#and if the eventual good outweighs the bad

[charliespringverse]

i think it should be possible to scream without making any noise or disturbing anyone or inviting any questions . just sometimes . as a treat .

[rosykims]

me pleading with astarion through the deluge of his act 1 disapproval like please i swear bro viera is evil yeah yeah i know shes super chill to everyone she encounters and is honest to a fault but. no, lissten, jsust listen hang on. shes LAWFUL evil man it still counts !!!! i know shes loyal and selfless to her allies and refuses to harm animals or children and will actively intervene on children's behalf BRO STOTP LAUGHIGN PLEASE I SWEAR and and um i know she respects ur autonomy nd doesnt let u ascend and has done literall.y all of the good options so by game mechanics shes indistinguishable to a hero character bbt. but i swear bro. bro i sw. where are you going

[anamina0]

Echoes

Part I , Part II , Part III , Part IV , Part V , Part VI, Part VII , Part VIII

Summary: Fleeing the wreckage of your heartbreak, you land in the chaos of Zaun, pouring drinks at a dingy bar. You're still facing unresolved feelings and emotions towards Ellie, but they’re easier to bury when Vi storms into your life—a whirlwind of sharp words and reckless energy. You start off bad, really bad but it's enough for you to think of something else for a bit.

warnings/themes : angst, heartbreak, lots of trauma, kind of enemies to lovers, unresolved feelings, a bit of violence, eventual smut, au

word count : 3.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at it again, falling just where you started , completely alone , full of sorrow and regrets. Moving away to a completely unknown place was the best escape plan - literally. You knew nothing about this city, save for a few stories your best friend had told you. Yet, even the thought of staying in the same place as her couldn’t outweigh your choice - you'd rather wander off Zaun's shadowed streets, losing yourself for a lifetime than remain bound to the familiar.

City was close to what you have imagined. The fractures that happened few years ago helped to a great extent , after decades of suffering, the city had finally exhaled, though it had not lost its soul. Cleansed of its grime, its fumes, and its shadowed figures, the streets and the people remained exactly as your friend had described them—a perfect echo of her tales.

Finding a job wasn't hard , from now on you'd serve drinks in one of the city’s dim, suspiciously isolated bars—barely more than a shadow in the corner of a forgotten street. Pay wasn't good but it was enough for an apartment and food, nothing else mattered to you. You were trying your best to take as many shifts as you could, working whole night helped you not think about her , during daytime you would typically crash out , exhausted from your job. And yet, she always found a way to reappear.

At the bar, you distracted yourself by watching customers. Most of them came for a drink and a chance to ease their burdens, but for you, the real game was observing them—piecing together their stories from a glance, a gesture, a half-heard conversation. Sometimes , thought of her would reappear . Something would remind you of her scent, her voice, slipping into your mind without warning. But you had mastered the art of distraction, shifting your focus before the memories could take root.

It was in your dreams where she would visit most frequently, escape from her was almost impossible, as though she determined to remind you of what you wanted to forget: that no change of address, no new life, could erase her. She was etched into you, inescapably, a part of you as much as your own breath. But you had to move on , that's what you were best at, carrying pain and suffering throughout your life, god knows you've been doing that since the day you were born.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Can we talk?” she asked, her tone calm but firm, as she stepped closer to you.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Ellie,” you whispered, bracing yourself for the inevitable fallout. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.” The words spilled out in a shaky breath.

Her green eyes searched yours, unreadable but sharp. “Why is that?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost careful.

“You already know why,” you said, your gaze flickering over her face—her furrowed brow, the tightness in her jaw. Anxiety clawed at your chest, every emotion colliding at once: fear, anger, love, and a desire that burned despite everything. Losing her wasn’t an option, not like this.

“That’s the problem,” she said, stepping even closer, her boots scraping softly against the floor. “I don’t know why. You told me how you felt and then ran off, didn’t even wait for my answer.” Her voice broke slightly, frustration seeping through, though she was clearly trying to hold it together—for your sake. “That’s not fair.”

“I couldn’t take it anym—” you began, but your trembling words cut short as Ellie moved.

Her forehead rested against yours, her breath warm and steady against your skin. “I need you,” she whispered, her voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “More than you could ever need me.”

“Nothing’s going to change that,” she said, her voice unwavering now, as if it was the most certain truth in the world.

* * * * * * * * *

Once again, your own screams tore you from sleep, Ellie had found her way into your dreams.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, the echo of her voice lingered in your ears. You glanced at the clock hanging crookedly on the wall and exhaled in relief—it was almost time for another shift.

You moved through your routine on autopilot: a quick shower, clothes and out the door. The walk to the bar felt like a blur, your thoughts still tangled with fragments of the dream you couldn’t shake.

“Hey there,” you greeted Revek, arguably only person who could be considered as your friend in Zaun , as you stepped behind the counter.

He glanced at you with that signature smirk of his, tossing his apron onto the counter. “Well, well, look who decided to show up. Twenty minutes late, no less.” Leaning against the bar, he crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Alright, what is it this time? Lost your keys? Got cornered by some hooligans? Or let me guess—lost track of time again?” His smirk widened as he tapped the counter, signaling for his usual drink.

“Cut me some slack, you asshole,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like they’re paying me enough to show up on time.” You reached for the shaker, pouring his drink without missing a beat. “I just… had a bad dream, alright?”

The smirk faded slightly as he took the cup from your hand, his gaze softening. “Not again,” he said, his tone shifting to something more serious. He took a long sip before adding, “You know, if you ever want to talk about it… I’m here.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said quickly, brushing him off with a weak smile. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Now scooch—you’re scaring off my customers.”

Revek gave you a knowing look, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he pushed himself off the barstool, raising the cup in a mock toast. “Fine, fine. Just don’t forget—I’ve got a hell of a good ear for this kind of thing.”

You watched him walk away, trying to shove down the unease crawling up your spine. Fixing your hair in the reflection of a glass, you turned to face the empty bar. The night was long, but at least behind the counter, you could pretend your mind wasn’t a battlefield.

The day had been dragging. The bar was dead slow, with only a few regulars stopping by for a drink and a bit of small talk. You made an effort to keep busy—wiping down the already spotless counter, rearranging bottles, polishing glasses—anything to make the hours pass. Not until she walked in. The air shifted instantly, the tension almost suffocating as the door swung shut behind her. You froze, your hand mid-reach for a glass, and looked up. You’d seen countless faces walk through those doors. From the desperate to the careless, from the downtrodden to the troublemakers, the bar had welcomed them all. Nobody ever stood out—nobody cared about anyone else here. That’s what you liked about this place. People came in, had their drinks, exchanged a few words, maybe played a game or two, and left as if they’d never existed to one another. But her? She shattered that silence like glass. You didn’t know who she was, but everyone else seemed to. Heads turned, conversations halted, and even the usual clamor of the old jukebox seemed to dull in her presence. She strode toward the bar, brushing off the stares that trailed her like shadows. It was obvious she didn’t give a single fuck about anyone in the room. Whatever power she held over the crowd, she didn’t seem interested in wielding it—at least, not tonight. Stopping at the counter, she gave the drinks menu the briefest glance before tapping the laminated surface with her finger.

"Can I have this?” she muttered, her voice low and uninterested, pointing to a drink. Then, without looking at you, she added, “Make it a double.”

“Sure thing,” you replied, watching her as you reached for the bottle. She didn’t meet your gaze, didn’t acknowledge you at all, but that only gave you the chance to study her features: pink hair cut into a sharp mullet, light blue eyes that didn’t seem to care about much, and freckles scattered across her nose like they’d been painted there.

“Here you go,” you said, sliding the drink toward her. She grabbed it without a word, her attention flickering to the room around her. Even now, she seemed utterly uninterested in you—or anyone else, for that matter. She didn’t sip the drink so much as down it, her throat working as the liquid disappeared almost too quickly. You found yourself leaning slightly forward, unable to look away. There was something about her, something impossible to read. You liked puzzles, and she was the hardest one you’d come across in a long time.

Who was she? Some kind of criminal? Or maybe she was the exact opposite? Why was she here? Trying to get drunk, or waiting for someone? Before you could settle on an answer, she tapped the counter sharply, her empty glass sitting in front of her. The message was clear. Another. You poured the drink without hesitation, the silence between you stretching long and tense. As you set the glass down, she didn’t so much as glance your way.

“You’re welcome,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm, hoping to at least provoke some kind of reaction.

It worked—but not the way you’d hoped. She turned her head, finally looking at you, and you almost wished she hadn’t. Her glare was sharp, cutting, and filled with barely-contained anger.

“Just do your job,” she said coldly, her voice low and cutting. “I didn’t come here for chitchat.”

She turned back to her drink, dismissing you entirely, but the tension she left behind lingered in the air, coiling around you like smoke. Whatever game you thought you were playing, she wasn’t interested.

“What an asshole,” you thought bitterly, dragging your gaze away from her and down to the bar. The question lingered in your mind—should you say something? Not because you couldn’t stand up for yourself, but because, you weren’t sure if she was even worth it.

She tossed back another drink, her sharp eyes cutting across the room as she motioned lazily for someone to come over.

“Again,” she muttered, her gaze flicking back to you. For a fleeting second, it softened—just barely. But the moment was gone as fast as it came, replaced by her usual aloofness when a tall man approached her with an appearance that screamed trouble. You busied yourself making another drink, ears pricked to catch their conversation.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here, Vi,” the man greeted her, his tone carrying an edge of wary excitement.

She chuckled dryly, grabbing her fresh glass without even looking at him.

“What are you playing over there?” she asked, dismissive, like she hadn’t even heard him.

He hesitated, glancing at his buddies like he was searching for backup. It was obvious he didn’t want her involved, but too afraid to say no.

“Just some boring cards,” he replied with a strained grin. “You’re, uh, welcome to join.”

“I’ll be right there.” Her words were ice-cold as she turned back to you. “Another one.”

You stared at her silently, letting your expression say everything your words didn’t. She noticed. Of course, she noticed.

But instead of acknowledging it, she took the drink you handed her and headed over to the table of men, sliding into a seat among the kind who spent their nights gambling away the last shreds of their dignity. Vi. That was her name. At least you had that much now. But she was still a puzzle—a unsolvable one. You watched her, lost in your thoughts, until Revek appeared from the back of the bar, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on her.

“Haven’t seen her in a while,” he muttered, settling onto a stool.

“Who even is she?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself.

Revek leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Remember I told you abour shit that went down three years ago? Piltover, Zaun, all that Hextech chaos?”

You nodded.

“She was part of it. A big part.”

You squinted, piecing it together. “That explains why everyone knows her down here.” You frowned, the anger bubbling back up. “She’s an asshole.”

Revek chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, you could say that. After everything went to hell, she holed up in some dump around here. Doesn’t talk to anyone. Just drifts between bars, sometimes… worse places, drowning herself in cheap booze.”

“Was she always like this?” you pressed, desperate to understand.

“That’s a long story,” Revek began, but his words were cut off by the sharp sound of glass shattering across the room.

Your head snapped toward the noise. Of course, it was her, standing over some poor bastard, yelling and swearing. Revek shot you a look and stood, ready to step in, but you stopped him with a firm hand.

“I’ll handle it,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument.

“You sure?” he asked, hesitation in his voice.

You nodded, already moving toward the chaos. By the time you got there, she was on top of the guy, fists flying with a fury that could have leveled buildings. The crowd around them was frozen, too shocked—or maybe too entertained—to intervene.

“Hey!” you shouted, but she didn’t even flinch.

“Stop it! Now!” you tried again.

Still nothing. She was too far gone, lost in her rage. Without thinking, you moved in to pull her off—but before you could, pain exploded across your face, and you found yourself on the ground, disoriented.

The room went silent.

When your vision cleared, you realized, she had hit you.

Vi stood over you, her expression flickering with something almost like regret. “Shit,” she muttered, reaching a hand toward you. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Get the fuck out,” you snapped, cutting her off as you staggered to your feet.

She hesitated, her gaze locking with yours. You made sure she saw every ounce of your anger, your disgust.

“Now,” you commanded, stepping closer.

For once, she didn’t fight back. She just turned and walked.

Days passed, and thankfully, she didn’t come back. Still, every time you stood behind the bar, her face crept into your mind—her cockiny, her sharp eyes, her unbearable attitude. It filled you with rage. You already had too much on your plate; the last thing you needed was to waste energy hating some pink-haired asshole. But despite yourself, you couldn’t stop thinking about her. It wasn’t all bad, you supposed. At least thoughts of her kept you from thinking about Ellie. But replacing heartbreak with anger wasn’t exactly a healthy trade.

It was another calm day, the kind you’d come to appreciate in the wake of the chaos she’d brought. If anything, her outburst had earned you some respect. The regulars gave you a nod, a look, as if standing up to her had proven something. But the peace didn’t last. The bar doors swung open, and the room fell into an all-too-familiar hush. You didn’t even need to look to know who it was. The tension in the air told you everything.

Vi.

Revek appeared at your side almost immediately, his eyes darting toward her. “This gonna be trouble?” he asked, his voice low.

“I’m fine,” you replied, keeping your gaze locked on her as she strode toward you. There was something deliberate in her steps, something… different.

Her eyes met yours from across the room, and you stood your ground.

“I think I made myself clear last time,” you said coolly, though your voice carried that simmering edge of anger you couldn’t quite hide. “You’re not welcome here.”

“I know,” she replied, stopping in front of the bar. Her tone was calm, almost subdued. “I’ll leave. But first, I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You narrowed your eyes, studying her. There was no cocky smirk, no sarcastic retort. Just… awkwardness.

“I was drunk,” she continued, her voice low. “That guy said something—something that pissed me off. I lost control.” She hesitated, her eyes searching yours. “It’s not an excuse, but… I didn’t mean to hit you. I would never—”

“But you did,” you cut her off sharply, though you could already feel the fight draining out of you. She was being honest. You hated that you could tell, but you could.

“I know.” Her voice softened even more. “I didn’t see you. And I’m sorry. I really am.”

You exhaled, your shoulders dropping slightly as you leaned against the counter. You weren’t ready to forgive her—not entirely. But you were exhausted from carrying so much anger.

“Fine,” you said at last, pouring her the drink she’d ordered last time. Sliding it across the bar, you added, “I appreciate your honesty. I don’t appreciate assholes, though. And you? You were an asshole.”

A flicker of surprise crossed her face as she accepted the drink. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something else. But instead, she downed it in one quick motion, set the glass back on the counter, and walked out without another word.

She started coming back. At first, you thought it was a fluke—a one-time thing. But no. A few days later, she was there again. And again.

Sometimes she was alone, sometimes with a new girl on her arm, but the pattern stayed the same. She’d order a few drinks, stay for a while, and leave without so much as a word in your direction. She’d read your message loud and clear. But what you couldn’t figure out was why. Zaun was filled with bars—plenty of them even filthier than this one. So why keep coming back to this one? Was it defiance? Did she just not care about the fact that you didn’t want her here? Then there were the moments that left you even more confused. The way her gaze would linger,as she was hanging out with some random girl, her eyes flicking over to you when she thought you weren’t looking. It wasn’t often, but it was enough to notice. Enough to keep her lodged firmly in your thoughts.

Vi was a mystery. An infuriating, captivating mystery. And for some reason, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to figure her out. Maybe it was the distraction she provided, pulling you away from the ache of Ellie. Or maybe it was something else. Something about the way she carried herself, the way she owned a room even when she was silent. Whatever it was, she had you hooked—and you hated her for it.

Today was no different. She strolled in like she owned the place, another girl trailing behind her—a new one this time. She made a beeline for the bar and ordered a round of drinks before sliding into a table suspiciously close to where you were working. Maybe you were imagining things, but it felt deliberate. There were plenty of empty tables scattered throughout the room, especially ones better suited for whatever this was supposed to be. An intimate date? That hardly seemed like Vi’s style. The girl with her seemed sweet. Blonde hair with blue highlights that caught the dim lights of the bar, bright eyes, a soft smile. She leaned toward Vi as they talked, her body language screaming interest. But Vi? She sat back, arms draped casually over the chair, her expression distant, detached. It was like she craved the closeness but couldn’t bring herself to let anyone in.

It was… familiar. Too familiar.

You turned back to the counter, your hands working on autopilot as you wiped down the surface. Yet, no matter how much you tried to ignore her, your gaze kept drifting in her direction. And every time it did, you caught her watching you.

You didn’t like it.

Pouring yourself a drink, you told yourself it was just to take the edge off. One drink turned into two, and before long, the alcohol made everything sharper, more noticeable. You were too aware of her—every glance, every quiet laugh, every time her eyes flicked toward you. When it happened again, you decided enough was enough. You locked eyes with her, letting your gaze trail over her features, daring her to look away. She didn’t. At first, she looked confused, but that quickly morphed into something smug—a slow, cocky smirk creeping across her face. She leaned over, whispering something in the blonde’s ear. The girl nodded, and just like that, Vi stood and headed straight for you.

“Hey there,” she said, her voice calm but carrying that familiar edge of arrogance. Her eyes bore into yours, steady, confident.

“Well, look at you,” you quipped, leaning casually against the bar. “Turns out you can talk.”

She smirked. “Can you blame me? You called me an asshole and made it pretty clear you didn’t want me to talk to you.”

“Both of those things are true,” you replied with a dismissive shrug, though the faint trace of a grin played on your lips. You blamed the alcohol.

“So let me get this straight,” she teased. “You don’t want to talk to me, but you want me to talk to you? Maybe even acknowledge you?”

“Oh, I’ve noticed you acknowledging me,” you shot back, your tone dry. “Not with words, though.” Your hand idly wiped at the counter with a cloth, pretending nonchalance.

Vi chuckled, brushing off your jab. “Fair enough. Since you’re so insistent, let me drop the ‘asshole behavior’ for a minute.” She leaned in slightly. “I don’t even know your name.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to meet her halfway. “It’s Y/N,” you said, your voice firm. A beat of silence lingered between you, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, with a small smirk of your own, you added, “Now get back to your date. Don’t keep her waiting.”

You didn’t wait to see her reaction. The sudden surge of emotions made your chest tighten, and you dropped the cloth and glass onto the counter, heading for the backroom.

Intimacy—it wasn’t something you wanted. Not now. Not with her. Even the smallest brush of warmth from someone else felt like an open wound. You were comfortable in the cold, with the pain. Examining Vi had been easy, safe. She was uncertainty and sharp edges, not softness. You closed the door behind you, leaning back against it and exhaling deeply. Maybe one of these days you’d figure out what Vi was really doing to you. But not tonight. Not yet.

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Note from author: It's my first time writing something ever please please please let me know if you liked that! I think that this fic will have 6/8 parts , so there's a lot unfold here. I kinda changed finale of Arcane, because Vi and Caitlyn don't end up together. Also, I have included Ellie as reader's ex girlfriend, so she will have more appearances in future. It would mean world to me if you shared my work (if you liked it of course) and please don't hesitate to message me, ask me questions about it or let me know what are your thoughts! Thank you!

[dollyyun]

DEVIL'S KNIGHTS' PREY ✧ SERIES MASTERLIST

PAIRING ✧ enha hyung line x fem!reader GENRE ✧ 18+(mdni), reverse harem, eventual poly, romance, morally grey characters, semi-college au, eventual adulthood, dark themes, strangers/friends to lovers, obsessive male leads (borderline psychos but we love them) GENERAL WARNING ✧ religious themes, good girl!fem reader, tensions, angsts, toxicity, explicit themes, profanities, corruption, perversion, usage of weapons, violence, blood, graphic descriptions, traumas, dramas, misunderstanding and miscommunication, tragedy, other k-idols appearances, smuts (warnings will be indicated under cut on each part) DISCLAIMER ✧ this fic is inspired by devil's night series written by penelope douglas but with an entirely different plot. CREDIT ✧ main top banner by @chaconnenha <3

✧ SUMMARY ✧

the four devil's knights' leaders ─ just by hearing their moniker gives you the unpleasant shivers because you know fully well that they are bad news, but you have nothing to worry about as you don't intend to be involved with the likes of them, or so you thought.

your first mistake was attending the renowned Halloween party that happens every year, which is hosted by the corrupted fraternity of Devil's Knights, because from the moment you ignorantly stepped into the zone where danger persisted, your life was never going to be the same, not especially when you became their target as they hunted you down, giving you a night to remember that was either memorable or traumatising. you thought that it was over? wrong again.

despite the hidden agenda under their sleeves, the four devil's knights' leaders cannot deny the magnetic attraction towards you, eventually developing the mutual obsession over you, desiring you all to themselves.

there is a saying that light is drawn to darkness, and that describes your predicament perfectly. you know that they are bad for your pure heart, but your desire outweighs the warnings your angels are telling you. the more you are caught up in the tangled web of attraction, lust, and perhaps love, the more addicted you are as you find yourself craving their attention and affection, even the scraps of it. unfortunately, being involved with the darkness means your light will be diminished, eventually facing the inevitable heartbreak.

MOODBOARDS ✧ DEVIL'S NIGHT | HEESEUNG | JAY | JAKE | SUNGHOON | DILFS |

ORIGINAL VERSION OF DKP SERIES

✧ PART 1 - DEVIL'S NIGHT

✧ PART 2 - HIDEAWAY (JAKE)

✧ PART 3 - KILL SWITCH (SUNGHOON)

✧ PART 4 - CORRUPT (JAY)

✧ PART 5 - NIGHTFALL (HEESEUNG)

✧ PART 6

✧ PART 7

✧ PART 8

✧ PART 9

✧ PART 10

✧ PART 11

✧ PART 12

✧ PART 13

DRABBLES

✧ GOOD FOR YOU

✧ TOUGH LOVE

✧ APPLE OF HIS EYE

✧ DOUBLE TROUBLE

✧ FOREVER HIS ONLY PRINCESS

MISC

✧ dkp men visualisation

ASKS

PERM TAGLIST:

@ja3yun @yzzyhee @sunpov @vveebee @jiryunn

@nshmrarki @roslayy @machambrx @wonnienyang @punchbug9-blog

@nora12379 @hollyoongs @chicxxy @tunafishyfishylike @norucking

@riribelle @lol6sposts @skzenhalove @reading-wh0re @tinie03

@cyjhhyj @jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate @mitmit01 @strxwbloody @woorcve

@1309zip @fancypeacepersona @tsukiflwr @karinaever @wolfhardbby

@moonpri @lucid-sombra @kittylicious-purr @addictedtohobi @lillotus17 @minahaeyo

@in-somnias-world @jezzzzzzmin @deobitifull @doublebunv @mamuljji

@adroitlane @wilonevys @florestalio @senazzzz @firstclassjaylee

@hellokittygurl9999 @woorcve @1309zip @vwricky

TAGLIST:

@wave2hoon @nyxtwixx @somuchdard @bgirly318 @en-doll @enhamonsterghoul

[myownwholewildworld]

13. DEATHROW

chapter 12 | ao3 | series masterlist | chapter 14

pairing: post-outbreak!joel x f!reader. summary: tommy's ill-placed trust brings you to an impasse. a/n: uhmmm... hi... the only thing i'm going to say is that i'm really sorry. please know that writing this chapter took an emotional toll on me and was crying towards the end. if you're sensitive to certain topics, please heed the warnings. i will tell you though that there will be a happy ending, i promise. as always, i appreciate comments, reblogs and likes, and if you do all three, i'll treasure you forever. take care, lovelies <3 x warnings (spoilers!!): 18+, mdni. some fluff until it isn't. explicit gore, violence, murder. miscarriage. angst and grief. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov. dividers by @\saradika-graphics w/c: ~5.2k. taglist aka the drama wagon at the end of the chapter (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!)

“Fuck, no,” you grunted, turning the keys in the ignition while your other hand tightly gripped the steering wheel.

The Jeep’s motor spluttered, wheezing as you tried to bring it back to life. Pressing on the gas pedal, you spun the key around again to no avail.

Last night you should have checked on the battery. Having thought about it and then not doing it was infuriating, but at the same time you couldn’t blame either Joel or yourself for it.

You both had been so focused on the conversation, your fears being washed away, that preserving the life of the car battery had dropped several spots in your list of things to worry about. It wasn’t every day that Joel opened up to you, so when he did, you hadn’t dared stop him.

Despite the simmering fear under the surface of your skin, the excitement outweighed everything else. A much-needed ray of happiness among the darkness. Even though it was still too early, you couldn’t wait to welcome this baby into the world. To introduce them to Joel. Imagining him holding your baby, nestled in his arms, him pressing a soft kiss on their forehead…

Your chest swelled with emotion, a wave of warmth overwhelming you, filling your core. You definitely couldn’t wait.

And yes, there were infinite threats out there, but you and Joel would keep them all at more than arm’s length. This baby would be loved, protected. Joel would not let anything happen to any of you, but neither would you ― you would do absolutely anything and everything for them. Whatever the cost.

A big part of you was sure that Tommy would do nothing with the information he had unearthed about you. After all, he was your friend and Joel’s brother. You liked to think that, despite how he ditched you both when you were bit back in Chicago, he still cared about the both of you. Having spent months with him in the wilderness, he had been like the big brother you never had. Always the older sister, you never had someone looking out for you when you were younger. Tommy had filled that part in a sense, albeit briefly.

Joel, on the other hand, was keen on leaving, hence why you were trying to resuscitate the Jeep. Blamed how his brother had changed solely on Laney. And although you agreed that Laney had been an extremely bad influence on Tommy, she could not be the only culprit here. Tommy had decided, of his own free will at first, to get involved with that group, to drown his sorrows in alcohol and harder drugs.

But he would do nothing that would put Joel or you in harm’s way. Despite it all, he was a good person, just a tad lost. Tommy would eventually find his way back to his brother, to family. You were darn sure he would make an amazing uncle.

Grunting, you jumped out of the car, keys dangling from your gloved fingers. Trudging towards the cabin, Joel came down the steps to meet you halfway through in the overgrown path.

“Any luck?”

“Nope, sorry,” you apologised although were not sure why. You handed over the keys. “I should’ve checked the battery last night.”

You unintentionally pursed your lips in frustration, but Joel’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip to soften the gesture. Your eyes flickered to his as his fingers splayed across your jawline.

“I could’ve checked too and didn’t. This ain’t on you, baby,” Joel reassured you. “We’ll find an alternative, don’t worry.”

You pecked the fingertip of his thumb, which earned you one of his lopsided smiles, tiny dimples sinking in his cheeks. Joel was always a sight to see, handsome as he was, but when he grinned, his whole expression shifted. The worry would ease its grip on him, the crow’s feet around his eyes accentuating and the skin on his lips tensing into a boyish smirk.

No wonder he had such an effect on you. Couldn’t be any other way. Because Joel Miller was gorgeous on the outside, but it was his heart what you treasured most about him. His passion, his predisposition to help those who needed him, his good intentions, his kind nature towards you was what stole your heart.

Yes, he could be a huge prick sometimes, but it was out of fear, of love. Not that it was a good excuse for some of his behaviour, but you knew he was trying his best.

“What’s crossing your mind?” he probed, sensing your absent-mindedness.

You shrugged, a half-smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Nothing, just mentally listing the reasons why I love you,” you whispered as he bowed down, replacing his thumb with his mouth.

“Oh, yeah? I bet it’s a long list. Care to share?” Joel taunted you, lips moving against your as he spoke.

You chuckled, slapping his shoulder playfully as you stepped back.

“Stop being a flirtatious tease, Miller. You’ve already knocked me up, you don’t need to impress me anymore,” you joked.

His hand slipped to yours and pulled you into his hard, broad chest. You couldn’t help but titter when his arms wrapped around you in a bear hug. Joel kissed the crown of your head, his palms sliding down your back until both cupped your ass to press you on him.

His mouth made its way to yours lazily, his lips prying yours open with ease. The tease of his tongue swirling around yours pulled all air out of your lungs, his wet warmth pouring into your thirsty mouth. His tongue retreated and you whimpered lowly, for him to lick back in your mouth with ravenous need.

Joel broke the kiss a minute later, gasping for oxygen. You panted as well, slightly flustered.

“I may not need to, but I definitely want to impress you every single fucking day of our lives together until death do us part,” his tone grew darker, more intense, as he mumbled such words against the soft skin of your lips.

Your heart jolted, the bare intensity of his promise making you shiver with raw love. Warmth settled in your core, his pledge a reassuring blanket that nothing would break you apart. You knew he meant every single word, which made it even more significant to you. You didn’t think you could ever love someone else the same way you loved Joel ― it would be simply impossible.

Your eyes got glassy, a finger brushing your waterline as you laughed it off, taking a step back.

“Stop it, you’re gonna make me cry,” you said, a chortle loosening the emotion in your voice. “I don’t think I can even blame the pregnancy hormones for that.”

Joel cradled your face, his thumbs stroking your cold, wet cheeks. His brown eyes softened as he leaned in for a chaste kiss this time. Then his forehead rested against yours intimately.

“I do mean it. I love you. And this baby too,” he hummed, one hand drifting down and then up the hem of your padded coat until it landed on the bare skin of your belly. His thumb trailed an invisible line below your belly button. “I don’t think you understand how much, sweetheart.”

You swooned. How could you not when Joel was talking like that? You liked him being so vocal about his love for you, for this baby, because you knew it was rare.

Hugging his neck, fingers laced at the nape of it, you pushed him down for another kiss, his warm palm still stroking the skin over your womb.

“I do understand, because I feel exactly the same. Now stop this before I lose my mind and lock you up,” you laughed against his lips.

“As tempting as that is, you’re right. We need a vehicle,” he sighed loudly, almost exasperatedly, while he stepped back from you. “We’ll go into town, see what we can find.”

“I can stay here with our supplies, so we don’t have to carry everything with us,” you offered.

“No, you’re coming with me. Tommy knows we are here, it isn’t safe anymore. We go together,” his steely tone told you he would not be convinced otherwise.

“Do you really think Tommy would come back and do something rash? I highly doubt it, Joel. He’s your brother, he wouldn’t harm either of us,” you reasoned with him, knowing it was a lost battle.

“It’s not him I’m worried about, but the others he’s with if he opens his goddamn mouth.” He had a point, so you didn’t argue anymore. “We’ll hide some things in those bushes over there, so you don’t have to carry that much weight, and then if it’s safe, we’ll come back to retrieve everything else.”

You nodded, sliding your hand in his and squeezing it.

“Let’s go then, it’s freezing out here.”

Joel’s senses flared the whole time, even the twigs breaking under his heavy boots made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up. The nagging feeling stalking the back of his mind kept him on edge, checking his surroundings at all times.

Oswego felt alien, otherworldly even. Joel had not set foot on this town for years―decades―and nothing had really changed. But the atmosphere had, the mist adding a layer of mystique to how he perceived it. Being here felt… wrong. His skin bristled at the thought, instantly turning around to check on you. Again.

“Yes, I’m still right behind you, just like the last twenty times you’ve checked, Joel,” you mocked him with a gentle smile in an attempt to ease his uneasiness.

Joel pursed his lips, swallowing the snappy retort. His mood had soured with every step closer to the dam on West River Road. With no cars to be seen, you had to venture further in than what he had anticipated.

“I know, just making sure no one is following,” he said instead.

You did not deserve his spoilt temper.

Slowly coming down the hill, you both got to the asphalt. The dam was on your right, fenced off and in big disrepair. The water was pouring over, the winter almost forcing the river to overflow.

Joel quickly moved to your side, keeping you close to him, as you both walked northwards.

“See that red-bricked building? Tommy once got inside and almost didn’t make it out. He tripped over some bare cables, and they came in contact with water… It was a shitshow,” Joel recalled, trying to get his mind off that nagging feeling that made his skin crawl. “He almost electrocuted, got a nasty burn on his hands.”

“And let me guess, you went after him to try and stop him from being even more reckless,” you added, intertwining your gloved fingers with his.

Joel cocked his head, looking at you askance with a subtle grin. You knew him too well by now.

“Damn right I did. That kid could never be left unsupervised,” he tutted at the memory. “I had to break him out while the guard was chasing us. When our old man found us, he was not impressed.”

You chuckled, a melody to his ears in this decrepit world. Joel loved the sound of your laughter, how easy going you were when worry was not gripping you tight. He gently yanked at your laced hands to push you into his side, his arm quickly draping over your shoulders as you trudged forward through the thick layer of snow.

The light screech of distant tyres made him stop right away, his alertness going through the roof as he turned around to discern where the noise was coming from.

His heart jostled against his chest, blood rushing through his eardrums with anticipation. Danger was nearby, Joel could sense it.

He pushed you towards the trees on your left.

“Go, hide in the woods, but don’t strand too far,” his voice was unusually calm, especially considering how his heart pounded, threatening to break a rib.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“Someone’s coming. Trust me,” he pushed you again, this time with more urgency. “Please.”

Your eyes widened when you heard the car approaching too.

“It can be anyone. Doesn’t have to be―”

“I said go.”

“But you―”

“I’ll keep ‘em busy. I’ll be fine. Go,” he insisted, keeping calm even though the fear bubbling inside him was asking him to yell.

Finally, you nodded, a last squeeze on his hand before you ran towards the cover of the woods.

Drawing a deep breath in, with the coolest demeanour he could muster, Joel faced northwards and kept on walking, pretending he didn’t know you were being followed.

Soon enough, a vehicle approached him from behind, his whole body stiffening in preparation for what was to come. His left hand gripped the leather strap hooked to his shoulder, while the right tested the weight of his riffle’s stock. Blood pumped thick through his veins, mind rushing at lightspeed.

Joel dared to shoot a sideways glance to the trees, checking you were nowhere to be seen. His relief was short-lived when he noticed the trail of imprinted footprints on the snowy, frozen ground, a clear path leading to where you were hiding.

If he could throw up his heart, Joel would have done so there and there. But he couldn’t fix that, not now, so could only pray that whoever was following would not spot them.

Not whoever ― Joel knew who they were, as sure as the sun would rise over the horizon tomorrow morning. You were adamant that Tommy would not give you up, that his little brother would smarter than that. But Joel knew better than that ― knew Tommy too damn well. Although he probably meant no harm, his need to belong, to find his people, was far greater than anything else. A fucking irony, if you asked him ― Tommy had him, had you, but apparently neither of you had been enough to satiate his longing.

It had always been like that though, so why was he surprised? Even as a kid, Tommy would find the shittiest people he could to hang out with, and then it was up to Joel to get him out of dire situations.

A loud honk coming from the car derailed his train of thought. Halting suddenly, the riffle’s strap came off his shoulder, the barrel weighting heavy on his left hand while his right pawed the grip.

Joel slowly turned around to face four people coming out of the Jeep. He recognised Laney straight away, the woman who had gotten Tommy’s head up his own ass. A baseball bat rested on her shoulder. The three man that accompanied her were strangers to him ― all of them had drawn their guns.

Fucking outnumbered, but his coward of a brother was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey there, Joel. Long time no see,” Laney greeted him, a wide smile showing her crooked, yellowed teeth. “Going somewhere?”

Joel eyed his opponents, pondering how to get out of this unscathed. His hand tightened around the riffle’s grip, but he kept it steady. Didn’t want to force a situation he wasn’t sure he could win.

“No, just aimlessly walking around,” he barked back, snappy.

He had no time for pleasantries.

Laney laughed, closing the distance with the three man right on her back.

“I see. Tommy was telling us all about how you have forgotten about Sarah already and decided to replace her with another shot at parenthood. Is that right?” She stopped six feet away from him, her grin spanning across her mouth like a fucking clown.

Her words hit him like a motherfucking lorry. The most primal anger flared his nerves, his vision reddening at the thought of Tommy airing his personal life to fucking strangers. Could he not trust his own fucking blood anymore? Why the fuck would Tommy tell her anything about Sarah?

He wasn’t replacing her. Never could, would never even try ― Sarah was irreplaceable. This baby could never supplant Sarah. He’d love them to death―already did―just as he had Sarah. Tommy should fucking know that.

Displaying the highest forms of control for the sake of you both, Joel stood there, white knuckles under the fingerless gloves. He petted the trigger, wanting to give in to this urge ― the urge to right a wrong. But he had you and the baby to worry about, couldn’t be so reckless.

“Did that clicker you call your girlfriend eat your tongue or what?” one of the men chipped in, snickering at his own tasteless joke.

Of course Tommy told them that too. When would the younger Miller ever learn to shut his fucking mouth up?

“What do you want, Laney?”

“Ah, well, you see…” she shrugged, folding arms. Joel wanted to wipe her smile off her stupid face with the blow of his shotgun. “This is our town now. And we don’t like having fucking pregnant clickers around here, Joel. Have you considered the kind of monster that is gonna come out of her?”

Fury crawled up his throat, closer now to losing his goddamn composure. Joel had to blink a couple of times to clear his vision from the tinge of red buffering around his eyes.

You’re the fucking monster, leave my family alone, you bitch, was what he wanted to yell, but instead forced himself to try and diffuse the situation.

“We’ll leave. There’s nothing here that would keep us in this place,” and by nothing, he truly meant no one.

Tommy’s betrayal stung like a swarm of raging wasps.

“Ditching your brother already? Wow,” Laney cackled like a parrot. Then tutted, her head cocking to one side. “Bit late for that, I’m afraid.”

“Let go of me, you bastard!”

Your high-pitched shriek froze the hot blood running wild in his veins. His head snapped to his right, just in time to see a fourth man dragging you out of the woods, grabbing you by your hair as you kicked like a madwoman to break free.

His heart literally stopped, brain trying to catch up with what was happening. He had missed the moment the fourth guy had diverted from the group to track you down through the snow. And Joel was afraid you would pay for his inattentiveness.

A dense knot swelled in his throat, his lungs straining to get some oxygen in. He couldn’t afford to panic now, nor to lose his goddamn mind, but the urge to give in to desperation was overwhelming.

You were everything he had left in this godforsaken world. Joel couldn’t lose you too, not to his brother’s stupidity.

So he persevered, forcing himself to remain calm. The seconds dragged on like a thread being pulled off a blanket, time standing still the moment that vile man threw you to the floor.

On your fours, you fought for a gasp of air before the same man yanked at your hair again, another painful scream as he forced you on your knees.

“You son of a bitch,” you spat, feeling your scalp pinching with the pull.

For a moment you avoided Joel’s gaze, because you knew what you would find there: helplessness. The same you were feeling right now. But his eyes were burning a hole right through your face ― and you finally met his glare.

Even if he had a tight grip on his composure, you could feel his anger, his guilt, his rage. To someone else Joel might look eerily calm and steadfast, but to you, who had learnt everything there was to know about Joel Miller, he looked like a man in penance.

Your captor slapped you, the blow pushing you onto the frozen ground again. Your skin prickled at the contact, a grunt slipping through your lips ― but that was all you would show them.

Joel moved towards you suddenly, a reaction he could not have suppressed even if he wanted to. But the moment the other three men pointed their guns at him, you regretted him doing it. Luckily, the sound of the firearms being cocked stopped him before he could reach you.

“Look, it doesn’t really need to be this dramatic, Joel. You get in the car, we take care of her, and we drive you to your brother,” Laney spoke as if you were not there.

Why did people had developed the ability to talk about you as if you were an object, as if you were not even present? What the fuck was wrong with people? Had they stopped seeing your humanity because of a fucking bite?

“No, you get in the car and leave, before I kill y’all,” Joel muttered under his breath.

Only when you saw the feral look in his eyes, did your heart start racing. This could only go down one way, because Joel would not let them do anything to you. For his own preservation, you wished he did, so one of you could make it out alive.

Launey laughed, followed by the four men.

“You reckon you can take on the five of us?” she taunted, her teeth becoming yellower with the white background. “You are delusional.”

Joel was not someone who took being challenged graciously. You had seen him unleash his temper before, and how that had turned out for the men who tried to rape you. He had not only killed them both, but then spent hours hunting down every single member of their group on his own.

This, though, was different. Joel had already three guns pointed at him.

You felt the shift in the atmosphere before the rest, the twitch in his jaw alerting you that Joel was at his wit’s end. His pose stiffened almost unperceptively, one finger slowly sliding towards the trigger. He didn’t need to communicate with you ― you knew what was about to happen.

Joel lifted the riffle, turned around promptly, and shot the man who had dragged you out of the woods. His body fell to your side with a muffled thud.

Then hell broke loose, the three men coking their guns at him in an instant, stepping in front of Laney to protect her.

“Don’t kill him, Tommy wouldn’t forgive me,” was her only order.

Two of the men holstered their guns, one of them still keeping Joel at gun point, and lunged forwards towards him. A second shot knocked the second man down, while the other two grabbed at Joel’s shotgun’s barrel. A fight ensued while they struggled to get hold of the firearm.

Your pulse accelerated, forcing you out of your state of shock as you raised to your feet, hand slithering to your back to grab your own gun. You would fight besides Joel even if this was the last thing you did.

Then Laney’s body blocked your vision, the baseball bat swinging in front of your face.

“Where do you think you’re going, you fuckin’ clicker?” were her only words before the bat swayed again, hitting you harshly on the sternum.

Your lungs evacuated all air, leaving you mouthing for a gulp of oxygen. Your knees quivered and you managed to stop the fall, your nails digging in the dirty snow underneath. A second shot of pain ran down your spine when Laney hit your back with all the strength she could muster, and both your arms and legs gave way, your gun falling and dropping a few feet away from you.

Your face kissed the white blanket beneath as you crawled onto your side, still trying to catch a breath, wincing and panting, clutching at your chest. This much pain could only be caused by a broken rib, the stabbing feeling worsening with every breath you tried to get in.

“You’re disgustin’,” Launey snarled before she started kicking you, her boot and the bat taking turns.

She hit you everywhere, but most of the blows landed on your stomach. You crouched down, protecting your head as best you could, while searing pain cursed through your body, sharp and dull at the same time.

You could still hear the struggle between Joel and the two men, and you hoped he would prevail. But you couldn’t wait for him to help you, not with the burning cramps taking hold of your whole body. Another minute of this beating and Laney would end up smashing your skull open ― it was only a matter of time.

Through the agony, the worst pain you had ever endured, you rolled onto your back as the woman kept on hitting you with boots and bat. Not the best idea, but it was your only chance to reach for your gun on the ground.

Laney was so focused on you, she didn’t even notice the moment your fingers wrapped around the grip of your forgotten gun. With no hesitation, your finger slid to the trigger, and pressed it.

The bullet lodged right between Laney’s brows ― a millisecond later, she fell on her back.

You drew in a breath, then a trembling sigh escaped your lips, trying to slow down your heartbeat. A cloud of mist lingered in front of your mouth. Closed your eyes for a minute, trying to reign in the pain coursing through your being.

Tilting your head to one side, you saw the last two men on the floor. Joel was on top of one, fisting and punching his face until his head cracked open. A pool of blood tinted the white snow, and only when his brains were spilling over onto the ground, did Joel sit back and look in your direction.

You saw the fog lifting off his mind, his rage forgotten the moment he landed eyes on you. Those brown orbs you loved suddenly widened with fear and his face expression completely transformed into anguish.

“Baby, no,” he whispered with despair, crawling his way to you.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled the moment he reached you, helping you sit up and hugging you so tight you feared he might break the last of your ribs. “Joel, I’m fine,” you reassured him.

All your body ached just as if you had been put through hell, but you were alive.

“No, no, no, no,” was everything he could murmur, his lips pressed onto your temple. His breath so warm it was soothing. “No, no… can’t be… I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Oh God, please forgive me. I’m sorry…”

Joel started to rock back and forth still holding you, his eyes so broad and glassy you knew you were missing something.

That was when you looked down and saw the blood staining your jeans where your inner thighs met, leaking through the fabric onto the snow underneath.

For a second you didn’t―couldn’t―understand what was happening, why you were bleeding so profusely.

And the moment it hit you, your lungs tore apart with the loudest scream you had ever let go of.

Joel saw realisation dawning on you, your eyes a window to your instantly broken soul. He cradled your face so you would only look at him. You almost wrestled with him, trying to get up, but his arms kept you bound to him.

The void in his chest grew bigger and bigger with every screech and cry you emitted, breaking him down until tears spilt over his waterlines. This couldn’t be happening ― losing another child. One he had only started to love; one he had let himself wish and hope for. One he promised he would protect at whatever cost. The idea of a family with you, snatched away in the blink of an eye.

He had tried getting to you the moment he saw Laney approaching you, tried to attack her, but the two men had tackled him to the ground and beat him almost to death. Only got a tiny reprieve when he saw you kill Laney before one of the attackers struck him in the head. Then Joel’s instincts kicked in and didn’t simmer down until they were both dead.

Joel had been so focused on eliminating the last two threats, he hadn’t stopped to check on you ― his survival instinct too strong to ignore. Now hated himself for it, for letting Laney get to you, do this to you.

Because of his ineptitude and tunnel vision, you had miscarried. He had not been able to protect you, this baby of yours. Just as he had not been able to protect Sarah almost two years ago. He was a motherfucking failure.

But he couldn’t break, not now when you needed him the most. He had to be strong for the both of you, because your pain was much, much greater than his.

“Baby, don’t look,” he begged you, palms framing your face while his thumbs swept away your tears. “Please, don’t look.”

“J-Joel!” you wailed, your arms draping around his trunk and burying your face in his coat. “No… our baby…”

His hand landed on your crown, pressing you gently onto his chest, his dead heart breaking a tad more.

Joel pressed a kiss on your forehead.

There were no words to describe the loss, the grief for someone none of you would ever meet. Would they be a baby boy or a baby girl? What would they look like? Would have they taken after you or him? Would have they grown to be a happy, chirpy toddler? Their first steps, their first words ― so many firsts gone, firsts neither of you would ever witness.

You both remained there for what felt like hours, Joel hugging you tight, rocking you in an attempt to calm you down, calm himself down too.

Only when the bitter cold started to filter through your clothing, making you shiver, did Joel help you stand up. His arms slipped under your body, and he carried you to the car while you cried your loss in the crook of his neck. Made sure you were comfortable on the seat, put your seatbelt on, and jumped into the driver’s side.

Joel was a man on a mission. Not on a hunting mission―Tommy was dead to him―but on a mission to get you to safety so he could tend to you.

Little did it matter how much he was hurting. Your sobs had quietened down, your face tilted towards the window. On the reflection he could see the dried tears on your soulless eyes, but the moment they drifted down to your lap, you started quietly crying again.

He felt so damn helpless, the only thing he could do was to remove his coat and place it on your lap. He tugged at you again, embracing you without speaking a word. You hugged him back, silence lingering between the both of you, grieving together.

Time was a funny thing, because neither of you realised that darkness had begun to win over the light. With the night approaching, he needed to find somewhere safe to bunker down. After what felt like hours, he kissed your forehead and sat back up on the driver’s seat.

The vehicle roared alive, and Joel pressed the gas pedal like a man on death row.

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[windcarvedlyre]

In the post I just reblogged I especially like the wording of

he's genuine when he calls the others his friends, but it's still second to seeing himself as their stepping stool for their hope

because I think that summarises Komaeda pretty well. I've been thinking about that for ages but struggled to fully iron out my thoughts. Here's my latest attempt to.

Komaeda can be (relatively) normal sometimes

It would be incorrect to say Komaeda never sees people as anything but their talents and/or is constantly subservient to them. He at least tries to socialise with other people as, well, people, not always making things about their talents, even if a lack of filter and difficulty empathising with people outside of things that can be logically inferred create problems for him anyway. On top of proactively pushing his views in conversations and trials he can still, say, tease Souda for Sonia's avoidance of him:

And in the prologue he pretty much threatens Hanamura over his predatory behaviour:

and later follows up on this by intervening when Hanamura tries his bullshit on Sonia again anyway. If he stuck to his ideology 100% of the time, acting more like he does as Servant in UDG, one could argue he could have stood back, avoided imposing his will on an Ultimate in any way and left Sonia to 'overcome' that 'hurdle' herself, but it seems like he has some limits.

Additionally, he's aware that he can weird people out, and in at least FTE 5 he links his ideology to that:

but despite his filter issues he still manages to hold back his more extreme views- plus most of the paranoia we see in Island Mode- throughout the prologue and most of chapter 1. Was he trying to make a good first impression? I've talked about his Shot Through The Heart event and its implications before; that fear of pushing people away by being weird could easily extend beyond Hinata. Either way, he has at least some ability to tone himself down and engage with people more normally- at least in the short term and if his mental state is relatively good. He seems more openly self-aware in the prologue and chapter 1 as well.

This is all before we even start to unpack DR2.5; I touch on the ideology aspect of it later, but it also establishes that he subconsciously has a more nuanced understanding of his classmates' relationships with talent and a desire to be friends with them on more equal footing.

However,

His ideology still overrides that a lot

One of the themes Kodaka claims to have written him with is "the fear of someone you can’t empathise with/someone that can’t empathise". While he can be more nuanced during low-stakes socialisation, whenever he's engaging with the killing game himself his complexes go into overdrive and seem to take precedent over any empathy or sympathy he has for others.

Positive outcomes and anyone he sees as having potential to bring them about get abstracted into 'hope'. Death and suffering get abstracted into 'despair'. He tunnel visions on the former 'outweighing' the latter because that's how the world works for him.

Those things aren't really quantifiable in practice, though. How can you weigh a horrifying kidnapping against winning a lottery when you're already rich? Or getting accepted into the institution you revere against developing terminal illnesses that could kill you before you even graduate? But that's how he sees things. Telling yourself that everything you're going through will be worth it might be the only way to live with his luck without crumbling. Relatedly, an ideology under which everyone's potential is predetermined and there's no point in striving for more:

might resonate an awful lot with someone whose life is more of a rollercoaster he feels strapped to than something he's ever steered. He's had a lot of extremely good and bad things happen to him that he's never really done anything to earn; all he can do is roll with the punches and hope he gets a chance to make his existence useful eventually.

DR2.5 indicates that some deep part of him does resent this, resents the concept of talent as he views it, and would rather excise his concept of 'hope' from his mind entirely and effectively advocate for the opposite:

which could track with this exchange from his final FTE in DR2, which doesn't say that would be good but doesn't say it's bad either:

But an emphasis should be placed on deep. The hesitation of the latter makes it sound like it's not something he's allowed himself to think about much. If his ideology is partly a coping mechanism, if he allowed himself to consciously question whether his idea of 'hope' is actually worth the 'despair', whether his lack of a real talent means his life actually has less worth, whether a talented/talentless binary that determines the course of people's lives without them having any agency even exists in the first place, et cetera... he would also have to acknowledge that his life is hell. That the world has been extremely unfair to him, that no amount of lottery money can compensate for a life without love, and that maybe he has potential that might never be fulfilled because of his terminal illnesses. Maybe everyone else that has died in ways he'd attribute to his luck- much likelier than not to be 'talentless' like him- had worth too.

But he doesn't do that, at least most of the time, so processing the killing game through his talent/hope complex it is.

And it's one thing to apply those ideas to his own suffering, but when he finds himself in a situation with other people... where deaths are inevitable and he has some ability to influence this... it gets ugly.

When you crush whether people live or die and the wide range of ways the survivors could be affected by that into two abstract quantities, fixating on one value being larger than the other, the lives of anyone with talent become interchangeable. He speaks about his classmates as a collective here- 'Ultimates' and 'symbols of hope' and 'everyone' and 'them'- even though his actions would require anything from one to all but one of them to die. Because it doesn't matter who specifically dies (he's happy to orchestrate a murder with anyone) or how many (siding with a murderer is on the table for him as long as their 'hope' has potential to outweigh everyone else's).

It's fitting that when he eventually lived up to his promise, dying to make himself a stepping stone for hope, he didn't even know who it was that he spared or took with him. It was chosen at random. This gets visually hammered in the way the Closing Argument gives everyone but him the grey silhouette treatment.

Whether he was trying to increase the hope of the talented or take out a bunch of fellow terrorists with him, his treatment of them when it came to murder cases reduced them to one aspect of themselves in a way that was utterly dehumanising. I feel like there were still cracks in that- signs he, for example, felt bad about what happened to the Ultimate Imposter- but that's something I want to save for another post.

In non-killing game contexts like UTDP and DRS he doesn't toy with anyone's lives in the same way; the above behaviour was technically making the most of a preexisting awful situation (at least from his point of view) and we only see him force people into new ones as Servant. It still seems to be the case, however, that he doesn't really mask his views long-term and they affect how he interacts with Ultimates to the point of making them uncomfortable. The post linked at the start covered a great Komaeda-Souda DRS scene on this; the Komaeda-Momota UTDP scene below is also really relevant.

Momota correctly clocks that Komaeda's admiration of him is... maybe not quite aimed at him as a real person. He drops it because of Komaeda's reaction- presumably he'd misattributed the off vibes to Komaeda being inauthentic- but it still feels like Komaeda's engaging with him as some abstract vessel for talent and hope to some extent.

-

I feel like there's more I should cover here but this took way longer than expected- it's now past 5am- so I'll stop there. Hopefully it still illustrates the main point: Komaeda's a character full of contradictions and that very much applies to his views of the talented. He doesn't completely reduce people to talent-based caricatures but part of him still kind of does, and the degree to which that affects his behaviour varies a lot with the circumstances he's in.

[persephoneggsy]

Phryne Ingellvar Banter

writing full fics is still kind of exhausting to me, so I've taken to writing fake banters for my Mourn Watch Rook, Phryne Ingellvar. Most of them are with Emmrich, because he's her romance, but maybe I'll eventually expand on her relationships with the other members of the Veilguard. A lot of this is mostly bits and bobs from Phryne's backstory.

*

[During Emmrich's recruitment quest, as they’re traversing through the Necropolis]

Emmrich: Surely we’ve crossed paths before, Rook? It seems bizarre that we’ve both been Watchers for so long and never interacted. I swear the name Ingellvar sounds familiar…

Phryne: Well, I mostly did grunt work. Escorts for trainees entering the Necropolis for the first time, protecting mourners visiting the graves. That sort of thing. Probably not what you spent most of your time doing.

Emmrich: Ah, I see. Still…

Phryne: Though we have met before.

Emmrich: Oh? I’m sorry, I can’t recall…

Phryne: Don’t worry about it, Professor. It was almost a decade ago, and it was brief.

Emmrich: Well, you remembered. I hope I made a good first impression, at least?

Phryne: I don’t think you’re capable of leaving a bad one, from what I’ve seen so far.

Harding: Um, sorry to interrupt, but can we maybe focus on the horde of despair demons charging at us right now?

Phryne & Emmrich: Spirits!

Harding: Whatever!

*

[When Phryne goes to see how Emmrich is settling in]

Emmrich: When did we meet, Rook? It’s been driving me mad.

Phryne: Oh, alright. It was at a funeral. My son’s. You administered his final rites and prepared his body for burial.

Emmrich: Oh! Of course. I remember now.

Phryne: Really? It was so long ago, and I’m sure you’ve performed dozens of final rites over the years. I wouldn’t be upset if you couldn’t recall…

Emmrich: Not many Nevarrans left to join the Inquisition. It was seen as a primarily “southern” concern, despite the danger it posed to all of Thedas. I remember thinking that young Rothe Ingellvar must have been a fine young man, to give his life for such a cause. 

Phryne: He was. 

Emmrich: I’m sure I said it back then, but my condolences, Rook. 

Phryne: Thank you, Emmrich. 

*

Emmrich: I’ve been wondering something, Rook. If you don’t mind a personal question. 

Phryne: Ask away. 

Emmrich: We’ve been in the Mourn Watch for almost the same number of years. You’re an incredible warrior, a natural born leader, and every other Watcher I’ve asked has nothing but wonderful things to say about you. 

Phryne: Aw. Thanks. But… what’s the question?

Emmrich: By all accounts, you should be extremely high up in the ranks. But by your own admission, you’re just “a grunt.” Why haven’t you been promoted?

Phryne: Ah. Well. They tried, at first. But I joined the Watch after I had my kids, so they were my priority. Promotions meant more responsibility, more responsibility meant more time away from them. And then, after rejecting promotions for years, they finally stopped trying. Happily been a grunt ever since. 

Emmrich: I suppose I can understand that. But wouldn’t a promotion also mean more money with which to support your family?

Phryne: My mother left me with her estate when she passed. We were always comfortable. I just wanted as much time with my kids as possible. 

Emmrich: That’s very admirable. 

Phryne: Really? Mother always said my lack of ambition was my fatal flaw. 

Emmrich: I think love for one’s family outweighs that. 

*

Emmrich: The Battleaxe!

Phryne: Sorry?

Emmrich: Your surname, Ingellvar — it’s been nagging at me, but I finally remember where I’ve heard it before! Your mother was Prudence Ingellvar, the Battleaxe!

Phryne: Oh! (Laughs) I forgot they used to call her that. Yeah, that was my mother. You knew her?

Emmrich: I’m afraid I never had the good fortune, but I knew her reputation. A staunch traditionalist, to be sure, but such exemplary understanding of anatomy and theory! Her essay on both magical and mundane methods of preserving vital organs was quite innovative!

Phryne: Oh, she would’ve adored you. 

*

[After revisiting the Necropolis for the first time and speaking with Myrna and Vorgoth]

Emmrich: Phryne?

Phryne: Yes?

Emmrich: Just making sure I heard correctly. Back at the Necropolis, Myrna called you ‘Phryne’ rather than ‘Rook’. Is that your given name?

Phryne: Oh, it is. Rook is a… recent nickname. Varric started calling me that after we met. Something about chess pieces.

Emmrich: What would you prefer to be called?

Phryne: Rook is probably easier. No one could ever pronounce Phryne right when I was younger. The number of times I was called ‘Frine’ or ‘Fern’...

Emmrich: (laughs) A shame. It’s a lovely name.

Phryne: Well. I like it when you say it.

Emmrich: Very well. Phryne.

*

[During their first date]

Phryne: This is one of the more romantic dates I’ve been on. 

Emmrich: How wonderful! I was afraid I’d lost my touch. Between work and research and teaching Manfred, there hasn’t been time lately for company. 

Phryne: I know what you mean. 

Emmrich: Do you?

Phryne: Well, I spent the last year or so hunting down Solas. Not a lot of time for courting. And even before that, I’d… sort of given up on romance. 

Emmrich: Oh. May I ask why?

Phryne: Dating’s hard with kids. I always had someone willing to look after them if I had plans for the evening, but a lot of the time, people were put off by the fact that I even had children. Or the kids would hate them for whatever reason. Or things would work out for a while before fizzling out. So I stopped focusing on relationships and just focused on… the physical side of things. 

Emmrich: I see…

Phryne: Does that… bother you? My ‘experience’? I know some people find it unladylike. 

Emmrich: My dear, I would never hold your past against you. I’m only marveling at my good fortune, to be the one to show you how a proper courtship works. 

Phryne: Ooh. Bold words, Volkarin. Are you sure you have the skills to back up that confidence?

Emmrich: You’re not the only one with experience, darling. 

*

[After Harding asking about whether Emmrich is a noble]

Harding: So you’re really not nobility? Volkarin just sounds so… fancy. 

Emmrich: It’s a commoner’s name. My father was a butcher and my mother was a cook. If you want to speak to Nevarran nobility, you could always ask Rook. 

Harding: (laughs) Right. 

Emmrich: …

Harding: … Wait, really? Rook is a noble?

Phryne: You don’t need to sound so surprised. 

Harding: It’s just… you don’t really act like…

Phryne: To my mother’s chagrin, I know. But in my defense, I was adopted. 

Emmrich: Oh, truly? I hadn’t known that. 

Phryne: Mother and a few of our undead found me in an abandoned crypt when I was just an infant. She took me in, raised me as her own. 

Emmrich: How sweet! I’d heard one of our own was a cryptling, I had no idea it was you!

Harding: … You were found in a tomb? As a baby?

Emmrich: That isn’t so unusual in Nevarra. Many Watchers see them as an omen!

Phryne: Whether I was a good or bad omen depended on if I took a nap that day. According to my mother. 

Harding: … Nevarrans are so weird. 

[squiddy-god]

Lmao last time I asked for Avenpaz but this is x reader so what about Aventurine x reader? Hehe thank you :3 (Desperate for some Aventurine stuff 🥰)

Yes you may, i'm going to do general hcs for this because thats what im feeling right now teehee- on a side note, aventurine but its the scene with hua cheng and xie lian with the dice rolling- there was just,,,so much tension in that scene please  

♡requests open♡

Cw : gn!reader, mentions of trauma and spoilers for his story and a bit of penacony, fluff. Both established and un established relationship hcs, a little bit of angst 

Ok so pre relationship i think that aventurine is actually quick to catch feelings but slow to realize them

Like off the bat he can tell how he feels in about someone, like or dislike, trust or not trust 

What is slow to build is how deep that runs, both his romantic feelings and his trust are gained slowly but eventually snowball and that is when he finally either realizes or admits it.

Something i never got in general is when people talk about like how {character} wouldn't trust you until xxx into relationship etc

But the thing is like, are y'all dating people you dont trust? Because especially as someone who is depressed/traumatized, I fully would have to trust someone to get into a relationship, and that trust does not reset to 0 because we got together like??- i promise i will tie this in trust me 

The other slight problem with aventurine pre relationship is that after he realizes/admits his feelings to himself he is taking that to his grave. He will casually flirt or maybe drop little hints, but he is content to never speak these feelings out loud to you, 

Half of this is a fear of forming intimate connections that he knows he's ultimately powerless to protect, he fears rejection and loss when it truly matters and this prevents him from ever really bringing himself to pursue you. The other half is a subconscious self sabotaging hatred. Despite his fronting he is an insecure and traumatized man who's become jaded by the cosmos. While he at this point would trust you implicitly he cant help the feeling that you won't, dont, and couldn't possibly like him and return his feelings. 

Reasonably he knows that he is an attractive man, a man with both wealth,power, and status, and yet he feels that you won't possibly want him. His self loathing even in his subconscious holds him back, giving a false sense of apathy towards your relationship status that outweighs the jealousy he feels. In truth the jealousy only serves to prove his point on how you don't return his feelings

There are scenarios that I think he would confess first if you don't beat him to the punch. 

The first is said jokingly, and yet there is not that sharp witted teasing edge or bite to his words, unexpectedly raw and genuine when he poses a simple “what if” question 

The second involves many different factors, maybe you catch him on a good day, maybe he sees the way you seem to look at him and in your eyes is the reflection of his own affections. Maybe you catch him on a bad day, and in his pit of despair he decides that it is at least worth the risk to gamble.

These are the moments he confesses to you, bated breath waiting for the other shoe to drop and for you to lash out with laughter or anger but he is delighted when you return his feelings

Ok ok enough angst-

This man is a shameless flirt, he is romantic long before you every begin a relationship- you just take it as a joke, a bit that's silly between close friends 

After you manage to pry that confession out of him or you make the first move, he is shockingly quick to put a label on it, you are his romantic partner! His love, hes your lucky charm

Ok ok like i said before i really don't thing that aventurine is the type to be in an actual relationship with someone he A)doesn’t trust, or B) doesn’t love

So by the time you get in a relationship there is already a strong foundation of real trust, but he has already realized he is hopelessly in love. 

I will die on the hill that aventurine is a stage 100 clinger 

This is a clingy man to his core, he is sending you 50 messages a day

Good morning, good night, have you eaten? I love you, miss you, literally anything because he truly dose miss you 

Have you eaten? Yes? Good have a little treat +500 credits 

No? Wait there he's taking you to lunch- or +5000 credits 

I know everyone says it but he really does spoil you. Now the way he sees it genuinely isn't as like a bribe but both something that genuinely makes him happy and also he likes to make your life easier 

Seeing you happy, being able to spoil you with gifts and treats and money brings him genuine joy, and knowing that he is able to provide some relief from the harsh reality of life makes his a very merry man

As I said, clingy- he loves your time, being able to spend time with you and relax in your presence is truly heaven. 

Most of his missions aren't dangerous, just business so he enjoys taking you with him so that he can spend more time with you

He is touch starved for positive physical contact and affection 

Sit in his lap, let him sit in yours- honestly he isn't very picky as long as he gets to touch you 

If you thought his playful bestie flirting was bad you are gonna die, because he gets so much worse, now that he knows exactly what to say so that he can fluster you he grows ever bolder in his pursuit

No matter what he says his actions always follow his words, he shows he loves you with the way he sees you and treats you, in the way he seems to crave you like a thirsty man craves water or how a plant craves the warm sun, to breathe you in like air and love you tenderly 

Even if he is clumsy at love and intimacy he still puts in a profound sense of effort. 

The definition of if he wanted to he would. And he definitely wants to

[bratbby333]

even if it hurts

fushiguro megumi x fem!reader ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ angst, kinda toxic, college au, 21+ warnings: language, alcohol consumption summary: unrequited love word count: 3.2k

“I just don’t understand what she sees in that guy,” Megumi thinks to himself. He watches you as you exit the library from his vantage point, seated by the window. You walk toward your boyfriend, who’s leaning up against his car. Megumi’s chest gets tighter the longer he watches you, wincing as your boyfriend pulls you in close, your lips connecting with his for way longer than Megumi can handle. 

“It should be me,” he sighs within, eventually turning away from the window, bringing his attention back to Yuuji and Kugisaki, the two of them oblivious to his mental anguish. But, of course they are, and so are you, his unchanging, neutral facial expression never giving away his true, tortured feelings. 

Then again, Megumi doesn’t know what you’d see in him, either. He knows everything about you; the good, the bad and the ugly, caring deeply for your well-being and happiness, but that doesn’t outweigh the negatives that come along with him. His lack of empathy, his overly analytical nature, his disdain for small talk, the permanent frown on his face. He hopes one day you take a chance after all these years and accept him in the same way he already accepts you; flawed, but so beautiful. 

“Aren’t they just so cute together,” Kugisaki gushes out, before looking to her friends for input. Yuuji smiles wide, nodding in agreement.

“They seem very happy together. I’m glad she’s finally found someone.” Yuuji adds, before looking back at his notes. Megumi glances outside again, observing that you’re now seated in the passenger seat. He stays quiet, which isn’t unusual for him. Neither of his friends bat an eye at his lack of commentary, chalking it up to Megumi being typical Megumi. He wishes he could rejoice on your behalf, to congratulate you on your new found romance without stifling a gag. Even if he could fake his way through it, his words would be coated in jealousy. Instead, he continues to retreat within. You’d see right through his bleak attempts to be supportive, anyway. So he packs his feelings up in a box, stowing them away on a forgotten shelf deep in the darkest corners of his mind.

Within his tormented psyche, Megumi is anything but his normal self. Looking down at his textbook again, he can’t comprehend a single thing in front of him. He stares longingly into the book, willing himself to read, but his mind can’t help but always find its way back to you. One of his best friends. Your cheery disposition contradicts his cold, closed-off demeanor. The way your perfume lingers on his shirt after a friendly hug, how your body feels pressing against his. The way your lips curl before you laugh, how you wrinkle your nose after someone tells a joke, or the soft smiles you always send his way. How your eyes gleam with excitement when you see him (well, not just him, but your friends, collectively). You’re everything he isn’t, and everything he wishes he was. You make his normally frigid skin run warm, feverish even.

He knows it will never be you and him. Like the sun and moon; coexisting, but never coming together, a constant, cruel cycle. You two meet briefly in the same sky, before you disappear under the horizon and his world goes dark. That part doesn’t hurt nearly as much as what the actual outcome is: You will always be in his life, just out of reach; so close yet so infuriatingly far. He will always be an outsider looking in; a friend. It’s a tortuous realization. But the moon cannot glow without the sun. So he wills himself to stay put. To watch you fall in and out of love, over and over again; listening to you rave or rant about your relationship, he inevitably being a voice of reason for you when you need advice, even if it burns his throat when his supportive words leave his mouth; and it will never be him. And he accepts that as the painful reality he’s condemned to live in. Purgatory. It would hurt much less if he wasn’t as close to you; if you were just a friend of a friend, or even strangers; an unknown face, a passing daydream. Someone easier to lose. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You press your hands against the metal bar of the library doors, sighing as you push against them. The setting sun dances across your hair, the warmth kissing your skin. You smile softly at your boyfriend, who always insists on picking you up after class. He pulls you into him, his lips meeting yours. Pulling away, you smile up at him before taking a step back, allowing him to open up the passenger side door for you. You turn your head back toward the library before getting in, looking through the window at the table you were just sitting at with your three best friends. Your eyes linger on Megumi, whose attention is back on his textbook. 

“I wish he was you, Meg.” You think to yourself, looking at the ground before sitting in the passenger seat. You’re quiet on the drive back to your boyfriend's apartment, thoughts utterly consumed by Megumi. But you know it will never be him. You’re too talkative, too excitable. Too different from him. With the two of you being such close friends, by the time you realized how your heart ached for him, it was too late. You don’t want to ruin what you have. You can’t confess. That would make the dynamic shift towards awkwardness and tension, possibly even destroying the friendships you cherish so deeply. So you stay quiet. You date other people in hopes that someone can replace him. But your attempts are all in vain. No one can replace Megumi. He knows everything about you, appreciates you for everything you are and accepts you for everything you’re not. But you know the deeper connection that you desire will never be reciprocated. He does all these things for me because we’re best friends, you rationalize.

You reconcile with the silver lining of it all; enjoying the time you’re able to spend with him, relishing in the jokes between you two, cherishing the glances you steal when you know he's not paying attention. You ignore the gnawing deep within you, the hunger for more. You cling to the way his smooth voice delivers eloquently thought out sentences to your yearning ears, the way your heart leaps when his deep blue eyes gaze attentively into yours. At least you can hold on to the notion that he will always be in your life, at the very least, as a friend.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You can’t settle for meaningless connections. You’ve decided that you’ll take Megumi however you can get him, the cards dealt to you leaning in favor of just being friends. And that’s okay. You’ll hold on to the hope that one day he’ll take the risk. Such a selfish desire, you acknowledge that. You refuse to fight these feelings any longer, the stark realization that it will never not be him coming to fruition on that fateful car ride, which is why you’re at your boyfriend’s house, sitting across from him, attempting to explain that it isn’t him, it’s you.

“I’m sorry,” you start. You can’t seem to find the right words that will soften the blow. Your mind is an endless sea of thoughts, a similar deep blue that you find in Megumi's eyes. Oh, his eyes. One thing at a time. 

“You did everything right, I promise. I just think we’re looking for different things.” You don’t have much more to say, tuning out your now ex boyfriend’s pleas and questions as you stand and walk towards the door, not uttering another word. Your movements shift to being calculated and emotionless; maybe you are more like Megumi than you thought. You take a deep breath once outside, pulling your phone out and dialing Kugisaki. 

“Hey, what’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be with your boyfriend?” she asks. She can hear the whizzing of cars in the background of the phone call. You walk along a busy freeway with no destination in mind. But your body knows where it wants to be; with Megumi. Your heart drives you with such conviction that you’re nearly running now.

“I was, yeah, I just broke up with him. Can we go out for drinks? Ask Yuu and Meg, too.” You reply. Nobara pauses, waiting for more information before realizing you weren’t interested in sharing. Your tone was emotionless and commandeering; very out of character for you. She decides not to pry. After a moment of silence, you hear the soft murmur of voices echo through the speaker of your phone, before she returns to the call, the plan being set to meet at a local bar just outside the campus at 6pm. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The study session is interrupted by an incoming call to Nobara’s phone. Megumi’s heart soars at the sight of your name on the screen. Kugisaki smiles before answering, but her twinkling demeanor drops almost immediately. He hears her ask a couple questions, but he can’t comprehend what was said over the loud roar of blood rushing through his ears. He doesn’t understand how you elicit such unusual responses from him. These feelings are getting harder and harder for him to fight. He snaps back to reality when Kugisaki relays that you want to grab drinks tonight. He’d do anything and go anywhere for you, jumping on the chance to be around you. Keep your composure, they can’t know. Megumi stoically agrees to the plans, as does Yuuji. The call ends a moment later.

“I did not see that coming,” Kugisaki sighs, placing her phone back down on the table. Megumi looks to his friend, anxiously anticipating her debrief of the conversation she just had. The possibility that you were hurt made Megumi want to jump out of his skin, to console you in a deeper, more intimate way that friends probably shouldn’t do. Kugisaki’s vagueness of the whole situation was making his nerves run cold. 

“It’s not unusual for her to want to grab some drinks…did something happen?” Yuuji asks, concern painted across his normally cheerful face. Kugisaki just glances between the two boys, her brow furrowed. Megumi’s blood is ice in his veins when Nobara finally tells them. He tunes out his friends, his mind inundating with possibilities, sending a silent prayer to the heavens that you’ll soon take a chance on him. He kicks himself for thinking that way, guilt soon replacing his desperation. How dare he attempt to take advantage of your pain for his own pleasure. What kind of man has he become? 

You want nothing more than to run into Megumi’s arms, to hold his face in your hands. You can’t help but feel sinful for what you’ve done. But being with someone when you crave someone else’s touch goes against everything you believe. Inauthenticity. It’s causing you more harm than good. You can’t stand it anymore. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry it didn’t work out…just earlier today we were talking about how happy you two seemed together. Can’t help but think we jinxed it,” Yuuji apologizes as he crashes into you, his arms constricting you tightly. Such a sweet boy. He holds you there for a moment, rocking you back and forth, before breaking away, Kugisaki taking his place. 

“His loss, you’ll forget about him soon enough. Let’s get drunk. Maybe you’ll find someone new while we’re here!” Nobara smirks. Megumi can’t help but cringe at that suggestion, the thought of seeing you engaged with yet another man, a man that isn’t him, shoots a lead bullet through his chest. He reaches his boiling point. He can’t patch up his wounds anymore. 

Megumi approaches you last, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, patting gently and saying nothing. Pretty on brand for Megumi’s way of showing comfort, but there’s something different behind his eyes; a new, unknown feeling that you can sense while looking up at him. You fight every urge in your body telling you to ask about it, to pry deeper into his mind, knowing he wouldn’t tell you, anyway. You desperately want to lean into his touch, electricity shooting through your body. You smile gently at his unreadable expression before the four of you head inside. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Seated at a table away from the bar, the four of you talk about the upcoming exams. You set plans for your next study session. Yuuji invites the group to a movie premier on Saturday night. Everyone reluctantly agrees, even though the premise of the film sounds dreadful. As the night goes on, the drinks keep coming, and you and your friends are properly buzzed, giggling and joking around. Everyone except Megumi, only offering the occasional smile and quiet chuckle. Everytime he laughs, your heart beats faster. Unbeknownst to the group, he’s clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, fighting every urge to spill his deepest, darkest secret. 

Your eyes trace lines along his face, taking in every curve and angle of his disposition. Something is bothering him. Your stare is burning holes into his side profile, and he shifts his weight in search of relief from your intensity. The sun and her rays. You’re snapped out of your trance as Yuuji stands from the table, pointing his finger in Nobara’s direction. 

“Nobara Kugisaki, I challenge you to a Skee-Ball tournament!” he shouts. The abruptness of his actions shocks the three of you. You glance at Kugisaki, who’s smirking at Yuuji. 

“You are so on.”

The two abandon the table, trash talking one another on their way to the machine, leaving you and Megumi alone. You feel elated at the time you get to spend one on one with him. He feels differently.

“It was for the best, he seemed like an ass anyway,” Megumi huffs out, avoiding your gaze as he takes another sip of his drink. His comment catches you off guard, but it leaps from his mouth before he can give it a second thought, as if he had been waiting the entire night to say that to you, only feeling confident enough to do so with the liquor in his system and the listening ears now on the opposite end of the bar. 

“Well, no, he was perfectly nice, Meg,” you retort, confusion painted across your face. This is so unlike Megumi, the man of few words.

“So why dump him if he was so nice? There must be a reason,” he challenges. Megumi has moved from denial, to bargaining, to anger in the span of a day. He can’t help but lash out. He’s bursting at the seams. Being near you is no longer enough, and his ego is his last line of defense before you fully break his heart without even meaning to. The constant torment he’s felt since meeting you has slowly been chipping away at him. All he knows is that he’s had enough. If you leave, if he pushes hard enough, he won’t hurt anymore. He will no longer have a constant reminder of what could be. He will finally reach acceptance. 

The hostility of his words bruise you, anger plastered across his face. Why is he upset with me? I did this for him, not that he’d ever know that. You brush off the sting from his comment. You’re just happy to hear him speak. You’d do anything to listen to him express whatever thought popped in his head, hanging on every word that leaves his lips, even if they send shards of glass into your heart. It aches so beautifully. You can’t muster up the courage to tell him that he’s the reason it didn’t work out. You’re exhausted from trying to force connections with other people in hopes that they could replace him, the constant back and forth leaving your life in ruins. You cut ties with perfectly good people because you know they will never be Megumi. So you cling to anything you can get from him, even if it destroys you.

“I…I don’t know, Meg. I think I’m searching for something else,” you reply quietly, your response insinuating much more than you intended. Your words float through the air so inaudibly that they are nearly drowned out by the music pouring out of the bar’s speakers. But Megumi hears you. He always does. His head snaps to face you, meeting your gaze. He feels his blood pressure spike. Is she referring to me? No…that can’t be what she means. She’s just feeling vulnerable right now. He maintains eye contact with you, looking past your eyes and searching deep within your soul, hoping something in there will guide him towards the answers he so hopelessly needs.

Your breath catches in your throat. Why is he looking at me like that? Did I make it too obvious? Did I ruin everything? Megumi’s eyes dart around your face, searching for something, anything, that would alleviate his pain. It doesn’t matter what you meant by that statement. He can’t stand this anymore, teetering on the edge of insanity. If I can’t have her, and I can’t stand keeping her around without torturing myself, then… fuck it. He decides to jump.

He grabs your face with both hands before crashing his lips into yours, a muffled yelp escaping you. Your eyes go wide, your body freezes. Time slows to an insufferable pace. You can’t comprehend a single thing, a part of you trying to convince yourself that this isn’t real; if it’s nothing more than a drunken kiss. But it’s real. It’s everything and more. You close your eyes, surrendering to this moment. You move your lips against his, desperate to savor him. He feels the exact way you imagined him to, the taste of him clouding your senses. You can’t get enough. The two of you fit together perfectly. You are utterly and completely consumed by him.

His heart races as he feels you reciprocate. His hands run up and down your body with urgency, trying to make up for years of wasted time. The loud bar fades to black as he pulls you deeper into him. All he can feel is you; you’re all that matters, that has mattered. Your hands meet his cheeks, moving to thread themselves in his hair at the nape of his neck. He groans into your mouth, his tongue battling against yours. You claw at one another hungrily. After years of starving, you are finally satiated. Every doubt that clouded your mind is cast to the wayside. All the pain and suffering has come to an end. The outcome that you both desired comes to fruition. 

“Fucking FINALLY!” You break away from one another, the sound of Kugisaki’s voice bringing you back to reality. She's standing before you two with her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side. Yuuji is positioned beside her, grinning from ear to ear. Megumi takes your face in his hands again, pulling you close.

“Fucking finally,” he whispers. 

author notes: if this seemed very unhinged and scatterbrained it's bc it most definitely was..and i tried to write this is in a specific way so that it bounced back and forth and contradicted one another and...u get it. im sure u do.

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[tripleyeeet]

RUSH

SUMMARY: During a long shift, a certain regular catches your eye. Possibly your heart too, after treating you to a night of pampering. PAIRING: Shiu Kong/Female Reader WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative sex that turns somno, basically just a lot of soft, unrealistic domesticity really. A/N: Life's been hard so here's a super self indulgent fic about Shiu simply taking care of reader <3 I've literally been writing this for nearly 3 weeks straight so hopefully somebody likes it. WC: 9K (oof)

MASTERLIST

-

After around the fourth or fifth Friday in a row of seeing him, you finally notice he's staring. With heavy-lidded eyes throughout the night, his gaze is seemingly locked onto your frame as you rush around the bar, tending to everyone’s needs. His body angled so that he can get a good look at you grabbing bottles and garnishes while carefully weaving around your coworkers like you’re dancing to the beat of the music that blares through the speakers. 

When you notice, you feel your focus flicker for just a second. As you stop to speak to a pair of women, chatting about something mundane and entirely uninteresting, suddenly it’s like there’s this target locked against the side of your face. The imaginary barrel of a gun pointing directly at you, ready to take the shot, causing your gaze to shift. 

Like usual, he’s tucked into the farthest corner, casually leaning against the bar. His expression appearing almost empty as you glance over to see he’s clad in a simple suit. His jacket discarded onto the bar top beside him, leaving only a button-up and a loosened tie, prompting you to raise a brow. 

He usually never stays long enough to take off his jacket… 

“Uh, hello!” 

Deep in thought, suddenly the drunken snarl of one of the girls pulls you back. A wave of annoyance washing over as you release a breath and look back, making sure to smile. “Sorry, what was that?”

Afterwards, you let out a casual laugh and joke about your bad hearing before they thankfully laugh alongside you, eventually repeating their order. The simple exchange giving you the chance to refocus on the task at hand, moving over to the ice machine to start filling up your shaker tins. 

“Seems like someone’s got an admirer.” 

While pouring various spirits, your coworker, Himari, gently bumps her hip against yours. A signal that she recognizes the familiar man, too. His presence continuing to linger in ways that make you let out another laugh, this time the sound echoing your nerves. “Calm down, I’m sure he’s just looking for a top-up.” 

Almost immediately, she shakes her head. “Nah, he’s fully giving you the eyes, babe.” 

At that, you roll your own and give her an almost smug look, your eyes flickering to see him almost smirking —as if somehow he can hear you talking over the music. “Yeah, okay.” 

“You want to go talk to him?”

You shake your head almost immediately, even though deep down you can’t deny your interest. Considering he’s practically become a staple over these last few weeks, there’s a part of you that wants to say hi. Maybe to introduce yourself so that you can better build that classic bartender-customer rapport. But then, you notice the huge crowd of people swarming around. Every one of them vying for your attention with drunken minds and heavy pockets, causing the desire to earn money to outweigh everything else. 

Which ultimately ends up costing you a lot of energy in the long run. As the night quickly progresses, you can feel your mind begin to cave in on itself. Each customer that comes after the next becoming more and more of a chore to deal with thanks to the intake of alcohol. Eventually, testing your patience towards the ragged businessmen who always demand Old Fashions or the group of young college kids who scream for more tequila shots. 

Every passing moment makes you wish you’d taken your coworker up on her previous offer. Especially now that the bar’s completely packed, leaving barely any room to breathe let alone speak, you wish you could turn back time. Stop the clock and wind it back so that, instead of just watching the man who still idly sits, almost acting unaware of the chaos that surrounds him, you could talk to him. Maybe ask him what he does or how his day went. Using his presence as an excuse to take a load off while you offer up all your usual jokes in hopes he’ll slowly warm up to you.

And the longer you think about it, the more the idea foolishly creates a sense of longing. Your stomach tightening at the sight of him shifting in his seat, wondering if that’ll be the moment he finally calls it quits. The sight of him only moving just to further settle on the stool making you scrunch up your face in annoyance, realizing how crazy you’re acting. 

Considering he’s nothing more than a stranger, the impulse you feel to connect with him is completely ridiculous. Nothing more than some silly delusion brought on by the exhaustion, you tell yourself. His residency amongst the rowdy crowd serving as nothing more than some false oasis that’ll inevitably disappoint you if you go over. 

So, you don’t. Instead, forcing your mind to think about the money, you allow every tip to fuel you. Each one navigating you further from his frame, your mind too immersed in the task at hand until suddenly last call rolls around.

At which point, you find yourself forced to talk to him. After you notice your coworkers pushed deep into the trenches of last-minute orders, you realize then that you just have to do it. To be the one to bite the bullet and find out why exactly this guy’s decided to pick tonight of all nights to linger and stare. Your tired feet pushing you to stand directly across from him, arms spread across the counter to hold yourself up as you offer a smile. 

“We’re doing last call,” you tell him, watching him slowly glance between you and the empty beer bottle in his hand. “You want one more?”

He ponders for a minute, his other hand moving to stroke his chin as he sort of smiles to himself, eventually shrugging. “Yeah, sure, why not.”

In response, you give him a nod and shuffle over to the fridge to get him another, grabbing the opener off your belt to shuck it off before trading him for the old one. “You got a tab to close?” 

He nods. 

“What’s it under?” 

“Kong.” 

This time, you nod, rushing away to grab his receipt —typing in the name to find a rather abysmal order of four beers, not including the one you just gave him. 

That’s all he drank? Damn… 

“So, how’s your night been?” 

Handing him the receipt after it prints, you watch as he pulls out a handful of bills and tosses them on top of the piece of paper. His expression seeming a bit distracted as he eventually looks at you and blinks. “It’s been fine. A bit dull, honestly.” 

“Yeah, how come?” 

“Nobody to talk to,” he simply says. The sound of his voice expressing such a casual tone despite the weight of his words hitting you like a brick. The implication of his admission making you swallow hard before awkwardly laughing, not sure if his comment was even necessarily meant for you. 

“Yeah, well, Friday’s are a little nuts, unfortunately.”

Glancing around, he takes a moment to take in the sight of all the drunken bodies crowding around, waiting for their final turn. The gears in his head turning for a bit before he looks back at you. “I’m starting to realize that.”

“Yeah.” 

Releasing a low hum, you then wonder if maybe you should say your goodbyes or linger a bit longer, knowing deep down you should probably do the former. Seeing as it’s your job and already you can sense the frustrations of those who surround the space you’re currently occupying, looking at you with desperate eyes, it’s probably better if you just throw in the towel. Call it night and maybe try again next week. But then there’s a moment where you look back at each other and there’s this feeling. A pressure in your stomach that makes you swallow hard and start to settle. Your body practically leaning into his space as you narrow your eyes. 

“How come you’re here so late, anyway?” you ask, allowing the curiosity you’ve secretly harboured all night to finally release.

Once again, he shrugs. Only this time, there’s a faint smile pulling across his face. “Figured it might be fun to people watch for a bit longer.” 

Bullshit. 

Regardless of such a thought, a smile of your own appears in response —your mind unconvinced. “Was it fun?” 

“The people watching?” 

You nod. 

He shrugs. 

Then, both of you become lost in this strange limbo of charged silence. Your thoughts now drifting to wonder why all of a sudden he seems so… interesting as you continue to watch him lift the beer to his lips to take a sip. 

“S’pose it was alright.”

Slightly taken aback by his bluntness, you can’t help but snort in response. Your eyes rolling as he chuckles and you reach for the cash in front of you, taking a moment to count it, realizing it’s well over the asking price. “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t a total bore for you,” you tell him after, shoving it all into the pocket of your apron. “Otherwise you might not come back.” 

“Didn’t realize you cared if I came back.”

As soon as you notice the smug expression that begins to appear across his face after he speaks, your mouth presses into a thin line. Realizing then that your words are the perfect fuel for him to keep the conversation going. 

“I walked into that one, didn’t I?” 

“Sure did, sweetheart.” 

Again, he chuckles and takes another sip, continuing to stare. His eyes practically memorizing every move you make as you try to appear busy by reaching for a handful of dirty glasses and tucking them under the bar.

“Well, can’t deny that I’d hate to see you go. You’re one of the good ones.” 

“Am I?”

You grab a cloth and start to wipe down the counter, watching him lean back to give you more space. His expression continuing to showcase how pleased he seems at your words. “I mean, yeah. You’re quiet, you wait your turn, you tip,” you begin to list off a handful of reasons, each one piquing his interest as he watches you dart around, continuing to close. “You’re also not creepy. Unless you count the staring problem.” 

Despite your comment, he merely just takes another sip, completely unfazed. “Caught that, huh?”

“Hard not to when you don’t even try to hide it, Mr. Kong,” you tease. 

“Shiu.” 

At that, you scrunch up your face in confusion. “Sorry?” 

“My name,” he clarifies. “It’s Shiu.”

Shiu. 

Standing there for a few moments, you repeat the name in your head so it doesn’t get lost. Committing the sound to memory before you offer your hand across the counter, saying your own name in return. Immediately clocking the way he seems to repeat your tactic, allowing it to sink in.

“Nice to finally put a name to a face.” 

“Likewise.”

Still shaking his hand, you then hear the sound of Himari calling you. The sudden sound pulling you from this strange bubble of ease you’ve somehow settled in, causing you to swear under your breath. “Sorry, I uh—“

“It’s okay. Duty calls?”

Glancing between him and the never-ending line of customers still waiting for their final drinks, you release a sigh and nod. “Unfortunately.” 

“Good luck.”

It’s the last thing you hear from him after you offer an awkward wave goodbye. The tone of his voice, forever casual and polite. A direct contrast to the type of response you’re used to getting from men who try to talk to you, causing your mind to regret not reaching out sooner. 

Because maybe if you had, the rest of your night wouldn’t have been so awful. As you shift back into bartender mode, ushering person after person to order their drinks as fast as possible, maybe you could’ve felt content instead of disappointed. The feeling of satisfaction fuelling your drive rather than allowing the sadness to slow you down, knowing you might have to wait a whole other week to see him again.

And that’s if he decides to come back. Which, unfortunately, is a thought that plagues you even after you’ve finished cleaning the fridges and the floors and the—

“Saw you talking to Shiu.”

Your thoughts are interrupted again. The mention of him making you faintly smile even though the mere thought of him also kind of stresses you out. “Yeah. He’s… surprisingly nice.”

“I know. I’m the one who usually serves him.” Himari smiles almost proudly when she says that, her teeth peeking out from between her parted lips as she throws her bag over her shoulder, following you towards the door.

“You must like him then,” you joke, nudging your elbow against hers. “With the way he tips and all that.” 

Himari snorts and pulls her keys out, spinning them around her finger as you push open the door, allowing her to follow behind before turning back to lock up. “It’s definitely a plus, I’ll admit. But he’s a decent guy, too —fun to talk to.” 

“Yeah?”

She nods, distractedly pulling out her phone to shoot her boyfriend a text. Most likely telling him that she’s finished for the night and heading home like she usually does before glancing back up. “Doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes either.”

Upon hearing that, you can’t help but swallow a bit. Especially after you clock the way her expression immediately turns mischievous. Her lips curling upwards as she wiggles her brows, forcing you to turn away and shove your hands into the pockets of your coat. Your mind foolishly starting to concoct his image without warning. The sight of his warm, slightly aged features shifting to the forefront of your thoughts causing you to narrow your eyes. 

“Yeah, I mean, I guess he’s… decent,” you lie, knowing deep down he’s definitely more than that because if anything he’s exactly your type. 

Which is why Himari quickly glances at you, completely unconvinced as she begins to walk, leading you around the corner to where the two of you usually park your cars. “Just decent?” she then pries, raising a brow. 

At which point, you know your reaction is a dead giveaway. Thanks to the way your mouth awkwardly opens and closes, unable to come up with a viable enough answer to make it seem like you see him as anything other than attractive, you know she knows. Prompting you to huff in response and look away, hearing her laugh as she pokes your arm. 

“You know he thinks you’re cute too, right?”

Your neck practically breaks from how quickly you turn to face her, your brows knitting together in slight shock. “What?” 

“What? You seriously didn’t pick up on that? Why do you think I was trying to get you to talk to him earlier?”

You shrug your shoulders, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. “I don’t know, I just figured you were—“

“Trying to set you up with some random guy?”

At first, you pause, then you sigh, realizing yes. That's exactly what you figured she was doing.

“Is that why it took you so long to go talk to him?” 

You realize then you don’t really have an answer that doesn’t sound completely selfish, causing you to cross your arms over your chest and sort of pout as you walk the rest of the way to your cars in silence. Noticing from the corner of your eye another vehicle that's parked a few stalls away, a familiar body occupying its driver’s seat. 

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” you hear Himari practically sing then. Her voice filled with a specific air of humour that has you scoffing and lightly shoving her aside. The act causing her to retaliate with a shove of her own that makes both of you laugh, inevitably catching the attention of the driver. 

Slowly but surely, his eyes move to make eye contact with yours, stilling for a moment before lighting up entirely. And it’s a sight that makes your stomach twist a bit. As you watch the lines around his eyes become more prominent before they’re whisked away by the turn of his neck, you can’t help but deny your attraction. That undeniable pull from earlier returning with a vengeance as you deeply breathe and try to turn back to Himari, realizing she’s already halfway inside her vehicle, waving goodbye. 

“You’re leaving already?” you then whisper through clenched teeth —your eyes darting between her and Shiu who’s back to staring. The pupils of his eyes practically boring holes into your skull as you see him reach to pop his door open. 

“Have fun,” you hear Himari say. Then after a few painfully short seconds pass, she’s gone. The rumble of her old, worn-out car drifting into the distance as you continue to stand there, confused as to how you’re meant to proceed now that there’s not a bar top wedged between you or another body to turn to for guidance if the conversation gets stale. The lack of crutches making you shove your hands into the pockets of your jeans and awkwardly clear your throat, watching him move forward, his expression amused and soft. The kind of look that makes you both terrified and interested. A mix of anxious energy flowing through your veins as he stops in front of you, offering what appears to be the subtle etchings of a smirk as he mirrors the hands inside your pockets. 

“Long time no see.” 

You hum and nod, your lips curling into a small grin. “It would seem so.” 

“Have a good close?” 

Shrugging your shoulders, you turn to glance around the parking lot, immediately clocking the absence of the usual buzzing energy that surrounds you whenever he’s around. The lack of drunken bodies and blaring music making the conversation abruptly stop. Your mind suddenly failing to fill in the blanks as you continue to stand, distractedly picking at the fabric inside your pocket. 

Which is something Shiu recognizes as he lets out a chuckle and looks at the ground, his expression shifting from confident to nervous in a single second, making you feel weirdly calm as you join in, laughing over your shared silence. 

“Sorry, I tend to forget how to properly talk after a long shift,” you eventually admit, moving your hands to rub your eyes.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk,” he replies. “We can just stand here.”

As your hands slowly peel down your face, you can’t help but curiously narrow your eyes at that. Your interest piquing as he pulls out a carton of cigarettes, popping a single one in his mouth before pocketing the box, and switching it out for a lighter. 

“You smoke?” 

“Sometimes.” 

Cupping his hand around the end, he flicks his thumb against the spark wheel —the familiar crackle of flame sounding between the two of you before he sucks and sighs, releasing a plume of smoke strategically away from your face.

“That’s a bad habit.” 

You can’t help but snort, watching as he hands it over. His fingers gently grazing against yours in the process. “Bit of a hypocritical statement, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I don’t smoke.”

“Ah, of course. So this is one of those healthy cigarettes they’ve supposedly invented?” 

He motions towards your hand, nodding. “Good eye.” 

At that, you roll your eyes, fighting the urge to smile as you press your lips around the aforementioned cigarette. Allowing that familiar bitter taste of nicotine to hit your tongue as you take a deep breath and hand it back. His fingers brushing against yours for the second time. 

“So, what are you still doing here anyways?” 

You know it’s a bold question, despite the answer being obvious. More than likely he’s here because he wants to talk to you. To speak to you without the pressure of a purchase or a time limit lingering in the background. To vocalize whatever thoughts might come to mind without having to yell across a counter coated in the remnants of sticky cocktails.

All of it’s obvious to you before you even ask, but still, there’s a portion of your brain that can’t help but deny it. That small sliver of space making you question his intentions. Your insecurities lingering, making you wonder if he finds your pretty or interesting or if he just wants to fuck.

“Thought I’d wait to see if you wanted to continue our conversation from back there.” As he speaks, he motions in the general direction of the bar with his chin. All while his hand rises to take another few puffs of smoke into his mouth. His lips parting to push the excess out in a steady stream before he grins again. “Sorry, is that too forward of me?” 

You shake your head almost immediately. Then, you raise your hand for the passing of the cigarette, holding it for a moment as you try to articulate your thoughts into words. Eventually settling on, “No, I like forward. Forward’s good, makes things easy.” 

In response, he raises a brow, watching you part your lips and suck, his eyes never leaving yours even after you’ve finished smoking and have moved to give it back. His stare intensely making you almost shiver when his fingers bump against you. “Glad we can agree.”

You let out an approving hum and cross your arms over your chest. The urge to do something with your hands overwhelming your mind as you look down at the pavement and readjust your stance, moving a tad bit closer. 

“So, uh, do you want to hang out or just…?”

“Just what?”

His expression contorts again, the previous casualty of it shifting into some foreign and heavy. The weight of it making you clear your throat and glance at the ground again, trying to find the right words to say in order to convey your preference without actually outright stating it. 

“Hang out,” is what you end up saying, your tone a bit more suggestive, praying he understands the difference.

“Hang out or hang out?”

“Yeah….”

The moments that pass are awkward. A mess of silent tension and narrowed eyes. His gaze lingering against the side of your face when you inevitably turn your head in embarrassment, knowing you’ve fucked it. Whatever this is, you’ve absolutely, truly fu—

“Can I pick both? Is that an option or is it more of a red pill, blue pill situation?” 

You quickly turn to face him, unable to hide the surprise that appears across your face as you open your mouth, partially stuttering. “I’d uh —I’d be fine with both, yeah.”

He hums almost happily as he finally takes another drag. After flicking the excess ash that’s formed, he smiles around the smoke and takes a few deep inhales before he makes the pass, watching you shake your head before he drops whatever’s left on the ground to stomp it out. 

“You hungry?”

You are —starving, actually. But, at the same time as you look around, trying to gauge how to say that, you can’t deny the lack of options. The obvious late night hour forcing a potential limit as you inevitably look back and your eyes sharing a flicker of something you can’t quite place before you say, “We could go back to mine and I can make us something?” 

It’s enough to force his smile to branch out further. The obvious excitement taking over when you then ask for his phone, inputting the address to your apartment before you tell him you’ll meet him there. The anticipation of it all nearly killing you as you appropriately part ways to your respective cars, wondering what happens next. 

As expected, the whole way there your mind fills with various scenarios. Each one eventually leading to the same result, prompting you to instinctively tighten your fingers around the steering wheel with a heavy breath. Every end scene making you swallow hard and feel a bit warm, imagining what he might be like. How he might approach the hang-out portion of your time spent together. What his hands might feel like. Or his mouth. 

By the time you arrive, standing outside waiting, your thoughts are a mess. The wreckage of lewd thoughts mingling with more appropriate ones to create a buzz of nerves as you shift your weight on each foot. Your body slowly but surely pacing across the length of your apartment entrance as you quietly hum to yourself, thinking about how to greet him. Which, unfortunately, is a thought that causes you to spiral further. The expectancy to be charming and appealing suddenly becoming less of an afterthought now that he’s going to be entering your space. 

No longer in a neutral zone, you’re well aware you have to make some sort of impression that isn’t just flirting behind a bar for tips. You have to be nice and attractive in a less abrupt, business-y way. To give him what he wants without being too desperate. To be endearing. To keep him interested despite knowing next to nothing about him or what he likes or wants or needs. 

Biting your thumbnail, it comes to a point where you’re left exhausted before he even shows up, and stupidly, the thought of cancelling on him does cross your mind. Feeling the expectations are suddenly too high you debate waiting until he gets here to make some bullshit excuse about being too tired or feeling sick. But then he parks and gets out of his car, offering you that same soft grin from earlier and you kind of melt on the spot. All of your previous desires rushing to the forefront of your mind, causing your heart to beat a little quicker when you press your fob against the edge of the door and invite him in. No longer feeling as anxious as you walk up the stairs to the third floor, casually chatting about the drive. 

“You didn’t get lost or anything?” 

He shakes his head, following you down the hall. His face still sporting that same grin that makes your own mouth upturn without warning. “I’m assuming you found your way without any trouble, too?” 

You scoff out a laugh and nod, eventually reaching down to unlock your door when you make it there. Feeling your fingers twitch as you work the lock and push it open, suddenly realizing that he’s here —stepping inside your apartment like it isn’t the most nerve-wracking experience you’ve endured in a while. 

“You can hang your coat there if you want,” you then tell him, motioning to the hooks behind the door when he slowly closes it. Your eyes lingering as he casually steps out of his shoes before following your instructions; his own eyes glancing around. 

“Nice place.” 

Moving towards the kitchen, you drop your stuff on one of the stools that line the island, offering an appreciative hum. “Thanks. It’s a bit small, but it’s just me, so…”

After nodding, he steps further in to continue surveying. His eyes focusing on the overflowing bookshelf in the corner and the cluster of plants near the window. His eyes shifting position with each new object he takes in, clearly finding certain things more interesting than others.

“You ever get lonely all cooped up in here?” 

As expected, the question catches you a bit off guard, but you quickly recover by turning away to open the fridge. Taking a moment to scan the contents before deciding that some kind of stir-fry is probably your best chance at a proper meal. “I guess sometimes I do,” you eventually say after gathering your thoughts. All while collecting a handful of veggies from one of the lower drawers before turning back around to place them on the counter. “Why?”

He presses his palms against the marble that separates you, his expression softening when he looks up to see you already whizzing around to grab an apron and tie it around your waist. The speed of your hands afterwards darting to grab a knife off the magnetic strip on the wall, making him huff. 

“You said you lived alone,” he points out, watching you dip down to grab a cutting board from one of the drawers beneath you —your head bobbing in and out of view before returning not long after. “Got curious.” 

“About my loneliness levels?” You raise a brow at him, reaching for a handful of mushrooms to chop. 

“Yeah, what would you rate them?” He grins.

As you quickly guide your knife back and forth, you smile back and glance up for just a second. “Right now? Probably a two.” 

“Okay, but how about in general?”

You scrunch up your face, trying to think of an accurate number. “Maybe a seven?” 

“A seven?”

Sensing that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, you let out a nervous laugh, feeling your hands begin to still as you look back up, watching the shock on his face. “What? Is that bad?”

He lets out a scoff, shaking his head. “That’s a dangerously high number, sweetheart. Don’t you have friends that can help lower that?” 

In response, you roll your eyes before pushing your chopped mushrooms aside and reaching for some carrots. Your thoughts shifting to whether or not he’s simply flirting or if there’s a genuine hint of concern in his voice. 

“I mean, I’ve got weird work hours, so no. Not really.”

“What about Himari?”

You shrug. “She’s usually with her boyfriend.” 

He goes silent for a couple of seconds after that, causing you to look up and see him appear lost in thought before he inevitably catches your gaze. Both of you staring at each other for a couple of seconds, your eyes narrowing in curiosity until Shiu finally clears his throat and wanders around the counter to your side, holding out his hand. 

“You shouldn’t be cooking for me after a long shift,” he suddenly tells her. “Especially not if I’m the first friend you’ve hung out with in ages.”

You’re not sure whether to be offended or flattered at that moment, so you just resort to parting your lips and staring. The entirety of you unable to comprehend why this guy —this incredibly stable and attractive-looking guy— has decided that out of the blue, you’re his friend and he needs to cook for you.

“It’s not a big deal. I like cooking.”

Stepping closer, he starts to unbutton the sleeves of his shirt and roll them up, shaking his head the entire time. “Nobody likes cooking, sweetheart. Not after a shift of dealing with shitty college kids throwing money in their face.”

“No, seriously it’s—“

He cuts you off with a huff. The kind that instantly has you pressing your lips together, knowing deep down he’s right. Aside from the hunger in your stomach and the desire to impress him, the last thing you want to be doing is cooking. So, you don’t argue when he eventually pushes his hand closer, wiggling his fingers for you to transfer over the knife, or when he tells you to take off the apron and sit down. 

“Good girl. Now what am I making here?” 

When he looks down to take a quick inventory of the ingredients, you feel your stomach flip at his words. The very obviously suggestive term of endearment making your eyes slightly widen when you know he’s not looking before you quickly reset your face and reply, “I was just gonna make stir-fry.” 

“Okay, good I can work with that. Where’s your sauces?”

You’re about to stand when he points the knife at you, scolding your behaviour like you’re some sort of child he’s been tasked with keeping in line. The sight of him making your eyes roll as you point to the cupboard left of the oven’s hood vent. “Noodles are to the right, too.”

In response, he puts down the knife, appearing pleased before he turns to gather everything he needs. His arms stretching upward, causing your eyes to trail the length of his back with interest, admiring the view.

“Do you have any hon— were you just staring at my ass?” 

Looking up, you blink and part your lips before shaking your head in embarrassment. “No.”

“No? Then what were you looking at?” As if to better prove his point he looks down at the space around him, examining seemingly every aspect of the kitchen before he looks back at you with a skeptical look. “I feel like you’re lying.” 

“I’m not, I swear.” 

Holding back the urge to laugh, you press your lips together and breathe, watching him shake his head before continuing the process of chopping produce and putting together a simple sauce. Both of which he performs with a surprising amount of ease while cooking the noodles and making conversation. 

“So, how’d you wind up bartending?” 

“Started doing it during college and realized I liked it more than sitting in a classroom. So, I dropped out and started doing it full time.”

“Good money I’m guessing?” 

You grin and nod, prompting him to snort as he eventually begins to sauté. His wrist flicking the pan with every burst of flame that surrounds the base. “What do you do?”

When he hesitates to respond, you already know it’s bad. Or, at the very least, an answer both of you know has the potential to change the trajectory of the night. A detail you don’t particularly want to think about now that you’ve decided that he’s actually kind of… 

“I’m kind of like a mediator,” he eventually says, his tone unsure as he stares at the pan, watching the veggies begin to crisp above the heat of the stovetop. “Basically, I connect a pair of clients together and make sure the jobs they collaborate on go according to plan.” 

“Bit of an odd way to describe a job,” you point out, leaning your elbows against the counter as you hold your chin in your hands. “I’m assuming it’s a little less than legal.” 

That comment surprises him. You can tell because almost immediately after he’s looking at you like he’s angry. All narrow-eyed with pinched brows and a frown, causing you to laugh. 

“Relax, I work a service job in one of the shadier parts of town. I’ve seen my fair share of illegal things.”

“Right.” 

He seems skeptical, but thankfully he doesn’t dwell on it for long. Seeming to accept your answer in at least some capacity, he instead moves on by turning his attention back to the food, combining all the finished ingredients to create a delicious looking dish that has your mouth already watering. 

“Question though, you wouldn’t happen to be a chef on the side would you?”

He snorts and wanders around your kitchen in search of bowls, eventually finding the right cupboard on his second try. “No. I’m just a guy who knows how to cut shit up and cook it in a pan.” 

“Hey, you made noodles and sauce, too. Give yourself some credit.”

This time, he rolls his eyes and hands you a bowl before opening a random drawer to successfully find your cutlery, causing him to grin. “You should probably try it before offering any sort of praise.”

“Fair,” you respond with a laugh, taking the fork he inevitably offers you with a dramatic before digging in without question. Your mouth practically inhaling the food he so graciously made with a hum. 

“Good?”

“So good,” you mumble, using the back of your hand to hide your lack of manners as he lets out a sigh of relief and starts to dish some up for himself. 

“Thank god. Imagine I made all this and it ended up tasting like shit. Fucking embarrassing.”

Too distracted to do much of anything but eat by that point, you merely chuckle and continue shovelling forkful after forkful down until you’re done. The entire concept of conversation lost as you focus on filling your aching stomach. Something you’re sure Shiu finds a bit awkward as he lingers near the oven, opting to lean against the back counter to eat and sometimes stare rather than sit next to you.

“You must be starving over there,” he eventually points out. "My food can’t be that good.”

Leaning over to rip a piece of paper towel off the roll on your counter, you pause to wipe your mouth before smiling. “Tourist season is so insane. I didn’t get a chance to eat dinner during my shift,” you reply honestly, dropping your napkin to prepare one of your final bites. “This is also really good, though. Better than mine.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nod, finishing the meal off. Every part of you feeling satisfied as you sink further into your chair, watching as Shiu’s face subtly lights up at your praise. “Really good sauce. How’d you measure?”

“With the heart? I don’t know,” he says with a shrug, flashing you a smug grin that has the inside of your stomach doing somersaults. Your body shifting in your chair to set down your bowl and slowly stretch. All while trying not to think about the way his eyes seem to linger on your frame, taking in your sudden discomfort —studying it with slightly narrowed eyes that cause you to anxiously glance away. 

Which only makes the fear that grows worse, unaware of where his gaze might sit. Considering he seems to be far more curious and attentive than the average person you’ve experienced, the lack of awareness only serves to quicken your heart rate. The pounding drum of your organ making you swallow hard and slowly look back, watching as he reaches for your fork and bowl, turning his attention to the act of cleaning instead. 

“Oh, no, you don’t—“

Without missing a beat, he looks up at you with those same eyes as before. Two thin slits warning you to back off as he deposits each dish carefully into the sink. Then, without protest, each of his hands shift to grab your soap and sponge, lathering everything up beneath a steady stream of warm water. 

“You always this stubborn?” 

You frown, staring at his hands as he speaks, noticing the etchings of scars and freckles. Clusters of markings both grown and inflicted littering his skin like constellations. “No.” 

He scoffs out a laugh, prompting you to look up and see him shaking his head. “Hm, I have a hard time believing that.”

“Why?”

He moves each dish to the drying rack as he speaks, his tone lowering a bit, like he’s revealing a secret. “Well, first off, you’re clearly not used to the whole concept of being taken care of,” he points out.

You scrunch up your face at that, causing him to snort and shake his head again as he reaches for the tea towel that hangs off your oven door, using it to dry his hands.

“See? That’s a typical reaction from someone who’s overly independent.” 

“I’m not overly independent. I’m perfectly fine.” 

Well aware of how you’re merely trying to defend yourself, Shiu then breaks out into a small smirk and leans across the counter, resting his elbows on the edge as he inches forward. His body ever so slowly attempting to enter as much of your space as he can. “Then you won’t mind if I keep doing what I’m doing, then?” he asks, raising his brow. “Without complaint.” 

At first, you don’t really understand what he means. Thanks to the fact that you’re more focused on the proximity of his face to yours, the comment entirely flies over your head. The sultry tone of his voice failing to hit your ears as you narrow your eyes and cock your head, trying to make sense of it all.

Because truthfully, he doesn’t make much sense to you. With his pretty face and casually, suave demeanour, you can’t understand why he’d willing to dote on you merely for the sake of sex. Or, why, despite your lack of answer to his statement, he remains entirely still —his patience unwavering even after you’ve let out a gentle huff. 

“I’ll warn you now, I tend to complain a lot.” 

“During sex?” 

Almost immediately, you close your eyes in embarrassment, remembering that the trajectory of your conversation has since changed to that, prompting you to sigh. “No, I mean, just like, in general.” 

In response, he lets out a chuckle, causing you to pinch the bridge of your nose and release a deep breath, trying desperately to figure out how to recover until you feel his hand gripping the curve of your elbow, guiding it down to rest on your thigh with gentle fingers. 

“Ah, so not during sex,” you then hear him say, the cool tone of his voice forcing your eyes to open back up realizing he’s now at your side, twirling your stool around to face him. “Noted.” 

Somehow feeling even more nervous, you open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out. Your appearance resembling the classic fish out of water look —all dead-eyed and empty-minded. Every previous thought and feeling lost once you’re ripped from the crest of the waves only to become wedged between his fingers. 

Which is a look that, unsurprisingly, makes him laugh as he lowers himself down to your level when he sits down next to you. While using his hand to curiously explore the exposed parts of your forearm, you can tell he’s enjoying your response. The way your body slightly twitches forward to chase his hand or how you uncomfortably shift and avoid his gaze. It’s obvious he finds it amusing, because not long after he’s drawing patterns into your calloused palm with a smile; his thumb circling each patch of roughness he finds, soothing the aches and pains of scrubbing bar tops and serving drinks.

“You’re not used to this much attention, are you?”

As he chuckles, you huff, unable to hide the obvious. “Not really, no.” 

“That’s a damn shame.” 

Suddenly, you feel his other hand move to steady the one he’s massaging; both thumbs dragging down the centre of your palm towards your wrist, causing you to hum and flex your fingers, the desire for more slowly growing. The needs you’ve long since pushed to the back of your mind returning with a vengeance in ways that make you swallow hard and glance between his face and the efforts of his labour. 

It makes your chest ache pretty much instantly; the sight. Considering it’s been ages since someone has touched you like this —like you simply deserve to be— you’re starting to feel a bit breathless. The gesture of his hands ripping the air straight from your lungs as you open your mouth again, needing to speak. 

“Why are you doing all this for me?”

It’s a question that’s pretty much driven you from the start. From the moment he first laid that hefty tip on the counter in front of you during your shift, you haven’t been able to stop yourself from wondering what he wants from you. Why he’s been so kind and giving despite knowing so little about you. 

In response, he shrugs his shoulders, continuing his ministrations. Refusing to stop for even a second as a small grin peels across his face and he looks up. “I don’t know. Felt like you needed it.”

And it sounds like nothing when he says it. All nonchalant and casual, as if he does this kind of thing all the time, but to you, it’s everything. It’s complicated, yet simple. Painful, yet pleasant. A reminder that sometimes you’re human and need these kinds of things despite constantly brushing them off. 

More importantly, though, it makes you feel desperate as your other hand shifts through the air to cup his cheek. And again when you suddenly lean in, pressing your mouth to his in order to finally taste the smoke on his tongue from your shared cigarette. The bitter flavour embedding itself in the cracks of your lips, driving you to push through the voice at the back of your mind telling you to stop.

Because usually, that’s what you do. Whenever you feel any sort of tether, you take a knife and sever them off; refusing to get close. Defying the urge to connect in order to protect yourself. Avoiding the offers of hands that might want to hold you through the hard times. 

However, beneath your touch, as Shiu stills for a moment in response, you don’t feel that at all. Instead, you just feel magnetized. The desire to move closer taking over when he inevitably joins by moving a hand to your waist —another to the back of your neck to pull himself further in. 

Humming softly, you then feel him tense beneath your fingers as you hungrily pull at his clothes. The rough touch of your roaming hands trying to find purchase in a place where the distance will hopefully feel less separate, driving him mad as he lifts you onto the counter and groans. Both of his hands returning the favour in unrestrained pushes and pulls as he maneuvers you to his liking and grins. 

“Can’t say I was expecting that,” he ends up telling you after you part ways; his tone haggard and heavy. The obvious presence of desire gracing the base of his throat, causing the heavy puffs of breath you share to quickly become the only sound other than the shuffling of fabric as he slides his fingers across the waistband of your jeans. 

“Me either, to be fair.” 

His grin widens a bit at that. “Not in the habit of kissing strangers I’m guessing?”

As you go to shake your head, you feel his fingers start to fiddle with the top button of your pants. His knuckles brushing against the exposed parts of your lower stomach. Every subtle motion making you feel incredibly warm as your own hands find a home in the fabric of his collar. 

“I tend to leave before the kissing happens. If I’m honest.”

“How come?”

You shrug, not wanting to get into it. Instead, wanting to feel what it’s like to continue moving forward and propel yourself into the unknown as you rest your forehead against his and close your eyes. Your scattered mind gradually calming down when his fingers understand what you need and begin to discard the lower half of your clothes. Each piece of fabric clumsily shifting off your skin, prompting Shiu to curse under his breath while you laugh and lift your hips to help. 

“Could you wear tighter fucking jeans, Jesus, it’s like a damn chastity belt.”

You snort and feel his fingers immediately pull your underwear to the side once he tosses your pants onto the floor. The dip of his mouth open and already watering, causing you to let out a panicked sound when he licks a long strip up your slit.

“Just relax.” 

The immediate heat of his words only serve to do the opposite as you try and shift your hips away only to be brought back and dove into once more. His hands now embedding themselves into your thighs to get a better angle, causing you to huff. 

“Wait, it’s okay. You don’t have—“

You’re immediately silenced by the flattening of his tongue alongside his eyes which turn up in annoyance. His obvious distaste for your constant protesting becoming old, especially now that his mouth is wrapped around you, making your resolve quickly melt away when he applies a bit more pressure. 

Breathing hard, you then keep your eyes locked downward, watching him pinch your thighs and explore with his tongue. The act of him pleasuring you for the sake of nothing in particular causing your mind to fog up. All the nervous energy you once felt seemingly evaporating like a puff of hot smoke now that he’s trailing his tongue through your folds, languidly inching his way across every nerve in search of something new. Like he’s mapping you out while he listens to every breath that falls from your open lips. Each pant spurring him further, prompting him to push his nose against your clit, prodding it with every movement he makes alongside the fingers that start to part your entrance.

Which overwhelms you completely. The presence of too many stimuli at once making you whimper under your breath and try to sneak away again. Your body craving some sort of release once you feel his tongue forcefully slip into your cunt; the softness of it slipping up and around until his face is practically embedding itself in your flesh. Joining you as one in ways that have you reaching for his hair just for something to keep you steady.

Because right now, you’re teetering on the edge of something. A precipice that you know should feel familiar, yet remains distant in knowledge. The feeling of him wrapped up in your thighs, eating you out like a man who’s never known the taste of something so sweet, causing you to revert to basic instincts. To touch and feel and groan and listen —every sense melding together as he pushes you over the edge and the rush of that something becomes everything at once.

He’s all you feel as you come. Quickly becoming all you want, too, when he ultimately pulls away, breathing so hard you honestly fear he might pass out on the spot. 

“You okay?” you can’t help but ask, causing both of you to smile as he wipes you off his chin and laps it up with a nod.

“I should be asking you that. You look—”

“Rough?”

He scoffs out a laugh and cups the side of your neck. Then, he shakes his head and runs his thumb along your cheek, gently caressing you. “No, you look good. Just a little out of it.”

In response, you hum and let your eyelids shift downward, realizing then that you’re incredibly exhausted. Your body becoming loose and low —relying on his touch to keep you afloat as you reach for his shoulders. “I’m a little tired.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, mentally preparing to apologize and explain why until he starts maneuvering you like earlier. His hands gently forcing your legs to wrap around his waist as he lifts and moves you further into the depths of your apartment in search of your bed.

“Where am I going?”

You point to the end of the hall, feeling him shift. The sounds of his feet padding across the hardwood becoming the only noise between you until he hits the carpet of your bedroom and thoughtfully hums. 

At which point, you’re already half asleep in his arms. The weight of the day finally hitting your mind when he lays you out across the bed only to linger above you, watching your eyes flicker. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out then, causing him to raise a brow and bring his face towards yours. 

“What for?”

In your increasingly tired state, you huff and raise your hands to your eyes, rubbing them gently. “I didn’t return the favour.” 

“Favour?” He scoffs out a laugh, his head dipping to playfully bump your noses together. “What do you mean?”

“You just… you did all that stuff for me and now I’m falling asleep.” 

“Okay, and?” 

He sounds almost offended that you would even insinuate that he cares. Something that you figure shouldn’t surprise you at this point considering he’s been nothing but giving. 

“And…” 

As you trail off, you suddenly force your eyes to open a bit wider —to be more present as you begin to work through the weight of your own exhaustion and pull him down. Allowing yourself to be the one to take the reins by kissing his mouth again. Forcing this need to solely be kind and chivalrous to disappear as you both start to rush through the fumbling of more discarded clothes. His obvious desire to continue whatever this is between you causing him to let you sit up to discard his tie and untuck his shirt. Your fingers clawing at item after item in a mess of blissed-out confusion until eventually he’s buried deep inside of you, groaning your name. 

Which only fuels the impulse to be the one to take care of him. To show your appreciation for the company and the food and everything in between as you somehow shift to the top. Your body towering over his —hips melding together in a quick, steady rhythm of desperation.

“Relax,” you tell him then, leaning forward to run your hand across his cheek. “Let me take care of you this time.”

Despite the position you find yourselves in, he still manages to laugh. The call back to his behaviours making him merely roll his eyes and say, “Alright, go ahead then, sweetheart. Return your favour.” 

Smiling back, you do. Slowing down the movements of your hips so that you can work your way back up. Creating a tension of needy fingers that grip onto your sides, helping guide you through the ebbs and flows of his cock. And at first, it’s nice —simple. The constant drift between you making you feel a bit lightheaded as you both mumble each other’s praises between lazy kisses. But then, you feel yourself melting further down. Your consciousness beginning to falter with every push and pull until he’s left doing all the work again.

Letting out a laugh, he wraps an arm around your torso and kisses your face, still pistoning up. “What happened to all that… hospitality you were boasting about?” he jokingly chastises between breaths, glancing down to see that your eyes are already closed; your breath heavy as you let out a groan. 

“Too tired,” you mumble out. “I’ll make it up… tomorrow.” 

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Shiu manages to hear it. And soon after, thankfully accept it too as he slows back down again, eventually stopping to breathe until he sees you lift your head and shake it. 

“What? You want me to keep going?” 

You just nod and drop your head back down again, hearing him scoff and follow through. Every muscle in your body feeling simultaneously loose and tight once he begins to move again, gently dragging himself in and out and quietly groaning as you slowly drift to sleep, already dreaming about tomorrow.  

[winxanity-ii]

⌜I Love, Robot | Chapter 02 Chapter 02 | history. . . loading⌟

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Over the next few years, things began to change. You noticed the distance between you and Rain growing, the once-strong bond you shared slowly fraying like the worn-out edges of an old blanket.

It wasn't something you could put your finger on at first, just a creeping sense of separation that settled in your chest whenever you caught sight of her from across the room.

You'd see her more often now with the colony kids, laughing and chatting, a bright spark among the worn and weary.

At first, you were happy to see her connecting with others, but then you realized she was spending more time with them than she was with you.

It hurt, but you understood. She needed friends her own age, a distraction from the hardships that seemed to hover over all of your lives like a dark cloud.

You were about 19, maybe 20, when everything took a darker turn. You'd been freelancing for a while—small jobs that kept you under the radar, nothing too flashy.

That was until a desperate small business, teetering on the edge of collapse, sought your skills.

You were hesitant, but the pay was decent, and the work seemed straightforward enough: hacking into some old systems, unlocking what was needed to keep them afloat.

And it was a success. Or at least, you thought it was.

But success came with consequences. You didn't realize you’d been tracked, not until someone with far more power than you could fathom found you.

They came to you with an ultimatum, their voice smooth but with an undercurrent of steel that sent a chill down your spine: work for them, take on any job they needed, or they’d turn you over to Weyland-Yutani.

You knew what that meant. You'd seen enough to understand the company didn’t tolerate dissent, especially from a former prodigy with a name they hadn't forgotten.

That's when your life took a dangerous path. You agreed to their terms, the fear of what could happen if you didn't outweighing any hesitation.

The jobs started simple but quickly escalated. Hacking turned into more complex coding, cracking into secure systems, sometimes even building or reprogramming androids and bots—a skill you honed under Marcus's watchful eye.

The pay was good, better than anything you could have made in the colony, and for a while, it seemed worth it.

But it wasn't just the money that kept you going. The promise of protection from other dangerous groups, black-market dealers who might see your skills as a threat, was a lifeline you couldn’t ignore.

To protect Rain and her family, your small, adopted family, you began staying out later, sometimes disappearing for days at a time. At first, Marcus and his wife were upset, worried about your well-being and what could be keeping you away.

Rain, especially, couldn't understand why you'd suddenly become so distant, why you weren't around as much. Her confusion and hurt were plain to see, and it tore at you in ways you couldn't explain.

Marcus eventually eased up on the questioning after he found you one night in the throes of a particularly bad meltdown. You'd come home after a job went sideways—something you hadn't anticipated, a system you couldn't crack in time, and the fallout had been brutal.

You couldn't tell Marcus what had happened, not exactly, but he didn’t push. He simply sat with you in the dim light of the kitchen, his presence a steady, calming force as you tried to pull yourself back together.

"If you ever need to talk," he'd said softly, his voice thick with the kind of understanding only someone who’d lived through hardship could have, "I'm here. You know that, right?"

You nodded, though you knew you'd never burden him with the weight of what you were involved in. This was a part of your life you'd chosen to keep to yourself, a dark secret that had become a necessary evil. And even though you trusted Marcus, you couldn't bring yourself to let him in on this one truth.

But life has a cruel way of taking away the things you hold dear, doesn't it?

Just a few weeks after your 21st birthday, Marcus and his wife fell ill. The colony's cold, damp air had always been harsh, but the pneumonia they caught from the mines was unlike anything they'd faced before.

You watched helplessly as the sickness took hold, their bodies weakened by years of toil in the toxic conditions of Jackson Star. It was like watching your own parents waste away all over again—a slow, painful decline that left you feeling powerless and lost.

Rain was a mess, her normally bright, fiery spirit dulled by the looming reality of losing her parents. She tried to stay strong, but you could see the cracks forming in her armor.

You did everything you could to help, taking over the household duties, scrounging for medicine, anything to ease their suffering, but deep down, you knew there was nothing that could be done.

The disease had sunk its claws in too deep.

One night, as you sat by Marcus's bedside, his breathing ragged and shallow, he reached out, his hand weak but insistent. You took it, holding on tightly, just like you had with your own father all those years ago. The weight of his grip was lighter than you remembered, his strength all but gone.

"Y/N…" he rasped, his voice barely audible over the sound of his labored breaths. "Take care of her… take care of Rain…"

Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded, unable to speak. "I will..." you whispered, your voice breaking. "...I promise."

He smiled faintly, a shadow of his old, warm smile. "Good… that's… good…"

You stayed with him until the end, just as you had with your parents. And when the time came, when the house fell silent except for the soft sobs of Rain and the hollow echo of your own grief, you knew that once again, you were left holding onto the pieces of a shattered life.

And this time, you would do whatever it took to keep Rain safe.

No matter what.

☆

☆

Three years had passed since your adoptive parents' death, and in that time, life had only grown more complicated. You returned from your latest job—a grueling five-day ordeal that left you exhausted and hollow inside.

This time, you'd been tasked with hacking into Weyland-Yutani's high-security network, retrieving files that exposed a chilling directive: in moments of crisis, their synthetics were programmed to prioritize the company's assets over human lives, all under the guise of logical probability.

The job paid well, enough to secure you and Rain's needs for the next six months, but the price was high.

The screams and pleas of employees who’d been betrayed by the very machines meant to protect them echoed in your mind, refusing to let go. You tried to shake the images away as you made your way through the dim, narrow corridors of the small home you shared with Rain.

Entering the room, you found her curled up on your bed, her small frame wrapped around your pillow, her face buried into the soft fabric as she slept. You approached quietly, the soft sound of your footsteps barely audible over the hum of the heating unit.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you reached out and gently brushed your fingers through her hair. Rain instinctively leaned into your touch, a small sigh escaping her lips as she snuggled deeper into your pillow.

A soft smile tugged at your lips, though your heart felt heavy. Watching her sleep so peacefully, so unaware of the horrors you'd just witnessed, was both a comfort and a curse.

You knelt beside her, continuing to stroke her hair, trying to silence the panicked screams still echoing in your mind. Just as you began to lose yourself in the motion, Rain stirred.

Groggily, she opened her eyes, blinking away the remnants of sleep. She gave you a tired smile. "Hey," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

"Hey," you replied softly, your smile widening despite the weight on your chest.

Rain's brow furrowed slightly as she looked up at you, sensing that something was off. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice a little clearer, more alert.

You shook your head, stilling your hand. "Nothing," you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just go back to sleep, Rain. It's late."

She hesitated but nodded, a yawn escaping her lips as she turned over, curling up again. "Okay... But could you look over Andy?” she asked sleepily, her voice trailing off. "His eyes... something's wrong with them. He's already in the workshop, in sleep mode, waiting."

"Sure, I'll take care of him," you promised, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. She mumbled a thank you, already drifting back to sleep as you stood up and quietly made your way out of the room.

You moved through the darkened house, your steps light and measured to avoid waking Rain. Despite the pitch-black surroundings, you knew every inch of this place—every loose floorboard, every creaky door hinge.

It wasn't hard to navigate to the small workshop in the back, a space that had become both a sanctuary and a battlefield for your mind.

Without turning on the main lights, you reached for the small lamp on your workbench, flicking it on and casting a soft, warm glow over the room.

In the corner, covered by a sheet, was Andy. You pulled a rolling stool behind you as you approached, removing the sheet with a practiced motion to reveal the android beneath.

Andy's face was serene, almost peaceful in the dim light. The shadows cast by the lamp danced across his features, highlighting the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the soft curve of his lips.

Despite knowing he was a machine, you couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship—the subtle blend of human and synthetic, the way his face seemed almost too real.

You reached out, gently cupping the side of his face, your fingers tracing the contours of his jaw. His synthetic skin was cool to the touch, but familiar. Your hand moved to the side of his neck, pressing the small port to awaken him.

The change was immediate. Andy's body tensed, his right hand shooting up to grab your wrist with surprising speed and strength. His eyes flickered to life, emitting a soft glow in the darkness. "Shh, it's okay," you whispered softly, not pulling away. "Sorry to startle you."

At the sound of your voice, Andy's grip loosened, his eyes quickly focusing on you. "Y/N," he said, his voice calm and even. "You're back."

You offered him a small smile before turning to grab your diagnostics tablet. "I've only been gone for five days," you said, connecting the tablet to the port in his neck and starting the diagnostic test.

Andy blinked as if you'd made the dumbest statement ever. "Five days is more than enough time for someone to be missed."

You giggled softly at his matter-of-fact tone. "Thanks, Dee." You glanced at the screen, focusing on the data streaming in. "Rain mentioned you've been having issues with your eyes. Can you tell me more about that?"

Andy's eyes flickered for a moment before he answered. "I... I can still see, but my vision sometimes become foggy. It affecting my ability to accurately assess situations and objects."

You nodded thoughtfully, continuing to run the diagnostics as you chatted with him, your fingers moving deftly across the tablet. "I see... We'll get it sorted. So, how have things been while I was gone?"

Andy remained still, his gaze fixed on you. "Rain and I have missed you."

A warm smile tugged at your lips. "I've missed you both too." You paused, reflecting on how much had changed since the day you found Andy in that scrapyard.

Your perception of synthetics had shifted over the years.

You'd never treated them as mere machines, but having one as a constant companion had blurred the lines between man and machine.

Despite knowing he wasn't human, Andy's human-like qualities were something you cherished. They made him unique, almost... alive in a way that was hard to define.

The soft beep from the tablet pulled you back to the present. You looked down, seeing the source of the issue on the screen. "Ahh," you sighed, turning the tablet to show Andy.

The screen was filled with lines of code, complex and unintelligible to most. To anyone else, or even to an android whose primary function wasn’t related to programming, this would have been complete nonsense. But since bringing Andy back online, you'd made it your mission to always explain everything you did to him, guiding him through each process.

Part of you believed he deserved to know, a small gesture of respect for the android who had become so much more than just a machine.

But there was another reason, a darker thought that lingered in the back of your mind: the possibility that one day, you might not be around to help him.

You wanted Andy to understand his own systems and the intricacies of his coding—not just to function but to ensure he could take care of himself if the worst were ever to happen.

Andy studied the code intently, his synthetic mind processing the information with an almost human-like concentration. "There is an error in the environmental calibration subroutine," he noted, identifying part of the issue correctly.

You chuckled, impressed. "Close, Dee. But, you got most of it right." You pointed to a specific line of code. "This here—it needs an update. The last patch didn't account for the increased levels of smog and soot in the colony's air. It's affecting your visual processors."

Routine set in as you continued to work. "What is your directive, Andy?" you asked out of habit, fingers moving swiftly to implement the necessary changes.

Andy responded almost instantly. "To do what's best for Rain."

A second passed, and then he spoke again, his voice softer. "Do you ever think about changing the directive?"

You paused, fingers hovering over the screen as you looked up at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about, Dee?"

Andy hesitated for a moment, his eyes studying you with a strange intensity. "The day Marcus uploaded my directive, I remember asking him if the girl standing above me when I first came back online was Rain. He to me it was you, Y/N."

You laughed lightly, trying to lighten the mood. "Did you ask him if I was a great hacker too?"

Andy's expression remained serious, his voice steady. "No. I asked him, 'But what about what's best for Y/N?'"

Your fingers stilled on the tablet, and for a moment, you didn't know what to say. You looked up at Andy, his face soft with an expression you couldn't quite place.

A small, self-deprecating laugh escaped your lips. "What's best for me? Ha, I've never been too good at figuring that out. If I had a directive for myself, it'd probably be something like 'make everything harder than it needs to be.'"

Andy let out a low hum, his gaze unwavering. "Even if it's not my directive, just know, I'll still want what's best for you."

You blinked back the tears welling in your eyes, quickly turning your focus back to the tablet. "Thanks, Andy," you whispered, your voice barely audible. You continued your work in silence, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy blanket.

Andy's head tilted slightly, his eyes zeroing in on your face as if committing this moment to memory. "Of course, Y/N... anytime."

The remainder of the time was spent in a comfortable silence as you finished updating his code. You leaned back with a sigh, setting your tablet down beside you. "How are you feeling now, Andy?"

The android paused for a moment, then said, "Well, it's better than before. But if my vision gets any worse, I guess you could say... my future won't be looking 'too bright'."

You just blinked at him, taken aback by the unexpected joke, before laughter bubbled out of your lips. "Was that a 'dad joke'? Where did you learn that from?"

Andy's eyes seemed to brighten, and he sat up a little straighter. "I learned it while walking Rain to work the other day," he explained. "I like them."

You chuckled, warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of Andy picking up on humor. "Well, I'll be sure to learn some more and tell you. We can make it a little hobby between the two of us."

Andy nodded earnestly, his expression softening. "I'd like that. Sharing experiences can strengthens bonds."

You couldn't help but smile at his earnestness. "You're right about that, Dee. We can even start a collection of the worst jokes we can find."

For a moment, the room felt lighter, the shadows less heavy. Andy's presence, his attempts at humor, made the grim reality outside these walls feel a little less suffocating.

It was moments like this that reminded you why you fought so hard to keep your small world safe, even when everything else seemed so uncertain.

A/N: Ahhhh! sorry for things moving thigns so fast with all the time skips, but if you're confused, by the end of this chapter You're like 24-ish and Rain is 21, i'm following fandom ages instead of rain's confirmed 25 age. also, sorry for the long 2 intro chapters, i know most would like to just jump right into the story, but my mind wont let the good stuff happen until it at least lay down the lil backstory 😭💀💀 man, i really need to learn to get over that, but anywhoooo, hope you guys like this enough, thoguh it isn't obvious, i want this to be a sort of a slow-burn, well, on the reader's end at least, lolol, Andy's gonna go full speed tbh, but then again, that's why he's a yandere here.... hope i dont bore you guys too much, but dont fret, next chapter will start immediately with the plot! also, someone asked me to make a tag list so i'll just put that down below:

Tag List: @dreamsarenicer

[saerins]

𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓬𝓴

ཐི♡ཋྀ ITOSHI SAE

ꨄ︎ home ---- you’ve known sae since you were both sixteen. he’s always dreamed of going overseas and facing the world, will he ever be ready to come home?

conversations ---- he’s back home, and you recall the times you’d spoken to him. all the calls you made, then all the calls he made, and then all the times it went to voicemail.

conversations: restart ---- (alt. ending) sae’s willing to throw everything else away to prove that out of everything in his life, you’re the one sure thing he needs. problem is, will you accept him after what he’s done?

about time ---- nothing’s necessary except his talent in soccer, until you appeared. and now, he’s got a new challenge.

whole ---- sae has few interests, and one of them is you. but sometimes, being special just isn’t enough.

incomplete ---- sae rarely knows what he’s doing when he comes to you. and sometimes, by the time he figures it out, it’s all way too late and you’re too far gone.

affection ---- the way sae loves you is beautiful. it’s nothing like you envisioned and something you never knew you needed.

chasing memories ---- you’re the one sae can’t get over. he’s beginning to think he never will.

ꨄ︎ always, eventually, yours ---- you have a crush on sae. for a long time now. and he’s always known that. he just wants to see how long you can hold out.

all this time ---- just when you feel like giving up, sae pulls you back into him.

& again ---- sae’s still learning the ropes on being in a relationship, and sometimes you think you can’t wait any longer. but this is itoshi sae, maybe you can.

and when he wants you ---- what do you do when your best friend kind of sort of forces you to confess your two-year long crush when you’re not ready to? pray and hope for the best.

don’t want you to go ---- he’s stupid and stubborn and bad at being a boyfriend. you make him want to be better though. always.

moral of the story ---- you and sae have been in love with each other since high school. during your special day, he throws you a curveball.

pucker up, buttercup ---- being sae’s girlfriend is tough. there’s a lot of things he can’t make time for, and unfortunately this time, it’s you. but somehow, he always pulls through.

crazy good ---- hold up, netizens. you’re in for a treat this time because guess what? out of all people, it’s time for itoshi sae to hard launch his girlfriend: you.

birthday wish ---- it’s itoshi sae’s birthday. the world hates you. you’ve never been a lucky one. being “shit out of luck” is the only thing you know. the tables must turn.

series: if not for you ---- neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail? [ completed ]

series: priceless ---- there’s a high price to pay for getting involved with itoshi sae. there’s an even higher price to pay when it seems like he’s not the only one. with everything going on behind the scenes, will you be able to afford all of it? [ ongoing ]

ཐི♡ཋྀ ITOSHI RIN

something stronger ---- rin thinks about you all the time, for better or for worse. problem is, he really shouldn’t be anymore. things never seem to work out for the both of you, will trying even make a difference this time?

soft ---- one cute thing he would do for you.

one answer ---- you and rin are both oblivious to each other’s feelings. but maybe one push is all you need.

the things you left behind ---- you & sae had something special, until he forcibly cuts it off. and now rin has you in his sights—but things get complicated when sae comes back for you.

ཐི♡ཋྀ NAGI SEISHIRO

effervescent ---- it’s a little more difficult for nagi to realise his feelings compared to the average man.

in his language ---- he didn’t ask you out because he wanted to, yet nagi gets more than he bargained for in the end.

ཐི♡ཋྀ MIKAGE REO

what if it’s you and me

love, you ---- heartbroken, you turn to your best friend for an escape. but he gives you much more than that.

ཐི♡ཋྀ ISAGI YOICHI

build a date ---- isagi has a crush on you.

ཐི♡ཋྀ MICHAEL KAISER

skin-deep ---- kaiser has more reason to visit his regular cafe spot now. and he’s not gonna quit until he makes you his.

no contest ---- being just friends doesn’t mean much when neither of you really want to keep it that way. problem is, will either of you make the first move?

[bunnyinfoxclothing]

Do you have anymore chaggie rants? Would love to hear em

You're in luck. It's 2 am again and I have awoken to more head cannons and ideas.

If I do more of these most will probably be about Vaggie, because I love my girl.

that being said:

Vaggie is a self fulfilling prophecy that Charlie simply won't let happen.

So for anyone who doesn't know. Self fulfilling prophecies, in psychology, refer to someone who has an expectation or belief that can influence their behaviors, thus causing the belief to come true.

Vaggie is someone with abandonment issues (Chaggie mental illness twins)

Charlie is someone who wants to never be alone, so holds tight onto whomever she can, and is extra forgiving in wanting them to stay. (I will expand on this if anyone wants)

Vaggie on the other hand, expects abandonment to be excruciatingly painful. It's not a logical thought nor is it even a conscious one. She just has a feeling that the moment she messes something up she will be left hurting.

That also means that anytime there is even the slightest fuck up, Vaggie will run away. She preemptively leaves to avoid that hurt.

But Bun that's not a self fulfilling prophecy

Gimme a sec i'm getting there.

Now Vaggie also doesn't have it in her to fully abandon Charlie. She has heard Charlie's fears of being alone, and can never do that to her.

That being said, this is where she starts treating Charlie like Charlie is going to abandon her.

Isolation

Reduced Physical Contact

One-sided Emotional Disconnect

Manipulation

Vaggie does anything to distance herself emotionally from the situation while still being there for Charlie.

If this is prior to being in a relationship it is spending more time in her own room. If it is post relationship it is just more time spent doing different things. Where they used to do chores together Vaggie will outright just start on something without telling Charlie, or work on something else entirely.

Vaggie isn't as touchy with Charlie, maybe not cuddling up to Charlie, but letting Charlie cuddle up to her. Only participating in physical closeness if Charlie initiates.

Being there for Charlie emotionally, but dealing with all of her emotional turmoil on her own.

Purposefully painting herself in the worst light possible at any given situation in an attempt to 'be honest' to Charlie about who she is. Hiding the good things because Charlie knows the good things, but pointing out every bad miss step she herself has taken since.

All of this is in an attempt to emotionally disconnect herself to what is coming and push Charlie towards the abandoning her, so she has control over when it happens.

And Charlie just doesn't let her.

Charlie isn't always 100% aware of when Vaggie goes into this self destructive behavior.

So sometimes it's just a moment of: Charlie feeling overly affectionate that it forces Vaggie to be unable to do one or a few of her isolation tactics.

And Charlie is just so proud of her for being honest, and their in hell so what more could she expect...

And so Vaggie just fails at distancing herself, so eventually when the guilt goes away Vaggie is just left still in Charlies arms like... huh?

And other times, Charlie is fully aware of the self destructing train wreak that is coming.

So she talks Vaggie through it. She provides ample times for Vaggie to comfort her. Gives Vaggie every once of praise every time Vaggie does something for her, just so in Vaggie's tally, the positive things she has done far outweigh any bad Vaggie can come up with.

Charlie turns up the charm, to wear down Vaggie's walls and force her to ask for cuddles. Then cuddles Vaggie until she's squirming out of Charlie's arms.

Charlie casually gentle parenting Vaggie's manipulation tactics like:

Well, yeah sure you could say that you placing your spear by the door was a tripping hazard, but if you think about it, it was very kind of you to leave your spear by the door so we can have a more comfortable cuddle time. And while it wasn't nice for me to trip on it, and it could have been very dangerous for any of our guests to trip on it, we have seen in the past that a lot of dangerous people come to the hotel, so thank you for looking out for us. How about next time we find a safer place to put your spear, so that it is still near the door, but out of the way. Does that sound good? Perfect.

And Vaggie is forced to be like. Oh, yeah, my actions are easily fixable. Why was I so stressed before?

[downtilts]

posting a ranson drabble i had bouncing around in my head recently. randy kisses benson in the diner while benson's apologizing for shooting him 🫢

“Fuck, Randy. I’m sorry.”

Benson is so close Randy can see the tears in his eyes, threatening to leak out, how his brow is creased in fear and worry. The pain in his shoulder is strong but Benson’s proximity outweighs it. And his apologies are so desperate as he stares at the wound he made, unable to fix anything. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Fuck.”

Randy believes him, one hundred percent, that he’s sorry about the bullet, about everything. And Randy finds it easy to forgive him. A tear betrays Benson, falls out onto his cheek and slides down his face. Randy lifts his arm, his good arm, brings his hand to Benson’s face, and wipes it away, returning the favor. In that moment he loves Benson, who has gone completely still and is looking at him like he is irreplaceable. He wants to tell Benson he’s alright, but he’s not really, and he wants to be honest. But there’s nothing honest he could say right now that would reassure Benson. Instead, he lifts himself up just enough to kiss Benson’s mouth.

Benson shudders, drops the gun, and one of the waitstaff, quick-thinking, scampers across the floor on hands and knees to retrieve it. Benson doesn’t notice. He kisses Randy back, no thought behind it, pushes his tongue in and both his hands find the back of Randy’s neck, grabbing so rough, too rough and sharp pain runs through Randy’s shoulder but he manages not to shout. If he shouts he knows Benson will pull back. They’re kissing in the middle of the diner with everyone watching. Benson’s hands are shaking, and he kisses Randy like he’s drunk, delirious and messy, moving from his lips to mouth at his jawline, and then on to his neck. Randy sighs and his eyes flutter open to see Miss Beard staring at them, completely bewildered. There’s a question in her eyes, something like, is this part of your plan to save us? He has no idea what he’s doing.

“Benson,” he murmurs as Benson continues sucking on his neck. Benson makes a small desperate sound and his other hand finds the waist of Randy’s pants, ready to proceed. “Benson. I did it. I called– I called the cops.”

Benson freezes and his lips part with Randy’s neck but his face stays buried in the crook of it.

“I called the cops,” Randy says.

Then Benson pulls back enough to look at him, eyes big, breath heavy, still coming down from the kissing, too many conflicting emotions playing across his face to name. He lets go of Randy, who almost falls to the floor, and steps back, settling into heartbreak. His empty hands twitch, and he glances at them, dazed, realizing he lost the gun. He doesn’t bother looking for it, just stares at Randy, who’s collected himself.

“It was me,” Randy says. “It was me.”

Everyone stares at Benson. It’s not clear what will happen now. If Benson still had the gun, he would probably shoot himself, or Randy, or Randy and then himself. Or he’d wave it at the cops so they would do it for him. But he’s just standing there, unarmed, looking frazzled and betrayed, mouth red from kissing Randy, and Randy doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. 

“Benson,” Randy takes a step forward, unsure what he’s even going to ask him to do (to surrender, to kiss him again?). Benson looks so defeated. He takes a shaky breath and opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, one of the waitstaff gets up and strikes him across the back of his head with the butt of his gun, not unlike what he did to Sheppard’s face. He crumples to the ground and Randy cries out and runs forward to fall to his knees.

“Benson,” he says again, takes Benson’s head and cradles it in his lap, getting blood on his pants.

Other things happen after that. The cops come inside and get medical attention for Marsha. Miss Beard coaxes him away from Benson eventually, because even as he cries no and insists on riding in the ambulance with him, he’s still gushing blood from his bullet wound, and he ends up passing out and waking up in the hospital with his mother hovering over him.

He wants to see Benson immediately but they won’t let him. He insists the clothes he’s wearing are his own so they don’t want to take them as evidence.

“At least tell me whether he’s alive,” Randy begs the nurse when his mother is out of the room, and the nurse pats him on his good shoulder. 

“Alive and well,” she assures him, but the second part is doubtful.

When his mother comes back, she cries some more about how worried she was when she got the call, then stops, abruptly, staring at his neck. Randy’s blood runs hot; oh my god, he realizes, Benson left a mark.

[yuurivoice]

To the person too scared to try...

If you've been hesitant to do a thing, don't let that fear of being bad keep you from trying. Maybe it's a creative thing. Maybe it's a professional or personal thing. Whatever the case may be, we all start somewhere, and until we begin practicing we cannot begin growing.

I've had to listen to quite a bit of my older work recently, even work that I thought I was really proud of. BitterSweet Chapter 1 is a good example. In my head, I had told myself "that's about where I started being good" but you know what?

Not really. It's kind of rough, and that was years into my time voice acting. Listening to how I sound now, it's hard to believe that I was even the same guy. However, I couldn't have reached this point where I'm genuinely proud of my work and believe in its quality if I didn't begin all those years ago.

Going all the way back to the beginning, it was really not great, but you know what? People enjoyed it. There was an audience. Not everyone was rude, or cruel, or dismissive. There were some, sure. Where are they now, though? And where am I?

It's okay to be nervous, or even fearful of attempting a new thing. It means it matters to you. It means you have a desire to be good at that thing. Let that desire outweigh the anxiety and fear of failure. Failure is just a part of the journey, and believe me when I say you'll be grateful that you started moving forward when you begin hitting those benchmarks and growing in whatever it is you're wanting to do.

I look back and I cringe a bit. We all do, in some way or another. I built a whole career off of those rough cuts, though. Those miserable takes and questionable acting choices, it was all a part of figuring out how to get better. I'm able to look back and see where I learned, how I adjusted, and when I eventually figured it out. And the beautiful thing is, there are fans of the stuff I am not proud of. There are people who listen to things I literally can't stand long enough to finish and go "THIS IS WHERE I FELL IN LOVE WITH THIS CHARACTER!!!!" and it helps me realize that quality isn't always the measuring stick we should use.

Were you passionate about what you made? Were you having fun? Can others feel the love you had in that moment, the excitement that motivated you to do that thing? There are times where all of those intangibles become incredibly tangible. Where the immeasurable matters more. Where sometimes it's just about doing it, and enjoying it, and letting go of the comparisons, the doubt, and all of that bullshit that's keeping you from reaching your potential.

I know. Wall of texts are so popular these days, but I'm hoping that this message finds the exact person who needs to see this and it encourages them to take those first steps. Good luck, and have fun!

[brnesblogposts]

Loving you is the best thing i’ve ever done.

(repost)

pairing: matty healy x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, mental health ?

reblogs appreciated if you liked it :)

Staring at the ceiling, a million thoughts going through your head at once. Trying so hard to keep the tears from falling but the overthinking caught up to you as quiet sobs escaped your lips, trying to keep quiet as to not wake up the peaceful looking man beside you.

Your brain had yet again convinced you that you didn’t deserve love, that everyone was pretending to like you but in reality was repulsed by you. This kind of spiral hadn’t happened in awhile but it creeped up on you tonight and all you could do was ride it through and hope you felt better in the morning.

He started to stir beside you while you held your breath hoping you hadn’t woke him, being a burden to him as he was finally getting a good nights sleep is not what you wanted to do. You squeezed your eyes shut trying to stop the tears when you felt a hand push hair out of your face.

“Baby?” his soft voice broke the silence, “what’s wrong, darling?” he asked while looking at you with concern.

“I’m sorry, i’m so sorry” you repeated as you held your palms over your face. You climbed out of bed and went to leave the bedroom before his voice stopped you,

“where are you going?” there was a sadness to it, but that was probably because you’d woken him up, he’s better off without you anyway.

“I’ll just sleep on the sofa, go back to sleep I won’t bother you anymore” and before you could leave the room he leaped out of bed and grabbed your arm, turning you around where you could see his eyes sparkling in the dim lighting.

“Talk to me, did I do something?” he asked and you felt horrible for making him think he was the cause of your outburst.

“No, no it’s my fault, i’m sorry I disturbed you, i’m sorry for everything” you rambled on.. “what do you mean?” he asked while his thumbs stroked your cheeks, wiping away the tears.

“I’m sorry for being a burden, I know i’m annoying and weird and you put up with me out of pity, you deserve someone better, someone not.. broken” your tears falling harder now.

“I’m sorry for the shit you’ve had to put up with, Matty. I’m fucked in the head” you wanted the ground to swallow you whole, you felt vulnerable and like a freak.

“Listen to me, hey” he tilted your head up to look him in the eyes, “You. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you are never and could never be a burden. you know more than anyone how much I hate sincerity but I can do it with you, because you are my person. I love you. Don’t let your brain convince you otherwise”

He pulled you into his chest and let you ball, at some point moving you both to sit on the bed. Matty was stroking your hair and shushing you in a reassuring manner, telling you it was gonna be okay, eventually the sound of your sobs died down and you pushed away from Matty’s chest to wipe a hand over your eyes and push your now damp hair behind your ears.

“Baby, I need you to know that whenever you’re having these thoughts you can talk to me, I never want you to feel like you’re going through it alone because you’re not.” He put his hands on your upper arms and reassured you, “We’re all a little bit fucked up in the head, it’s apart of the human experience, there’s gonna be bad days but the good ones outweigh them, you’re the funniest, most loving, accepting and caring person i know, not to mention smoking hot” at that you let out a little laugh.

“You’re stuck with me, I love you and all your quirks and even that silly little beautiful brain of yours” he kissed the top of your head and pulled you into his side,

“I’m trying so hard to believe you but my brain won’t let me” you replied.

“Well know I mean it, even if you don’t believe me, it’s true.” He motioned for you to move back over to your side and you did, he got back under the covers and held out his arm as you shuffled into his side.

“Try get some sleep, okay? I’m right here if you need me” another kiss to the crown of your head as he started mindlessly brushing his fingers through your hair.

“I love you” you mumbled as sleep started to take over,

“I know” is all you heard before you passed out listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat.