#But still like there is guilt there because you CAN know more than I do nowadays

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I WISH I WAS YOUR GIRL

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you don't know why dazai has suddenly become so standoffish with you the last week—there's something that everyone isn't telling you, but you can't even bring yourself to make that your biggest concern. you're just so at your limits with the back and forth with him that you can't concentrate on anything else. mishima is hosting a ball is this evening and you think that this is it: if things are going to happen between the two of you, it'll be tonight or it'll be never. you can't wait forever on someone who's just going to string you along the rest of his life. you won't.

(wordcount: 6.3k; fem!reader, sfw but a bit of tension, angsty)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hihihihiiiiiii guys ^.^ happy friday. we've gotta angsty fic for tonight. i fear this one does not end happily but TRUST the universe does <33 but angst is necessary to move the plot forward. the price you pay for a happy ending is an angsty path there. specially dedicated to my beloved sophie who hates angst <33 happy birthday luvr

You are severely unhappy.

You finished getting dressed almost an hour ago, but you still haven’t left your room. You’re sitting at your vanity staring at yourself—you’ve changed your jewelry three times already, and you’re about to change it a fourth. It’s not that you’re not satisfied with how you look, it’s more that you’re just frustrated and fidgety.

More than that, you’re upset. Dazai hasn’t spoken to you in a week, and you don’t even know why. It has something to do with the incident that happened a week ago with the child called Kyusaku, but you’re not sure what because you don’t know what was real and what was concocted by the child’s ability after you were affected by it. 

As much as Dazai likes to pretend to be aloof and unbothered, he’s easily worked up by small things, and he’s been upset with you before, but never like this. He’ll usually sulk where he knows you’ll see him and wait for you to ask him what’s wrong so he can use the opportunity to guilt you into watching a shitty movie or going out to buy him snacks. 

But this? Radio silence. He came up to your apartment once when you weren’t here to do his laundry and was gone before you got back. You don’t even know where he’s been staying, because you went looking for him at the shipping container and he wasn’t there. You don’t know what happened. You guys were good, more than good—you really thought that maybe the two of you were making progress past this awkward more than friends, not lovers stage, but now it’s back to square one. Worse than square one, because at least at square one, he was still talking to you.

A low whistle comes from the entrance to your room and you raise your eyebrows as you look up in the mirror, catching sight of Chuuya leaning against the doorframe, head tilted to the side as he observes you. He’s already dressed up—out of his normal outfit and in a sleek black suit instead, he looks different without his hat, but you don’t even have it in you to make a teasing comment about it. You can’t help the disappointment that clogs your throat at the sight of him: you’d still been holding out hope that Dazai would show up. 

“I forgot how nice you cleaned up,” Chuuya murmurs. “It’s been a minute since we attended an event together.”

You turn in your seat to face him, eyes roving over his form once before you say, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your hat. I almost thought you might be balding beneath it.”

Chuuya instantly rolls his eyes as he pushes himself off the door frame to make his way over to you. You give him a simpering smile as you look up at him, but you can tell it doesn’t reach your eyes from the way he frowns at you. He reaches out to straighten the necklace you’re wearing and then holds a gloved hand out to help you up, ever the gentlemen.

Even though it’s unnecessary, you still take it and sigh as you rise to your feet, smoothing out your dress once you’re upright. You look up at him and ask, “I take it you’re the one escorting me tonight.”

“Don’t sound too pleased,” Chuuya replies dryly, holding out his arm for you. You sigh as you hold his bicep loosely, making your way to the elevator. “He still hasn’t talked to you?”

“Not once,” you answer bitterly. “I thought for sure he would get over whatever his problem is to be my escort tonight, but I guess not. I don’t even know what happened, Chuuya. I feel like people just aren’t telling me something.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, your gaze is cutting to the side to observe Chuuya’s reaction. He grimaces instantly and averts his gaze, and you take in a deep breath, realizing you hit it right on the nail. What the hell are they hiding from you? You know now isn’t the time to get into it, but you make a note in the back of your head to do some snooping as to what really happened during the incident last week. 

“Interesting,” you say, just to let Chuuya know that he needs to work on his poker face. He catches the implication and sends you a scowl, but you only raise your eyebrows at him with a small smile, waiting for the elevator to come up to your apartment. “He’s not coming tonight at all then?”

“No, he’s coming,” Chuuya corrects absently and the smile on your face freezes.

“Is that so?” you ask tightly. “Who is he attending with then?”

Chuuya gives you a long, knowing look as the elevator gets to your floor, holding it open and waiting for you to step in before joining you. You’re tense as you wait for his answer, and you know he’s getting back for the balding comment with how long he’s taking to give you it.

“No one,” he finally says, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Chuuya barks out a laugh. “Jesus, you’re so embarrassing—get yourself together. Who the fuck would actually be his date? No one wants to get within ten feet of him.”

You give Chuuya a withering look and then reply primly, “I would.”

“The entire Mafia knows that,” Chuuya says dryly, making your face hot. “You make me sick.”

“Likewise,” you scoff and pointedly look away from him. After a few seconds pass, you ask, “Are you sure he’s not bringing anyone?” 

Chuuya groans. “What would it even change if he does?” he asks, which does not settle your nerves at all. “You’re just going to work yourself up thinking about it.”

“It changes whether or not I’m going to have Akutagawa Ryuunosuke on standby to eliminate a potential threat to Dazai’s life,” you say with a sweet smile. “Assassins come in many forms, but most frequently in dates at big events. We shouldn’t take that risk with our most valuable executive, naturally.”

Chuuya’s jaw drops as he fully turns to look at you. “Sometimes, I wonder why you like that fucked up bastard so much, and it’s only very rarely that I’m reminded that you’re just as evil as he is.”

“I’m kidding,” you complain, waving him off. Although, now that the thought is in your head, it’s becoming increasingly more appealing. “I think.”

The elevator doors slide back open and Chuuya holds his arm out for you again. You take it, lifting your hand to wave at Hinata, an older man who's been working with the Port Mafia since longer than you’ve been alive. He ran with Hirotsu in the Black Lizards before he was hurt on a mission and put on desk duty—you stole him from Mori when you came back from Kyoto. On paper, he’s just your doorman, but he’s helped you a lot with mission planning the past year and a half; you honestly contribute half of your success to his experience.

“Good luck tonight, hime, Nakahara-san,” Hinata says as the two of you make your way out of the building.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and toss your head to the side to look back at him with a smile. “Hinata-san, you should come and be my date instead of this bum.”

“Why am I always catching strays from you?” Chuuya scowls, but you ignore him as you flutter your eyelashes at Hinata, who only laughs at you.

“I’m far too old for that to work on me, hime,” Hinata replies. “I’ll have the scout reports from Sapporo ready by the time you get back tonight.”

“My hero,” you sing. “Thank you.”

You wave at him one last time before leaving the building with Chuuya. As soon as you’re out of sight, your smile drops and Chuuya gives you a concerned look, stopping before the two of you can get in the car so he can turn to look at you head on.

“Do you think he’ll show up with someone to spite me?” you ask quietly. 

You know Dazai—he doesn’t like feeling wounded, so when he does, he lashes out tenfold. He gets cruel and vicious, and because he’s Dazai, he knows exactly what to do to make people hurt more than he does. You don’t know what you did to upset him, but it has you on edge now because it will hurt if he shows up with someone else, knowing that you were waiting for him back at your apartment.

Chuuya says your name quietly, and because it’s not an immediate ‘no’, you know that he knows that Dazai might very well stoop that low to hurt you. You swallow thickly and look away—it’s fine. You’ll act unbothered, you have an appearance to keep up and that’s more important than anything. And anyway, it’ll hurt him even more when he doesn’t get the reaction he wants from you.

“Hey, look,” Chuuya says, forcing your attention back on him. “Dazai’s being a fucking dick, alright? But what else is new? You look beautiful—make him regret that you’re not coming in on his arm, yeah?” 

You smile softly and look away before saying, “It’s unnerving when you’re sweet.”

You don’t have to look at Chuuya to know he’s rolling his eyes at you. You hear him open the car door for you and sigh as you look back over to him.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go.”

———

As always, your entrance is something to marvel over. It never fails to be the highlight of the night, and it’s only more of a spectacle when you enter on the arm of Nakahara Chuuya. 

Lingering looks in your direction, wary stares in his—you’re grateful that he came to escort you, because if you’d come alone, you would’ve swarmed with suitors as soon as you got down the steps. Chuuya is not quite as much of a deterrent as Dazai would’ve been, if only because Chuuya won’t actually kill someone in the middle of Mishima’s ball and nobody can ever be sure of what Dazai is capable of, but his presence and reputation will keep unwanted annoyances away for most of the night at least. 

By the end of the night, they’ll get more desperate for a conversation, and only Dazai and Mori himself are capable of keeping them away from you at that point, unless Chuuya steps up his game, of course, but he has as much of an appearance to keep up as you do. You’re not looking forward to it—your eyes keep darting up to the ticking clock, knowing each passing second draws closer to suffering. 

You didn’t even want to come tonight. You weren’t going to come, you’d gone to quite the lengths trying to fake being sick, and you thought you succeeded until Mori messaged you this morning telling you that you could either come to the event or go deal with Shikibu Murasaki’s little stunt in Sapporo that has your biggest weapon supplier backing out on your next shipment. Since he knew very well you didn’t want to deal with that, the only option was to come to the ball—someone must’ve ratted you out to him, but you don’t know who. You almost think it must’ve been Chuuya, because Dazai hasn’t spoken to you in over a week.

You still haven’t seen him, which you suppose is a good thing because if he was going to shove in your face that he came here with someone else, then he would’ve done it by now. You aren’t even sure if he’s here; you’ve tried to keep an eye out for him, positioning yourself in a way that your gaze can always stray to the edges of the room in hopes of catching sight of him, but you haven’t seen him at all in the three hours that you’ve been here.

You’re standing with Chuuya and two of Mishima’s daughters now. Noriko keeps trying to shift closer to you, lashes fluttering and lips curled up into a soft smile. Usually, you would entertain the girl—she’s pretty, and at the very least, makes for entertaining conversation, which is more than you can say for the rest of the Sun and Steel upper echelon, but you’re so occupied with Dazai that she can hardly hold your attention for more than a few seconds.

“I haven’t seen him at all tonight,” you say quietly when Mishima himself comes over to your small group, a stern expression on his face as he beckons his daughters over before giving both you and Chuuya an apologetic look. “Have you?” 

“No,” Chuuya says, taking a sip of his champagne as he leans against the wall. “I know he said he was coming though.”

Your expression twists in annoyance as you take in a deep breath. Your glass is empty, and usually, there are people circling to keep them full—your old mentor always used to warn you not to fall for the trap. The hosts of events always like to liquor up the attendees; drunker you are, the looser your lips, and you’re usually quite careful to keep it to one drink and never finish your second.

Tonight, you are on your fifth. Dangerous work, because you’re still going to have to entertain people when they inevitably start coming up to you—which is any minute now, you can feel the lingering stares and you can see how people are creeping closer. But you’re just so bothered by everything with Dazai that every time you finish a glass, you’re seeking out the next to try to numb your nerves.

“You know something,” you accuse quietly, giving Chuuya a cold side-eye. He stiffens, but neither confirms nor denies, which is a confirmation in itself. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I can’t,” Chuuya says tightly, and you raise your eyebrows because you expected him to say ‘it’s not for me to say’ like he usually does when he feels like you should hear something from someone else. He can’t, does that mean… “I just…”

“You can’t because you’ve been ordered not to,” you realize, face shifting in confusion. “Mori ordered you not to. What happened during the incident last week, Chuuya?” 

The expression that crosses Chuuya’s face is haunted, and it makes your mouth dry, because what the hell happened and why is no one telling you the truth? You don’t even get the chance to badger him about it, because Noriko and Michiko are coming back over, both of them looking incredibly displeased by whatever their father said.

“He’s so annoying,” Noriko complains, immediately clinging to your arm and resting her head against your bicep dramatically. “You two are so lucky that you don’t have parents to helicopter you like he does.”

You and Chuuya immediately exchange a look at her words, and even Michiko cringes a little, but you otherwise don’t react beyond just trying to not roll your eyes. These girls are so out of touch with reality that it’s almost concerning, but they, more than anyone else at this event, have loose lips that you like to take advantage of.

“No,” you sigh lightly, “I only have Mori. Somehow, I feel that’s worse.”

Noriko giggles like you’ve said the funniest thing in the world, and you miss Dazai desperately. At least him being here would have Mishima’s daughters acting a little more subdued, would maybe even chase them off. You don’t like how they act around him because you know it used to bother him, but you’re not gonna complain when you could be benefiting from it if he wasn’t being an ass.

She starts to say something else, but before she can, Chuuya’s eyes shoot open as he looks at something behind you. You instantly straighten, turning your head to follow his gaze and your breath catches when it lands on just who you thought would draw that reaction from Chuuya.

Dazai.

He’s finally made his appearance, and you can’t draw your eyes away from him. He never gets dressed up for these events like you and Chuuya do, so he’s still wearing that same black three-piece suit he wears every day, just without the dark trench coat he usually wears over it. He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest and a cold expression on his face as he stares in your direction. He doesn’t meet your gaze, but he does stare at where Noriko is clinging to your arm, lip twitching in irritation; Noriko seems to notice too from the way she lets go of your arm and tries to casually shift away from you, an annoyed look on her face as she does.

You hear her let out a noise of disgust, side-eyeing in Dazai’s direction, and you raise your eyebrows at her pointedly. You know that it was directed toward Dazai’s sudden appearance, but you’re not about to sit here and let that slide, so you turn a cool look onto her in response. Noriko instantly looks down to the ground, an ashamed look crossing her face—not for the disparaging attitude toward Dazai, but for being obvious enough for you to notice it.

You feel a bit more tense now as you force your attention off of Dazai back to Chuuya, who exchanges a short look with you before pointedly glancing over to where one of Mishima’s newer executives, Ibuse Masuji is whispering with one of his colleagues, looking in your direction a bit too frequently for comfort. He’s going to come over and ask you for a dance soon, probably around the same time Michiko starts tugging Chuuya in the direction of the hardwood floor at the center of the room—Noriko won’t ask you now that Dazai is here.

Wonderful, you think to yourself bitterly. You don’t really want to deal with Ibuse tonight, but you suppose you’ll probably get better information from him than Noriko. Noriko likes to ramble about more general gossip—who’s sleeping with who, who’s mad at who, and all of that is useful to an extent when you need to figure out what’s going on with Sun and Steel internal politics, but Ibuse has loose lips about more meaningful matters, and you’ve heard some nerve-wracking rumors about the Red Chamber recently.

The things you do for the Port Mafia. 

You straighten your necklace, gaze lifting to Chuuya again as you withhold a sigh. You can see Ibuse starting to make his way across the event hall in your direction, and Chuuya gives you a pitying smile that instantly freezes as his eyes pin to something behind you again. You also freeze, because you know it could only mean one thing.

Dazai is coming over.

You raise your eyebrows at him pointedly, wanting to know whether or not Dazai’s approach is a good or bad one—if he’s coming over to finally address you, or if he’s coming over so he can more blatantly ignore you. Each one is equally possible, and the way Chuuya grimaces and shrugs only makes your anxiety spike more.

But you get your answer as soon as he arrives.

You inhale sharply when you feel Dazai’s fingers brush over your hip as he comes to stand directly behind you. You can feel his chest brushing your back, his presence warm and looming directly behind you. With his sudden arrival, the conversation happening between Noriko and Michiko comes to an abrupt halt, and you can see Ibuse freeze mid-step from where he was drawing closer to you. The two girls avert their gaze to the ground, not acknowledging Dazai, and it irritates you, they’ve never hidden how unnerved Dazai makes them, and though you don’t think it bothers him anymore, you know very well it used to. 

Your throat spasms when Dazai’s hand settles more firmly on your hip, and you turn your head slightly to the side to look up at him, breath catching when you find that his gaze is already lidded and focused on you, visible eye far too dark and tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Dance with me,” Dazai murmurs, only for you to hear.

“You want to dance?” you ask, a bit incredulously, trying not to be hyper-focused on how he’s touching you. You don’t know what has gotten into him, but it has your heart racing. “Dazai, what-”

“Dance with me.” 

It’s not a request, you realize, taking in a sharp breath as his gaze becomes more intense. You can feel curious eyes on you from around the room; it’s to be expected, it’s you and Dazai. Of everyone here, the two of you always have the most eyes on you at all times, but it’s different now. 

Dazai usually keeps to himself during events, he wanders up and down the length of the room, keeping to the edges to observe what’s happening unless he’s looking for information from someone. He really stays true to his moniker, a black wraith haunting the shadows and keeping everyone on edge. You can’t remember the last time he willingly stepped out of them to interact with people, much less engage in things like dancing.

“Okay,” you agree quietly, not even bothering to look back at your previous companions as Dazai’s hand slides from your hip to your lower back, guiding you to the hardwood floor where several other couples are already swaying along to the music being played by the quintet in the corner of the room. “What’s gotten into you?”

Dazai doesn’t answer your question, looking down at you from the corner of his eye for a moment before looking back ahead. He doesn’t have to search for a spot on the dance floor—as soon as people realize that’s where he’s headed, they’re quick to leave a wide berth for the two of you, no one wanting to get too close to the most infamous Port Mafia executive.

Your heart races as he leads you to the center of the hardwood floor. Though you can feel dozens of eyes pinned on the two of you, all you can focus on is him. You can hardly breathe when he turns to face you, one hand resting on your hip while he holds the other out for you to take. You swallow thickly as you place your hand into his. He entwines your fingers with his instead of the traditional palm-to-palm, and he pulls you toward him so that your chests are brushing. You’re so close to him that you catch the faint and familiar scent of smoke and iron and it makes you dizzy.

Distantly, you know that this probably isn’t smart. If people think that you and Dazai are together, it will only be harder for you to get information from them. They’ll be wary around you in fear of him, and you’re not even sure if your ability will be enough to counteract the anxiety he triggers in people. You shouldn’t be risking that just for a dance, but…

But you can never think straight when he’s around, even less when his skin is warm against yours, and the way he’s looking at you… His dark eye is heavy with so many emotions, too many for you to even place a single one—you’ve always been good at reading people, but never him, and now, more than ever, you wish you could. You want to know what he’s thinking. You want to know what he’s feeling. You want to know him, because as much as you claim you do, you know that he masks himself from you. You want to ask him again—what’s gotten into you? Why have you been avoiding me? But you think it’ll scare him off, so instead, you ask:

“When did you learn to dance? Today?”

He’s better than you thought he would be. He effortlessly spins you across the dancefloor. Each step is quick and precise—you’ve had training in this type of dancing, but you still struggle a little to keep up with him. Though, you think it’s less because of your own skill, and more because of who exactly your partner is.

“What makes you think I haven’t known how?” Dazai drawls, voice low and languid, dark eye glittering with amusement. His grip on your hand tightens just a little as he pulls you into a half-spin. He presses when you don’t immediately respond, “Hm?” 

“Because you’re you,” you finally answer with a fleeting smile. “So? When did you learn?”

“Tonight,” he tells you. “I’ve been watching them.”

“Hah,” you say—of course he’s this good just through observation. Ever the mirror. “You better not embarrass me.”

“Like this?” he asks with a smile that puts you on edge, and you give him a dirty look when he purposely takes a wrong step, forcing you to overstep in order to not land on his foot. You’re careful to make it look casual—a wider turn rather than a misstep—but with the number of eyes currently on the two of you, you know very well that people probably caught it. His apology comes in the form of an airy, “Whoops,” that you know he doesn’t mean.

His lips curl up into a smug smile, and your breath catches when you feel his hand slide from your hip to your low back so he can pull your body flush to his for the next turn. Your throat spasms as you tilt your head back to look up at him, and again, there’s that unreadable look in his eye as his eyes rove over your face. 

“Why?” you finally brave yourself to ask, voice quiet and too breathy for your liking. You don’t specify what the why is, and that’s intentional, this way he can pick what he wants to answer and won’t feel as cornered by the question. 

His visible eye narrows for a moment, and then something akin to reluctance spreads across his face, and then resignation. You wonder if he’ll answer, hardly even able to breathe as you wait for him to speak. But after a few tense moments, disappointment hits you hard, because a teasing smile spreads across his lips and you know he’s going to evade the question.

Still, your heart races when Dazai dips you down, lowering his face so that his lips brush your ear as he says, “You looked like you were bracing yourself for a bullet with Ibuse getting ready to come over. Figured I’d rescue you.”

Though the music continues, Dazai doesn’t lift you from the dip. He does pull his face back so that he can look you in the eye. He’s so close to you that you can feel his warm breath fanning across your lips and it leaves you dizzy. The look in his eye now—you almost want to dare to believe you know what it is—it’s too close to the same emotion you feel whenever the two of you are curled up on the couch watching a movie. It’s too similar to longing, yearning, the desperate need for more, the desire to be yours just as badly as you want to be his, but you don’t want to get your hopes up when you know he can crush them in an instant.

His gaze drops down to your lips and then drags back up to your face, and you know he won’t kiss you, not in front of all of the eyes currently pinned on the two of you. Not in front of Mori. It’s nice to imagine though.

“Is that really why?” you breathe out, eyes searching his for an answer.

Something new crosses his face—it’s sharp and it’s angry, something that promises violence, not toward you, but toward the one who provoked it. His gaze cuts to the side briefly in the direction of where Ibuse Masuji is still standing frozen in the middle of the event hall, staring at the two of you, and then he looks back down at you, lips tilted up into a wry smile. 

“Partially,” he says, but doesn’t give you the chance to question any further, finally pulling you up from the dip to fall in line with the last steps of the dance. 

He turns you so that your back is pressed to his chest, palm cupping the back of your hand, fingers interlaced. His free hand slides around to your abdomen, holding your body flush to his. The music slows as the song comes to an end, but Dazai doesn’t release you. You turn your head to the side and tilt your head back to look up at him, inhaling when you find that he’s already looking at you, dark hair hanging in his lidded eye as he watches you.

“Are you… coming home tonight?” you finally ask, voice soft and hesitant.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, but his eye is glittering playfully, so you know that he’ll be home waiting for you by the time you get done at the event. He always manages to leave early—no one has the nerve to try to stop him. He dips his head a bit lower, lips ghosting your ear as he says, “You should thank me, you won’t have to worry about anyone else bothering you tonight.”

He finally lets go of you, your arms fall limp to your side and your breath is a bit too shaky for comfort. He tosses a wink in your direction before shoving his hands in his pockets and making his way back toward the outskirts of the room.

And he’s right—for the rest of the night, not a single person dared to approach you.

———

Even though you’re fairly certain Dazai will be there waiting for you, you still hold your breath as the elevator doors slide open to your apartment. Your feet are aching, you hardly got a chance to sit once during the night and you’re ready to curl up on the couch and watch a movie. 

As you step into your apartment, you can’t help the way your heart drops when you don’t immediately see him, and you especially can’t help the relief that spreads through you when you realize he’s lounging on the couch, out of sight from the angle you entered at. At once, you can breathe again—you’ve missed him the past week, more than you ever could’ve imagined.

“Hi,” you say quietly, coming to stand at the foot of the couch.

Dazai shed his black waistcoat, his shirt is untucked and his tie is loose around his neck, head resting on the far armrest as he looks up at you with a lazy grin that lights your nerves on fire.

“Hi,” he echoes. “I picked a movie.”

“A good one I hope,” you tell him with a small smile. “Let me go get changed.”

You turn on your heel to make your way up the steps to your bedroom, but before you can get to the staircase, Dazai speaks up again, “Can you even reach the clip?”

You hesitate as you glance at him over your shoulder. You technically can, but… “No,” you reply, and then lie, “Chuuya helped me get it on.”

Dazai’s lips flatten, but he does push himself to his feet to follow you up the stairs. You spare a glance behind you, catching the hard expression on his face as he stares at your back. You raise your eyebrows at him and it instantly washes away, replaced with a teasing smile as he raises his right back at you. You squint at him, but shake your head as you reach the top of the stairs, stepping into your room. 

When Dazai steps in after you, you swear the temperature in the room rises. 

You turn to look at him, and he tilts his head to the side idly, dark eye dancing with amusement as he slowly approaches you. He looks a mess with how his shirt is untucked and his tie is loosely hanging around his neck, hair tousled from laying back on the couch—he looks a mess, and you’ve never wanted him more.

You’re sick of the back and forth with him—it’s been a year and a half of it and you’re tired—you want to be his, you want him to be yours. Every time you think Dazai might finally make the first move, he ends up taking fifty steps backward for whatever reason. You don’t want to push it because you have a feeling it will only make him even more standoffish. Tonight has been more progress than you’ve made in a while—if you and him are going to happen, it’ll be now or it’ll never happen. Your pride won’t allow you to chase and pine for any longer.

He comes to stand directly in front of you and you think he wants you to turn around, but just when you’re about to, he gives you a sharp smile that instantly has you on edge, and then he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. Your lips part in shock, heart beat stuttering in your chest.

“We should get these off first, right?” he hums, reaching down for the clasp of your heel, knowing damn well the effect he’s having on you from the smug expression on his face. Although you can’t help but notice that his eye is darker than usual, pupil blown wide as he undos the clasp and slides your heel off. 

“Right,” you agree breathily, lashes fluttering when you feel the pads of his fingers press against your ankle as he places your foot back down on the ground before shifting to do the same for the other one.

This time, his throat bobs nervously and his fingers fumble over the clasp. When he finally gets the clasp off, he looks up at you through his lashes as he slides your heel off, but he doesn’t rise to his feet right away once he sets your foot down. Your fingers twitch at your side to reach out and brush them against his face, but you refrain, if only barely. 

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally rises to his feet, and he’s standing all too close to you. You can feel the heat of his body, you have to tilt your head up to look at him and when you do, you can feel his breath against your lips.

“Turn,” he murmurs.

You swallow thickly as you do as he asks, and your breath audibly catches when you feel his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he shifts your hair out of the way. You expect him to tease you, but you realize his breathing is almost as unsteady as yours is, you can feel each puff against the back of your neck and it has your hair on end. Your lashes flutter as Dazai slowly unzips your dress, the cool air of your room stark in contrast to the line of fire left behind with each brush of his fingers against your spine.

When he gets the zipper all the way down, he doesn’t move away, hands settling on your hips as he hovers behind you. You think your heart might race right out of your chest, head foggy and unsteady on your feet.

For a few long moments, neither of you speak.

And then, you make a terrible mistake.

“Why have you been avoiding me the past week?” you ask quietly, desperate for some sort of answer as to what happened between the two of you that made him go cold on you like this. His grip on your hips tightens, and you instantly want to eat your words. “Dazai?”

He doesn’t even deign you with a response.

Your heart is lodged in your throat when you feel his hands drop from your hips and his presence leaving from behind you. You’re cold, your body is, your heart is, and now you really are unsteady without his hands to ground you. You whip around to face him, knees wobbly as you call after him again, but you don’t chase after him—not this time. Bitterly, you think you’ve spent the last year and a half chasing after him and all you ever get in return is him running away.

You watch him disappear down the steps, frozen in place because how did one question ruin everything. For the first time in weeks, you thought you were actually making progress with him and just like that, it’s back to square one. You feel like you don’t breathe until you hear the elevator arrive on your floor, signalling that he’s left.

“Shit,” you breathe out shakily, sitting back on your bed and burying your face in your hands. You can feel all of the champagne you drank earlier in the night threatening to come up and your head feels light. You fumble for your phone, clicking on a familiar contact and gasping his name as soon as he answers the call, “Chuuya?”

“Yo,” you hear him ask, concerned. “You good? Aren’t you with-”

“Can you come over?” you push out before he has the chance to say his name. “I just-I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waiting. I can’t-”

“I’m coming,” Chuuya tells you when your words cut out into a sob. God, you can’t remember the last time you cried like this. Your whole body aches as you pull your knees to your chest and rock yourself back and forth trying to calm yourself down. “I’ll be there in five. I’m coming.”

You told yourself before that it was tonight or never, and you’re done waiting for him. No matter how badly it hurts to force yourself to move on—you’re done. 

You have to be, for your own sake. 

[littelovelunette]

Sev with reader whos actually really insecure and sad and frustrated that Sevika won't say 'i love you' back or out loud despite them having a strong long enough to say I love you relationship.

"Please, Say it Once."

Mentions of abuse, Sevika being mean as fuck, emotional abuse

It was today, you'd confront her today.

You knew Sevika wasn't big on verbal affection or babying and coddling you but lately you've been feeling even more neglected than the usual.

Your past traumas made you feel like she was cheating on you. Probably in bed with some other woman. Some other woman who she'd actually say "I love you" to and some other woman she'd commit to.

You knew from the start that Sevika had this problem but you didn't want her to feel like she was the problem or anything.

You wanted to be her special someone who would be there with her through thick and thin. But now it was simply just emotional abuse and you'd cry yourself to sleep as Sevika slept peacefully snoring beside you.

What if you brought it up and Sevika suddenly wanted to break with you? What would you do? You didn't know so you decided to make it a good setting when you'd confront her.

That's how you found yourself in the living room, pouring out a glass of whiskey for Sevika, heart pounding violently against your chest.

Sevika takes the glass with a mumbled "Thanks" and that's when you finally managed to say it.

"You know I don't need grand gestures or poetic words." You paused. "I just want to hear you say it, just once." You said, your last words coming out more saddened than you anticipated it to be. Sevika didn't answer you. She didn't even look at you. Did you even matter to her?

She swirled the amber liquid in the glass, taking a breath before saying, "You already know how I feel. Why's it matter?"

Her words cut deeper than they should've. Your fingers fidgeted, anxiously picking at the cuticles of your nails before you said, "Because it just matters! Every time I say it I'm usually always met with silence. It's like talking to a wall!"

Sevika paused and huffed a deep sigh, lines of her face prominent in the dim golden lights of the room.

"I'm still here, aren't I? Still coming back to you every single day despite the mind crushing, bone crushing work I do for Silco every day." You can tell Sevika is trying to keep her cool, her words shuddering with controlled rage and anger.

You looked at her, grey eyes meeting with yours. There guilt flickering somewhere deep behind the façade of animalistic anger.

"Your body is here, your mind and heart are with some other woman." Was what you wanted to say but held your tongue.

"Just say it, please," your words, now a soft plea, were teetering at the edge of tears building up somewhere behind your tearducts.

Sevika didn't say anything, veins in her neck flexing, jaw tensing. She didn't say anything, held her silence. Held her pride. Her ego.

"You can... But you wont." You spat and turned to run away and lock yourself in your room, tears starting to roll down your face in a steady stream.

Sevika grabbed your wrist with her mechanical hand, metallic tips of her fingers digging into the delicate skin of your hand, you flinched.

Sevika slammed the glass down, crushing it against the table with her flesh hand easily, liquid spilled everywhere. "Don't start." Sevika stuttered, for the first time it was, but she stuttered. "You know it."

"Then why can't you just say it?"

Sevika looked like for a second she'd bash your hand in but she didn't. She took a second, exhaling through her nose, nostrils flaring.

"Saying it makes it real." Sevika sounded vulnerable, eyes darting down at the floor. You blinked in confusion, all emotions coming at a halt. "I say it and it's out there, you get used to it. You think you can get the tough and gruff Sevika just say 'i love you' to you and you're all high and mighty that's the cue for you to leave—"

You put a finger to her lips, shushing her. "I'm not going anywhere."

"And if you do?"

"I won't." You said firmly and slowly brought your hands up to cup your face. "Loving someone isn't a weakness. It's not a death sentence."

For a second the both of you stayed silent, foreheads pressing against one anothers.

"You spilled all the whiskey, and I poured it for you." You pouted sadly making Sevika's heart clench. She slowly stroked your hair.

"I'm so sorry, bunny." Sevika's apology was quiet and whispered, such a contrast to her previous tone. "I love you, my angel."

[euphoria-looney]

Astro!

Yan!Batfam x Neglected!Reader Squid Games!AU

m. list|next

"And goodness knows, The Wicked's Lives are lonely. Goodness knows, The Wicked die alone. It just shows, when you're wicked, You're left only, on your own." 'No One Mourns The Wicked' by Wicked the Musical

Divider creds: (?) and @dollywons

As a kid, all I longed for was someone to play a game with me that didn’t require some form of technology to keep both of us entertained.

Well, be careful what you wish for, because I have reached an all-time low, willing to kill people with children's games to earn money.

How much longer will I spend in this twisted game before getting killed? Maybe this is better whether I win or lose, I still gain freedom.

One choice is just the better option. 

That’d be losing winning.

Sure I would feel immense guilt, but I’d be free from debt… and then what? No longer needing to slave anyway from the amount of money I receive.

What then?

Could therapy even help? They’d probably send me off to a mental ward. 

Who's going to believe I won millions from playing some children’s games?

I looked around and saw the old man again from earlier, sitting alone in a space, I approached him, and he accepted to play with me.

“When I was little, this was one of my favorite games as a child.” The old man told us while we were walking into an open area.

“Really? I’ll be honest, I’ve never played this game before.”

As we finally found a point to play the game, we conversed.

—

“Did we do this to make a pact?”

He held out his hand, his pinkie and thumb sticking out, I laughed, wrapping my pinkie around his, pressing our thumbs together.

“Sir, no my gganbu- I think that’s what they called a really close friend right?”

—

Eventually we went all for nothing, this was the funniest game I ever played… I almost forgot the fact that I was going to die at the end.

“Ah, guess you won, betting all my marbles for your single one. Didn’t see that one coming.” I chuckled sadly.

He held my hand and placed the last marble in my palm.

“Take it, it’s yours anyway.” I looked up at him in shock, I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

“We are gganbu aren’t we? Remember we swore on it. And Gganbu always shares everything no matter what. You made this all possible.” My shoulder shook, as I could only stare at my shoes, my eyes felt like facets at the point. 

And then I felt these same hands embrace me, and I felt like a child all over again.

“What a great way to go.”

He pulled away, making me face him.

“Thank you. I had a good time.”

I hugged him once again, my tears overflowing on his shoulders.

He let go and I walked out of the gates.

Sniffles were all I could do before I heard the voice behind me.

“I remember my name now. My name is Il-nam. Oh Il-nam.”

I kept walking then flinched when I heard a ‘bang’ go off.

Surrounded by all these dead bodies, and these empty emotions, I pushed forward.

[Player 1, Eliminated]

—

Despite everything, I’m still having these selfish thoughts of staying alive.

We had just played ‘glass bridge’ leaving three of us here, dressed in suits, and eventually I was talking with Penelope, she’s the one that helped me out of the restraint we were in after we left for the first time.

“Hey, [name], just in case either of us can actually make it out of this hellhole, promise that we will take care of each other's loved ones, okay?” 

“Don’t say that, we’ll be okay.”

But she took more damage than any of us once the glass had shattered and was losing blood fast.

“Stay where you are, I’ll go get someone.”

I left and went to the guard or whatever they were, to beg, plead, for a doctor, maybe one that could’ve been on standby, but instead they walked past me with a coffin.

I could only stare at my once best friend standing over her bed.

I ran over there and held her body up, shaking her for some sign of hope.

“No, Penelope, please, no…”

—

Approaching the end game, we ate a feast, so fresh and nicely made, I felt the need to puke.

We place in the field shapes surrounding us, to resemble a squid, this was, Squid Game.

The rain soaking both of us, gray skies, and a single guard on the side.

Astro’s shirt still soaked in blood, his suit back on. He spoke before the game began, a knife in hand.

“I ended her suffering. You know she would have died anyway.”

The tears that once stained my face had been washed off by the rain, and now I could only feel disdain for the man I once knew in front of me.

“That’s bullshit, stop lying. She could’ve survived, they could have treated her.”

He retorted.

“I know what you’re like, you’re the reason I had to kill her. I knew you two would stop all this, so she didn’t die there. Even though we’ve gone so far, just to quit?” 

It seemed so similar to the time back at the manor.

—

“Damian had a lot happen to him as a child, are you going to blame him for this?” Dick sighed Damian behind him with no remorse for the fact I had slashes on my arm, not deep but painful. And though they wouldn’t leave scars, would that really matter?

He held a weapon against me while all I had was a stack of books now discarded and torn on the ground.

“[name]. You’re older than him, he’s still a child. You are the reason for this, it could’ve been avoided if you didn’t egg things on. Don’t blame Damian for your faults.” Egg him on? All I did was try and avoid him.

It wasn’t fair.

—

Now, if it wasn’t high before, my blood pressure had to be spiking. For that petty reason? Simply because he didn’t want all of this going to waste?

“Was that it? You killed someone because this might end?” My voice trembled.

“Yeah! You and that girl would have been the majority you needed to get out! Going home without anything! I couldn’t live with that!”

“And you think that means anything?! What?! one more life on top of the others you’ve stolen isn’t enough, and won’t be enough until you receive something?! You’d rather have one more dead than for all three of us to leave and somehow find another way to bring something, anything home?!” I shouted back at him.

I took my knife out of my pocket.

“It's over…”

“I won’t let you leave here with the money.”

3RD POV

While the VIP’s finally stood up to watch this entertaining last game.

Two people who have developed over time physically and mentally, once friends, were squabbling, fighting with very small amounts of energy, but a passion to win.

Both stabbed the other when eventually, player 456 was able to get the other on the ground and punched him over and over again.

The Waynes couldn’t help but be relieved this was it, they’d never let her go again, they would make up for everything starting with making sure she would be okay.

“Found the location heading there soon!” They heard Cassandra on the other line.

Late, but they would make it.

—

[name]’s POV

I held my knife, before stabbing it into the field, next to his face, before limping over to the goal point, it felt miles anyway, the guard had his gun loaded and aimed at Astro.

There before me was the practical finish line.

I can’t… No, I refuse to if anything, playing this game has fucked me other the head, but I refuse for one second to let this game be the last thing I ever see Astro at.

“I wanna end here.” I face the guard walking back to them.

“Clause Three of the agreement. The players are able to end the game when the majority agrees, so if we both give up,  you have to end it right?” I stumbled over.

The guard spoke on the walkie-talkie while I gazed back at Astro.

“Astro.”

“Back when we went to the same school, we’d hang out together and study before leaving chasing after our purpose that called out for us. Nothing's calling anymore.” After all this time, he still is.

I smiled at him, that once gummy smile I adorned, one that I hated so much.

“Let’s go”

I extended my hand to him. 

“Let’s go together.”

He slowly lifted his hand.

“[name], I’m sorry.” 

And before I could react, he took that hand and grabbed the knife that I put right next to him, and impaled himself in the neck with it. 

Blood gushed out and he choked out blood.

I quickly went to his side, stabilizing his head.

“Astro! Astro!”

“[name]..”

“No, no, don’t speak! Hang on!” I was panicking, this can’t be the end of us.

“M-my mother, please take care of my mom. And…”

“I love you.” That made me freeze my erratic movements, I was sure he could’ve seen my eyes widen.

“Loved you since meeting you.” With that, he closed his eyes and I could only call out his name, and held onto his body, it was getting colder fast.

[Player 218, Eliminated. Congratulations, Player456]

—

3rd POV

“Believe in Jesus or go to Hell!” A guy holding two signs chanted outside in the rain, strangers walking past each other, a white limo rolled up on the side of the street, dumping a bruised and exhausted body on the sidewalk, the same guy chanting untied the girl.

“Believe in Jesus.”

The girl was in the bank depositing 4.56 billion dollars before withdrawing some out. Her hair a mess, eyes sullen and eye bags that dragged down her face, she seemed exhausted. Walking back to the store she once worked at, a sign stated ‘SOLD’ and next to it a reef, “Rest in Peace, Conny Claire, Died too soon, old shop owner that meant so much to many people.” Flowers that surround the message.

The girl that came there for a snack could only sink to the ground in shock, hands rising to cover her face, body shaking and quivering.

Walking down a store alleyway, Astro’s mom approached the girl.

“How have you been, here take some food for the road after losing…” She sighed, and patted the girl's back, walking back to her shop.

“Have you heard from… Nevermind.” 

The girl opened her run down apartment where she once lived and went to see all the old photos in the yearbook of classes she had with Astro and in all of the group ones featuring her, her classmates, and Astro she noticed how in each one he was looking at her, with those fond eyes.

She could only fall onto her bed, her tired state crept on her before she fell asleep.

Some time later, the girl kept her promise to Penelope and helped out her family, then left them with Astro’s mom, leaving a wealthy sum of money, they became a family… somewhat of a replacement for the other's loved one, and the girl left paying off whatever debt any of them had.

The girl was sitting alone at the pond, drinking some alcohol. Before an old woman approached her, a flower basket in hand, it seemed she needed to sell them immediately before they wilted away. The girl reached into her pocket, handing her some money before the old woman went off. 

Picking up the nicely wrapped flower, a card appeared, making the girl stumble at picking up the card before reading it.

Approaching a hospital, card in hand.

It was the old man.

“What is this… Who are you?”

“Pour some water for me. Please, [name].”

And there she sat, anger rising in her, but she couldn’t do anything against the man who made the games.

She sat listening to the man talk, about the homeless guy below them, about how everything he said about himself was true, how he missed the old days, him and his friend used to have the time of their lives, and how no matter if you're homeless or rich both lives are no fun. Then a clock struck.

She looked at the machine to see that his heart was no longer beating, instead a flat line appeared. Getting up, she closed his eyes.

That’s when she finally started her life again. She got it together.

So, at the first place, her life changed at the same bus stop, well across from it, the skies were clear and the sun was glaring into the area. It had been a regular day for her, working at her own company and all.

Maybe that’s why when she unlocked her car and stared right in front of her at that same place, she was shocked to see her father, Bruce Wayne, and his family.

That’s it for this part of Astro! Did you like it?

Also, unlike Squid Game, soon after [name] left, everyone that participated in Squid Games got arrested, which made it on the news, but was looked past after a few months, [name] made gravestones for Penelope and Astro.

Ofc the Batfam got the credit and got even more famous for uncovering this incident, which is also why they hadn’t ‘visited’ [name] and now are just getting to it.

Not the update you expected, but I hope you like it.

Any comments, advice and corrections are appreciated!!!

-ILoveeeMoney

Taglist time! ❤

Also, I love the idea and from fic from both @jellyfishmoon97 and @not-weirdoshrek and a new addition that I'm super happy I bumped into @alilobsessive.

@holysoulsweets @sh4rk-k1d @sillysealsies @loomspuddle @cantfindmelol @alwaysholymilkshake @leitor-sonolento @randomlyappearingartist @beyondblissxoxo @sirairi @yhin-gg @frankie-moon3 @welpthisisboring @yokesmam @bat1212 @enchantingarcadecreation @twismare @delias-stuff @ladylupuscrow @ferchu0406 @c4xcocoa @cruzerforce4256 @anonymoushehehehe @godoreo22 @blerp-22 @facelessisnthere @sirenetheblogger @themightybee4067 @boredselkie @tiffyisme3760 @random4137 @midnightgrimoire @mybones537 @chaoticmoontimetravel @jsprien213 @crazycaoticsimp @elfollaburras3000 @czarinera @tiffyisme3760 @exactlynumberonekryptonite @gwyneveire @k-anaru @a-lurking-fae @nxdxsworld @ryuushou

I think that's everyone who wanted to be tagged, I hope I didn't spell anyone's name wrong and tag the wrong person.

[jilyandbambi]

Everything about how Coach Ben's Trial plays out just makes me feel so sad and devastated for all of them. I can't even hate them for what they did or are about to do. They're just kids, man.

Shauna is grieving and angry and postpartum and scared, and she's got nowhere to put any of that except onto Ben, the grown up--who didn't burn the cabin down but who did turn away from her when she needed him most. It's a powerful thing when you're that age and angry/sad/frustrated about everything (bc you're a kid) and to have a safe adult to be pissed at: an adult who cares but isn't perfect (no one is, and you're a kid so you're still learning to accept this), who let you down right at the exact moment you needed them to be the Grown Up with all the answers, and maybe their fuck up was only one of 254884113 things going wrong in your life at that point but you're 17--old enough to know that adults don't have all the answers and young enough that it still feels like they should, and when they don't, that's their fault too.

It's irrational, immature, and dangerous (Thy name is Shauna Shipman), which is what kids are, and what each of these kids are, to varying degrees; and why Shauna gets her way in the end.

It isn't their coach's fault that their plane crashed, that they starved for months, that they resorted to eating their team captain, that they let Javi drown so they could gut him and eat him, that Shauna's baby was stillborn, or that their cabin burned down. But they're kids and everything is awful and in between all the awful the adult in the room dropped the ball when they needed him, and now the trauma, and guilt, and shame, and pain, and rage has to go somewhere, and Coach Ben is a more tangible target than an invisible wilderness god. It doesn't matter that he clearly didn't set the fire and doesn't wish them any harm, the lie is too convenient.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, Mari doesn't have to own up to the fact that she didn't tell the truth when she got back to camp, that she let the others continue thinking their coach was out there still hunting them.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, there's no need for Travis to rock the boat and stand up for the only other person besides himself to be as disgusted and horrified at what the others did to his little brother.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, Van (the only other person besides Shauna and Melissa to vote Guilty every time) doesn't have to worry about the others taking a second look at what her sleepwalking girlfriend could have been doing the night of.

If Coach Ben didn't set the cabin on fire, Tai might have to poke deeper at Van's insistence on his guilt despite all evidence to the contrary, and she might not like the answer. Add to that, if Coach Ben is innocent, then Nat was right to keep what she knew from the rest of them and Tai was wrong to collude with Shauna to her call her out in front of everyone, and maybe that makes Nat a better choice of leader than Tai would've been after all.

If the wilderness says Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, then maybe it's finally starting to speak to Lottie again, maybe she hasn't completely lost her connection to it after all.

And it's so, so fucked up because beneath all of them rallying behind this cruel, vengeful, childish decision to blame Coach Ben anyway is an understandable desire to have a say in all the uncertainty and turmoil that's taken over their lives by this point. That adolescent need for control--not just over your environment but your emotions, especially the negative ones--can make kids living in the best circumstances lash out. Here, with everything the Yellowjackets have been through and have already done, it was always going to have the worst possible outcome. And watching it all play out as an adult is just--ughhhhh. Heartbreaking.

Because that adolescent turmoil that makes you an angry freakshow who lashes out at the right people at the wrong times, or (more often than not) the wrong people at the wrong times--sometimes knowingly? That's normal. This is the time to be that way. You're supposed to have the space to get it all out and grow past it.

But the Yellowjackets don't and won't, and it'll ruin them, especially the ones that make it out alive.

Yeah, Shauna, taking your rage and grief out on Coach Ben feels good to you now; taking any action, even if it's clearly the wrong one, feels powerful and right in the moment, but it won't last. The rest of you lemmings letting her have her way for your own reasons feel justified for now, but that won't last either. By the time the full weight of what you've done hits you, it'll be too late. When the regret comes you won't know how to face it and you never will, and so you'll be stuck. You'll be 17 and haunted at 20 and 30 and 45, still getting in your own way and not realizing it until it's too late. You'll get older but you'll never grow up, and you'll never understand why.

[lovelaetter]

dubcon (?)

gosh her crying because she's so sore. like, she can barely feel anything, but she still can at the same time because it's the most gut-rearranging pounding she's ever hard. but what does she know? you've always taught her you know best. "no, no, don't cry, 'jeongie," even tho you're 100% going faster now, her tear-stained face is almost as if varnish was being poured over a renaissance painting.

she can barely taste the salt of her tears as well, her own panties stuffed in her mouth because she promised she could be quiet. pretty girl, so sure of herself even tho she regrets it every time. well, her body does, with how bad she's marked up from your nails and bites and 'caressing', even tho her mind is always screaming for round 2.

her cheeks are so perfectly colored as well. this pastel rosy color spreading all over her face and down her neck because she's practically gagging on her sobs and she's so embarrassed that she's still so drenched. "you're taking it so well, baby." she's supposed to play the role of the perfect lover, taking everything so well, and even tho she thinks she isn't, you couldn't be happier to have her struggling under you.

even when her fighting dies out and she just absentmindedly sobs in a mixture of pure satisfaction and pain and betrayal. can't you tell that she's tired? her cunt aches, she can't take any more, her brain is all fuzzy and barely thinking! gosh, she would push you off, but the guilt of upsetting you would be worse than sucking it up and taking her 'reward'.

minjeong might be a bit angry later, her makeup ruined. she insists she's fine, but you're not a monster after all—it wouldn't keep her around if you indulged so far—and staring at her pouty face makes you want to doll her up again, so you do. comfort her and play your own version of the 'perfect lover role': keeping her cherished and happy and stuffed.

but how is it your fault anyway? she never said her safeword. that makeshift gag made sure of it.

signed by ☃️

for context.

DUBCON.

funny how it’s been so long and i’m still thinking about this. telling her you know best? about herself? top tier. shushing her cries claiming she can take more, there’s no need for tears, in no world you would do something that she couldn’t handle. poor baby, thinking she isn’t the perfect lover for showing supposed weakness and that’s exactly what makes her perfect, but that how you like her, defenseless and weak, no forces to fight you other than barely wrapping her arms around your neck and giving you this desperate look, to which you only answer by giving a kiss to her forehead… how gentle.

aftercare that is almost nonexistent because you keep touching the visible sensitive parts of her, cupping her breasts— “does it hurt, baby? i’m sorry” but your hand doesn’t move away— during a bath, fingers ghosting over her sore cunt, mumbling “wish i could keep you like this [sore, slicky, numb] forever” more to yourself than anything else or gripping too harshly her bruised waist and thighs while dressing her, apologizing with a chuckle.

i love me some crying girls :/

[sturnsblogs]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆More than best-friends‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Chapter 6: The Choice

The tension had been building for weeks. Avery’s cold, distant demeanor had been growing more unbearable by the day. Chris could feel the weight of her silence pressing down on him, and as much as he hated to admit it, he knew it was only going to get worse if he didn’t do something.

But he wasn’t ready to choose. He didn’t want to pick between her and you, not when everything had been so complicated lately. But Avery wasn’t giving him an option anymore.

It all exploded one evening when Avery stood in front of him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Chris sat on the couch, his fingers nervously tapping on his phone, but he couldn’t focus on the screen. He was too distracted by the mess of emotions inside him.

“Chris,” Avery’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and unwavering. “I’m done with this. Done with pretending like I’m okay.”

Chris flinched. “Avery—”

“No,” she snapped, holding up a hand to silence him. “You’ve been acting like you’re still holding on to her, and I’m sick of it. You’ve been staring at your phone, like you’re waiting for some text from her. I can’t do this anymore.”

“I haven’t been—” Chris started, but Avery cut him off again.

“Yes, you have! I see the way you look at your phone. And you’ve barely said anything to me for days. It’s like I don’t even exist,” Avery continued, her voice growing sharper with every word. “You either want to be with me, or you don’t. But I’m not going to sit around and wait while you pine over someone else.”

Chris opened his mouth to respond, but the words felt like they were stuck in his throat. He didn’t want to lose Avery. He didn’t want to lose what they had, but the guilt of missing you—the connection they shared, the way you always understood him—was suffocating him.

Avery narrowed her eyes, reading him like an open book. “So, what’s it going to be? Me, or her?”

Chris stared at her, his heart heavy. He didn’t want to choose. He didn’t want to pick between them. But Avery was waiting, her gaze unwavering, her arms crossed, daring him to say something.

Finally, the words came out, but they felt hollow, empty. “I… I choose you, Avery.”

Avery’s face immediately softened, a smug smile spreading across her lips. She took a step closer, as if the battle was won, and the victory was sweet in her eyes.

“Good,” she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “I knew you’d make the right choice.”

But then, her expression shifted, darkening with a new, calculating edge. “Since you’ve chosen me, though, you can never speak to her again. Understand?”

Chris felt his chest tighten. “What? Avery, that’s not fair,” he protested, his voice rising in disbelief. “I can’t just cut her out like that. She was my best friend for years.”

Avery’s smile remained, but it was now cold and unyielding. “Then you don’t love me,” she said, her words like a dagger, precise and pointed. “Because if you did, you’d do whatever it takes to prove it.”

Chris stood up, his hands shaking at his sides. “That’s not fair,” he repeated, but the doubt was creeping in. Was he really proving anything? Was this what it meant to be with Avery?

Avery stepped forward, her voice low, almost whispering, but with an edge of triumph. “You know, I don’t ask for much. Just you. Just me. And if you can’t make that choice, then you don’t love me the way I deserve.”

The way she said it, with that cold certainty in her voice, sent a chill through him. Chris opened his mouth to argue, to say something, but he couldn’t. The words stuck in his throat. Avery was right—at least, she was making it feel that way.

“You want me to prove it? Then choose me,” Avery added, her eyes locking onto his. “Cut her out. Or we’re done.”

Chris felt the weight of her gaze, the pressure of her ultimatum. His mind raced. This wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to lose you, but he didn’t want to lose Avery either. She was standing right in front of him, and her words felt like chains tightening around him.

“Don’t you love me?” she asked again, her voice soft, but the threat was clear.

“I… I do,” Chris whispered, barely able to breathe as he felt his chest tighten with the weight of the decision.

Avery smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Then prove it.”

And just like that, he made his choice.

A/N- Avery makes me mad but that’s okay. this one was a little shorter so chapter 7 will be out today. i have so much time on my hands i can literally write as many chapters today.

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @chrislilcumslvt @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @mylittled0ve @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo

Chapter 5

Master list taglist

[flicks-random-stuff]

can you explain more about your not-bizzyboy au? i'm so in love with it...... it's so creative!!!!!!!!!! i love mocha :-3

The basic gist of the whole thing is that in the end, Inspekta opens the rift, getting rid of all the other gods like he wanted to- but also getting rid of the whole world! Woops! Almost immediately he sort of panics because this isn’t what he wanted- but. Well. There’s no going back, is there? You can’t just undo the rift. He’s left utterly alone, as not just the only god, but the only thing in the whole world. I imagine the rift acts as a sort of like, complete reset of things- and there’s always one god left behind to pick up the pieces.

He doesn’t. Know. How long he spent alone in that void. Wallowing in his despair, begging to go back, to fix things, to make things right. But at some point- he wasn’t alone anymore.

Inspekta accidentally creates Mocha during a bout of despair wallowing over missing Capochin. At first, he thinks that what he did was bring Capochin back- but it doesn’t take long for the cracks to start to show. Mocha doesn’t look the exact same as Capochin, after all. This is the thing with all of the Not-Bizzyboys- they’re based off of Inspekta’s own memories of the person, rose-tinted by his own perception and faded with time. They may look similar, act a bit similar, but something is off. They aren’t the same person.

This absolutely guts Inspekta. The fact that no matter what, he can’t undo what he did. And now he has a bunch of simulacrums of the people he once knew that he can barely stand to look at. He tries to hide that fact- after all, they didn’t ASK to be created, they didn’t ask to be like this- but they can all still. Tell. That something is off.

All of the Not-Bizzyboys are a species I’ve just been calling not-drainfolk, which were Inspekta’s attempt to recreate his own kind to populate the new world he created now that he has the abilities of a creator god. They’re shorter and fluffier than normal drainfolk just due to his own miscalculations- EVERYONE was short to him, after all- and are deliberately designed with webbed feet and hands and waterproof fur. Almost as if the guy who made them is afraid of the possibility of flooding or something. Mocha, notably, lacks these adaptations to water- since he was sort of just created accidentally during an emotional moment, and wasn’t deliberately designed.

This doesn’t really touch on/explain everything but UHHH tl:dr inspekta is left as the creator god of a new world but is wallowing in his guilt really badly because there’s absolutely no way to make up for what he did and also he made homunculi. he sort of needs to stop doing that wallowing thing because now it’s his responsibility to tend to the world and people he created

[sirianasims]

Chapter 44.5

I get almost halfway through the take before I stumble over my words. With a deep breath, I reach over and stop the recording. Again. I wonder how real actors can stand this, repeating their lines over and over, but quickly veer sharply away from that particular line of thought.

I hit the record button with a little more force than strictly necessary, watching the monitor as it opens a new file for the fifteenth time today. With another deep breath I paste on a smile that gets less convincing for each take.

“Hi guys, it’s Julia!” I chirp, my voice sounding unnaturally upbeat, even to me. I launch into the introduction, trying to hit that sweet spot where it still sounds natural and improvised, as if I hadn’t rehearsed it all morning.

This time, I manage to maintain a smooth delivery from beginning to end, no fumbling, no awkward pauses. Relief washes over me, until I glance at the small mirror under my camera.

One side of my eyeliner is smudged, the wings embarrassingly lopsided and uneven. I finally got my perfect take – and it’s useless. Of course.

I hammer the button to stop recording and toss a mascara onto the table with a clatter. My eyes are burning, and it’s not just from the brightness of the ring light. I grab a makeup wipe and erase any trace of the effort I put in this morning as I shut down the camera. No more today. My heart’s clearly not in it right now.

I head into the living room and sink onto my couch with a weary sigh, phone in hand. Marten still hasn’t replied to the text I sent him several hours ago, before I started recording. Now that we’re official, I figured we’d be texting and talking even more often. Instead, I almost feel more isolated than before. It’s only been a week since our first kiss, shouldn’t this be the giddy honeymoon stage?

I guess I can’t expect him to clear his entire schedule just because I finally decided to sleep with him, but still, I would have liked to see him again this weekend, spend more time together, reassure myself that the feelings – his or mine, I don’t know – are real.

I try to get a few cute selfies. My hair’s still decent, but without the makeup, I look… well, tired. I choose the least unflattering one and send it to Marten.

After a long pause, my phone finally vibrates. “You’re so pretty, Jules. Miss you too. Busy w/ study group, talk later!”

I stare at the message for a few seconds, chewing my lower lip. Somehow, it’s not the enthusiastic, all-in response I crave. He always says that he misses me, but he’s extremely slow to respond most of the time. I get it, his studies are demanding. But is it wrong for me to want more attention? More… appreciation that I’m dating him?

I feel a flutter of guilt. Do I seriously want him to feel grateful? Ugh, I sound like such a diva. I scroll through my favourites, stopping at Samara’s name. She’s visiting her family this weekend, so that’s a dead end. The quiet of my apartment presses in, the air thick with a loneliness that’s becoming too familiar.

On an impulse, I text Miranda instead, and my phone rings seconds later.

“Hey, girl!” Miranda’s voice crackles through the speaker, bright and cheery as always. “What’s up?” Her excitement makes me smile. Maybe some of that energy will rub off on me.

“Not much, to be honest. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out?”

“Oh my gosh, yes! Perfect timing. I was just unboxing some new items for a brand deal and I’d love a second opinion. Come over!”

“I’ll be there soon,” I say.

I can always finish the video later.

It’s impossible to be sad for long in Miranda’s apartment. The moment you step inside, it’s like an explosion of colourful curiosities, framed posters, soft pillows and plants, so many plants. This place is all Miranda, loud and unapologetic.

Her cat, Socks, is curled up in her usual spot on the couch and I’m very careful not to intrude on her space as I cross my legs. At best, that would earn me a scathing look of absolute disdain, and at worst, she’d get up and leave, her tiny furry body radiating contempt.

Miranda has placed two steaming mugs of coffee in front of us, along with some fruit and chocolate.

“Thank you so much for having me over, Mir. I spent all morning messing up a recording and I was slowly going insane.”

“You’re welcome, I appreciate the excuse to procrastinate.” She indicates her unboxing table across the room with a toss of her head. “Got a brand deal, I’ve only worked with them once before, and I really need to get it right. They’re extremely picky, last time I had to redo the video like seven times before they approved it.”

“Ouch. But I guess they were happy in the end, if they offered you a second deal?”

“They were very happy, but it’s still a lot of pressure. So I’m postponing that particular problem until tomorrow, the light is better early in the day anyway. But how are you doing, really?”

The genuine concern in her voice makes me fold immediately.

“Honestly, I kind of hate everything right now. It’s like nothing really makes me happy, even though it should. I mean, I finally hit a hundred thousand followers, I got a new boyfriend, things should be amazing. But no matter what I make, it feels forced, and Marten… I don’t know. I can’t quite get a read on him, I kinda wonder if he even actually likes me.”

“Well, maybe he’s not as intense as… as what you’ve been used to, but he’s clearly obsessed with you. I don’t think we’ve ever hung out without him texting you at least two or three times, and that was before you even started dating.”

“Yeah, you’re right, maybe I’m comparing. I guess it’s too soon to worry about it, it’s only been a week. It’s probably just work dragging me down.”

Miranda looks thoughtful. “Would you rather go back to your old content?”

I shake my head. “No. It’s too niche, I was struggling to reach fifty thousand followers back then, and I’ve already doubled that since switching. I need to stick to something with a wider appeal if I want it to be viable.”

“OK, thought experiment – if money wasn’t an issue, what would you do? No limits, you can do whatever you want?”

The vision bursts into my head, unbidden. I’ve moved to Del Sol Valley, I’m working on movie costumes, maybe musicals or theatre too, and I walk the red carpet in a stunning gown, and Paul is there, and of course he sees me and deeply regrets ever leaving me. Then I force him to explain himself and either slap him or kiss him – or both – and…

“I don’t know.”

“Really? Seriously, Julia, anything goes?”

I force the fantasy out of my head and try to be realistic. “I think I just miss being a little more creative. I don’t want my whole rebrand to go to waste, but maybe I could make it a bit more… fun?”

“Well, that’s pretty doable, isn’t it? I’ve been thinking we could do a collab, maybe it’d shake up the format a little and you could do something new.”

Next to me, the cat purrs contentedly, oblivious to the mild existential crisis swirling in my head. “I really appreciate you wanting to help, but I’m a bit worried it’ll look like you’re just boosting me. You’ve got ten times the followers I do, I don’t want pity views.”

Miranda chuckles. “Oh, girl, no. I’m your friend, but if I didn’t like your content, I wouldn’t risk associating with it, you know? This collab is just as much for me as it is for you.”

I manage a half-smile. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“I’m serious, Julia. You always bring something unique and creative, and maybe it could be a stepping stone for you to add a bit more colour to your channel?”

“You’re right, and I really don’t want to sound ungrateful. This is just so far from what I used to do, I’m struggling to figure out how to combine it.”

Miranda nods. “I get it. But sometimes you have to try a couple different paths before landing on the perfect blend of what you love doing and what actually gets traction. You’ll figure it out.”

Next to me, Socks seems to have gotten bored with her nap. Her ears twitch, and in one fluid motion, she hops off the couch.

We both turn our heads to watch as she leaps onto the small presentation table where a pair of pink boots are ready for Miranda’s video.

“Oh no,” Miranda mutters. “She’s gonna cost me a deal if she touches those.”

The cat sniffs at the box, then at the shiny leather. I’m halfway across the couch when Socks swats at the lid, her claws catching in the wrapping paper.

“Socks, no!” Miranda yelps, leaping to her feet. The cat immediately backs off and starts washing herself, clearly offended that we would ever think she had any interest in the shoe box at all.

Miranda sinks back into the couch as Socks jumps off the table and we both burst into relieved giggles.

“She’s such a menace. Anyway, about the collab…”

navigation / previous / next

[hannahssimblr]

It’s an innocuous day in January when, for the first time, I realise my life can come apart just like anybody else’s. Like theirs, mine is a seam, a thousand tiny threads holding it firm, an analogy somewhere about a stitch saving time. Or nine. I don’t remember. My mother is too high class to sew her clothes. When they tear or wear at the elbows and knees, she buys more, because people like us don’t need to repair. 

Friends at school with fraying cuffs on their uniform sleeves, hems of their trousers unrolled and hanging raw about their ankles. Shirts, a rectangular echo of a pocket on the breast of the thing worn for years after being attacked in the hallways by boys who tore them off for fun. Happened to me too. Inevitable. A rite of passage on my first week of school. I wore a shirt still creased from the packet the next day, because my clothes never had to be old, worn, damaged. When something tore, another one appeared in my room. I was from the big house on Vernon Avenue. I had the PlayStation 2 before everyone else. My clothes were always new.

But this, all of this, is like when Jen’s school trousers ripped up the back the time she tried to climb on the cistern to have a cigarette out the window. The threads had been giving for a while. They just waited until that moment to let her know, in a violent display of embarrassment in front of the girls she was hoping to impress. It’s like when the elastic in your swimming togs gives up one day, falling to bits around your body after months of cooperation, eaten secretly by the chlorine the whole time. 

It starts with nothing. A pretzel. The bakery near the university I get my breakfast some mornings. Simple, a bagel and a coffee which I’ll take with me to class. Tuesday, that day. The day I have art history at nine with Steffen, the lecturer that fancies my girlfriend and loathes me. It’s my most dreaded hour of the week, one that calls for the comfort of a pretzel and a coffee, essential to get me through the slog of it, keep me sane while he pretends he cannot understand my German and corrects me sneeringly in front of everyone, determined to embarrass me. 

Card declined. 

“Ah, weird.” Trying again then, and another denying beep. Smiling sheepishly at the barista, explaining I don’t have cash on me. 

“It could be a problem with the machine. You can take it. You come here all the time, so just pay later if you want.”

Thank her. It was nice of her. Tell her I’ll be back in a couple of hours, after my classes, but I won’t be. My card is declined in the little Italian deli where I’ve met Astrid for lunch. It’s awkward this time. They’ve already made our sandwiches up. 

“I’ll pay it,” says Astrid after a long, uncomfortable pause, and presents a little blue debit card while it strikes me I’ve never actually seen it before. Never knew what her debit card looks like, and sort of assumed in some sense she didn’t even own one. Why would she? I think. What does she ever have to pay for?

The sandwiches, I suppose. Tasting worse than ever now, they are spoiled by the pungency of my guilt. We eat them by the river, hands freezing around the tinfoil wrapping, frowning at the water, as the wind lifts white peaks from its surface. “So weird about my card,” I say, but Astrid is disinterested, doing that flippant waving thing with her hand. “Sometimes the machines just don’t work as they’re supposed to. That’s why having cash is good.” She wants to talk about this Iranian film she and Dalia saw in an indie theater. I let her, all the distracted by thoughts of my bank account. It’s fine, surely. I have money. People like me have money. 

Early evening, with my earbuds in on the gym’s treadmill, and I hear a message chime. Jonas. I wipe the sweat from my brow and read it. It’s about the water bill. A message so unbelievably dull that usually I’d ignore it for a few hours, but now my stomach twists. I went back to the bakery after college to pay for my breakfast, and my card was declined again. It looks like I stole that pretzel now. I told the barista I’d come back in the morning with actual euros for her, and she smiled in this vacant way that made me feel like a liar, wanting so badly to explain to her I’m not, like, poor, or whatever. I can pay for it, while knowing that explanation would only make me look worse. 

And now Jonas is asking about the water bill, saying I never paid it. I step off the treadmill and stare at my phone. A drop of sweat hits the screen, magnifying the pixels, little dots of coloured screen, and emphasises the word paid for me, like I didn’t already understand the central theme of the text. As in, I have not paid my share of the bill. 

“I have,” I respond. “It should just come out of the account automatically.”

“It hasn’t,” he says, and sends a photograph of the bill, big überfällige Zahlung across the top of it in terrifying red lettering. Overdue payment. Surely not. My legs start feeling a bit weak, which is very dramatic. It’s fine. I have money. I hold on to the arm of the treadmill anyway, in case I decide to fall over. Someone is asking if I’m still using it. I tell him no and head for the changing rooms. 

I call Jonas from the UBahn on the way home, immediately confrontational on the phone to him. “I paid that bill.”

“Well, you haven’t,” he’s eating something. “If you had, then the letter would not say ‘überfällige Zahlung’.”

“That’s obviously a mistake.”

“I don’t think so,” rustling noises, him unfolding the paper for further examination. “I have never seen a mistake before like this, if that is the case. It’s more likely you didn’t pay.”

“I’ve direct debit set up, so.”

“Okay, then maybe your account is empty.” He says it so casually, mouth full of whatever he’s having for dinner. The nonchalance enrages me. 

“Don’t be so stupid,” I hiss, and someone on the train looks over. “There’s no way. I have loads. There’s something going on with my account today, is all. This is normal.” I have no idea whether it’s normal or not, but am sure there’s merit to saying it with such conviction. 

“When did you last check your account balance?”

Well, I’ve never checked it. The sight of it frightens me and reminds me of the drain and eventual cessation of life. Completely reasonable reason. “Jonas, I am telling you that this is a mistake.”

“You can check. When you get home, check.”

“Yeah,” I say, and hang up as the train hurtles from a station into a black tunnel, rumbling through the darkness. 

“You look unwell,” Jonas greets me as I arrive and untangle my scarf from my neck, choking me now, and kick my boots outside the door. Indeed, I do. My reflection is pale and wild-eyed, hair tousled from grabbing at it, like one of those Wall Street guys in the documentary my economics teacher made us watch to explain the recession. 

“Where’s my laptop?” I already know where it is. Need to look. Can’t bear to. Pushing through the apartment now with everything in a dizzying blur, shaky cam, the smell of Jonas’ cooking, him trailing behind, offering me a plate of it, as if I can even think about putting food into my mouth. 

My laptop is on the bed, tossed all casually on the rumpled duvet. Macbook. How much are these things worth? I never cared before this moment. Jonas is in the door as I type the banking website into the address. My codes then. Fuck sake. Don’t know them. I have to navigate through a chat with my mother to find them, heightening the suspense. Then punch them in. Check balance. 

It’s like being punched in the head, the feeling. Then there’s this long, deathly silence, because Jonas knows without me having to say it. He knows by the look on my face. 

“Do you–”

“I have four euros in my account.”

We look at one another for one endless moment, and I can tell he wants to laugh a bit, because it’s a funny kind of shocking. Four euros. A comically depressing number. 

“It’s fine,” he’s saying now. “You just top it up with more,” and then I look at him with the most scathing look I have in my repertoire, because for the first time, he’s the one who looks like the privileged idiot. I feel I have to speak to him slowly to control the emotion in my voice. Tremors anyway, wobbling there beneath every word. “Where do you suppose I get the money to top it up, Jonas?”

He falters. “I thought your parents gave you money.”

“They don’t.”

“But you… We all thought they were funding your lifestyle.”

“They weren’t.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

“But Jude,” he says, shaking his head at me. I don’t like that. “You were spending so much money all the time. We all thought you had an unlimited amount.”

“I wasn’t,” I snap. “I wasn’t, really.”

“The holidays you went on. The gifts for Astrid, the way you eat at restaurants every day…”

“Those things didn’t feel expensive. I thought I had enough money to cover it, or, I don’t know, I didn’t think. When I sold my car, I–it looked like…” I break off helplessly. “I got an A in maths, Jonas. How can this happen?”

“It’s basic subtraction.”

“This shouldn’t be happening to me.” my laptop fades to black now, the account disappearing from sight, but the reality still ringing in the surrounding air. I think of all I am about to lose. A vision of my life crashing down around me like a house of cards. “Astrid! Oh, God, Astrid. What is she gonna do?”

“She will have to buy her own things for once.”

I groan, head in hands, unable to formulate a response. How can I speak when my life is basically over? Condemned to the streets. One of those people rummaging through skips with holes in my shoes, saying mad things to people at the bus stop, terrorizing the feral pigeons in the town square. There he is, crazy bird man, a cautionary tale. He got an A in maths in his leaving cert, and this still happened to him. 

Jonas, there by the door, deciding it's the perfect time to ask whether I've paid rent this month.

Without looking up. “No,” One glance at my account was enough to show it’s been struggling along for a while. Hundreds becoming tens, whittling down through December to the last few euros. Pocket change. It’s been bad for a while. “No, I didn’t pay rent.”

“Hm,” he says. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Looking at him in despair, considering, briefly, a tantrum of some sort. Pure childhood panic. If I cause enough of a scene, this will all go away. Looking into Jonas’ face is frightening, because I can see it there. He doesn’t know what to do either. He isn’t going to help me. 

“What do I do?” I ask, as if he knows. Pity in his eyes, watching me flail. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Perhaps you can get a job.”

A job. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. A job. An actual job. Kill me. That’s the last thread. The one causes the seam to give and ruins my life. You don’t understand. I want to explain. I’m from the biggest house on Vernon Avenue. I had a PlayStation 2 before everyone else. Instead of saying that, I lie here like a corpse, staring at the ceiling, wishing some heavy piece of furniture would crash through it and turn me into one for real. 

“It’s not bad,” he says, not understanding how bad it really is. Unable to fathom the intricacies of my life. 

I don’t bother to answer. It’s the financial equivalent of being pantsed in the schoolyard. The blankets ripped off my sleeping body on a winter morning. I am a creature accustomed to the shade beneath a rock, exposed at last to the light, nothing left to shelter me.

A job. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[itstimetodrew]

Kicking a bit of a nest perhaps, but re: Hobby Lobby that knee-jerk ‘you’re not a bad person if you support this business’ response is frustrating to me. It goes straight to assuaging negative feelings instead of focusing on actions.

Like okay, you aren’t a bad person (?) solely for shopping at a store that funds anti-LGBT campaigns. But you are still helping them fund those campaigns by shopping there. They will not have an asterisk in their quarterly sales that says ‘we made more profit, but sadly some of this money is from people who oppose our views’. They will see an increase in sales and easily spin it as more people supporting EVERY part of their business and what it stands for.

I get that it’s not possible or easy to avoid every bad business. I still use Amazon. I still have a Twitter account. I can say I’m using it less and finding alternatives, that I know I should cut them entirely to send a message. But I don’t, haven’t. And I don’t see the benefit in making a public declaration about how I’m not a bad person for it, because by trying to make myself feel better I’m telling everyone else who feels the same way that they don’t need to examine their actions too closely either. It becomes more important to feel good about myself than to take good actions.

Being told ‘you enjoy the convenience of Amazon more than you oppose funding their business and political goals’ would be true for me, objectively. That honesty makes for some guilt, but that’s motivation for me to make better efforts, not just convince myself it’s okay when I do it, actually.

Or tbh if you really feel that guilty about being a ‘bad person’ for shopping somewhere but don’t intend to stop there’s always the option to just…not say anything! You can always keep it to yourself instead of making some hand-wringing confessional out of how you can’t help how much you like chicken sandwiches and hogwarts houses or whatever.

[morbethgames]

Love In Stasis - Chapter 4

Hey everyone, the story wasn't getting quite the amount of feedback or traction just on my Patreon, so I'm gonna be releasing at least a few more free chapters here. The Patreon version is currently up to Chapter 16, which is the chapter that really puts the sapphic into this sapphic romance mystery. So, if you're enjoying this story, please consider supporting over there, and I'd love to hear your thoughts and what you think about this story!

Patreon : Love in Stasis Chapter 1 :

Love in Stasis Chapter 2 :

Love in Stasis Chapter 3 : The Bureau Current Demo

4:23am - Police Station

Luz could be seen through the one way glass window from the other side of the interrogation room. Two men were standing there, arms crossed. One of them was a taller, dark-skinned, muscular man with a goatee and connected mustache. The other was an older white man, a little shorter than his six-foot-two counterpart, with a graying beard. The taller man had a perturbed look, while the other was more stern. 

“It doesn’t look good, Andre,” the man with the gray beard said.

“Yeah, I know,” Andre sighed heavily through his nose, then turned his head towards his captain. “But she didn’t do this, Crane.”

Captain Crane looked back at him sympathetically, but still not losing that sternness he was known for. “It’s not about whether I believe that. It’s about whether you can prove that.” He looked back into the room where Luz was sitting. She brought a hand up to her face and rubbed her eyes, wiping a stray tear away from one of them. The image of her ex-girlfriend’s lifeless body on the ground was no doubt continuously flashing through her mind.

The detective furrowed his brow, “What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“That’s still applicable. Always will be.” Crane nudged his head towards Luz, “But if you can prove she’s innocent now, then we won’t have to keep her in our pool of suspects.”

Andre ran a hand down his goatee, then pointed towards Luz, obviously frustrated. His voice was calm in spite of that, “I’ve known Luz since she was a little girl. I’m tellin’ you, there’s no way she did this. It’s her job to search out crime that’s happening on that campus.”

“And it’s our job to consider all the possibilities, Andre. C’mon, you know that.” Captain Crane shook his head and sighed, “Look, I gave this one to you as a courtesy. Because I know you care about her. Just tell me right now if that was a mistake, because I’ll call someone else in here.”

There’s a pause as Andre turns to look into the interrogation room. He thinks about it, albeit briefly, then says, “No, I’ll handle it.”

“Good,” Crane said, opening the observation room door. “Then do your job, Detective Johnson. Keep me updated.” The police captain reluctantly looked towards the front of the station where the news reporters and cameras had gathered, before looking back. “I have a media frenzy to cull.”

A few more minutes go by, and at this point Luz is just sitting there, stuck in her own head. The cool metallic surface of the table is chilling against her skin as she leans her arms on it. At the very least, they gave her a clean set of clothes and let her wash her hands and face. Thanks to that, most of Mel’s blood was cleaned from her body, but she could still feel the weight of it. That viscous feeling on her palms still hadn’t gone away.

Her hands clenched as her face contorted into anguish and anger. What if she hadn’t spaced out? What if she hadn’t looked down at her phone? What if she had been just a minute sooner to the scene? She could’ve saved her. She could’ve been there, like she promised she always would be. Even after they broke up, she told Mel she’d always have her back. Well where the fuck was she this time? 

Why couldn’t she just be thirty seconds faster?!

The door opened, making her look up, momentarily freeing her from the guilt-ridden thoughts. She wiped an arm across her face to wipe away the tears that began to fall. “Andre…” 

The detective didn’t speak. At least not until the door behind him shut all the way. Then he let out a sigh and walked towards the table, staring down at her sympathetically. “Hey, kid.” He sat down on the edge of the table with a file in his hand, “How’re you holding up?”

Luz bit her lip, looked away and shook her head. The movement obviously meant to indicate ‘not well’. 

Andre nodded, taking another deep breath and placing the folder down onto the table. “You okay enough to answer a couple of questions?”

Luz sniffed, giving a half-shrug, half-nod in return. 

“Good, because Luz,” he paused, purposefully waiting for her to look at him. Which she did, slowly. “They have you as their lead suspect for this.”

Her eyes widened, and a look of rage came across her face. “What?!” 

“Luz-”

“I’m the one that fucking called it in!” She slammed a fist down onto the table, “She used to be my fucking girlfriend!” 

“And that, and your home life, is why they’re looking at you for this,” he replies calmly. 

Luz scoffed in disbelief, “My home life?! No, you mean my dad!” She stood up and leaned forward, putting her hands flat on the table. “Y’know, when you guys would answer those calls of drunken disorderlies down at the bar, and you’d let him off with a warning or have him spend a couple nights in jail, who the fuck do you think was getting the worse end of it when he was allowed to go home, huh?” Her voice raised to a shout, “And then you wanna use that to pin this shit on me?! Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Hey hey, kid-” Andre put up a hand, keeping an even tone and trying to de-escalate the tension. “-I’m not tryin’ to pin anything on you. Remember who the cop was that put your old man away in the first place.” He pointed to his chest, then let his hands rest in his lap. “The higher ups just care about making this all go away, but I’ll be damned if I let them-” he pointed to the door, “-pin anything on you, alright?” 

She stared him down and tears began to well up in her eyes again. So many emotions could’ve been contributing to them. Anger, frustration, sadness; it was too difficult to pinpoint the exact cause. Detective Johnson continued, “So you can stand, or you can sit, but do us both a favor and simmer down a couple notches. Because you’re angry; I get it. I would be too. Only a handful of people in the entire world know what you’re going through right now, but I really need you to keep a calm head and help me get you through this, okay?”

A tense silence settled in the room. There was nothing more infuriating than knowing that the people out there wanted to use their failures to pin her for a crime she didn’t commit. The murder of her friend. But ultimately, that wasn’t on Andre. If there was one person in this building she did trust, it was him. He was like the father figure she never had growing up, and probably the main reason she’s practicing criminal justice in the first place. 

So she let her legs give out and sat back in the chair, “Alright.”

“Good,” Andre leaned back to a more neutral position and continued, “So, tell me what happened. Where were you from two-thirty to three-fifteen this morning?”

Luz’s voice lost all defiance. All fight. Mostly because she felt secure enough with Andre to actually drop it. “I’ve been working all night. Patrolling around campus. At two-forty-five I stopped by Ellie’s Diner to grab a coffee. Then I took the car and went to sit in the Grayson Library parking lot until my break was over. I noticed someone on the green, but they took off as soon as I shut the car door.” She balled her hands into fists, “I should’ve gone after them.”

“You couldn’t have known, Luz.” Another pause enveloped the interrogation room before Andre continued. “Did you get a look at them?”

Luz shook her head, “No. Anywhere from five-foot-six to five-foot-ten. Wearing a baseball cap or something. I couldn’t see’em. It was too dark.” She started to bounce her leg, trying to hold it together. “After that I went to investigate where they’d been. And that’s when I found-” she stopped herself and grit her teeth. If she didn’t, she’d have broken down yet again. “I, uh… c-called it in after that. After I…” Her bottom lip quivered, “After I found her…” 

“Okay, hey-” Andre reached out his hand and leaned forward, putting it on her shoulder. “This is good, kid. You did good.”

She looked up at him, a single tear running down one of her cheeks, and waited for him to continue. 

“The fact that you were in your patrol car means they’ll be able to track the GPS back to everywhere you went tonight and know how long you were there for. They scoured the scene of the crime, searched your clothes, and searched your car. They didn’t find a murder weapon. Since you didn’t have it on you, and you didn’t have time to dispose of it in an area away from the immediate crime scene, there’s no way you could’ve done this.” He looked her in the eyes to make sure she understood what he’s saying, “You hear me? You’ll be outta here in a couple hours.”

Luz nodded, then looked down at the table.

“That bein’ said,” Detective Johnson said, “I do need you to sit tight for a couple of hours while we get the data from your work, okay? I’ll drive you back to your dorm room after we sort it all out.” He pats her shoulder a couple of times. “Hang in there kid.” Then, he stands up and begins walking to the door. 

“Hey, um, A-Andre…” Luz’s voice nearly gets caught in her throat, but it’s enough to make Andre turn around as he’s grabbing the handle to leave. “I, um,” she taps her fingers on the table. The words are difficult to push through due to the enormous amounts of bottled up emotions. But the grief is just too much. She was in front of someone she trusted and respected, and she just couldn’t keep holding it in any longer. “I don’t- I don’t know… what to do…” 

Andre’s shoulders visibly sulk as he sees the girl he’s tried so hard to protect lose all sense of innocence she had left. It wasn’t enough being knocked around at home, the world had to go and put this on her too. Not just the weight of a loss, but the guilt that came with it, too. It’s something he’d asked himself a number of times on the job.

What if I was just a little faster?

Luz closed her eyes and tears began spilling out in full force. She kept looking down and shook her head, her hair swaying from side to side as she spoke through strained cries. “I don’t know what to do…” 

It was almost enough to bring Andre to tears too. “Kid…” His voice was gentle and cautionary. He walked over towards her, and she immediately got up and turned to hug him. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him when she did, though. She felt weak, and for some reason ashamed. 

He hugged her back, putting a hand behind her head and letting her cry on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.” He rubbed her back comfortingly, “It’s not your fault, Luz.”

11:25am - Madeline’s Dorm Room

As Madeline opened her eyes, she saw the familiar, yet blurry, walls and furniture of her dorm room. As her sight started to return to normal, she groaned and began sitting up.

“Hey, she’s awake.” The deeper voice said. 

“Oh, thank god.” A higher pitched voice said. 

“Where-?” Madeline began to speak, but her mouth felt extremely dry. She coughed and saw a figure come into view. 

“Easy there, Mads. Take it easy. Here,” Darrel handed her a cup of water he had kept on the desk at the foot of the bed. He tilted it up to her lips, letting her take a couple of sips before pulling it away. 

“Maddie?” Angie, one of the R.A.'s, was standing behind him, “How are you feeling?” 

“My head hurts.” The exhausted woman managed to prop herself up against the headboard, groaning as she answered the question, slowly reaching up to place the palm of her hand on her temple. She looked at both of them, who each had extremely concerned expressions on their faces. “What happened?”

Darrel looked away for a second and then stepped back, allowing Angie to come forward and take her hand. “Maddie, sweetie,” she gave it a gentle squeeze, “you were drugged at the bar last night.”

Her eyes went wide, and she put a hand over her mouth. Fear immediately came over her and she had assumed the absolute worst. Before that fear had time to fully set in, however, Angie leaned forward and continued. “Hey, that’s all that happened, okay? Darrel came along and caught you before it could fully take effect.”

She looked over at the physical trainer, still frightened, but less so now. She seemed more horrified that a guy was in the room while this conversation was happening. It was humiliating, especially in front of a man. She couldn’t even put into words why. It just made her feel a little more uncomfortable. That, in turn, made her feel guilty, because from what she was just told, he’s the one that got her to safety in the first place. 

Thing is, Darrel also seemed uncomfortable in the situation. He was looking away, and pretending as if he wasn’t hearing any of their conversation. Mainly to try and help Maddie feel more comfortable. “After the paramedics left, we both stayed here for the night to keep an eye on you.” 

Madeline held up a hand, looking confused. “Woah woah, wait- paramedics?” 

“Um, yeah,” Angie looked back at Darrel, who shared her look of concern, then turned back. “The paramedics got here shortly after you guys got back to the dorm. They woke you up as much as they could and had you take a couple tests.”

Maddie shook her head and her breathing started to speed up, “I don’t- I don’t remember. Last thing I remember was being at the bar.” She looked under the sheets, in a paranoia that everything wouldn’t be alright, then swiveled her head from left to right to look around the room. “W-what did they do? I- I don’t-”

Darrel came over and placed a hand on her shoulder, speaking softly. “Maddie. Maddie, it's okay. I promise, nothing happened. You weren’t assaulted or anything; I wasn’t ‘bout to let you stay at that place and risk letting that happen. When the EMT’s came in, I left the room for a bit-” he made sure to specify that part, “-then they took a urine sample, and a blood sample. They checked your eyes and, well, did other shit to make sure you were safe to stay here and sleep it off. We should get notified about what was used in a couple of weeks or so, they said.”

Madeline stared at him, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “I just wanted to have a good time.” Her bottom lip quivered and she crossed her arms over her chest, gripping near her shoulders.

Darrel wasn’t sure what to do at this point. He looked over to Angie, who was equally as concerned. “Do you,” he paused, drawing out the end of the last word a little, “want me to call Mel?”

All Madeline did was nod her head yes while she quietly cried to herself for a bit. 

He got up and reached over to her phone, but just as he opened the contacts and started typing in Melody’s name, there were a few hard knocks on the door. He turned his head to look at Maddie, seeing Angie sitting with her now and making sure she was being taken care of. So, he figured it was alright to answer the door first. 

He put the phone down on the desk and went to answer it. When he peered into the hallway and saw who it was, there was an immediate sense of dread. Not because of the aforementioned who, but because of how rough she looked, “Luz?” 

She looked awful. She hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. She’d barely had anything to eat since dinner time the previous night. Not to mention her eyes were extremely bloodshot from all of the crying she’d been doing the past eight or so hours. 

Luz looked just as surprised to see Darrel opening the door as he was to see her on the other side of it. A bubbling sense of jealousy built inside her, but was luckily numbed by the news she came here to give Madeline. Still, the confusion was prominent in her tone, “Darrel? The hell are you doing here?”

He looked back into the room and took a deep breath, before looking back at Luz. “Better question is, what happened to you?” He stepped out into the hall, letting the door close most of the way behind him. “You didn’t sleep last night or somethin’?”

She looked off to the side and cleared her throat, “No.” Luz paused, controlling the urge to just push her way into the dorm room. “You mind giving us some time alone? I have something I need to talk to Maddie about.” She was dreading it, but it still had to be done.

Darrel shook his head, “Look, Luz, I don’t know what you got goin’ on, but it’s not really a good time right now.” He side-eyed the door before returning his gaze. 

Luz furrowed her brow in frustration, “Look, I don’t fuckin’ care what you two had goin’ on last night, you can give it a rest long enough for me to talk with her, alright?”

Darrel glared down at her, “You best tone down the venom, homegirl. I don’t appreciate the third degree-”

The woman attempted to just push her way past him, “I don’t have time for this shit. Just-” 

“Luz-” Darrel put a hand on her shoulder and pushed against her, which she shrugged off angrily and prepared to push back in retaliation.

“Hey- don’t fuckin’ touch me man!” 

“Maddie was drugged last night.” The words left his mouth sternly, but still in almost a whisper. 

She stopped in her tracks and her eyes went wide, “What did you just say?”

Darrel let out a heavy breath, “Maddie was at a bar last night and I saw her start to, y’know-” he held his hand flat, tilting it back and forth. “So I walked over to see if she was alright.” His eyes drifted down, “She wasn’t.”

Luz’s head was spinning with a million different thoughts. A thousand different emotions. Did someone take advantage of her? Was she awake now? Did she get help? Who slipped her that drink? Who was she going to go beat the shit out of and probably get expelled over? Did Maddie know? Should she even tell her right now if she doesn’t?

She was flexing her arm and clenching her fist so hard out of anger that her hands were shaking. Her throat was strained and she was actively holding back the need to throw a fist at the wall as hard as she could. Depending on the answer she got to this next question would be the answer to whether or not she followed through with that impulse. 

“Did they-” she grit her teeth, “Y’know-”

Darrel held out his hands and quickly answered, seeing where her head was at, “No- fuck no. I got there before anyone could lay a fuckin’ hand on her.” 

Both of them released a sigh as a vast majority of the tension simmered down to a palatable amount. “Trust me, I was askin’ myself the same question when I first saw her. I was ready to knock someone on their ass, too. But no, I took her here as soon as I knew what happened, and Angie and I have been with her all night since then.”

Luz nearly started crying again right then and there, only out of relief this time. “God-” she put a hand up to her forehead and took a deep breath. Then she took a step forward and pulled Darrel into a tight hug. “Thank you, man. I mean it. Thank you so much.”

From this point, Darrel is taken completely off guard. He’s never seen Luz like this in his two years of knowing her and hanging out with her. She’s always either acting tough, or joking around, or brooding. But he’s never seen her emotional like this. He cautiously wrapped an arm behind her in response. 

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” There was a pause between the two where they just held the hug for a bit before Luz pulled away and took a step back. “Luz, are-” he lowered his voice a little more, “are you alright?”

She shook her head, having to take a deep breath before responding in order to hold it together. “No. I know it’s not a good time, but I still need to talk to her.” She looked him in the eyes, her gaze pressing and her tone was desperate, “Please.”

The door opened behind him and both he and Luz looked to see Angie’s head sticking out. “Darrel, what’s going-” then she saw Luz and nodded as a form of greeting, “Luz, hi. Sorry, Maddie’s not taking any visitors right now. I can give her a message if you-”

“Mel’s dead.” Luz interrupted, quietly. The words left her throat like she had to push them out. 

Both Angie and Darrel’s faces dropped. Their eyes went wide in disbelief, and Darrel was the first one to speak up. “What the fuck do you mean she’s dead?” He looked back to Angie, who had a hand up covering her mouth and the beginnings of tears started to form.

Luz closed her eyes and talked through clenched teeth, trying to get through a quick explanation. “I found her body on patrol last night on the green outside the library.” She looked back up at Darrel with the same pleading expression, “Please, man, I need to be the one to tell her. Alright- look she’s my friend, and she was Mel’s best friend, and Mel was my-” She choked on the words, and wasn’t able to get the rest of them out without breaking, which she couldn’t allow herself to do out here in the hallway.

A tear rolled down Angie’s cheek and quietly spoke through her hand, “This can’t be happening.”

“Please, Darrel.” Luz’s voice snapped him out of his disbelief, “Maddie can’t learn about this from the news, or some email the school sends out. It’s gotta be from me.” She pauses again, letting the words sink in. Letting the realization of what hearing it by a third party like that might do to her. But Luz was so hellbent on being the one to tell her because, in a way, it was one of the last things that she could do for Melody. To be there for her best friend on probably the worst day of her life. “Please.”

Darrel stares at her for a moment, then subtly nods his head, his gaze much more mournful than it previously was, “Alright. We’ll get outta here. C’mon, Ange.” 

Angie wasted no time fast-walking out the door and down the hall. The tears that had already escaped were only the first of many. One could only imagine that an R.A. felt somewhat responsible for the students in their building. In a way, she might have felt like she failed Melody too. 

Darrel took a couple steps out of the room and held the door for Luz, who put a hand on it to stop it from closing and began walking forward. “And Luz,” Darrel said, causing her to stop where she was and look back at him, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry for your loss. If you need anything,” he paused again, letting his sentence trail off. He and Luz weren’t the touchy feely kind of people. They didn’t show their emotions on their sleeve. So when he simply left it at that, all she had to do was look at his face and she knew what he meant. 

“Thanks. I will.” 

Darrel nodded to her and walked down the hallway to try and catch up with Angie to make sure she was alright. 

Which left Luz standing there, holding the door to the dorm room open. She turned her head to see what little of the inside she could from this angle, trying to gather enough willpower to take those first steps in. With a deep breath, she gathered the strength to move that first foot and steeled herself for one of the toughest conversations of her life.

As she heard the door close, Madeline looked up and saw who it was. Her eyes widened a bit and she instinctively pulled the covers up towards herself a little more, “Luz?” For some reason, she was the last person Maddie wanted to see right now. Because of the shame. The humiliation. Because she felt so unbelievably stupid for letting something like this happen in the first place. None of these thoughts were warranted, and logically, it wasn’t her fault at all. But if logic had a say in trauma responses, no one would need therapists. 

She couldn’t figure out why she felt this way with Luz though. After all, she was-

“Hey, Maddie.” Luz spoke softly, interrupting her train of thought and sitting on the side of the bed, close to her. “Heard you had a rough night.” Madeline’s head sank and her expression fell. “How are you holding up?”

Maddie shrugged, “Dunno. I feel-” she had to stop to think of what to say, “Stupid, I guess.”

Luz immediately scooched a little closer and put a hand on one of her legs that was currently covered by the blanket. “Hey, stop that. It’s not your fault some asshole decided to slip something into your drink.”

“Yeah, but I should’ve been more-”

“Maddie,” Luz rubbed her leg, interrupting her thought process before she could finish, “it’s not your fault. Don’t victim blame yourself, okay? All you did was go out to have a good time. This isn’t on you.”

Madeline looked up at Luz for the first time since she sat on the bed. She didn’t know if forgiveness towards herself would come anytime soon, but having someone here to reassure her and remind her not to blame herself was a step in the right direction. 

When Maddie did look up, though, she saw what kind of state Luz was in. “Luz,” she leaned forward a bit, “you look like hell. What happened?”

Luz looked down and attempted to keep it together. Because Madeline would need her to. She needed to be the strong one out of the two of them, at least for right now. 

“Luz?” Madeline asked softly, moving one of her hands just a little closer to Luz’s, but not so much that they were touching. 

“Mads, I um,” she cleared her throat again and looked Maddie in the eye. The concern was already palpable, “Melody. She’s-” Luz’s eyes became glassy and she found it more difficult to speak. “She’s dead, Mads.”

Madeline just stared for a couple of seconds. 

She blinked, and a small smile came across her lips as she tried to reassure her friend. “Luz, I was just with her last night. Melody’s fine.”

But the longer Luz continued to silently stare at her, the more unsure Madeline got. The silence was all that filled the room. From the look on the taller woman’s face, Madeline knew Luz was sure of what she said. And so her own expression became more irritated, and she retracted her hand. “Luz, you’re wrong.” 

Another couple seconds of silence. 

Luz shook her head. 

“Or you’re lying. You’re wrong or you’re lying, Luz, and I really don’t fucking appreciate it.” Madeline nudged her head towards the desk, “Go grab my phone. I’ll call her right now. Come on, go get it.”

“Mads,” Luz talked softly, and tears were dangerously close to escaping at this point. “I found her body on the green this morning.”

“No-” Maddie held up a pointer finger. Tears began to form in her own eyes now as her breath sped up. “No, Luz-”

“I ran over but I was too late. I couldn’t help her-”

“No! You’re lying!” Madeline pushed forward in an attempt to shove Luz away. To shove the harsh, bitter reality that was being presented to her away. 

Luz’s voice broke a little and a single tear dropped down her cheek. “I didn’t want you to find out through social media or the news-” she shook her head again, almost in a pleading gesture. Pleading for her friend to forgive her for even having to be the one to tell her this in the first place. “Mads I’m so sorry-”

Madeline threw a hand forward as she screamed at the top of her lungs with tears rushing down her face. “NO!” The first one managed to hit Luz in the side of the face, which surprised the woman. But she quickly recovered and was able to restrain Madeline’s wrists by her sides, pulling the distraught woman closer towards herself. 

Maddie began getting dizzy again. The hysteria was in full effect, and the fact that she wasn’t fully rested from just being drugged at the bar last night only made things worse. “You’re lying!” She screamed out again, then collapsed forward into Luz’s shoulder. 

After a couple of seconds, with Maddie uncontrollably crying into her, Luz swiftly released her wrists and wrapped her arms around her, letting tears of her own begin to fall. One of her hands rested on Madeline’s back, and the other on the back of her head. Luz only felt her emotions take an even bigger nose-dive when she could feel Maddie noticeably shaking. The news wasn’t just catastrophic; it had sent her into a form of shock. It was one of the worst pains Madeline had ever felt, and would ever feel, in her lifetime. 

“MEL!” She sobbed, drawing out her best friend’s name as some sort of plea or bargain to try and get her back. “No, Mel!” Maddie continued shouting similar things into Luz’s shoulder in between her heart-wrenching sobs. 

Luz rubbed the back of Maddie’s head, trying to comfort her as much as she could. She swallowed the lump in her throat and sniffed, trying and succeeding to talk clearly past her own tears. “I’m so sorry Mads. I promise you, I’m gonna find out who did this. I’m gonna take care of you.” She began rocking subtly left and right, “I promise.”

At that moment, with both of them so stricken by grief, neither of them really knew exactly what those words meant. They would have time later to reflect on them, but for the time being, they both needed each other to mourn. Nothing would ever be the same again. 

Entire worlds have crumbled beneath the weight of feelings like this. Nothing made sense anymore. Everything that was once right in the world seemed to be a never-ending spiral of horrid, suffocating truths. A downward cascade of events that, when put together, made a reality that no sane person could ever be content with living in. The only way anyone could get through it all… was together.

[sludgewolf]

Rex Splode x Reader - Realization

AN: this was written for season 2 Rex, it'll be a multichapter slowburn running parallel to what's happening in the story. It got way darker than I expected so check the warnings before reading it

WARNINGS: grafic descriptions of gore, near death experience, survivors guilt, fantasy medical treatment, canon expected violence

Genre: angst, slow slow-burn, realization of feelings

Disclaimer: do not copy, repost, take or feed to AI or NFTs anything I post

Masterlist

the lizard league are B tier villains, barely worth your time, that's what the team always said when they started to act up again

nothing but childplay, practice villains even

so, why is it that against such enemies you find yourself laying in a puddle of your own blood, the oh so familiar warmth of it abandoning you in favor of the cold hard floor, life flashing before your eyes as you hear the screams of your friends around you and yet you find yourself unable to do anything about it.

You still remember when you first became one of the Guardians of the Globe

when you got notified that they were looking for new members, you didn't quite know what to feel

jittery about meeting so many other heroes? nervous about whichever tests they'll put you through? excited to be able to upgrade from back alley thugs?

maybe all at the same time

no matter how nervous you were up until that morning, it was nothing compared to the way you couldn't will yourself to stay still in midst of all the others, your fingers felt electrified, the arrowheads in your suit vibrating with your nerves and your blood rushing in your ears, muffling Robot's words as he called out the few who made it into the team

Robots voice is just as slow and monotonous as it always seemed to be, "-ing-rae, Dupl-... Trigger"

you almost miss him calling out for your name, you look around still in some kind of daze as all that were accepted cheered

the first person to approach you was Rae, you can't quite explain it, you just kinda clicked from there

you spent most of your free time together, you'd push her to explore every nook and cranny of your new base, even using your powers to make it interesting and she'd drag you to hang out with the other guardians

most of them were really fun, if not a bit too eccentric to your taste

but meeting Rex though, it was.... something

To put it simply he's an ass, always trying to be funny and a smart-ass even in the worst of times

and his ego, don't even get you started on the ego of that guy

to say that your first impression of him was the worst one could get was an understatement. After that you made an effort to interact with him the least you possibly could for the sake of the team and your own

at least, that was your plan until Robot decided to put you two together in all training exercises, having determined that your powers would work the best together

and you do hate to admit but you did combo rly well together, your projectile manipulation and his explosive coins really were a force to be reckoned with

resigned you accepted your fate and treated him as just that annoying classmate in the group project

but once you got over the first hurdle in your partnership you started to get along better than before, Rex learned you wouldn't tolerate most of his bullshit and you learned he more often than not spoke before thinking

it didn't take long before you started, not quite getting along but tolerating each other better, creating dumb combos that were more fun to put in motion than being useful during battle and even developing some banter between you two that from an outsider's point of view could be considered fighting

but that was comfortable for you, never friends but more like combo buddies

So you can't help but wonder if it was because you didn't take your training as seriously as you should that now you found yourself in such position

your breath growing weaker, you can no longer feel the heat of the crimson puddle you lay on

the pressure on your chest disappears as Komodo lifts his foot off of your rib cage before slamming back down mercilessly

you choke unable to pull the air back in your crushed lungs, you look back at the villain who just killed your best friend and know he's already done with you, you're left to this slow and agonizing death, slow enough for you to think of everything you could've done differently

things you could've done to save your friends, things you should've done to stop them

and now you're left here, unable to do any of them

you failed Rae and you failed the world

with those haunting thoughts you feel your body grow heavy, black spots cover your vision until they're all you can see, all you can feel

Not even the doctors are sure on how you survived your injuries, your ribs and lungs were smashed into nothing by Komodo, not to mention the various lasserations covering your body and the nasty concussion you suffered during the fight

some said you were lucky, others that you were a fighter through and through

you on the other hand couldn't even think of your own condition, Rae had just about every bone in her body crushed, Rex got shot straight through the head and Kate fucking died

you really were lucky, dumb stupid luck

The doctors stitching you back together, rebuilding your ribcage from goop was excruciatingly painfull, having most of your ribs replaced by metal substitutes was horrible, you felt like you were already rusting from the inside out

but you were also the first in your team to get back to your feet, the first to start physical therapy and the first to be allowed to visit the others

After much persistence you were allowed to go see Rae, she was...

she was in worst shape than you imagined, inside some kind of aquarium that worked as her all encompassing life support, from looks alone she seemed like she was hanging by a thread even here

even with the best doctors it felt like death itself loomed over Rae

The nurse accompaning you tries to take you back to your room, pleading for you to not strain your new lungs,

you force yourself to calm your breathing, not wanting to go back to the antiseptic box they've been keeping you for forever

pulling your IV pole you will yourself away from Rae's window, you wander though the hallways for a bit the nurse trying to keep your mind away from Rae

As you turn on yet another hallway in this maze of a hospital you come upon Rex's room just as his doctor is leaving

it doesn't take much convincing for both medics to let you come in to see him

you blame it on boredom but really it is that you're just that desperate for some familiar face, to see someone from the team recovering

"hey" you call out, your voice still raw from all the surgeries Rex turns to look at you, the helmet keeping his brains in tonking against the bed frame " what's with the back brace grandma?" he smiles at you you chuckle " as if you're much better than me Ms Artritis" "Ei, not fair! You're the only one here with two fingers to point" he laughs at your antics, scooting to the side to give you a place to sit on his bed

your visits become more frequent, frequent enough that he waits for you every evening

when the doctors deem that he recovered enough for walking they start scheduling your physical therapy sections together

your recoveries start to improve quickly after that, it's not long until you're discharged with a grocery list of medications and your check-up scheduled to the end of the month

But you can't keep yourself away, Rae still worries you and Rex would start talking to the walls without you here

Eve is the first to notice it, during their talks intead of gushing over the beautifull mahogani tables of a suburban mom's house Rex can't stop talking about you

she chuckles at it but prefers to let things run it's course, this Rex is much different from the one she dated, things might turn out fine

Another month passes untill Rex is finally discharged too, he wants to immediately go back to work, he has a new hand and he feels restless

which is why he jumps headfirst into the first mission Cecil offers him and get's banged up

it wasn't horrible but this is not the big come back he tought of for himself

he's so lost in thought that he's caught off guard when a voice calls him when he gets back to the base

"Already trying to dent the metal plate they put on your head grandma?"

he turns and sees you, on a tanktop that shows off the scars over your collarbones, your hair falling over your eyes but you look much healthier than the last time he saw you

you smile at him as you walk pass his figure, making your way to your room

his face grows warm, Rex open and closes his mouth unsure of what to say as he blushes

If you liked this pls reblog and comment so I know to write more like it reblogs >>> likes

[symphonicsoul]

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ He says he didn't hit his head but he also knows a fake smile when he sees one. He's friends with Lisa after all. Lisa Pacifist, Queen of underselling her ailments and bottling her emotions. Awkward chuckle and all. So something is going on that revolves around the boy's head and it only has the doctor sighing.

He says his back is what took the brunt of it and even if that's true he still needs to check. From the sounds of things though, Kumo caught him so if that's the case then his head might be fine.

"Kumo caught you then?"

It didn't sound like Kumo caught him in air.

"I caught him with Aero and slowed his descent."

The voice comes into the room behind them as if the Misterican was summoned on cue and with the state of his hearing, he probably was.

The blonde is turning to looking of his shoulder as he's handed an unpeeled orange and a package of crackers.

"Ah, thank you." He sounds with a pause. "So you didn't catch him, but your Mist did?"

"Correct."

"And did you see him hit is head? Has he been acting concussed?"

"Ei, not really. Maybe confused and a bit overwhelmed but we all get like that when we first get here."

"Has he sounded off? Rushed heartbeat or anything of the like?"

"Ei, not unless you count just now when he lied to you."

Cid is sighing little because he didn't need Kumo's hypersensitive hearing to know that but it's certainly a confirmation.

"I see. Well we all have our reasons for lying. Don't we Makenshi?"

And the look that crosses over the Misterican's speaks of his own guilt as he slightly drops his head.

"We'll talk later." Cid sighs again shifting his attention back to their newest member of the Comodeen's occupants.

His hand extends to off the orange and the crackers that were brought back to him.

"Kumo can you go fetch Kain and Edward for me? Ling might be a bit more comfortable with them than us."

"Joo. Of course. I'll be right back."

And he's gone again without another word leaving the mechanic to only sit and sigh again.

"Kumo's hearing is what we would call hypersensitive. He can hear at high frequency and at long distance. Walls do little to dampen his hearing unless he's in his own room. So at close proximity he can hear body function as clear as day. The rest of his family can too. It's just part of Misterican biology.

So if he's telling me you don't sound off, I'll trust him. Of his family, his hearing is the sharpest. So it's just my pre-warning to reconsidering lying when any of them are present in the future.

I don't mind. I get it. Wonderland is a strange and scary place. If you start to feel unwell you can come to back to me at any time and I'll help however I can. In the meantime, when Kumo comes back, you can speak to the Amestrians that are here and they can show you around."

Counter-intuitive. Tell that to his doctor back at home. He seemed to think forcing him to speak was a good idea. Some gentler coaxing would've been nice. Less painful and probably wouldn't have triggered such a bad panic attack. Damn doctors...

This one here doesn't seem too bad so far, though. He's apparently not going to force him to say anything, which Ling appreciates. He doesn't want to go over what happened with someone he's only known for a few minutes. Too overwhelming.

It puts him on edge, though, when Cid says he has to make sure he's okay. That he didn't hit his head when he fell. He still hasn't come up with an excuse to give him to not touch him there. He can handle most other areas, and explaining his blood sugar...well, that might be complicated, but he's at least willing to say that's an issue. An issue that makes sense. There's no way Cid will understand why he doesn't want his head touched.

Ling clears his throat and takes a moment to think of a good excuse, something that makes sense. Something the doctor won't question.

"Makenshi is right. I did fall." He still isn't sure if he's allowed to call him 'Kumo', so for now, he's sticking with 'Makenshi'. "But he helped to break it. I will say that I got a bit winded when I landed, but who wouldn't?"

He did fall a great distance and even if Makenshi helped soften it, it was still a rough landing. He has no problem admitting that part. Then he gives Cid a small, forced smile. He chuckles a bit, thinking it'll help sell what he's saying.

"If anything suffered, I'd say it was my back. But my head? My head is perfectly fine. It doesn't hurt."

[shannonsketches]

Why is the anime so weird, it's not even the same series dude?? It's like,

Anime:

GOKU: I have a great idea to bring peace to the universe, and my leadership and compassion alone will unite us all. I have No Flaws and am A True Relatable Everyman :)

VEGETA: NO! I AM THE BEST AND I WILL CAUSE PROBLEMS UNTIL I AM RECOGNIZED AS SUCH!!!!

Manga:

GOKU: Vegeta what's cornmeal made of? I know it's what the corn eats, but what's it made of? VEGETA: Hey Kakarot let's play the quiet game until one of us dies.

[genericpuff]

vent post

[rustedleopard]

Still thinking about how Clover on the No Mercy Route likely would've given up their quest for vengeance and lived with Martlet had Axis not told them that he killed Integrity. The only real difference between Aborted No Mercy Run Clover and No Mercy Run Clover are a few more destroyed robots and the knowledge of what Axis did, which sent their LOVE skyrocketing to LV 19.

Look at them. They can't even look Ceroba in the eye after they inflict the final blow.