#anyways!! that was just me rambling it was just such a weird experience for me

[slut4megantheestallion]

"Bruised Knuckles, Shattered Hearts"

⚠️ Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, cheater!Vi, stalker!Vi, cheating (Vi x Caitlyn), jealousy, obsession, emotional distress, fighting, drinking, smut, reader ends up with a man in the end(sry y'all)

Summary: Your relationship with Vi started like a dream—filled with passion, love, and deep connection. But over time, things changed. Vi became distant, staying out late, coming home bruised and drunk. Fights grew more frequent, and the love you once shared began to crumble.

Vi never believed in love. Not the real kind, anyway. She's seen too much, lost too much, to think it could be ever be something good. Love, in her experience, was just another way to get hurt. Another chain around her neck, waiting to tighten.

She’d had flings, sure—quick, heated, and meaningless. A way to scratch an itch and move on before things got complicated. No attachments. No promises. Just another night, another body, another face she’d forget by morning.

And that was fine. That was how she liked it.

Until you walked into her life.

The night she met you, she was fresh out of a fight, bruised but victorious, knuckles still throbbing from knocking out some cocky asshole who thought he could take her. She was at The Last Drop, nursing a drink, her muscles aching in that familiar, satisfying way. She wasn’t expecting company.

But then you slid onto the barstool next to her, a teasing grin tugging at your lips.

"You look like shit," you remarked, tilting your head as you gave her a once-over.

Vi scoffed, barely sparing you a glance as she took another swig of her drink. "Yeah? You should see the other guy."

Your laughter was light, unbothered. "I did. He’s unconscious outside."

That made Vi smirk. She finally turned to really look at you. You were stunning, and that was saying something—she’d seen plenty of attractive people in her time, but something about you caught her attention in a way she didn’t like to acknowledge.

"You always this bold?" Vi asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Only when I see something interesting," you replied, swirling your drink before taking a slow sip. Your eyes lingered on her, like you were sizing her up. "So, you just fight for fun, or is it more of a ‘gotta-pay-the-bills’ situation?"

Vi chuckled, licking her lips. "Bit of both."

The conversation flowed naturally after that. One drink turned into two, then three. You leaned closer when you talked, your voice low and teasing, and Vi found herself hanging onto every damn word. It was weird. She didn’t do this—didn’t sit at bars talking to strangers because she liked their face.

But there was something about you. Something about the way you spoke, the way you carried yourself, like you belonged here just as much as she did.

Before she knew it, she was walking you home, hands shoved in her pockets, listening to you ramble about something she didn’t quite understand but wanted to.

When you stopped in front of your door, you turned to her, that smug little smirk still tugging at your lips.

"You coming in or what?"

Vi hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to—fuck, she wanted to. But this felt… different. Normally, she’d fuck someone and leave before dawn, never looking back. But with you, it wasn’t just lust curling low in her stomach. It was something else. Something dangerous.

Still, she wasn’t one to back down.

"Yeah," Vi murmured, stepping closer, her breath fanning against your lips. "I think I am."

The second the door closed behind you, it was chaos.

Vi barely had time to press you against the wall before you were tugging at her vest, yanking her closer, your mouths colliding in a messy, desperate kiss.

"Fuck," Vi groaned, her hands gripping your hips. "You always this needy, or is it just me?"

"You talk too much," you muttered, biting down on her bottom lip before dragging her toward the bed.

Vi grinned, her pulse hammering as she let you push her down onto the mattress. "Damn. Didn’t peg you for the bossy type."

You straddled her, grinding down just enough to make her suck in a breath. "Shut up and touch me, Vi."

And fuck, she did.

Her hands roamed your body, rough and eager, tugging at clothes and leaving heated trails in their wake. Your moans only made her hungrier, more desperate, and when she finally got you bare beneath her, she took her time.

Her lips traced a path down your neck, over your collarbone, lower and lower until she had you writhing. Her name fell from your lips like a plea, and Vi reveled in it, in the way your body reacted to her every touch.

She teased you, fingers ghosting where you needed her most, enjoying the way you squirmed. "You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this," she murmured against your skin. "Bet you taste even better."

Before you could snap back with some witty remark, she had her mouth on you, her tongue flicking against your most sensitive spot. The cry that tore from your throat made her smirk against you.

"That’s it," Vi growled, gripping your thighs as she worked you over, slow and deliberate at first, then faster, rougher when you begged for more. She didn’t stop until you were shaking, your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling, tugging, your body arching off the bed as you came undone beneath her.

Vi wiped her mouth, smirking as she climbed back up, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips. "Fuckin’ perfect," she murmured.

And that was the night everything changed.

She never meant to fall, but with every touch, every teasing smirk, every night spent tangled together in sweat and sheets, it became harder to pretend she wasn’t yours.

You made her feel things she didn’t have words for.

Waking up with you beside her, your body warm and soft against hers, your sleepy mumbles making her chest tighten in ways that scared her—it was too much. Too good.

She kissed you like she was starving, touched you like she needed to memorize every inch, made love to you like she was trying to carve herself into your bones. Because a part of her thought that if she held you close enough, if she fucked you hard enough, maybe you’d never leave.

Maybe she wouldn’t have to lose you.

But love was a dangerous thing. And Vi?

Vi was a fucking disaster waiting to happen.

Everything was perfect. Until she fucked it all up.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The first time Vi came home, you didn't think too much of it.

She'd always been a fighter- both in spirit and in the literal sense. It was what drew you to her in the first place. You loved the fire in her, the way she never backed down, the way she carried herself like she could take on the whole damn world and win.

So, when she strolled through the door past midnight, knuckles were bruised, and a cocky smirk on her lips, you figured it was just Vi being Vi. She had a bad habit of picking fights in the ring to blow off steam, and you'd seen her come home battered but victorious plenty of times before.

But then it started happening again, and again.

At first, it was just an hour or two later than usual. Then, it became full nights out. You’d go to bed alone, staring at the empty space beside you, only for her to stumble in hours later, reeking of sweat and alcohol. The scent clung to her skin, soaked into her clothes, filled the sheets when she collapsed into bed beside you.

Tonight was one of those nights.

You sat on the couch, arms crossed, staring at the door. The apartment was dark except for the dim glow of the streetlights outside, casting long shadows against the walls. The clock ticked endlessly, mocking your patience.

2 AM.

You chewed on your lip, bouncing your knee. You told yourself not to overthink it. Vi was probably just out with her friends, drinking, getting into trouble like she always did. But something about tonight felt different.

And then, finally, the door creaked open.

Vi staggered inside, slamming it shut behind her. You caught the sharp scent of whiskey before you even saw her face. Her boots scuffed against the floor as she swayed, trying to regain balance.

Her knuckles were split. Again.

Her cheek was bruised. Again.

Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. Again.

“Vi.” You stood up immediately, your heart lurching in your chest. “Where the hell have you been?”

She grinned lazily, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Won a fight. Got a couple’a drinks. You know how it is, babe.”

You frowned, stepping closer. “You’re hurt.”

Vi scoffed. “Pfft. You should see the other guy.”

“That’s not funny, Vi.” You reached for her hands, but she pulled away before you could touch them.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, brushing past you as she made her way toward the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of water, twisted off the cap with shaky fingers, and took a long sip.

Your stomach twisted at the sight of her. She looked… rough. Not just in the way she always did after a fight, but worn down. Her shoulders were tense, her jaw tight, her movements sluggish.

“You’ve been out late a lot,” you said carefully, watching her reaction.

Vi leaned against the counter, rolling the bottle between her hands. “Yeah? So what?”

“So, I’m worried about you.”

At that, Vi froze.

It was subtle, but you saw it—the way her grip on the bottle tightened, the way her breath hitched just slightly. It was like you’d just said something foreign, something she didn’t know how to process.

“Vi.” You softened your voice, stepping closer. “I care about you.”

Her eyes darted to yours, and for a moment, she looked completely lost.

Then, without warning, she closed the space between you, crashing her lips against yours.

It was desperate. Rough. The kind of kiss that left no room for questions, only taking, consuming. Her hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against her as she pushed you backward. You stumbled slightly, your back hitting the couch.

“Vi—”

She cut you off, trailing kisses down your jaw, your neck, biting at the sensitive skin there. Her hands were all over you—gripping, squeezing, pulling at your clothes like she needed to feel you, to lose herself in you.

But something felt off.

This wasn’t like the other times. Vi was always rough, always passionate, but this… this felt different.

It felt like she was trying to drown something out.

Her fingers dipped under your shirt, dragging across your skin, and you gasped as she lifted it over your head, tossing it aside. She moved down, lips latching onto your collarbone, sucking bruises into your skin like she needed to mark you, to claim you.

You could barely think, barely breathe as she worked her way lower, her mouth hot and desperate against your skin.

But the nagging feeling in the back of your mind wouldn’t go away.

Where had she been?

What had she been doing that made her come home like this?

Why did it feel like she was running from something?

You wanted to ask. You wanted to push for answers. But as Vi’s fingers slipped between your legs, as her mouth found all the places she knew made you melt, your thoughts blurred into nothing.

So you didn’t ask.

Not yet.

Because right now, Vi needed you.

And you weren’t ready to lose her.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Another late night, again, vi wasn't home. She hasn't been home a lot lately, it was getting worse and worse.

The apartment was cold. Too cold. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, save for the ticking clock on the wall and the occasional patter of rain against the window. You sat on the couch, hands wringing together, your stomach twisted in knots. Vi was late. Again.

You tried to ignore it at first. You told yourself she was just blowing off steam—fighting was her way of coping, always had been. But now? It wasn’t just fighting. It was drinking. It was staying out until the early hours of the morning. It was coming home covered in bruises, smelling like whiskey and sweat, barely looking you in the eye.

And tonight was no different.

The front door creaked open at nearly three in the morning, and there she was—stumbling inside, her body swaying, knuckles split open, a nasty bruise blooming on her cheekbone The scent of alcohol hit you before she even said a word.

Your heart clenched. "Vi, what the fuck?" You stood up immediately, rushing to catch her as she nearly tripped over herself.

She let out a breathless chuckle, leaning against you. "Hey, babe. Missed me?" Her voice was slurred, her body heavy against yours.

You ignored the sting of frustration rising in your chest. "Where the hell have you been?" You guided her to the couch, your grip firm, but careful.

Vi groaned as she flopped down, head lolling back. "Out. Same as always. Got into a fight. Won, obviously." She smirked, licking her busted lip like she was proud of it.

You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek. "You promised me, Vi. You fucking promised me you'd stop this shit."

Vi scoffed. "Oh, come on. It’s just a couple of drinks and a fight, nothing serious."

Your stomach twisted. "You don’t come home anymore. You barely talk to me. Every time I try to get through to you, you just—shut me out." Your voice cracked despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

Vi rolled her eyes, running a hand through her messy pink hair. "Jesus, you're always so fucking dramatic."

That stung.

"You think I like doing this?" You shot back, your chest tightening. "You think I enjoy sitting here wondering if you're even gonna make it home?"

Vi let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Maybe you should stop waiting up for me, then."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I wait up for you because I love you, Vi."

Silence.

Vi tensed. The smirk on her face dropped, her jaw clenching as she turned her head away.

You reached for her hand, but she pulled it back. "Vi," you whispered, pleading. "Talk to me."

She finally looked at you—really looked at you—and for a moment, you saw something flicker in her eyes. Guilt. Regret. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by something cold and distant.

"Maybe that's the problem," she muttered.

Your breath hitched. "What?"

Vi exhaled, rubbing her temples. "Maybe the problem is that you love me too damn much."

You stared at her, your vision blurring with unshed tears. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Vi stood up abruptly, swaying slightly. "It means I'm not the person you think I am. And you? You're so fucking desperate to fix me, like I'm some broken toy that needs saving."

Your heart cracked open, the pain unbearable. "That’s not true," you whispered.

Vi let out another bitter laugh. "It is. You’re too good for this shit—for me. You deserve someone who doesn’t fuck up everything they touch."

"Then stop fucking up!" you snapped, voice shaking. "Stop shutting me out! Stop acting like I don’t fucking matter to you!"

Vi's face hardened. "Maybe you don’t."

The air left your lungs.

Your ears started ringing.

You searched her face, hoping—praying—for some sign that she didn’t mean it. That it was just the alcohol talking. But she didn’t take it back. She just stood there, arms crossed, gaze locked onto yours with an almost cruel detachment.

Tears spilled over your cheeks, hot and relentless. "I hate you," you choked out.

Vi’s lips twitched, like she wanted to say something—anything. But she didn’t.

Instead, she turned away, grabbed her jacket, and walked to the door.

She paused, hand on the doorknob, hesitating for a split second. But then she let out a deep breath and stepped out into the night, the door slamming shut behind her.

And that was it.

You stood there, staring at the empty space where she had been, your whole body trembling. Then, like a dam breaking, the sobs came—violent, gut-wrenching, uncontrollable. You collapsed onto the floor, gripping at your chest as if that could somehow hold the shattered pieces together.

But it couldn't.

Because Vi was gone.

And she had taken your heart with her.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The apartment felt emptier than ever. The bed was cold, untouched on one side. The silence was suffocating, pressing down on your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake. You barely ate, barely slept—just went through the motions, haunted by the last words Vi spat at you before she walked out the door.

"Maybe that’s the problem."

"I don’t think I’m the right person you should love."

"I’m not sleeping with you."

You replayed that night over and over, searching for answers in the cracks of her words, wondering what you did wrong. What had changed? When did Vi start looking at you like a stranger instead of someone she once loved? The ache in your chest was unbearable, a dull, hollow throb that never left.

And worst of all, Vi never came back.

Days passed. Then a week. You heard nothing. No calls. No texts. Nothing. It was like she vanished, and yet she never really left because every inch of this place reminded you of her.

The hoodie she left draped over the couch. The faint scent of her cologne still clinging to the pillows. The damn boxing wraps she always tossed on the kitchen counter no matter how many times you told her to put them away.

Everything screamed her name.

And yet, she was nowhere.

The rain outside had picked up, tapping against the windowpane like impatient fingers. You sat on the couch, curled into yourself, arms wrapped around your knees. The TV was on, but you weren’t watching it. Your stomach was empty, but you didn’t have the energy to eat.

Then—A knock at the door.

You didn’t move.

Another knock.

Your heart clenched. It couldn’t be—

A third knock. Louder this time.

You swallowed thickly, every nerve in your body screaming at you to ignore it. But something inside you—something deep - something stupid—told you it was her.

Your legs felt like lead as you forced yourself up, crossing the room with slow, heavy steps. You hesitated at the door, your fingers trembling on the handle.

Then, you opened it, and there she was, Vi.

She looked like shit.

Dark circles under her eyes, skin pale, her usual confident stance nowhere to be found. She was soaked from the rain, her hair clinging to her forehead, but she wasn’t drunk—not this time. For the first time in weeks, Vi was completely unmistakably sober.

But what hit you the hardest was her expression.

She wasn’t cocky. Wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t trying to charm her way out of the mess she made.

No, Vi looked at you with regret so raw it nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

"I fucked up," she rasped, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You froze.

Your fingers curled around the door tighter, instinct telling you to slam it shut—to lock it, to shut her out the way she shut you out. And you almost did.

You almost did.

But the moment you started pushing the door closed, Vi caught it with her hand, her grip desperate.

"Please." Her voice cracked. "Just—let me talk."

Your jaw clenched, your heart a warzone between anger and pain. You should tell her to fuck off. You should tell her that she made her choice when she walked out that door.

But instead, you took a shaky breath and stepped aside.

And Vi, looking more broken than you’d ever seen her, walked inside.

The air inside felt different with Vi standing there—thick, suffocating, tense.

She didn’t move far from the doorway, dripping rainwater onto the floor, looking like she didn’t know whether to sit, speak, or beg.

You didn’t make it easy for her.

Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you swallowed back the lump in your throat, staring her down with a mixture of exhaustion and resentment.

"Where the fuck have you been, Vi?"

She flinched slightly, dragging a hand down her face. "I—" she hesitated, shaking her head, eyes avoiding yours. "Nowhere good."

"That’s not an answer," you snapped, voice sharp, frayed from all the sleepless nights, all the fucking worrying. "You left. You fucking walked out that door and never came back. You didn’t call. Didn’t text. Nothing. You just—" your breath hitched, but you pushed through it, pushed through the fucking hurt. "Why did you leave me, Vi?"

Vi sighed heavily, rubbing the back of her neck, still avoiding your eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"But you did." Your voice was flat, brittle, laced with something dangerously close to hate. "You fucking did."

Vi finally looked up, and for the first time, you saw it—guilt, regret, shame.

"I know."

Silence.

It sat between you like a ticking time bomb.

"You’ve been acting weird for weeks." Your voice was quieter now, but no less firm. "Where do you go, Vi? When you don’t come home? When you come back drunk and won’t look me in the eye? Why have you been keeping secrets from me?"

Vi swallowed hard, shaking her head. "I can't -"

"You can’t what?" Your voice rose, frustration boiling over. "Tell me the truth? Give me a fucking straight answer? Because I swear to god, Vi, if you lie to me right now—"

"I’m not lying," she interrupted, voice tight.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, every part of you screaming at you to stop, to drop it, to let it go. But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

Because there was one question—one fucking question—that had been clawing at your brain, keeping you awake at night, making your stomach turn every time she touched you, every time she kissed you, every time she avoided your gaze.

You forced yourself to say it, a question you thought to yourself all the time, but never had the guys to say it, until now.

"Are you cheating on me?"

Silence.

Vi froze.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t need to.

Because her eyes—those fucking eyes—said it all.

Your stomach dropped.

A choked, bitter laugh escaped your lips as you stumbled back a step, like the force of it physically knocked the air out of your lungs.

"Oh."

Vi’s face crumpled. "Babe, please—"

You shoved her hands away when she tried to reach for you, disgusted.

"With who?" Your voice was shaking now, but you didn’t care. You needed to know.

Vi’s jaw tightened. She exhaled through her nose, looking anywhere but at you.

And then she said it. "Caitlyn Kirraman."

Silence.

You blinked once. Twice. Then let out another hollow, humorless laugh.

"Caitlyn Kiramman." You repeated it like you needed to hear it again just to believe it.

Vi said nothing.

Your breath came in short, sharp gasps as anger finally took over. Blinding. Consuming.

"Are you fucking serious?!" you practically screamed, your voice cracking, throat raw. "After everything? After all the shit I’ve put up with? All the fucking nights I sat here waiting for you—wondering if you were dead in a fucking alley—while you were out fucking her?"

Vi squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t—fuck—"

"Oh, really?" you snapped, voice venomous. "Then what the fuck was it like, Vi? Tell me. Tell me how fucking my girlfriend is just a big misunderstanding."

Vi finally looked at you then, eyes red-rimmed, raw with something painful.

"It was a mistake." Her voice was quiet, strained. "I was drunk, I wasn’t thinking—"

"Oh, so now you wanna pull the 'I was drunk' excuse?!" You cut her off, voice rising again. "Are you fucking serious?!"

Vi ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. "I fucked up, okay?! I fucked up! I know I did! But it didn’t mean anything—"

"It meant something to me!" Your voice cracked mid-scream, chest heaving. "You meant something to me!"

Vi flinched.

You shook your head, taking a slow, shaky step back. Your throat was tight, burning.

"Get out."

Vi’s eyes snapped up, wide. "Wait—"

"Get. The fuck. Out."

She hesitated, stepping forward, desperate. "Babe, please—"

"Don’t fucking ‘babe’ me, Vi!" you snarled, voice dripping with betrayal. "We’re done. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not gonna be some idiot who sits here waiting for you while you go fuck around behind my back."

Vi’s lips parted, like she wanted to argue, wanted to fight for you, but she didn’t.

Because she knew she had no right to.

She took a shaky breath, nodding once, blinking rapidly like she was trying to keep herself together. Then, without another word, she turned around and walked out.

The door shut behind her.

And you broke.

The sob you had been holding back ripped from your throat as you collapsed onto the couch, hands trembling, chest aching. Tears streamed down your face, hot and unforgiving.

You had given her everything.

And she threw it away.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It had been months since the breakup. Since Vi tore your heart out and left, you shattered in your own home. Since she admitted, with guilt-ridden eyes, that she had cheated on you. Since you told her to get the fuck out.

At first, it felt like you were drowning. Like every breath you took was thick with pain, and every night was an endless loop of memories you couldn’t escape. You barely ate, barely slept. The weight of everything crushed you. That night—her words, her betrayal—played over and over in your head. Why wasn’t I enough? What did I do wrong? Why did she do this to me?

Vi, on the other hand, had spiraled. The guilt ate her alive. She spent her nights in bars, pit-fighting until her knuckles were bloody and her body was bruised. The alcohol barely numbed anything, and the fights didn’t help. She still saw your face when she closed her eyes, still heard the way your voice broke when you realized the truth. No matter how many punches she threw, how many bottles she downed, nothing erased the fact that she had destroyed the best thing in her life. And for what? A mistake she couldn’t take back.

But you? You were trying. Slowly, painfully, you were trying.

It wasn’t easy. Some days still felt impossible, but you were starting to heal. You weren’t fully there yet, but you weren’t where you used to be, and that was something.

That’s why today, for the first time in a while, you decided to step outside.

The air in Zaun was thick as usual, but it felt… different. Lighter, maybe. Or maybe it was just you. You hadn’t left your apartment much, and the city felt overwhelming at first, but you kept walking. One step at a time.

As you navigated through the bustling streets, lost in thought, you weren’t paying attention when you accidentally bumped into someone.

“Shit—sorry,” you mumbled, stepping back.

The man turned around, and you blinked. He was… attractive. Dark, tousled hair, sharp features, and a smirk that didn’t feel cocky—just genuinely amused.

“No worries,” he said, eyes scanning you for a second before softening. “You okay?”

You nodded, a little caught off guard. “Yeah, just… lost in my head, I guess.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah? Happens to the best of us.” Then, as if sensing something in your expression, he added, “You look like you could use a distraction.”

You let out a small, unexpected laugh. “That obvious?”

He grinned. “A little. But, hey, I happen to be great at making people forget their problems.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said with a playful shrug. “Name’s Ezra, by the way.”

You hesitated for a second before giving him your name. It felt weird—talking to someone like this, letting yourself smile after everything. But it also felt… kind of nice.

Ezra nodded approvingly. “Nice to meet you. So, what’s got you walking around Zaun looking like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders?”

You debated how to answer. My ex fucked me over and left me completely destroyed wasn’t exactly light conversation. Instead, you just sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“Well,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “I’ve got time.”

You weren’t sure why, but you found yourself relaxing. Maybe it was the way he didn’t push, or the way he didn’t try too hard to be charming—he was just… easy to talk to.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t completely alone in this.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Zaun’s streets were alive tonight—buzzing with neon lights, the low hum of voices, the occasional burst of laughter from a bar nearby.

For the first time in months, you found yourself outside, breathing in the city air that once felt suffocating. But tonight? It felt different.

Maybe because of the man walking beside you.

Ezra.

He was easy to talk to, surprisingly so. After your accidental bump-in, he’d introduced himself with a boyish grin, something warm in his gaze that made you forget—for a moment—about all the pain that had been sitting in your chest for months.

“You don’t get out much, do you?” He teased, his hands shoved into his pockets as you both strolled down a quieter part of Zaun.

You huffed, rolling your eyes but not denying it. “Not really. I’ve had... a lot going on.”

Ezra nodded, not pushing. “Well, I’m glad you’re out tonight. You should do it more often.”

You smirked slightly, arching a brow. “Oh? And what, walk into more strangers?”

He chuckled. “Only if they’re as pretty as me.”

You laughed—a real laugh. It felt weird, foreign. But good.

For the first time in so long, you weren’t thinking about her.

But she was thinking about you.

Vi was walking, hood up, knuckles bruised, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket. The night air did little to cool her down.

Another fight. Another drink. Another fucking excuse to keep herself numb.

But none of it worked.

None of it erased you from her mind.

She was about to head back to God-knows-where when she froze in her tracks.

She saw you.

And you weren’t alone.

Vi’s fists clenched at her sides as she watched you laugh—really laugh—for the first time in what felt like forever. Your eyes sparkled under the dim Zaun lights, your smile bright and effortless.

She had forgotten what it looked like when you smiled like that.

Hadn’t seen it in so long.

Not because you weren’t capable of smiling.

But because she was the one who had stolen it from you.

And now?

Now some other guy was making you laugh, and Vi felt something dark, something ugly twist deep in her gut.

She could barely breathe through the weight of it.

Her jaw clenched, her nails digging into her palms as she took in the sight of you standing so close to him.

She didn’t recognize the guy, but that didn’t fucking matter.

What mattered was that you were here, in the middle of Zaun, moving on while she was still drowning in everything she had done wrong.

Vi should’ve been happy for you.

She should’ve been relieved that you were healing.

That you were finally piecing yourself back together.

But she wasn’t.

She wasn’t happy.

She wasn’t relieved.

She was fucking furious.

Not at you—never at you.

But at him.

At herself.

At the fact that she had been the one to destroy what you had, and now some random asshole was swooping in to pick up the pieces.

That should be me.

The thought hit her like a punch to the ribs.

Vi gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay put, to keep herself hidden. She had no right to interfere, no right to pull you away and demand your attention after everything she had done.

But that didn’t stop the fire raging inside her.

"Oh, come on, you gotta admit I was right about that place," Ezra’s voice was light, teasing.

"Okay, okay, fine," you laughed, nudging him playfully. "You were right."

Vi’s stomach twisted into a tight knot.

The way you touched his arm so casually, the way you smiled at him with no hesitation, no pain—it burned.

It fucking burned.

Her breathing was heavy, uneven.

She wanted to storm up and yank you away from him.

Wanted to tell him to fuck off and take you back into her arms where you belonged.

But she couldn’t.

Because she had lost that right the night she walked out on you.

And now?

She was nothing more than a ghost in your past.

You had every reason to move on.

She knew that.

She knew she had no one to blame but herself.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any fucking less.

She stayed rooted in place, watching as you continued talking, continued laughing, completely unaware of the storm raging just a few feet away.

Vi clenched her fists, turned on her heel, and walked away before she did something stupid.

But even as she left, her mind was still filled with you.

Your laughter.

Your touch.

Your smile.

And the bitter, crushing realization that someone else was getting to experience it now.

And it wasn’t her.

Vi knew it was wrong.

Knew she shouldn’t be doing this.

But that didn’t stop her from trailing behind you through the winding streets of Zaun. Her hood pulled low over her face, steps light and careful as she followed at a distance.

She had never been the type to obsess over someone.

But you weren’t just someone.

You were everything.

And now?

Now you were with him.

She watched from across the street as Ezra held your hand, his grip possessive, like he had any fucking right to you.

Vi’s teeth clenched as she stayed hidden in the crowd, every muscle in her body tight with restrained anger.

She had followed you through the bustling markets of Zaun, watching as he made you laugh, watching as you leaned into him, completely oblivious to the pair of burning eyes following your every move.

You were happy.

Happier than you ever were with her.

And Vi fucking hated it.

She hated him.

She hated the way he looked at you.

Her fists curled at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she resisted the overwhelming urge to do something.

She had thought she could move on.

Had tried to move on.

But every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was you.

Every time she stepped into the pit, throwing punches just to feel something again, she imagined Ezra’s stupid fucking face, imagined what it would feel like to drive her fists into his jaw until he was nothing but a bloodied mess on the ground.

And it was getting worse.

She had started following you more often, watching from rooftops, alleys, keeping her distance but always close enough.

You never noticed.

Never once turned around to see her lingering in the shadows, watching, waiting.

She had been there when Ezra took you out to that stupid little café on the outskirts of Zaun, when he tucked a stray curl behind your ear, when you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, lingering kiss.

Vi had seen fucking red.

Something inside her snapped.

She had turned on her heel and stormed off, fists clenched so tightly she thought her knuckles might split open.

She had spent that entire night in the pits, letting herself get hit, letting the pain take over, trying to beat the image of you and Ezra out of her fucking head.

It didn’t work.

Nothing worked.

Because no matter how much she tried to drown it out, she couldn’t escape the truth—

You were gone.

And Vi wasn’t sure she could fucking live with that.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Vi had been watching you for weeks. It started with just passing glances, seeing you walking through the streets of Zaun, a ghost of who you used to be when you were with her. But now… now you were smiling again. And it wasn’t because of her.

It was because of him.

Erza.

Vi had followed you both before, blending into the shadows, her hood drawn over her face. She told herself she wasn’t going to do this—that she’d let you go. But every time she saw you with him, she burned with something ugly. Every laugh you gave him, every touch, every lingering glance—it drove her insane.

She watched you now from the alley across your apartment, her fists clenched as Erza led you inside. He had his hand on your lower back, guiding you in, and Vi felt her stomach twist. That used to be her touching you like that. Her making you smile.

The lights in your apartment flickered on. Vi exhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay hidden in the shadows. She shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t healthy. But when she stepped forward, her boots planted firmly on the ground, she didn’t walk away.

She watched.

Through the window, she saw Erza sitting with you on the couch, your legs tangled together as you leaned into him, whispering something with a smile. He grinned back at you before pressing his lips to yours.

Vi’s breath hitched.

Her nails dug into her palms, anger flaring in her chest like a wildfire.

She should have left. Turned away and spare herself what came next.

But she didn't.

She stayed and watched.

Inside, you were half-undressed, your body bare under the dim glow of your bedside lamp. Vi's breath caught in her throat. You looked as fucking beautiful as she remembered- soft curves, smooth skin, the way your chest rose and fell with every breath.

And his hands were on you.

Vi's nails dug into her palms as she watched him kiss his way down your body. His lips trailing the same paths she used to take her tike worshipping. He was touching you like you belonged to him, his hands greedy as they gripped your hips, spreading your thighs wider.

"Fuck," she muttered, under her breath, her jaw tightening as she watched you arch against him.

Your moans filled the room, and Vi swore she felt them through her bones.

She remembered the way you used to sound beneath her - how your voice would break when she pushed you too far, how you used to whimper her name when you came, but now it wasn't her name you were moaning.

Vi breathing was ragged, her hands shaking as she clenched them into fists. She shouldn't be standing here, jealous and desperate, her body aching with something twisted and wrong.

But she couldn't fucking look away.

She bit her lip, shifting where she stood, thighs pressing together as heat coiled low in her stomach. The way you moved, the way your back arched, the way your fingers tangled in his hair- it all sent a sharp pang of need through her.

That should be me.

She pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the window, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Inside, he had you pinned against the mattress now, your legs wrapped around his waist, your breathy moans grew louder. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, taking you in a way that Vi used to.

And fuck, she could feel it.

Her own body betraying her, heat pulsing between her legs as she imagined what it would be like to replace him. To slip through that window, throw him out, ruin you for anyone else. To remind you who you really belonged to.

Her hands drifted lower before she caught herself, disgust twisting in her gut.

She ripped herself away from the window, breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps.

She had hit rock bottom before, but this- this was something else entirely.

She turned, stepping back into the shadows, her fists clenched so tight she felt her nails bite into her skin.

She had lost you.

But the worst part?

She wasn't done with you. Not yet.

(Authors note- y'all I deleted the tags because I added wlw on accident, it was by mistake and it doesn't make sense because the reader ends up with a man, like I said I'm not really of big fan of this, so bare with me, omg I'm so dumb, why would I add that in the tags 😭 I wasn't thinking clearly, my apologies y'all.)

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

I think I made some of you guys a little sad with my last post, so you can have some happy aftermath twins before part 2, as a treat ❤️

[keferon]

May I ask what were the best transformers media you ever saw/read?

Well Transformers Prime, Transformers 1986 and IDW comics are having the first place that’s for sure

And then the second place is kind of shared by Fall of Cybertron, Exodus, Prime wars trilogy, Robots in disguise(2001) and Transformers One.

The third place goes to G1, Animated, Earthspark, Armada, War for Cybertron Netflix series, Aligned Robots in disguise, Bumblebee, Rise of the Beasts and Cyberverse because I only liked some little parts of them.

And then I also saw some of the Bay movies, Victory and Headmasters and didn’t like them at all.

Separate first place for J-Decker. It is not exactly Transformers but it is a show about giant robots and I loved it

[sideblogdotjpeg]

ive been thinking about the red string superstition recently and also sol bufo always and it makes me sick how uncannily caldwell tanner has made sol to perfectly target me personally

(+ cropped versions !)

[lunarharp]

played dragon age 2...just simple scribbles

[slasherflicks999]

4am slasher doodle to recover from the fact i spent 2 days hand sewing a shirt that i don’t even like the fit of HELP

you can NOT tell but his necklace is made of teeth hehehe

whoever it was that reblogged the last drawing i did of him saying they thought he was cool and u dug through posts to find him……. you gave me a crazy case of the smiles lemme tell ya /vpos

oh how i would love to lore dump about him…. if he had any solid lore to dump about

[scintillating-scales]

I mentioned in a previous post that trauma and neurodivergence has influenced my nonhumanity. It's honestly a big part of why I've gone back and forth on whether or not I really am nonhuman, or if it's just like. A trauma response/coping mechanism. I know when I was very young, I liked to imagine myself as a dragon, and wished so much to become one. After all, being a dragon means you're big and strong and powerful and nobody can hurt you. And if you ever do fear for your safety, you can simply fly away. Being a dragon meant safety, and that was important to me, because I didn't feel it much as a human.

It's also a way to sortof reclaim the emotional isolation I've faced my entire life. Part of my particular brand of neurodivergence is my inability to connect with anyone, and my very low empathy. I don't know if I was born like this, or if it was stripped from me after a childhood full of neglect and solitude. But it's something I've had to come to terms with and learn to live with. Dragons in my mind are very solitary. Of course there are dragons who are social and feel things very deeply and have close-knit families. But I am not one of them. I'm the type to hold my own territory and immerse myself in whatever matters concern myself and myself alone, without care for the world beyond.

Then the trauma I experienced later as a young teen served to dehumanize me completely, and further divided me from the very few people I would've considered myself 'close' to. All the shame from what I went through manifested in a sense of deep self-loathing, that has never really gone away, and has only made me acutely aware of how inhuman and monstrous I am. Being a dragon then was less about safety, and more about embracing the alien, predatory sense of self I had. That specifically, in conjunction with my inability to connect, has created the very reptilian form I take. Nothing about me is soft or mammalian, and it feels wrong to ascribe any traits of that to what I am.

Because of all of my 'issues', every interaction I have involves masking. I like to think I'm pretty good at it. I come off as charismatic to those around me. But it's draining, unnatural, and it makes me feel even more like an impostor; like a coiled, tense predator. A dragon has no expectations of the sort. It can be distant and isolated and callous, with no mincing of words or faux platitudes. It can be vicious even, with no 'violation' of how a dragon is meant to be. It may be resented for its nature, of course. But it is no less draconic for it.

Ultimately, my draconity may only be a product of the hand I was dealt in life. A way to cope with an isolated experience. But my identity has been draconic for so long, I don't think I can dismiss it, even if it's not the typical experience for nonhumans.

[allthoseotherworlds]

Genuinely really loving the tendency of official Doctor Who stuff to now refer to the Doctor in general with they/them pronouns

[crows-of-buckets]

Im still so mad about the fact that baldurs gate 3 is over 100gb. Like it's just wasting space on my PS5 rn there is NO NEED for the graphics to be that bloated

[thewhizzyhead]

if I said eisa davis' influence in making lmm actually write something rather radically progressive has subsequently inspired me to return to my roots of actually fucking thinking of making radically progressive musicals after a 3-year long hiatus in doing so, then what-

[wackywatchdotcom]

ok. ok im thinking about episode 4 again and its my favorite episode and like. im putting this under a cut bc this is sorta heavy but i wanna ramble abt smth w this episode cus its one that really hitss close to home in a really meaningful way for me

the thing is like ive mentioned before i have ocd nd stuff. and a few yrs back i got put on qelbree for my adhd except apparently it can be really really bad for people w like anxiety and ocd or smth. this waas 100% the case for me. i already have pretty prominent ocd, w a lot of existential and moral themes. and being on qelbree cranked up the fear enough that what would normally be already kinda bad ocd turned into genuine delusions and generally not being able to stop being scared at all times

this is tangentially related. but to me the mask gangle gets reminds me a lot of the feeling of getting a new medication that makes everything worse. not all medication is so bad, mind you, but sometimes you try one that makes you much worse off than you started in a really bad way

but then i have a distinct memory of when i was on qelbree that i kept thinking i could genuinely turn of my negative emotions. this was absolutely not true but in the moment i really felt like id figured out how to do it, like i was never going to have problems again in my life. and i remember going a whole day like this (i wasnt unfamiliar w this like masking nd stuff and ive obviously pretended i was ok when i wasnt many times before this but this was... far more extreme. it also had to do w the fact that i genuinely thought i really, really wasnt human at all which added a bad element) and like. by the end of the day i was doing so bad. bc id decided i just didnt experience negative emotions anymore even when i obviously did

during this time it was very common for me to just stop being able to talk or type properly (which still happens but its extremely uncommon. its not like a 'losing words' thing cus not being able to speak isnt too uncommon for me but i genuinely cant type full sentences or even think full sentences when this happens) and one of the most notable instances of that was absolutely after this day. i felt tired and upset and like id gotten hopeful over something that made no sense

anyway like. i think gangle can be interpretted in a lot of ways. this EPISODE can be interpretted in a lot of ways. and i certainly dont think that my takeaway from it was like... the end-all be-all for how the episode is meant to be interpretted. but this episode makes me think of this when i watch it. and it was genuinely a deeply frightening part of my life. it was thankfully not long but it still heavily impacted me. and seeing gangle in ep 4 could theoretically be like... unsettling or triggering but honestly it feels reassuring in a weird way. 'representation' or whatever but like. its such a specific type of experience that you do not forget and having gangle go through smth kinda similar is just. man. it hits really hard for me

[maybege]

btw i am still alive now that i have recovered from swiftkirchen and i hope you are all doing super well this summer! i am FLYING through my reading list atm which is amazing and i am feeling more and more inspired for things (footballer!paz anyone? roommate!paz as well maybe?) so hmu in the inbox it is TIME TO THIRST

[wormtoxin]

updated personas/subroutines: (disclaimer: i still don’t think im plural, sorry)

Pepper/Clover: the main one, not even one of the subroutines really, just the blank slate object which all the others act upon. The physical body. The only persona recognized by society.

Autopilot: the regular forms and functions of being a human being. Wake up, brush teeth, go to class, come home, go to sleep. Sometimes one of the others sneaks in and replaces it without my notice, especially when I’m talking to other people, and I don’t care for that shit at all. Routine.

Rambles: Vile little subroutine that makes my mouth move well before my brain. Sometimes I feel like I’m going on and on and I can’t stop. I don’t like conversation much because having to talk necessitates Rambles and then I feel totally out of control and I hate it. Objectively this one has its uses but it’s also my least favorite.

The Wretch: Self-loathing subroutine. Convinced it’s a worthless fuckup and probably correct. Self-sacrificing while being selfish, apologetic while seeking sympathy, paradoxically victim and passive-aggressor. The worst of both worlds. I actually put a lot of time and effort into being properly accountable the way a human being should be, but sometimes i get overemotional and I spiral and that part’s The Wretch i think.

The Doll: Control, poise, perfection, submission, obedience. Maybe if it’s perfect we can get it right this time. If it’s just perfect then nobody can criticize it. Next time it’ll get it. Never does. Masking, I think? Maybe some kind of fucked up anti-masking? Can’t keep this one up for long. Wishes it could just be quiet for once and let our actions speak for themselves, but people keep trying to talk to it, and it inevitably slips away. Probably used it more when I was working.

The Dog: Playing, eating, sleeping, rolling, getting off, singing and drawing. Simple bodily expressions. Not so bright. This one doesn’t get much of an outlet. Kind of a lump, occasionally whipped into shape by expectation. I actually kinda like being this one but it’s impossible when being perceived by another human being. The most invisible persona of them all. Immoral (amoral?) and therefore unsustainable long-term

The Magician: Doing, studying, creating, dressing, presenting. A self-styled scholar. Flashy and stylish and confident. Would describe itself as “dark academia” or something similarly edgy-but-trendy. Work and school romanticized, transmogrified into an exciting fantasy. Useful for being productive.

The Witch: Free of responsibility to society or others or ethics. A heartbreaker maneater homewrecker bitch. A natural disaster. An expression not of individuality or self, but force and violence. Claiming anything it wants by any means necessary and destroying everything in its path. Selfish to the core. Chained up in a basement somewhere. It exists but it’s cruel and it sucks so I never ever let it out. But I like to remember it’s there. A trump card, a concealed weapon. Break glass in case of emergency. I feel the shape of its outline like a knife stashed in a boot and I know I could use it if I ever needed it.

Honorable Mentions:

Poetics: Playing with sounds, words, grammar, languages, ideas until they sound musical and pleasing. Etymology research, vocabulary buff, eidetic memory for certain words and phrases, but only when they sound “right”. Possibly used for all five senses, or possibly shares overlap with Composition (visual) and Kinesthetics (touch)

Faux Marxism: Self-righteous understanding of the dialectical materialist view of history. Used mostly for impassioned speeches at inopportune moments (Rambles) or in response to perceived political threats. Poetics and Faux Marxism are both very invested in learning as much vocabulary, history, languages, and multiculturalism as possible, but for very different reasons.

Horndog: you could take all of sexuality and sprinkle it across all the other different subroutines, OR you could concentrate it into one horrible little guy.

Puzzles: The subroutine that just will NOT let a problem go until it’s solved. Character designs, meaningless research inquiries, computer software. Very very very very rarely, actual assigned tasks. The Magician wants what Puzzles has.

Hibernation: Comfy cozy blanket pillow sweater cuddle nap pile. Memorized the rhythms of the winter hibernation episodes of Tanoshii Moomin Ikka and plays them in a loop continually year-round. This one might be straight-up biological. I think I might have a vitamin deficiency.

Fog: The squishy slouchy sweaty medium that fills up whatever psychic dream space all the other personas occupy. There used to be a sense of “me” but it got covered up by all the fog what seems like years ago. That sense of wholeness, control, totality, unification. It existed once. I like to think it’s still out there, somewhere, if I just get my meds right or get enough sleep and if I can just synthesize all the others maybe I can feel “like myself” again. But all the fog covers it up. Memory issues. Whenever I get a sudden moment of clarity, and I realize I’ve been one of the more loathsome subroutines, someone I don’t recognize, I’ll have just stumbled out of the fog. Always comes with a feeling of “Why did I just say that?” Or, “What did I just say?”. Dissociation, maybe???

????: see previous. The negative space that fills everything else in. I don’t even know whether to call this one “Selfhood” or “Synthesis” or “Control” or “Autonomy” or …”Me”. That’s probably most appropriate but it feels like too foreign a word to make sense of. Whatever was here once got swallowed up by the fog, and I don’t know what it is anymore. If it was here I think I could feel like a present sensor and agent in my own life again. This is probably what people expect out of “Pepper” or “Clover”, the flagship of the armada, the face and voice of the operation. I don’t know where that person is. All the subroutines (personas?) are trying to emulate her, stall for time until she comes back. She might not ever be coming back. We might be all we have.

[hylianengineer]

The fun thing about living with a theatre major is that I get to be the rubber duck for art projects and literary analysis. This is great because I love literary analysis but don't get to take lit. classes anymore.

[gregmarriage]

okay, i’m genuinely curious: do people find me intimidating?

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

I've pondered and questioned a fair bit on if I might be autistic over the last year or two 'cus it came up as having a lot of overlap while I was looking into my presumed ADHD

and I think the conclusion I've come to at this point on that is kinda a "I'm not autistic but I believe in their beliefs" sorta thing

Like I don't think I actually fit the criteria for autism or fully relate to it as a whole, but yeah.

Change sucks, social stuff is weird and frustrating, idk how to make friends, I would love to wear the exact same brand, make, and style of pants for the rest of my life, and scratchy seams on clothes are hellspawn.

I do resonate with those ideas I see y'all talk about a lot for a variety of reasons that in my case I don't think are autism