk to but I feel overwhelmed every time I think about that. It’s like I know too many people yet I’m lacking the closest friend/s. Writing to people is like something I have to do, it has become a task even tho I do enjoy it when I get to started. My energy levels just are drained so fast if there’s other stuff happening in my life and atm I’m still studying and working (basically at the same time) so all that time that I do not study or work, I need for myself to recover and to increase my energy levels back to normal. I’m also horribly sleep deprived every day that I don’t have off because it just feels like 24 hours is not enough, if I was working 9h and to get enough sleep, I should sleep for at least 7 hours which means I’d get 8 hours of sleep and that’s way too little. I feel like I need 12 hours off after a work day. Every time I have the next day(s) off, I usually fuck up my sleeping schedule because when I know I don’t have to wake up early, I might stay up until it’s 3am or so which means I have been up for... 20 hours. And that’s totally normal for me, I might feel tired and I always start to fall asleep around 6pm and then around 11pm but after that it’s too easy to just keep going. For some reason I just can’t get myself to bed even tho I’d be very sleepy but my brains just are still way too active to ACTUALLY sleep. They can take naps like, while I’m sitting in my computer chair, yet if I start to brush my teeth too early, my brains just wake up even more and it’s like a alarm clock and not a tooth brush. And my alarm clock always makes me tired. I can never wake up to alarm clock and feel rested.

Yup. I don’t really know why I started talking about that? Anyway...

Atm I have three bigger thoughts in my head:

1. Am I lonely? I haven’t had real IRL friends since I was 15. And I’m 26 now. I still don’t know too many people. Actually just once who is not my family nor relative. But I just suck at seeing people. I never know what to do and even tho I guess I’m “secretly lonely” I just don’t see it myself because I never feel the need for socializing that much that I’d actually contact anyone. I lost most of my old friends because I just never feel like contacting them and then they just... fade away. And I’ve no sense of time. I mean, hours and days and weeks and months and years just go by and I’m not really there. I’ve been like that as long as I can remember. It was always they and not me asking if they wanted to see. I realized this when I turned 16 and actually tried to do something about it but apparently I’ve forgotten about it again. I rarely write first and I don’t want to promise anything because I never know what my mood or schedule will be for that certain day. Also I don’t really think myself as that interesting person and why to bother anyone when all I can talk about is this shit here^ which no one can understand or say anything about. It’d be just a monology anyway.

2. I’ve been watching videos of this one youtube channel and got so obsessed with it it’s one reason I have these thoughts. It just caused something inside me to wake up. Shortly, the channel is by two younger guys who make videos togehter and they’re having a blast and they laugh a lot.

I think the main reason for me to feel like this is that I’m seeing exactly what I’m missing from my life. I might talk deep stuff here and there but because I don’t have too many irl friends, I actually forget what I’m like irl and I just see the person I’m in the internet. If you met me face to face I guess you wouldn’t recognize me because I would talk this deep stuff in person. I don’t like it because I feel like I’m just being annoying and I hate it how I can’t read it from people’s faces if I’m being annoying or not. I hate it when people say “it’s okay :)” when on the inside they scream for me to shut the fuck up because they couldn’t actually give a fuck. So I usually don’t talk like that but now I’ve learned bit of small talk and as I used to be the one not talking too much, now I’ve became that pain in the ass who can’t shut up. I don’t even know what I’m talking about but I just talk and it really is getting on my nerves because I still feel like on the inside they’re still screaming for me to shut the fuck up.

Apart from that, I’ve always loved to hear laughing and also love laughing myself. I just don’t laugh aloud, it was probably my worse social phobia days when I actually teached myself to laugh silently. Now I use voice too but not so often. I love humour and my own sense of humour is weird as fuck but who cares. Also I like to make people laugh but I’m bit “shy” about it because I still don’t want all that attention even tho it would be positive. Yet it would be attention. So I don’t always say aloud what I think even tho I feel like people might laugh at it. That’s why I also also use lots of “deadpan” humour because I FEEL LIKE it’s so embarrassing to be the only one to laugh at your own joke because once I start, it’s hard to stop and I rather say it with a poker face and if people get it and laugh, then I laugh too. If they don’t, then it’s just a “nevermind” situation.

But watching those videos and how they laugh and I realized that I just need a good laugh so bad. And not like... once in a while but the ideal would be if I could laugh more or less every day. And physically laugh and not just internally and with other people. Actually just realized that I have two other people I know from work but they live in other towns, yet we had two or three previous summers together at work and those summers have always been the best times of my life because we always have so much fun and laugh a lot. Or, I laugh at them and sometimes it’s annoying me because the same old jokes every day and I laugh like it was a new one. But well, laughing is actually the only “emotion” I can show. Otherwise I never show my emotions so I often laugh even if it’d not be the best idea to laugh...

Actually the way how emotionless I am irl, or at least how emotionless I feel like, it’s another thing... because when I’m with my siblings I feel like I have lots of expressions and everything and, well, I’m very comfortable and confident about myself. But when there’s just someone else that’s not my family and that all is gone. And I’d really love to be like that with everyone, be confident and not think too sensitively about myself but I’m not sure if I can’t learn away from that because it’s also one feature of the Highly Sensitive Persons and I’m one of those... but often watching videos like those and I feel like it’d be so fun to show the world how/if I’m funny and especially if I have fun with someone else.

Once more about laughing itself: I live on my own and I rarely laugh aloud when alone. Some times I might laugh aloud at videos or something but rarely. Hearing my voice or any “new” sound done by me freaks me out when I’m alone. It has something to do with my mental health and depersonalization. I don’t like talking to myself or anything if I’m the only one hearing, it just makes me feel too surreal. (Also I think it might be some sort of misophonia because I also freak out if I make a sound via some object and can’t see it while it makes the sound. E.g. I have a loft bed and if I drop something from there and it falls under the bed where I can’t see, it causes me anxiety for a few seconds. As well as I hear sounds from other rooms. AND also loud noises make me panicky, just for those few seconds during which I can’t yet recognize where it’s coming from.)

The last thing with this one is about videos and kinda “showing off” because somewhere deep I feel like it’d be fun to kinda be the centre of attention, but as an HSP with social phobia, it’s pretty much impossible. But this is also when we get to the next huge thought: 3. My looks and depersonalisation. I don’t feel like writing about this that much any more. This is already TL;DR type of text so I try to keep this short. Let’s just say that my ideal self-image is someone who is able to change their looks and every feature at will, from gender to everything depending on whatever they’re feeling at that moment. I’m a all or nothing person so I kinda live in my fantasy world and try not to think about this too much. But you know how people with body dysmorphia might e.g. feel and see themselves very big sized when irl they would be just normal? For me it’s kinda the opposite, I feel skinnier that I really am. I’m not big sized really but all my looks... I just feel very different. And I feel that all the time and every time I’m in public or somewhere where’s other people too and if I see a mirror, it’s like someone kicked me in the head and dropped me back on earth. When passing the mirror, everything is okay again and that mirror picture person no longer exists. I don’t even see my arms or legs the way they apparently look like, when looking in the mirror. ANd I constantly tell myself that the mirror image is just fake, I can’t trust it because it’s an object and even a small curve on it’s surface makes the picture look wider or narrower. And same with cameras, they just keep lying all the time. Video would probably be more honest than just photos but... well, I can’t stand seeing the face or hearing the voice ‘cause all I can see is sack of weird features and I know exactly what’s wrong with the picture but I also know that if those were changed, it still wouldn’t be good. I just can’t stand the idea of people THINKING they’re seeing me while they talk to me when they’re actually just seeing a body and face that they THINK is me when it really is not and there’s nothing I can do about that. Except to avoid mirrors and cameras and my voice. This is bit like trans people have with their gender dysphoria but mine is not gender, so I’m no really sure if I should call this dysphoria or body dysmorphia... Anyway, this is also something I can’t really talk to my therapist about because the depersonalization attack is just so unbearable if I open my mound with this subject. First I hear the voice, then I don’t recognize it, then all I can do is focus on that weird sounding voice that’s apparently talking my thoughts through a mouth that belongs a face and body I don’t recognize as mine. And I start feeling like I’m watching myself from the third person and it’s not fun because not only is it weird but it’s also a huge set of “self-loathe” in so small amount of time. Just if you can use that word when talking about voice of features that in that very moment feel to be belonging someone who I’d never wish to be looking like.

Depersonalization attacks sometimes happen to me while I’m talking normally, in the middle of the sentence and it just feels so annoying because that’s the only thing I can focus on from so on and my head to scream that I should stop talking because how fricking weird it feels and sounds, but it’d be even weirder if I just stopped talking in mid-sentence so I usually keep talking but I feel like I probably look bit lost and something that could probably be desrcibed and dissociating.

So yeh. All these three combined and it’s the mess I have in my head atm. But hey, I already feel much better and fresher. Maybe these will stay more in the background know? At least for a while...

#personal shit #me #mental health #self #just had to vent

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