#it’s just all angst lol

[wyvernne]

Don’t listen to that anon! Please make the werewolf Diluc fic!!!

hahaha don’t worry, they’re just joking. i still plan to work on it. since frwad is such an emotionally tolling series to even write, i plan to make werewolf diluc a bit of a sweeter fic. obviously it’ll still have my classic hurt/comfort, but less doom and gloom overall.

[toughbunnyforever]

maybe try writing him a note next time idk

[ariadne-mouse]

I feel fandom would get along a lot better if there was mutual understanding that liking a character, agreeing with a character, and thinking the character is well constructed/executed are all separate (if often overlapping) positions, each with their separate tastes and subjectivities. Also: character portrayals are intended to make the audience feel things; this is separate from (if often overlapping with) analyzing/appreciating their actions and role in the story.

[emmavakarian-theirin]

alternate bad ending

(inspired drabble under the cut)

Lucanis has been taught to accept death since he was a child. He's trained in it. He's used to it. But that doesn't mean what family he has left isn't important to him. Rather it's what matters to him most.

Then he gets imprisoned and tortured. He watches people die, week after week for a year. He's made to think he's going to die at any moment. Made to think that his family is dead. But he doesn't know.

Then you come along, set him free, return him home to find only one family member left, the other probably dead after all. But he still doesn't know.

Then she's alive, imprisoned by the same person that imprisoned him, the other living relative. But he can't kill him. He won't be the reason to lose what he has left, and there's so little left.

But then there's you, who's shown him compassion he's never known, that there's something more than just family/contracts/enemies. That it's safe to be vulnerable around someone.

But he's scared to get close. Scared he'll hurt you. Scared he'll lose you, to himself, to a god, to something he can't kill.

Then his walls start to break. He doesn't know what he'd do without you. And then you disappear. You might be dead. A day, a week, a month goes by. You're still not back. You're probably dead. He thinks he'll never see you again.

It's weeks of not knowing, and he's wasted all this time fearing he'd only take time away from you, time he could have given you instead of pushing you away, and he's lost you anyway. You could have both been happier, if he wasn't so broken.

Then you're back, and nothing else matters, there's no holding back. He'll do anything to protect you, you are his sole purpose now. This he knows, more than anything.

Then the battle is over, the gods are dead, and so are you in his arms. He couldn't protect you.

He knows death. He knows you're dead.

But only now after decades without, does he remember what it's like to grieve.

[chaosfantasmic]

It’s wars angst hour boys.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One

The drive's short one. 

Steve gets out of his car, opening the passenger door for Chrissy and escorting her up to the house, quietly envisioning what Jason would look like if a real monster got him.

What would he say, staring down the crazy, five-starred head, filled with teeth and drool? Would he turn back? Or run?

(Steve swears he doesn't take great pleasure in imagining Carver getting eaten, but he'll admit to taking a little.)  

"Chrissy do you have any idea--oh." Mrs. Cunningham startles, grasping her robe at the front as she spots Steve standing next to her daughter.  

"Hi Miss Cunningham." He says.

"Hello." She says suspiciously. "And who are you?"

"I'm Steve Harrington, ma'am." He watches as her mother straightens immediately at his name, and sinks right into the ol' Harrington charm, knowing instantly it will work. "I know you were expecting Jason, but I'm afraid he wasn't able to drive Chrissy home." 

"Oh, Steve! It's so late I almost didn't recognize you." She titters, suspicion gone. "Your mother and I are on the same charity board." 

Of course they were.

"I thought you were dating that nice Nancy girl." She says with a squint that mimics Chrissy's, because even in the midst of a crisis he can't escape the gossip that is Hawkins upper echelon. 

"Nance is waiting in the car." Steve lies smoothly. "I just wanted to make sure Chrissy got home safe." 

"What happened?" Chrissy's father appears, ushering them both in while blatantly peering around them, eyes sweeping the street before closing the door.

Steve recognizes the move. He's checking for nosy neighbors. 

"Jason and I broke up." Chrissy admits.

"What?" 

"We..." She falters in front of her parents. 

"What happened to Jason?" Her father asks, tuning back in once they're safely away from peering eyes.

"I'm afraid Jason and some of his friends brought beer to the party." Steve steps in to explain.  

"Oh Chrissy, it's a high school party. That's no reason to break up with him." Her mother fusses, face flushing in embarrassment. Her eyes dart from her daughter to Steve and back, and Steve knows he needs to start damage control. 

If he plays it right he can burn Jason while he's at it. 

"He was horrible, mom. Just awful." Chrissy says, but Steve can tell she's shrinking under her mothers gaze. 

"He drank quite a lot, Miss Cunningham." With a theatrical wince, Steve turns to face Chrissy's dad, lowers his voice and says "I'm going to have to talk to Coach about it." 

He gets the intended response, which is a raised eyebrow. "That bad, huh?" 

Steve nods once, painting a pained smile on his face. "He made a real fool of himself tonight, Sir. The basketball team has a reputation to uphold." 

"Oh." Mrs. Cunningham says, hand fluttering in front of her face. "I never would have thought…"

"He's normally a good guy. I don't know what got into him." Steve has them both eating out of the palm of his hand, attention neatly off Chrissy and onto the story he's feeding them. 

Its worth it to see her shoulders relax. 

"I couldn't let him take Chrissy home in the state he was in Sir, and he got very…" 

Steve pauses. 

Fills his voice with tempered disappointment, channeling his dad. "Belligerent. Said some nasty things."  

"Really?" Mr. Cunningham says, with a low whistle, and Steve knows by his tone alone that he's bought in.

Hook, line, sinker.

Steve nods once. "I have to get back to my girlfriend, but Chrissy'" He turns earnestly here, to let her know he's not faking this next bit. "Let me know if Jason bothers you at school. I'll set him straight again if I have to." 

"Thank you Steve." Mr. Cunningham says, as Chrissy's mom hustles her daughter towards the kitchen. 

Steve shakes his hand, then waves at Crissy as she calls her own thank you over her shoulder, before disappearing out the door and back to his car.

The same one where Nancy very much isn't. 

That's a problem for tomorrow Steve.

xXx

Tomorrow Steve gets into an argument with Nancy. 

She can't recall that Jonathan took her home, or that he's bullshit, their whole relationship, bullshit--

But she also can't tell him she loves him.

So Steve snaps at her. Storms off.

 Play’s more basketball.

It takes less than two hours for him to get mopey and another three for him to spiral into deciding he was wrong somehow.

That's what his mom said all the time anyway, wasn't it? The man's always wrong Steven, and he's the man here so…

He gets flowers, chocolates, and fucking waylaid (by Dustin Henderson with his Grow a Monster) and things go sideways from there.

 Train tracks and a junkyard and demodogs make time speed up. An encounter with Billy and a dinner plate causes Steve's recollection of the evening to be fuzzy. 

He just knows that in the middle of dodging death, he has the realization that Nance wants to break up with him.

That he should let her. 

Even if it hurts, even if he doesn't want to. 

She wants to be let go.

So Steve does. He respects her, and when he has a moment after its all over, he tells her to go with Jonathan.

(At least he permanently gets the squirts out if this. Or at least everyone but Mike.

Even if most of them are shitheads and one of them's Hargrove's step sister.

It's--something.

But when Dustin keeps pestering him, demanding Steve drive him all over Hawkins and then drags him to the movies, well.

It might be the best something Steve's had in his life so far. )

xXx

"Oh shit. Is that from Caver?" Eddie asks, popping up near Steve's car like the clown in a jack in the box. 

"Carver can't hit for shit. This was Hargrove." Steve replies, attempting an eyeroll before remembering that his entire face is a bruise. 

One, giant, never ending bruise. 

"I guess his step sister gave him the slip to come hang out with these kids I watch sometimes. I didn't know she wasn't supposed to be there." Steve shrugs, because it's the technical truth. 

If you turn it sideways and squint anyway. 

"Asshole tried to threaten the kid Max is into by slamming him into a wall and screaming shit, so I stepped in, and--" He waves at his face. 

The same one he's already getting looks for. 

"I was winning." Steve sighs theatrically. "He broke a plate over my head."

The story seemed to freeze Eddie but he recovers with a quick shake of his head. 

"You poor thing." He tuts. "Let me guess--you were more worried about the hair than the wound?" 

Eddie's hands flutter like he's going to touch Steve's head but he seems to contain himself at the last minute.

The hospital threatened to buzz it for stitches." Steve says darkly, playing into the bit. 

(He had not gone to a hospital. 

None of them had.)  

"What would our King be without his crown of hair?" Eddie laments, in a falsetto that was half insult half oddly sincere. It was jarring in that it was hard to get a read on, but the more Steve was around the guy the less it seemed malicious and the more it came off  as just….goofy.

Eddie Munson, Steve decided, was not a freak.

 He was a dorky little weirdo, just like all the other kids Steve now hung out with. 

Just older, and with slightly better hair. 

"Hey Eddie." Another boy calls out, approaching cautiously. 

He's got a leather jacket on, and if Steve thinks hard enough he can sort of conjure up a memory of the guy at Eddie's lunch table, throwing a piece of bread at a pale sophomore decked out in plaid. "You good man?" 

"Yeah Jeff, just checkin' in on the Hair here." Eddie sticks a thumb towards Steve, who raises his hand and waves. 

The falsetto comes back, somehow higher as the older boy swoons over Steves arm. "Soothing his poor soul after that brute Hargrove almost killed him." 

"Has anyone ever told you you're a lot like Bugs Bunny?" Steve asks, the thought leaving his mouth the instant he had it.

(He doesn't care, it's a legitimate question.) 

It has the effect of making Munson look downright chuffed. "I have actually, but only by my Uncle." 

"Why are you checking in?" Jeff interrupts, before seeming to realize he said it out loud. " Ah, I mean--"

"Oh he didn't tell you?" Steve says, as casually as he can muster. "Eddie claimed me and Chrissy at a party last weekend." 

See Munson? Two people could play the weird bit game. 

They've attracted more of Eddie's friends now, two more boys in leather jackets edging closer like frightened deer. 

(One of which is the aforementioned younger man Jeff threw bread at, and Steve vaguely thinks the guy's name starts with a g.) 

"Apparently we're his minions now." Steve tells Jeff in a rather put upon manner. 

"It was just you, the fair maiden chose otherwise." Eddie counters dismissively, voice dropping down low. 

Steve snorts. Hums a sarcastic; "Like you'd let us choose." 

Eddie finally abandons whatever voice that was supposed to be (a villain, Steve thinks, and wonders if it hurts Eddies throat to drop from a false high to a deep low that quickly.)  to say:

 "Mock me all you like, Harrington, but you can't deny the bit worked." 

Steve automatically went for another eye roll, and gets a flash of pain for it. "Who said I was mocking you, you dork? Just stating facts." 

Yet again, Eddie reacts weird to the comment. He looks almost bashful for a second, before he recovers, tugging his hair in front of his face as he plays with it.

The bell rings once in warning, and Steve makes a face towards the doors. 

"I gotta go, Mrs Clicks out to fail me. See you around, Eddie. Jeff." The way his eyes are bruised up he can't quite make out the face Jeff makes at that, but Steve's pretty sure the guys mouth was open. 

"She's a nasty one, my minion, best stay on your toes around her." Eddie calls, and Steve waves a hand in the air to show he heard. 

"What just happened?" Jeff asks, far too loudly for how close Steve still is. 

It makes him chuckle a bit, even as one of the other guys says something in a far quieter voice that has Munson squawking and flapping his arms like a bird. 

The winding little feelings in his chest squeeze his heart, and Steve shakes his head, refusing to be fond of Eddie Munson. 

xXx

College rejection letters come in, one after the another.

Steve could have made it into a few schools he's certain, except he hadn't really applied to any.

Not that any college other than Penn Hurst mattered. His dad wanted him to be a legacy, come hell or high water.

Steve's punishment was hand picked by his parents, and he gets the sailor outfit his new minimum wage job requires is supposed to be a part of it--that his dad made him apply because it was the most embarrassing thing he could think to subject Steve too-- but honestly? 

It's not that bad. 

Not even with Robin, the manager he met yesterday, and who positively, completely and totally, hates Steve’s guts.  

He figures he has time to win her over. 

All the time in the world, now that demons aren't trying to eat his, or any of the kid's, faces. He can focus on the small things. Build himself back up.

Figure out the person he wants to be, now that he's no longer King Steve. 

It’s the thought that kept him from attending any graduation parties. To go felt like backsliding into old habits. 

‘If the kids--if it comes back again--’ 

Getting drunk at night in a random house seemed almost irresponsible.

Particularly not with people Steve has history with, without anyone he really cares about being present. Certainly not Nance and Jonathan, who he wishes he didn’t know are at some end-of-year game night one of Nancy’s friends is hosting. 

(Steve can’t think about that for a number of reasons. 

When he does--because of course he does-- he makes sure to focus on the weirdness that is Jonathan Byers being someone he cares about, instead of the fact he can’t seem to kill his love for Nancy. 

Or that he's horrifically jealous of their relationship. 

That the best sleep he had ever had was between them, two nights after the lab, when they crammed themselves into Jonathan's bed because they all couldn't quite believe it was over.

That night had been so incredibly weird, but grouping together felt safer. Smarter.

Better.

Not in a way Steve wants to put into words. 

Not in a way he wants to confront at all.) 

His parents hadn’t been able to make it home to watch him walk at his graduation--his father landing a last minute meeting with some important person or other. 

Faked apologies were given, money transferred, and Steve, not wanting to sit in his too-huge house, had meandered to Family Video. 

Tried to forget his father’s cold voice in the background of his mother’s call, loudly announcing he’d have made it a priority to see Steve graduate-- if he’d gotten into Penn Hurst. 

Steve just shakes his head. Pushes those thoughts into the back of his head, into the same place all his other weird thoughts live.

The glare he gets from the tall, pimple-ridden guy working the rental counter was expected.

Chrissy Cunningham, was not. 

"I thought you’d be at one of the parties.” He tells her, when he turns down the romance aisle and finds her staring blankly at a shelf. 

She startles, before recognition flits over her face and a warm smile is directed his way. 

“I'm honestly not a fan of parties." She confides in him, hand clutching a tape in her hands."Not those kinds, anyway.” 

"More slumber parties, less keg stands your speed?" Steve guessed, blatantly turning his head sideways in order to read the title.

She awards him with a wider smile. "Exactly." 

"Chrissy Cunningham. Are you renting Jaws?" He teases, leaning in just a touch.

She flushes, but turns and squares up to him. Steve's delighted to see it. 

"Why yes I am. I'll do you one better and even admit it's one of my favorite movies." 

Steve grins at her, and sees the way she lights up on response, eyes bright. 

This is the Chrissy that Carver had tried to kill. The strength and pure fun that radiates off her enhances the beauty she has to something almost otherworldly. 

Steve has seen enough beauty in his life to recognize when it will stay. That Chrissy wil one day be 80 years old, with gray hair and knit sweaters, and she'll still be able to light up a room. 

"Like sharks killing people that much huh?” He teases. And it’s easy, slipping into this part of himself around her. The part he’s been trying to get back. 

The confidence that he walked with, before monsters crawled out of the ground, and Nancy put a hole in his heart.

"I'll let you in on a secret. ." Chrissy leans in, dropping her voice low enough that Steve has to lean in a bit too to hear. "My favorite character is the shark." 

Steve playfully gapes at her, and for the first  time in a long time, feels like things will be okay. 

He’ll be okay.

He won’t be King Steve. He’s not Nancy's Boyfriend Steve either--but someone else. Himself.

A Steve who exists outside of Hawkins High, outside his family name. 

He likes it.

"I told you that was his car. Steve!" A too familiar voice calls and Steve can't mask the despair that hits him as he turns to his (now least) favorite shithead, whose storming through Family Video’s doors. 

"Dustin." He identifies, with an edge to his voice he can only pray Chrissy doesn't pick up on. "Other brats. What are you doing?" 

Mike stands stubbornly at Dustin's right, Lucas nervous at his left. 

Will Byers is situated next to Mike but Steve's not as familiar with him, and has no idea how to interpret the kid. 

If he had to guess based on the face he’s being sent, Will’s more nervous then the rest--but equally determined. 

(This does not make Steve feel better. It in fact, somewhat convinces them they’ve run headfirst back into trouble.) 

"Well we were going to go to Lucas’s, but now, we're bumming a ride from you!" 

"I'm busy." He says flatly. 

"Ste~eeeve!" 

"I didn't know you had a brother." Chrissy says, hand covering her mouth. 

Looking back at her, Steve's pretty sure she's trying to physically hold back laughter. 

If one could shoot lasers with their eyes, Steve would be nailing Dustin for ruining--whatever it was that was happening here. 

"He's a rescue" Steve says flatly. "It’s not working out though. We're planning on returning him to the shelter.” 

"Wow Steve." Dustin returns, offended. "First of all, if anyone's rescuing anyone I rescued you, or did you suddenly forget that you show up to family dinner every Thursday at my house like a sad orpha--mmpphh!" 

‘Mmpphh’ because Steve had taken several long strides across the store to smack his hand over Dustin's mouth. 

"Sorry Chrissy, it would appear the asshole children I am paid to babysit escaped whoever is supposed to be watching them." He shakes Dustins head, in lue of strangling him. “Hit me up later we’ll discuss the shark’s best kills.” 

“Will do.” Chrissy says, as Steve begins the process of shoving his four smaller friends out the door. “Drive safe!” 

“No you don’t, and you’re gonna prove it by swinging through McDonalds for us.” Dustin sing-songs, swinging himself into the passenger side of the Beemer. 

“You assholes owe me, big time.” Steve hisses, as Lucas and Mike instantly begin making kissy faces the second they’re out into the parking lot. "I had plans tonight!"

“Do you have McDonalds money?” Steve asks, only to immediately wince at himself because fuck did he just sound like a soccer mom. 

“I have money I took out of my mom’s wallet.” Mike says as he settles into the car with his friends.

“Fine.” Steve sighs in defeat, starting the car. 

He determinedly does not ask if the idiots walked here, because there is a suspicious lack of bicycles, if only because he hit his mom quota for the day and Steve refuses to say anything else that might edge out his cool persona.

The one he swears he still has.

Supposedly. 

("Does my mom really pay you to watch me?" Dustin asks a while later, when the other brats are distracted. His voice is painfully honest, and softer than it normally is. 

"In food, yes." Steve says, because he’s not that much of an asshole--and maybe, because Dustin is truly his only friend right now.

Steve honestly looks forward to those Thursday dinners, helping Ma Henderson and having her fuss over him in a way his parents never had. 

In a way no one ever had. 

Dustin lands a solid kick to his ankle, making Steve curse. "That's not payment you ass!"

"Ow, God Dustin--" 

"Just admit you're my actual friend, you dick!" 

"Language! I swear your mom stole you from wolves, you animal--" Steve swatted at him. 

Maybe, possibly later, he will go on to admit that yes, Dustin is his friend. 

He will even agree to making up a stupid handshake for it. 

It involves lightsabers and gore at least, which Steve insists is very cool.)

[poke-poke-poke]

hear me out - i think leon and nihilego would be a fun combo

their designs compliment each other well lol

(i like villain au ideas though, so i may be biased, aesthetic wise)

[xinganhao]

YOOO, MINGYU'S COVER OF GLIMPSE OF US JUST DROPPED AND DAMNNNN.

MAN WAS MAKING ME FULL OF FEELS. LIKE OMG, SIR THATS A CRIME TO DOO.

xinganhao writing angst on christmas? likely place for them to be. went a little crazy over mingyu's glimpse of us and now we have this quick verse under the cut 🎄

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ merry christmas, please don't call by bleachers. backburner - live at the wiltern by niki. congratulations by day6. sa hindi pag-alala by munimuni. 1 step forward, 3 steps back by olivia rodrigo. happier than ever by billie eilish. ceilings by lizzy mcalpine. the exit by conan gray.

[aerknight]

@naffeclipse orcas beach themselves to hunt seals orca!eclipse beaches themself to hunt y/n :)

[crabsnpersimmons]

This one goes out to all the slow burn enjoyers, the dense Y/Ns, and the soft robo jesters that suffer in silence!

Inspired by @bamsara's “Solar Lunacy” fic.

If you feel like reading my ramblings and want to experience more heartbreak for fictional jester blorbos, check under the cut where I detail all the planning behind the frames!

so i heard this song for the first time in a while and the opening lyrics immediately made me think of moon, so i was daydreaming some scenes and then i decided to thumbnail some ideas:

and it all went downhill from there as everything became a metaphor and a parallel to each other, which i will now go into detail on!

you thought the animatic itself was sad?

*writing muse laughs maniacally* IT'S ALL A METAPHOR

Frame 1. "turn down the lights" We start with a back view on Moon. The lights are out, the Moon is out, but we do not see his face. The music and the greyscale atmosphere are enough to establish the weight of the moment and the weight on Moon’s mind.

Frame 2. "turn down the bed" We cut to a shot of Moon's body, kneeling on the ground of the daycare, like a padded cell. Moon’s hands are twitching with the effects of the glitch, with purple sparks coming from his hands. We still do not see his face.

Frame 3. "turn down these voices inside my head" Cut to an extreme close up on the dark half of Moon’s face. Now we see his face, but only a portion of it. His left eye is wide open, red and glitching out. The voices in his head can refer to the glitch but also his repressed feelings. Or maybe it could be Sun's voice in their shared headspace.

Frame 4. "lay down with me" Y/N's hand enters the frame from the upper right corner, lowering down to meet Moon where he kneels on the ground. Only a corner of Moon's face appears on the bottom left corner of the frame, his starry nightcap beginning to cover his glitched left eye.

Frame 5. "tell me no lies" An full shot of Moon on the floor and Y/N standing in front of him with their hand stretched towards him. A light spills out from behind Y/N, creating a boundary between them.

Now we see more of Moon. It is only when Y/N enters the frame—enters his world—that Moon’s body is shown in its entirely. When Y/N is here, he is no longer fragmented. He is whole.

Frame 6. "just hold me close" pspspspsps Playfully, Moon extends his own hand, beckoning Y/N to come closer, to join him. His right hand crossed over his body as he uses the playful gesture to hide his true feelings—to put distance between him and Y/N. His hat continues to cover his glitching left eye. He doesn’t want to worry Y/N.

Frame 7. "don't patronize" In response, Y/N’s hand pats Moon on the head, returning his playfulness. Moon looks surprised by the action. Moon, notably, does not lower his hand—perhaps he has forgotten it or perhaps his invitation is still open.

Frames 8-9. "don't patronize me" Moon rotates his faceplate so Y/N’s hand is touching the side of his faceplate, a more intimate gesture than a head pat. However, his hat is in the way. At this angle, his starry nightcap fully covers his glitchy eye and the dark side of his face, hiding his defect and acting as a veil between him and Y/N. A self-imposed boundary. So close, yet thinly separated. It's better this way. It's safer this way.

The lyrics are broken up by Y/N's arm, both to illustrate how the song is sung ("patronize" is drawn out and "me" is briefly added in before the chorus starts) but also to show how Y/N interrupts Moon's resolve, highlighting the irony between the visuals and the lyrics. Demanding not to be patronized, yet Moon happily accepts this play at intimacy. Don't patronize me, I am weak for it.

This is also the only instance where the red light of Moon's eyes glow and tint the surfaces around it. Visually, it makes it look like Moon is blushing (heavily inspired by @restinsodaroni's art). But also, in this moment of honesty, Moon's intrinsic light spills out, colouring the greyscale world. In this brief moment of honesty, Moon touches the world with his own colours, his own light.

(and this is also where i forgot to clean up the shading on Y/N's arm, but it's okay it doesn't need to be perfect it simply needs to be. And Moon will still love Y/N even if they are a continuity error.)

Frame 10. "'cause I can't make you love me if you don't" A parallel to a frame 4, Y/N retrieves their hand away and immediately Moon is reduced to the corner of his faceplate in the frame. Only now his glitched eye is fully covered by his hat.

The lyrics here (and in the next frame) in particular grow lighter to emphasize Moon's diminishing resolve and agency.

From here on out, the lyrics here are broken up, carrying on this theme of fragmentation. Y/N is pulling away, Moon is breaking up, the words are breaking up. Everything is coming apart.

Frame 11. "you can't make your heart feel something it won't" Y/N turns to leave. The lyrics, broken up as before, highlight the irony of the situation. Y/N, a human, can’t feel something they simply don’t feel. Whereas, Moon, the machine, feels something his code never intended him to feel.

Frame 12. "here in the dark in these final hours" Another full shot that parallels frame 5, as Y/N steps towards the light and Moon leans forward into the space Y/N once occupied. Y/N is leaving—that which makes him whole is leaving. And he is only capable of making it to the boundary where the light cuts into the darkness. The "final hours" suggest it might be the end of Y/N’s shift, or perhaps this scene takes place right before the glitch takes over—the final hours that Y/N has with the true Moon. Either way, time is running out—and only Moon knows it.

There is a contrasting display of body language here. Moon is on the floor leaning towards Y/N with his hand still left out. Whereas Y/N is turned away, walking away, and has already slipped their hand away and into their pocket. Y/N is closed off while Moon is limply open. Y/N is actively moving while Moon is on the floor, waiting, hoping, for that which he lacks the agency to reach for himself.

Frame 13. "I will lay down my heart" A close up on Moon’s hand, rising up again, perhaps to beckon Y/N back once more. This is a slight parallel to Y/N's hand reaching out to Moon. While Y/N can freely reach out and touch Moon, Moon cannot. He can't enter the light and more importantly he can't risk potentially harming his relationship with Y/N—be it through the glitch or by his feelings. He can only lay down his heart—put aside his feelings or hope that someone will pick up his pieces and make him whole.

Frame 14. "and I'll feel the power" Still on a close up on Moon’s hand, now clenched in slightly. This initially was going to have the glitch effects. However, I felt it more meaningful for it to be left without. Leave it up for interpretation why Moon pauses his hand. What is the power that he alone feels and stays his hand?

Frame 15. "but you won't, no, you won't" A parallel to frame 1, a view of on Moon's back with his hand stretched out towards the light, and Y/N walking into the light spilling through the open daycare door.

The placement of the lyrics suggest two different “you won’t”—Y/N who won’t realize Moon’s feelings, and Moon who won’t dare speak them into reality.

Another note on the parallel to frame 1, this time we also see Y/N's back, but it is notably different from our view of Moon's back. With Moon, we literally see inside him through the hole for his loop. However, Y/N is shrouded in shadow, just a solid, obscure silhouette against the bright light of a world Moon—and Sun for that matter—are closed off from. We don’t see into Y/N, just as the Daycare Attendant doesn't have any vantage point of Y/N's life beyond their time at the PizzaPlex. (The unfortunate reality of a being a character made for the purpose of being a vessel for the reader.)

Frame 16. "'cause I can't make you love me" We finally cut to face Moon head-on, frozen in place with his hand stretched out, unable to cross the boundary into the light. His eyes have gone dark. Where we began by seeing bits and parts of Moon, and never seeing his full face—now we, the viewer, see the full Moon, open and vulnerable—unbeknownst to Y/N.

Frame 17. "if you don't" But in the dark, behind closed doors, there is no one to perceive him—no one to receive him. The light dwindles as the daycare doors are closed. Moon stays frozen where he kneels. It is no longer the glitch that plagues him, but a far deeper dread.

But a lone streak of light peaks through the gap in the daycare doors. Perhaps that is just enough. A silver lining. A frail hope. A single, ethereal thread out of darkness and into light.

Thanks for reading and watching!

We'll be back to our regularly scheduled fun and games shortly!

[yourleftpinkytoe-blog]

Am I the only one who thinks that part of the reason that Andrew is so opposed to getting close to Aaron is because of how Drake used threats on incest against him. His first introduction to Aaron was tainted by drakes sick fucking fantasy’s and i genuinely think that if that hadn’t happened they would’ve bonded a whole lot sooner.

Just a thought.

[hasello]

Other sisters: April

Do not ask me why this comic took me so long to finish, I don’t know either. I had such a love/hate relationship with it 💀 I did it, tho! Here’s Riri’s part for now. You have asked so many lovely questions and I still have some hope that I’ll manage to answer most of them 🙏🏻 love you guys, hope you enjoy!!

[little-pondhead]

Danny moved to Gotham.

Freakshow is touring in Gotham.

Freakshow knows Danny is in Gotham.

Danny knows Freakshow is still after him.

Danny's faith in heroes has been shattered.

Danny turns to the only person powerful enough to run Freakshow out of town, hopefully for good.

Danny turns to the Joker for help.

The Joker is looking for a new punching bag sidekick after Harley Quinn left him.

Danny is just the perfect person to be shaped by the Joker's hands.

Danny becomes the new Joker Junior.

[lucasandlily]

Rui x Reader who is really affectionate, but can't touch him because of The Curse.

A/N: I'm alive!! Rui my beautiful beautiful tragic boy. I've actually been having a lot of brainrot for this game, particularly an isekai AU that made me contemplate making RP blog (I love you guys btw. This is probably my first fandom where they're so active, I've been really well connected with this fandom somehow and it's so fun!!), so I figured I might as well be writing it down now. This is an idea I've had spinning in my head for a while, so it's VERY self-indulgent/insert, but enjoy!! AO3 link here

Rui's POV. Second-person pronoun "You" is used. Angst! But also fluff!! (825 words)

You’ve always been an affectionate little thing. It’s something Rui finds adorable about you, staying optimistic despite all that looms over you, not letting any of the ghouls he KNOWS can be more than a little much sometimes destroy your positive attitude. It’s as if you decided to be the light in a place that literally has dark in its name, and he lov admires you for that.

He can’t help but feel the bitter green of envy though, when he watches you ruffle Lyca’s hair after he whines at you for treating him like a dog. 

He pointedly turns away from the look Ed gives him over your head when you relax into his chest after he leans over your shoulder.  

He just laughs along at your drunken antics when you nuzzle into Haru’s hand, somehow even more touchy when your cheeks are flushed with alcohol. 

He tries not to remember the flash of hurt, confusion, the first time he’d backed away from your hand when all you wanted to do was give him a pat for a job well done. He doesn’t know if it hurt more when your face morphed into regretful understanding, or when you apologised and told him you’d try not to do it again. 

Rui tells himself it’s for the better when he notices you’ve been avoiding him for the past week. He’d have done the same to you anyway, if he realised his feelings were starting to fester. He tries to not let it get to him when he hears you enter the Obscuary mansion, only to quickly patter up the stairs without stopping by the bar first, as you would have done previously. 

Maybe before, he would have made it a little competition to see who could mess up the other’s hair more. He’d watched you run your fingers through Lyca’s after you’d tousled it out of place, anyway. Maybe in another life, you’d gently hold his face as you showered him with kisses. He’d do the same to you anyway, if he wasn’t forced to keep his hands to himself. 

If he didn’t notice you hold your hand back every time you saw his mask slip. If he didn’t see your hand stop short before pulling it back to tell him he had a bit of hair out of place. 

It’s all just part of the cursed life, he tells himself. He should be getting used to it by now, he sighs as he walks down the hall over to his room. 

Behind him, he hears the jingle of the bell you like to wear on your keychain. He turns at the sound of your quick steps approaching. 

“Rui! Ruiruiruiii!!” You call.

“Ah, there you are! Haha, I’m not going anywhere you know~ though I guess I don’t mind being chased?” He teases as you approach. 

You smile up at him brightly, “I have something to show you!” You tell him, he notices now that you have a hand behind your back. 

“Hm? Aw, did you get me a gift? And here I was thinking you were hiding from me!” He regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth. Your smile falters a bit as you blink at his confession. 

But before he can backtrack with a “Just kidding!” your smile lightens again, eyes filling with some sort of resolve as you pull out… a glove on a stick? in your other hand.

He doesn’t pull away when he feels the simulation of a hand on his head. He can’t, when you look into his eyes with such unmistakable fondness. The awkward, stilted movements as you try to run the imitation hand through his hair communicates how long you’ve wanted to do this, and the tears that well up in his eyes betray how much he’s needed it. 

He feels the cloth soak up the tears when you move the glove down to hold his face. It feels soft under his skin, and he can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

“How long did it take you to make this?” He asks as you let him lace his fingers with your hand extension. He squeezes the plush hand, feeling the soft give before it reaches the stick inside, inspecting where the glove and stick are attached. 

“Um! A week? It took a bit of experimenting to get it to stay on… And they don’t really sell gloves on campus either.” 

Your eyes crinkle when you look at him, the corners of your lips pull up triumphantly when he lets go of the hand to let you pat his head again. 

“You deserve at least this much,” you tell him. “I know it’s not really the same or anything, but I don’t wanna leave you out, y’know?” 

“It was worth it though, if it made you happy.” You look into his eyes as you say this, and he can’t help but believe you.

Reblogs and Comments are appreciated! I love you (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。

[aihaloos]

Tempted to write a replaced au twst fic where Yuu (or alternatively, I'll use my Yuu, Riyuu, who is basically who I'm writing this for) used to be the cutest girl around, the cheery one who's always around everyone, the one you can't seem to dislike even if your crush falls for her because she earnestly says sorry (even though it's not her fault) and will always help you out if you need her back in her old school. But one day, a new girl comes around and her whole reputation got destroyed. She helps the new girl adjust, tells her all the rumours and introduces her to all the popular kids. But the girl ends up backstabbing her, telling the popular girls rumours about how she intentionally plays up the act to steal their crushes to her, and lies to the boys, telling them she's just playing with their hearts and that she's a horrible person.

Yuu ends up alone and excluded, being seen as "annoying" and only having a few close friends who doesn't really interact with her in public in fear of their reputation being ruined. She ends up miserable at school, and wishes to not go anymore. But one day comes a saving grace, she gets whisked by a mysterious black carriage into Twisted Wonderland, or more specifically, Night Raven College. She doesn't mind working if it meant she doesn't have to deal with her old school, there was still 1 and a half years left of school and she doesn't want to deal with all ghe group projects to be assigned that will inevitably end with everyone not wanting to team up with her. Plus, as annoying Grim is, he's like the animal friend all of the anime and storybook protagonists she knows has, and she doesn't mind him too much.

Some things did change after she and Grim got officially enrolled, but she had no problem adapting to the social expectations of the world, part time jobs with Sam -- and occasionally the canteen -- paid enough to get her tools for cooking basic but delicious food, and new friends without the weight of her past helped her get settled comfortably.

The existence of Overblots stunned her for a bit, but a peek into Riddle and Leona's memories helped her understand the concept, even if just a little. However, things began to change eerily simlarly to her old school when a new girl comes, also in a similar position to her, getting transported to a new, unfamilliar world, and seemingly hailing from a similar world to the Earth she knows. She warmly welcomes her, eager to finally befriend another girl, but it seems that the girl does not share the same enthusiasm.

The girl only barely responds to Yuu's attempts at forming a friendship, and always seems to talk her in a condescending way, and often dismisses her, and especially so whenever there are any boys around.

Yuu will not deny any statements claiming she's an attention seeker or that she plays up her sweet innocent girl act, but she knows to never, ever sacrifice a bystander for it. But if someone insists on war with her... well that's another, different story. She's learnt her lesson of being overly optimistic, and she will not make the same mistake twice. She will not let her make her life a living hell more than it already is with Crowley's irresponsibleness.

Aaand thus begins the story. Or well, however you wanna continue it. I'm honestly in favour of most Housewardens (Kalim, Vil, and Idia in particular. I'll put my reasoning in a few paragraphs down) Adeuce, Tweels, and Ortho for team Yuu. Why?

Well, first of all, Adeuce. This is mostly because the duo is like. with Yuu since Day 1, as much of a bitch as Ace is, I think those two are the most likely to trust and know Yuu well enough to not believe the lies R (< Replacer) tells. Especially Deuce, he doesn't want to betray a friend he knew for quite a while, that would not be very honor student-like of him!! And she helped him out in a lot of situations too! He doesn't want to hurt you after all the trouble you go through to help him, and also knowing how horrible your living conditions are. Ace would most likely give in to peer pressure if the student body is overwhelmingly in favour of R, but as of now, he maybe enjoys your company just a bit more than R. Just a bit, promise.

Tweels I feel like is self-explanatory. Those two are perceptive as fuck istg it scares me. Jade especially. I feel like the two would just toy with R for a bit despite her facade and lies before dropping her after she bothers them for attention and favours one too many times.

(Ortho ties in with Idia so I'll explain him in Idia's paragraph)

Kalim is actually very emotionally intelligent. He can come off annoying and stupid, but from all the scenes I see of him, he's actually really good at dealing with people. Have you seen how he deals with the Scarabia residents after Jamil's OB??? The way he phrases his sentences?? He didn't force or even plead with them to forgive Jamil, he simply asks them to wait before making permanent judgements, and I think he's gonna be uncomfy with how condescendingly R talks to Yuu, and even if he's used to people going after him for money, I feel like R mostly eyeing him for money and how she "secretly" sighs in annoyance everytime she goes out of the party for a "bathroom break" will only solidify his dislike/discomfort, even if he doesn't show it.

Vil is also kind of self-explanatory if you read into his character and not just the shell the official English localization makes for him. (I could rant for hours about how the official tl portrays his character istg. He's hardworking and he actually didn't attempt to poison Neige out of pure jealousy, he did it because he felt like all his efforts to be beautiful will never be able to surpass Neige, who, in his eyes, always seemed to be innocent and naturally beautiful. He feels like the villain in Neige's story. He feels like he is reduced to what he often plays as, a snobbish, overconfident villain obsessed with overthrowing the hero. And because of it, it became a twisted self-fulfilling prophecy, pushing him to, in a fit of despair, be that same villain everyone sees him as.) I really don't think he will take well to R's condescension to Yuu, who genuinely wants to befriend R. (I actually have a whole thing in my head where Yuu and Vil occasionally have sleepovers where they do skincare together after the whole VDC thing happened. I feel like this is also a "vent sesh" of sorts for the both of them, just to air out their grievances without much seriousness, and I think Yuu would admit to wanting a fellow girl in the school that she could befriend, since no matter what, being the only girl can be exhausting.) Ik Vil's not a girl but he is such a girls' girl istg.

Idia... this mostly ties into Ortho and The STYX Incident, but like,, I think we can all agree on this one,, Idia is smart and capital V Very pessimistic. Would you rather trust the girl you've known for a while, who saw your memories, who helped you in awkward social situations when she can and is besties with your brother or some random new girl who trash talks said girl behind her back? The former, right? Plus, even if Yuu did only hang out with him and his brother because she likes to secretly laugh at him behind his back, there's mo guarantee R wouldn't do the same, given his experience. And he would rather have someone who actively helps him and his brother out than someone who wouldn't.

I didn't put Malleus in because of how canon him actually treats Yuu. I feel like the fandom kind of put on rose-tinted glasses on with his character, and kind of ignored some things like, idk... him just leaving them to fend for themselves homeless during Octavinelle... maybe he thought Crowley would offer them a place to stay but like... I'm still bothered by how didn't atleast offer a spare room in Diasomnia. He's a housewarden goddamnit. He's not as distant or scary as the rumours say but like. still rubbed me the wrong way.

Anyways I don't think my attention span will let me write it to completion so if anyone likes this and wants to write it feel free. Pls tag me if you do tho. I would love to read it :3

[spikedfearn]

I Said Just a Little Bit, Then I Got a Taste of It

Chapter VI

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: After being transferred to another sector of Jackson's Star you reluctantly befriend a ragtag group of people with the exception of one cocky asshole who knows just how to get under your skin.

On the surface, you hate each other, but after experiencing a particularly harrowing event together, the two of you grow closer than anyone else could ever imagine.

a/n: sorry for the major delay on this chapter everyone, I've been juggling a lot privately and professionally but I'll be back to regular updates over the course of the next week <3 also, just broke 20k with this update, woo!! summary for this chapter is: the art of self-sabotage. or, old habits die hard.

warnings: secret friends with benefits, enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol/drug use, nsfw, non-linear narrative, trauma bonding, resolved sexual tension, praise kink (both ways), oral (giving/receiving), loss of virginity, dirty talk, shower sex, falling in love

tags: @asvtrials @urfavhanna @orangebeauty @3arthtoeden @barnes70stark @sadslasher13 (comment if you wanna be notified when a new chapter drops)

wc: 2.8k

Masterlist Next Chapter

How could you let this happen? Be this stupid?

This is exactly what you didn't want, trying your absolute damnedest to bury your feelings for Bjorn deep, deep under the weight of denial and downplay but—you can't, no matter how hard you try.

You're fighting an increasingly losing battle, falling further every time Bjorn comes around, every time he fucks you and holds you in his arms after. Every time he apologizes for whatever mean things he said in front of the others just so he can keep up the appearances you so desperately wanted to uphold. Every time he tucks your hair behind your ear and whispers that everything's going to be alright when nothing about this remotely is.

And you cry every time he leaves, finding it harder and harder to hold it in each time he does, like he's taking another piece of your heart with him every time he goes, crying salt into your pillow as you hug it close to your naked chest in the hours after, until your sobs taper off into pathetic wet sniffles, dehydrated and drained like you’re grieving a loss that hasn’t yet come to fruition.

But it will—and that’s the crux of it isn’t it, because you know in your bones, in your soul that you’ll lose this just like you’ve lost everything else before, because you’ve learned early on that everyone, no matter how much you need them, will always, always, leave in the end.

It’s a tough pill to swallow but then again, the truth always is, so you do what you can to prepare for it, choosing to shatter the illusion of happiness yourself instead of waiting for it all to inevitably come crashing down around you, desperately hoping it won’t hurt as bad when you do.

A decision you come to after another night spent drinking in the quarry, most nights spent together spent drinking, alcohol the only thing that really takes the edge off after an incredibly long and difficult shift.

Slumped back into the camping chair you’re sitting in, the one that you’ve unofficially claimed as yours, you quietly watch the familiar dance of flames everyone was sitting around, finishing off the last of your beer while the others talked and laughed.

You’d been pretty quiet all night, barely contributing anything to the conversations happening around you, too busy in your own head contemplating how to dig yourself out of the hole you’ve found yourself in as you tossed the now empty glass bottle into some nearby bushes.

Usually you'd stop after three, never one to catch anything more than a buzz but tonight, tonight you wanted to get absolutely shit-faced, wanted to shut out all the white noise inside your head, if only for a little while.

So you go to get up, intent on grabbing another drink from the worn down cooler Navarro’s feet were propped up on when Bjorn’s voice made you freeze, asking, “needa refill luv?” from the other side of the pit, head whipping up so hard you almost threw it out.

He must’ve been watching you, had to have been for him to have immediately noticed you were out, your stomach fluttering wildly at the assumption, doing your absolute damnedest not to show it on your face, no matter how badly you want to hiss at Bjorn, “what the fuck are you doing—sit back down!!!” but, you don't. Can't. The words dying in your throat every time you went to say it.

With your eyes glued to him, you watched as he walked around the burning steel drum towards his sister, his shoulders slouched and his chin down, the confident swagger he usually carries himself with gone and been replaced with a level of uncertainty you're not used to, one that helplessly flashes you back to shy blue eyes unable to meet yours just before he sucked on your breasts or stretched you open on his thick fingers.

You squeezed your thighs together, feeling wetness starting to seep between them. Not the time.

Bjorn nudged Navarro’s feet off the cooler lid, totally ignoring the scowl his sister threw at him while her hand was cupped around the dying cherry of her cigarette she was trying to keep from going out, fishing another bottle of aspen beer from the half melted ice in the process.

He came to a stop in front of you, holding the drink out by the glass neck to take, giving a smile meant just for you, so warm it had you burning hotter than the kindling wood behind him as everything briefly dissolved around you, like the entire universe was made up of just you, him, and the space in between, the warmth he was wearing radiating throughout your chest.

It was incredibly tender and brief and all wrong, the moment interrupted when Rain cleared her throat beside you, bringing you crashing back down to reality.

More than enough to make you recoil—hard. The bottle you'd been mid hand off slipping from your grip and shattering onto the pebbled stones between his and your feet, splashing chilled lager across both of your pant legs.

Bjorn had sworn under his breath then, asking you things like, “fuck, ah’ ya alright?” and, “ya’ ain't hurt ah’ ya,’ darlin?’” but you’d barely heard, had tuned it all out as your gaze swung wildly around the lopsided circle your friends were huddled in, all eyes on you.

Whether from the beer or from Bjorn you didn't know—didn't want to know, feeling severely scrutinized under the weight of their collective stare, like they could see right through you, like they knew what you were hiding, causing you to shrink down low into your seat, line of sight trained on the freshly wet gravel as you snapped at Bjorn that you didn't want his fucking handouts.

You could see the lower half of Bjorn’s body go rigid from within your periphery, refusing to look up and meet his eyes, afraid of what you might find, of possibly seeing some of that blossoming affection you’d been feeling mirrored in his icy blues, waiting to let out the shaky exhale you’d been holding until he walked back to his seat.

No one commented on your bizarre little exchange, probably because they knew you were a flight risk, that you’d turn tail and run at the first sign of conflict—like you always did, which is why you forced yourself to stay, not wanting to raise any more questions.

After the bonfire had ended Bjorn, like most nights, found his way back to your apartment, a bit cautious to approach you in your bedroom, probably sensing the sour mood he'd inadvertently put you in, asking for permission to touch while he crawled into your bed to join you.

And now here you are, Bjorn grunting as he thrusts into you once, twice, three more times before he finishes inside the condom buried eight inches deep between your legs, hairline damp from exertion with his bangs sticking to his forehead in sweaty little peninsulas.

He leans down, the cool metal of his dog tags brushing up your bare chest while he does, to plant an incredibly tender kiss to your lips, smiling into it when he feels you reciprocate, going in for a slew of quick pecks the same time he lets go of the leg he’s still holding up, fingers dimpling the back of your thigh.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he grins a little wider, still a bit winded as he tries catching his breath, rolling off of you to lie flat on his back instead, covered in a fresh set of scratches trailing down from his shoulders to the base of his spine.

There's a beat of silence, only punctuated by the mingling of your heavy breathing slowly returning to normal and the systematic tick of your alarm clock on the bedside table next to your head, feeling Bjorn's hand find its way into yours down between your bodies.

Tears start to crease along your waterlines, rapidly fluttering your lashes to try and blink them away, to not draw Bjorn’s attention to how absolutely vulnerable you feel. This was a mistake. A big one. And not just tonight—all of it. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered filthy praise shared between you, closing your eyes for a moment, just long enough for you to work up the nerve and say, “we have to talk,” voice thick with thinly-veiled emotion.

Bjorn perks up at that, rolling onto his side as he sat up on his elbow, cheek resting on a loosely curled fist, the shitty stick and poke of the losing dice frowny face he has tatted on the back of his right hand, one of the many Navarro gave him when he was fifteen and they were both high as a kite while giggling quietly on the floor of his bedroom as to not wake their dad, upside down from this angle.

“Glad ya’ said sumthin’ princess,” he smiles a shy, tiny thing you aren’t used to, fighting the overwhelming urge to back out now, “cuz m’ pretty sure I feel tha’ same.”

You seriously doubt that, your suspicion sadly confirmed when he confesses, “I think m’ fallin’ fo’ ya,’” the same time you say, “I think we should stop seeing each other.”

More silence, except—this one says a hell of a lot more.

Your throat goes tight and painful, like you just swallowed shards of glass and poured salt into the resulting wounds, watching the smile on his face quickly dissolve, replaced by a pinched frown and the confused furrow of his eyebrows, sitting all the way up to stare down at you.

“Wha’?” He asks, so small and fragmented it feels like a knife stab to the chest having to hear it. Fuck, you knew it was going to sting,that you were in too deep by the time you realized you were falling for him, but you didn't expect it to hurt this bad, like you want to take it all back but you don't—you can’t, for your sake and his.

“I said,” you push through the acute ache, disguising your tone with something harsher, something hurtful, “we should stop seeing each other. It's just—not working out anymore.”

“M’ sorry but where in tha’ bloody fuck is this all comin’ from? I thought things wuz’ good between us,” he argues, using his hand to gesture between your body and his as you sit up against the headboard, pulling your blanket up over your chest so you aren't so exposed.

“Well, you were wrong. We just—we aren't meant for each other. We're only hooking up out of convenience and you know it,” you reinforce, unable to meet his eyes head on, just like the quarry, gaze trained on the worn comforter by his naked thigh.

Still, you're able to catch a glimpse of the confusion on Bjorn's face morph into utter annoyance, snapping at you to, “cut tha’ shit already.”

“Excuse me?” You bristle immediately, letting your anger temporarily eclipse your pain so you don't break down in front of him, “fuck you if you think I'm lying.”

“Oh, m’ sorry if m’ havin’ a hard time believin’ ya, but ya’ can't jus’ fake tha’ kinda chemistry. I'm willin’ ta’ bet it all on black ya’ felt it jus’ as much as I did.”

You can see desperation bleed into his eyes, hear it seep into his words, wavering like he's not so sure anymore but still trying to convince himself that he's right—and he is, you know in your bones that he is but he doesn't need to know that, muttering back, “what the fuck do you even know.”

His nostrils flare as a result, clearly offended by your statement, leaning in on his palm, fingers spread over your sweaty, wrinkled bed sheets, his gaze firmly transfixing itself on you, “‘scuze me? Ah’ ya’ tryna be daft on purpose?” not giving you any room to respond before he continues on.

“Listen—I can't speak fo’ ya,’ but I know wha’ I fuckin’ feel. D’ya really fuckin’ think I wanna feel like this?! Tha’ I wanted this ta’ happen? Course fuckin’ not. I don't get close ta’ people tha’ ain't mah’ family but then you. Ya’ came along an’—I neva’ intended ta’ get ta’ know ya’ at all. Yeah I thought ya’ wuz a total smokeshow when I first laid mah’ eyes on ya’ but I figured ya’ wouldn't stick around long with how bloody standoffish ya’ were, always lookin’ like ya' didn't wanna be there

“But then ya’ did. Ya’ did an’ we almost fuckin’ died so I opened up ta’ ya’ figurin’ we wuz both gonnas’ then ya’ let me touch ya.’ Let me inside ya,’ an’ I couldn't stop fuckin’ replayin’ it in mah' head tha’ night I slept ova’ at Kay an’ Tyler's. Had ta’ rub one out in tha’ bathroom an’ bite down on mah’ fuckin' fist like a hormonal tweener. I woulda been embarrassed if I wuzn't so fuckin' turned on.

“So I had ta’ go back fo’ a round two, see if it wuz jus’ a fluke but once I was fuckin’ ya again I couldn't stop, I wanted more every time, like a fuckin’ junkie lookin’ fo’ tha’ next fix, no matta’ how hard I tried resistin.’ But then I started ta’ notice otha’ things ‘sides tha’ face ya’ make when I make ya’ pussy weep around mah’ cock an’ ya' sing so pretty fo’ me,” he says, face neutral and tone even despite how hot your cheeks are hearing that.

“Like how carin’ ya' ah’ fo’ tha’ othas’ despite actin’ like ya’ don't. Tha’ ya' had ta’ grow up fas’ as fuck an’ took it out on yaself’ instead o’ lashin’ out like an’ insecure prick. Like me. Tha' I thought I'd neva’ seen someone so fuckin' beautiful in all mah’ life when ya’d fall asleep befo’ me, even when ya’ wuz droolin’ on mah’ chest and snorin’ like one o’ them fuckin' minin’ drills. Tha’ I thought I could listen ta’ ya' horrendous singin’ in tha’ showa’ all day when ya’ woke up befo’ me. Tha’ I wanted ta’ call ya’ mine fo’ a fuckin’ while now.

An’ I know I wuzn't jus’ imaginin’ shit. I might be shit at expressin’ mah’ feelins’ but so ah’ you. Ya’ can’t convince me none o’ it wuz real.”

You consider trying to take it all back, while he’s still giving you an out, feeling like your heart’s been violently ripped out of your chest but you refrain from doing so, choosing to stand your ground, no matter how shaky the earth beneath you feels. You can’t afford to lose someone again, it’ll be better in the long run to ruin it now than to let life steal someone else away when you least expect it, when you can’t possibly handle any more heartbreak.

Finally meeting his eyes you force yourself not to flinch at the intensity of his gaze as they scrutinize you, like he can see right through you, feeling more exposed now than you did when he first got you naked.

“It wasn’t,” you insist, somewhat petulantly.

It’s his turn to roughly swallow at what you say, his confidence visibly waning in the slouch of his shoulders and the way he pulls back a little, the uncertainty of his words when you first confessed making a comeback—much stronger this time but still underscored by a level of defiance like he’s clinging on to some modicum of hope.

“So allat—allat really meant absolutely nuthin’ ta’ ya?’”

You know you have to inflict maximum damage, to crush any chance of making the same mistake twice, finding yourself leaning in like he did earlier to emphasize your point, not deviating away from devastated blue as you hiss, “nothing. Nothing at all.”

And that was all it took, watching how quickly Bjorn turned his back to you while he quietly yanked on his clothes, shoulders shaking in anger, in rejection—in defeat. He's hurting, it's more than obvious by the way his voice shakes, sounding like wet gravel as he croaks at you to, “have a nice fuckin’ life,” before storming out of your apartment, leaving you alone, the silence you once found comfort in when you were on your own bordering on unbearable now.

It's for the best, you reason, it's what needs to happen, you don't need to make this any harder than it already fucking is, finally allowing yourself to break down, as pained sobs rack your body, crying so hard you grab at your chest like you’re trying to open another airway, gasping between each tearful moan.

So, if this is really for the best—then why does it feel like the worst decision you’ve ever made?