#life only gets worse and worse IT NEVER GETS BETTER IN THIS HOUSE

[thedragonofbadasstemple]

I don't normally comment on posts like this, but obsessed with the take as well that the point of this is to "cheer for them". The project is collecting testimonies from people who were involved with the MAGA movement, explaining why they fell into it, and why they left. We NEED stories like this to understand others and their viewpoints. We can't change people's minds, much less help them, if we can't understand why they think they way they do, or why the made the decisions that they did. Not everyone who voted for Trump did so for the same reason. Not everyone who wears a MAGA hat wears it for the same reason. A personal example, my father and my sibling both voted for Trump. My father blindsided me by this. He didn't vote for him the first two times, but did this time. With a sigh he explained his reason as "I watched the debates. He had a plan for the economy. Kamala didn't." He's a disabled vet. He works two jobs and my mom brings in more money than him. He's sick. He's a wounded dog that reached out for a shred of hope where he saw it. I know its misguided. I know that he made a lot of mistakes in life that led to where he is now, and that the economy is not to blame for his current predicament, but he can't see that. He has an entire lived experience different than mine that led up to this. My sibling is bisexual and transgender. He is 1.75 years younger than me. He is autistic and very mentally ill. He has never moved out from our parent's house, despite having thousands of dollars saved. He enjoys Warhammer 40k. He is a MAGA cultist. This is a change that happened out of nowhere for me. He blindsided me three years ago when we were hanging out on Christmas Eve and he wanted to show me Ben Shapiro stuff. I was surprised. I asked how could he watch that kind of stuff when he was queer and trans. He just responded "why are you bringing identity politics into this?" Its only gotten worse from there. Despite being trans himself, and despite me being his biggest ally and supporter for coming out to our parents, he misgenders me and says that he "doesn't believe in non-binary". He gets mad when I shit talk Trump and Elon. He is someone who doesn't always have a grip on reality, treats everything as a personal attack against him, and has little self-confidence. He has always been someone easily persuaded by others. Hes always had a nasty selfish streak. it makes absolute sense to me that he would end up falling into a hateful cult that would make him feel better than other people. If you have a loved one in the MAGA cult, you need to understand how they got to that point if you want to help them and get them out. If you want to be politically active and engage with other people of opposing viewpoints, then you need to know what those viewpoints are and why they hold those views in order to debate them. If you don't care, then you don't care. Not your circus, not your monkeys. But this information is valuable, even if its not relevant to you. No one is asking you to bend over backgrounds and congratulate anyone. This is just information for those who would seek it. That's all.

This is an interesting thing. Looks like testimonies of people who left the MAGA movement- how they got into it and why.

Leaving a cult is really hard, so I really respect the people who are speaking from this place.

[reidrum]

i need you to fill the void

a/n: it's my birthday so pls don't say damn when you see that this is angst

summary: in which spencer seeks another vice post tobias

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, not smut centered though, angst, mentions of addictions, poor coping habits for both spencer and reader, toxic!spencer, situationship, excessive em dash usage

wc: 2.1k

The frigid bite of the night greets you as you walk outside to your car. The cold is sobering, almost warning you as you trek into a journey the sky has seen many times. 

It had been three months since Spencer’s kidnapping, two months since you found out he was going to Narcotics Anonymous before the roundtables, and one month since you realized you were the only person who could help him.

Knowing he was struggling through his addiction on his own—though, you knew the team was fully aware and simply chose to not do anything about it—made you feel like shit. It wasn’t even your fault, you were back at the main cabin with Emily going over the case when you figured out the unsub was Tobias Hankel. Somehow you felt worse than JJ who was actually there with him, because you should’ve figured it out sooner. You saw the behavioral signs pointing to him. It was so obvious, wasn’t it? Maybe it was your fault.

At least, that’s what you continue to tell yourself night after night as you make the five minute drive to his apartment always nearing the witching hour. Spencer wouldn’t feel this hopeless if you had just been smarter, faster. But you weren’t, and now he was suffering. You didn’t know how to help him, how to make him feel better—if he was even capable of healing. So you offered him what you could, which was everything.

And he took what he needed—which was everything.

You raise your hand and softly knock on the door. Three times, never more, never less. Footsteps pad closer to the door on the other side before slowly opening revealing Spencer in his blue plaid pajamas and one of his many punny science t-shirts. Tonight’s was Never trust an atom, they make up everything!

The routine is easy to fall into, you take your shoes off while he removes your coat. You walk to the couch and he goes to the kitchen, preparing tea just the way you like it. When he returns, you’re already curled up in your usual spot on the couch and he slips in beside you like it was made for him. Like you didn’t spend so much time tearing it down and building it up hoping he’d find at least one of the versions to be familiar. 

“Had a good day?” he murmurs into your shoulder before claiming the spot with a kiss. Familiar.

You nod, “You?”

“It was bad after the roundtable this morning,” his lips traverse your collarbone, “better now, though.”

The warmth blooms in your chest at his little admission. Familiar. You know the warmth isn’t viable, but for the few moments of life in which it exists you will bask and let it consume you.

His hands have traveled around your waist tugging you closer to him with a confidence he’s slowly worked up to over the course of your encounters. It still surprises you when he initiates anything, the Spencer you had met on your first day at the BAU—joining only a week after him—could barely say two words to you let alone look you in the eyes.

The Spencer in front of you now lets his fingers play with the hem of your shirt with a slight hesitancy. They shake, but you know it’s not from the nerves. You don’t mention it.

“Couch or bedroom?” you coax gently.

“Bedroom.” He releases his hold on you and stands from the couch, holding a hand out for you. You take it and follow him down the hallway, the warmth inside you slowly fading as you get closer.

You’re barely through the bedroom door when Spencer tugs you back into his arms and kisses you voraciously, his hand cupping your face while the other presses you impossibly closer to him as he can. This is the part where the flip switches—when you both stop playing house and Spencer remembers what he needs you for.

His anxious hands turn greedy as they tug your shirt off and work on your pants, you pepper kisses along his jaw and turn your bodies to push him onto the bed. He stares up at you in anticipation as you unhook your bra and he hurriedly takes his pajamas off. It’s muscle memory from this point on, he scoots back to lean against the headboard as you crawl up and straddle him. 

You know what he needs to feel placated enough so the urges won’t overtake and drown him. He looks up at you like you’re the salvation he’s been waiting for, the vice that helps him walk away from his sin.

There is no salvation without sacrifice—but Spencer didn’t need to know that, he isn’t the one who will be sacrificed.

He positions your hips over his own and you slowly guide yourself down onto him, blissed out sighs leaving both of you as you take in all of him. You wait for a minute to adjust and then slowly lift your hips up and back down, a soft whimper falling from his lips.

Spencer doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how it feels to have you wrapped around him. It’s intoxicating, dangerous, compulsive. He wonders how people can resist temptation when the gratification feels like this.

Your hips stutter and falter from their pattern, the muscle fatigue getting to you fast. “Sorry, just need a second.” you pant.

“S’okay, you want to switch?” He gently flips you over so you’re laid back on the bed before giving you the chance to answer. He doesn’t usually get on top, but recently Spencer has tasted the forbidden fruit that hangs low from your branches and found that it feels better than anything he’s ever taken with a needle.

The addiction has a power that compels him to use according to its agenda, and he really can’t remember the last time he’s felt in control of his own body. The addiction tells him when to use, and he listens.

But whenever he’s with you, he doesn’t have to fight any compulsion—you’re already offering it up for him to take.

He guides himself back inside you slowly, leaning down once he bottoms out to kiss your cheek tenderly. “Okay?” You nod and he pulls back, pushing your leg up to delve deeper. Spencer’s making sure he’s taking all that he can—he doesn’t know how long he’ll last before the urges come back for him.

His hips set a comfortable pace, fueled by the whines that tumble from your lips. He can’t get enough of you, he’d put the drugs down forever if he could feel like for the rest of his life. You both chase your highs and come undone at the same time, the praises falling out of him like they belong to you. Spencer pulls out and lays beside you while both of your breathing evens out. He doesn’t leave right away–he is a gentleman, after all–so he’ll get up after a few minutes and grab a wet cloth to gently clean you up, slip into the blankets again and hold you close yet so far away.

You’ll make yet another effort to reach out and connect with him in a way much more intimate than you think either of you deserve.

“I like what we have right now, it’s just not what I’m looking for.”

“I’m not in a good place, it wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

And the worst one, “I care about you too much to do that to you.”

It continues like this for months. A call in the dead of the night and you come running at the ring of the bell. Under the guise of being a good friend and completely disregarding any other harbored feelings you hold, failed attempts at building something more. You know you have to do this. You were not fast enough before, and so you must give everything you have now. 

Spencer grows comfortable in the next months, complacent and sure that whenever the urges come for him you’ll drop everything. Every encounter after chips away at you, but it makes him stronger so it must be worth it. 

Some nights are harder than others, the withdrawal eating away at him faster than you can feed it. You’ve rarely seen him be mean before, always too timid to speak out of line. But the symptoms have reduced him to primal desire and suddenly he’s demanding and pervasive.

“You’re late.”

“You said you’d be here an hour ago, what was more important than this?”

“I needed you, where were you?”

“Should’ve gotten here sooner, don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t.”

It’s nice to be relied on, it gives you a sense of purpose. He’ll be mean for a bit while he lets the addiction withdrawal displace him momentarily, but regains his bearings the second you walk through his front door. Over time, the shaking is starting to subside, the irritability slowly fading. The warmth in your chest returns thinking about the little moments between the sheets when he hushes your mistaken cries for pleasure with gratitude for your service. “Thank you, baby.” and “You’re so good to me.” falsely secure you as you continue to give what’s left of you.

You suppose you can’t exactly be upset or even surprised that he saw you as nothing more than a warm body in his bed. If you were the entity keeping Spencer tethered to this realm then you’ve strengthened him enough to stand on his own two feet. 

That should be a good thing.

When you’re in the bullpen the week after it shouldn’t surprise you when Derek claps his shoulder with a resounding “My man” as he turns his blushed face to the floor. Before the blush can rise on your face at the prospect of someone discovering your rendezvous, Derek continues with, “It’s about time you asked her out.”

Spencer never asked you out.

“You finally asked out Austin?” JJ chirps. Austin, bartender, Waco case.

But you built him up yourself, you should be proud of your handiwork.

“She just moved up here and needed someone to show her around. That’s all it is.” Spencer flushes, a clear sign that it is in fact not all it is.

Emily remarks how he looks happier than he has in weeks, Penelope squeals in excitement, Hotch and Rossi even look down from the landing in subtle interest.

The warmth inside returns again with an edge this time, a burning sensation that reveals you held it too close to your heart. Familiar. It takes everything in you to school your face and hold your tears in as you faintly whisper, “I’m happy for you, Spence.”

Because you are happy–this is what you wanted for him, to feel normal again. If he achieved it without you then who are you to blame him for? You served your purpose, and now you can rest.

Right?

–

Spencer doesn’t call you for three weeks.

You try not to think about it when he comes in late the next day with his tie askew and hair in a tousled mess. It doesn’t bother you when he finally accepts the O’Keefe’s invite and shows up with her. You have to consciously unclench your heart when his laugh sounds loud and genuine throughout the jet–but that’s nothing you haven’t done before for him.

When your phone rings again in the witching hour for the first time in weeks, it catches you off guard. You roll over grabbing the phone and answering it without even looking at the caller. 

“Hello?”

Silence, then shallow and labored breathing. You look down at your phone, sitting up fully when you read the ID, “Spence? What’s wrong?”

He gulps, “I…I almost…”

Your heart drops, “Are you okay?”

“Y–Yeah, think so. I didn’t..But..” he stutters, “Fuck, do you think you could–” he trails.

The tears spring to your eyes before you can help it, barely shutting them in time before they break down your face. Familiar.

“Be there in five.” you say evenly before hanging up.

The frigid bite of the night greets you in a mocking taunt as it watches you trek to your car. Three knocks. He greets you with red rimmed eyes at the door, clad in a Schrodinger's cat walks into a bar…t-shirt. The routine is easy to fall into–shoes and coat off, cup of tea before putting the TV on. You hope he accepts this version of you this time.

Inhale. Exhale. “Bedroom?”

[wcnderlnds]

don't look back [part two] | kwon ji-yong (g dragon)

・❥・ summary: after walking out on jiyong, you were heartbroken hiding away in your house until you get an unexpected visitor on your doorstep. ・❥・word count: 1.6k ・❥・warnings: nothing, really! angst and fluff ・❥・ authors note: this is part two to a collab with my best friend and the ultimate g dragon lover @ldydeath <3 PART ONE HERE

Weeks had passed since the last conversation with Jiyong. The second you had given him his ring back, you’d walked away and never turned back. The way he’d treated you, the way he’d talked to you — it wasn’t okay. Maybe leaving had been an overreaction but he had hurt you. Tour was stressful and Jiyong always put so much pressure on himself but all you had wanted was to be there for him. Instead, it had turned into the worst trip of your life. What had meant to be a happy few weeks with the love of your life had turned into you losing him.  There were no words to describe the ache in your heart. It was like someone had taken a hammer and smashed it into little pieces. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t piece it back together. Only one person could but you hadn’t heard a word from him since that day.

Your friends had told you he was miserable — working himself to the bone so that he didn’t have to think about what he’d lost. The second he stopped was the second he realised his life was worthless without you in it. What could he do, though? He has been awful to you when all you had done was care about him. He didn’t mean it; you had caught him on a really bad day and he’d let his emotions get the better of him. He’d never forgive himself for how he’d treated you.

As the days passed it only became more and more evident to you how badly you needed him. He was a part of you, a part of everything you held so dear and close. It felt like something was missing, emptiness consuming your every thought. The idea of flying to wherever he was and trying to talk to him had floated around in your head but you couldn’t. What if he didn’t want to see you? It could end up like last time and make everything so much worse. Actually, maybe you had done that by giving him the ring back. Now all you could do was sit and get lost in your own pit of self loathing and misery. Time heals all wounds — that’s what everyone said but you weren’t sure it would heal this one.

Cocooning yourself in your blankets on the couch surrounded by all your favourite snacks had become your routine. Thank the stars that work had decided you could keep working from home. There was no way you were in any fit state to go into the office and be face to face with anyone. In fact, when you had come home, you’d taken those first few days off which was unusual for you. There was nothing that usually stopped you but apparently a broken heart could tear even the strongest people down.

There was a knock on the door which caused your head to snap up instantly. Who could that even be? As far as you knew you weren’t expecting anything and most people knew not to bother you right now. The first thought was to ignore it so you kept your eyes glued to the television screen until the knock sounded again. Okay, whoever it was they were being persistent. Very reluctantly, you got to your feet, holding your hoodie – well, it was actually Jiyong’s that you’d stolen weeks ago to sleep in while he was gone – tight to you, the sleeves coming past your hands.

Opening the door, your eyes almost comically widened at the person stood in front of you.

Jiyong.

There he stood, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand, shyly glancing at you. All it took was one look at him to know that he was nervous, more so than usual. He was the last person you had expected to show up on the doorstep. Sure, it was your shared place – you both lived there and he could’ve easily let himself in but he still had tour dates left overseas. He shouldn’t be here. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you took in his appearance. The dark bags under his eyes showed that he wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t taking care of himself and that hurt more than anything else. All you ever wanted was the best for him despite everything that happened.

“What are you doing here?” You couldn’t help the quiet question falling from your lips. 

“...I needed to see you,” he took a step forward, his shaky hands holding out the flowers for you. “I know it’s stupid and flowers aren’t going to make up for everything I said but…”

Gently, you took them from his hand, your fingers lightly brushing against his; that spark that always ignited whenever you touched him shooting through your body. “They’re beautiful.”

Silence fell between you, the air thick with tension. There was so much to say, so many things that had been left unspoken. Your eyes found the ring that he still had on his pinky finger. At least he hadn’t taken it off or got rid of it. 

“I’m so-”

“You can come in. It’s your place, too.”

You didn’t mean to cut him off but you couldn’t hear the words ‘I’m sorry’. Anyone could say them but it didn’t make them true. Actions and words spoke louder than a simple phrase. Turning your back, you headed towards the kitchen to place the flowers down. Once they were on the counter, you were about to grab a vase to place them in but Jiyong’s fingers wrapped around your arm softly, turning you to face him. Your breath caught in your throat as you almost pressed against his chest. It had been so long since you’d been this close to him. Every nerve ending was on fire, it was hard to not reach out and caress him especially with that sad frown plastered on his face.

“Nothing will ever make up for what I said to you and I’m so, so sorry that I acted the way I did. That isn’t me – you know it isn’t. If there's one thing in this world that I know, it’s that I love you. I want a life with you. Everything I have is meaningless without you by my side and I messed that up. I hurt your feelings, I said things that I didn’t mean. I was just… in a bad place. I should’ve talked to you instead of pushing you away but I did the worst thing imaginable. I’ll spend forever making it up to you if I have to,” his words were rushed, quiet. The emotion weighed heavy in them, you could see how much he meant them, how much pain he was in just by the look in his eyes.

“You basically said what I was giving you wasn’t good enough, Jiyong. I was giving you everything and so much more and if that’s not good enough, I don’t know what is. I love you so much but is that enough for you?” Tears had started to fall without you even realising. It only made it worse when Jiyong stepped closer, the pad of his thumb brushing away the tears from your cheeks. “I want to be with you but I need to know that it’s enough. That I’m enough.”

“You are enough. You are more than enough. I’m just an idiot. I was caught up in my own head and letting the bad thoughts win. How you make me feel, what you give to me? It’s always been enough. Please trust me when I say that. I want to be with you. I want a life with you. I want to marry you, give you everything you deserve.”

Knowing Jiyong for as long as you had, you could tell when he was lying and right now? He was more than telling the truth. He was bearing his heart and soul, putting all his feelings out there. Being vulnerable was hard for anyone but especially for Jiyong so to see him standing there trying, it made it a little better. Just a little. There was still a long way to go yet.

“I wish you’d just talk to me when you get those thoughts. Stop hiding in yourself. I’m here for you. I don’t care if we’re in different countries or timezones, you can always call me. I need you to keep being open with me like this. If things are going to work with us again then we need an open line of communication and honesty.”

“I will, I swear from now on, I will. What happened will never happen again. I promise to you, baby. If I ever treat you that way again, I’ll get Youngbae to beat me up.”

That caused you to giggle a little. The tension slowly easing from the room, a feeling of ease once again settling between you. “He is the third best fighter after all.”

Jiyong smiled, a real smile, one of his hands slowly sliding down to rest on your hip. “Does this mean I have another chance?”

“Yeah, I love you Kwon Jiyong but mess up again and that’s it.”

He didn’t say another word but instead he dropped down to one knee, taking the ring off his pinky finger as he held your hand. The stupidest grin was plastered on his tired face as he looked up at you. “Will you marry this stupid idiot?”

“Yes, now get up, you idiot,” you laughed, taking his face in your hands and pressing your lips to his for the first time in weeks. His arms winded around you, pulling you flush against him. A sigh of content passed his lips, his eyes closing as he let himself get lost in you. This was where he was always meant to be. With you and he’d make sure to never, ever mess that up again.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @mattsturniolosbabymama

[zsakuva]

I'm sure this has been asked, but I had found your stuff recently and absolutely love how the different characters are with each being just as charming as the next. My question is what is the thought/writing process? I am wanting to be better at defining my ocs and characters without falling into the same trope and behaviors the characters have exhibit. Obviously there are different methods for different people, but I'll like to know a little bit of the process for you. Do you have any tips to make the voices distinct and consistent through out a piece of writing?

Thank you!

For me, because I have a proclivity for world-building (meaning I am absolutely obsessed and must know the lore before I do anything), I like to understand the path a character has chosen. Their past experiences and upbringing have a dramatic impact on how they shape their own life, and that informs me of how a character acts, talks, and how they both see and react to the world around them.

I'll use Isaac Rhoades as a brief example (I wrote brief but this is not brief at all, my bad xD).

From the beginning, Isaac was written with a sealed heart and a cold personality. He's an articulate and smart man, a workaholic, but he lives in solitude.

I always ask myself how and why a character is who they are, and what decisions they made/experiences they've had to bring them to this point.

For Isaac, his background paints quite the picture:

Born to loving parents, and his grandfather is a successful private investigator — The early part of his childhood nurtured love and care. His mother in particular showed him what it meant to love unconditionally.

His parents are murdered because of his grandfather's choice — Isaac was taught that even the people you love can hurt you, and that nowhere is a safe space.

Learning under his grandfather — Because of his vast portfolio and cases, Isaac is taught more about the workings of the world, and how to stay cautious. There was no space for fun or games; his only objective was expanding his knowledge in many subjects that his grandfather deemed worthy.

Getting stabbed by the maid — This reinforced the thought of a perpetual threat and the need to stay vigilant. It instilled paranoia in him to trust no one.

University in England and Andrew — Here, he remembers the love of his childhood, but also the threat of losing someone else because of his own decisions, taught by his grandfather.

Learning the reason of his grandfather's decision — Isaac was taught that there is always more to one person, for better or worse, as taught by the maid. Due to this and what he's learnt thus far, Isaac decides to seclude himself so he's never forced to make that kind of choice.

Succeeding his grandfather — Being a private investigator opened his eyes to humanity's extremes: the lengths they would go for their own desires at the detriment of others, and the yearning others had to better the world. His work reminds him of his life experiences, and these beliefs constantly clash.

Isaac is distant and cold at first because his life taught him not to trust anyone—even the unassuming—and he doesn't want to let anyone in; they could either betray him, or he could lose them. And yet, despite that, his mother's teachings managed to peek through when he saw Pickle in the alley, alluding to his true nature. Through Isaac's story, his internal struggle begins to rear: desperately wanting to feel love again, but knowing the cost if he does give in and the inevitable choice he might have to make if he opens his heart again.

Isaac is articulate and smart because of his grandfather's teachings. One can assume he stayed in that house for the rest of his teenage years until he left for university, so the only person he really interacted with was his grandfather. Because of this, he's factual, precise, and seldom makes jokes because mostly every conversation had been connected to work in some form. Small talk is a waste of time, and he doesn't indulge others unless there's a reason for it. He's meticulous with when to speak and when to listen.

Isaac is a workaholic because that is what his life has been shaped to be, also likely influenced by his grandfather. He has money, but continues to work. Why? Perhaps it's because he'd be without purpose otherwise. Or is it because he feels it's his duty to continue in his grandfather's footsteps and find the one thing that matters in the ocean of bullshit?

All of this shapes who Isaac is. It wouldn't make sense for him to have the same disposition as Andrew. Though they are similar in ways (articulation, education, work addiction), they take different forms and stem from the unique experiences they've lived. Where Andrew can engage in small talk (he had a freer childhood, a rebellious and fun twin brother, and more public school education/social interactions), Isaac can't. And though they both carry the weight of their own regrets alone, Andrew chooses to live with what he has, but Isaac chooses to endlessly bear the weight of the world and live up to his grandfather's bravery.

SO. With that being said, a suggestion I can give is to constantly remind yourself who your character is with every decision they make. Is it true to them? Does it make sense for them? But remember, humans are also notoriously contradictive, and one is not the same as another. We experience and react to the same conditions in completely different ways; who you are and what you've been through can determine the outcome.

I hope this has helped in some form of way!

Again I apologise for this monstrous post have fun writing aaaaa-

[sup38008]

Y’all know what pmo? When I see a spn edit on tt and the Winchesters childhood and John comes up and surprisingly, so does Adam. Cuz y’all forget him most of the time, and only remember him to hate on the KID, at the time. To make Sam and Dean more idk, traumatized-y by john. Like come onnn 😩

We get it, Sam and Dean are meow meows and John is an asshole. But you ain’t got to drag Adam in to the whole, “Sam and Dean had it worse cuz John was an ass, and Adam had it better cuz John tried to be an actual dad to Adam. Therefore, Adam got the childhood that Sam and dean never got. And Adam deserved to be left in hell”

???

That’s a kid man.

Also what? Like did we watch the same show? All the happy little things that Adam said in “jump the shark” (I think that’s what the episode was) wasn’t really true because it wasn’t Adam saying it, it was the ghoul that ate him AND his mom. And the ghoul was trying to manipulate Sam and Dean, so who know whatever it said wasn’t a total lie? Or Yk, a lie with a tenth of truth.

Like our actual Adam Milligan (I also hate when people use the Winchesters last name when talking about Adam. And saying he’s a Winchesters. Cuz he’s not, and that’s okay, he can be both. More Milligan tho. Like bro would never willingly give up his Milligan last name, it’s the only thing he has left of his mother to hold on to) was johns number one hater.

Adam literally called John a stranger who visited once a year for his birthdays after he turned 12. A stranger people! One that showed up once a year to play house and made shit awkward and depressing after he left, again and again.

Also, take this from Adam’s prospective. He didn’t know Sam and Dean existed, or marry. That his mom was a kinda replacement for her. And John had a whole ass secret life they didn’t know about. He thought bro was a mechanic for fucks sake. Imagine dying (being eaten alive) to wake up to being fed bullshit by angels (who are logically more trustworthy than a bunch of suspicious men saying they are your brothers) and then used as a pawn to get his half brother to say yes. That’s sucks ass.

Anyways, what y’all think? Am I too aggressive?

[ttheggrimrreaper]

Hello can you do headcannons about shidou Barou and Rin getting sick 🤒🤧 please and thank you ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

Ofc ofc! Poor boys.. luckily our NB y/n is here to save the day!!

Shidou, Barou, Rin x NB!reader (separately)

Shidou Ryusei

-you would imagine a man in such a state would be forced to calm down..

-you thought wrong.

-if anything, it's gotten worse.. oh so so much worse. You try to walk out that door to go to work or a fresh breath of air..

"Y/NNNNnnnnnm YOUR SUPPOSED TO TAKE OF ME!! THROUGH SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH!"

-worst part about it? You're not even married. His lame excuse for why you have to stay in bed and cuddle? A lie.. well, it won't be a lie soon if it's up to him.

-your running from the kitchen to the bedroom with water at his demand, allergy meds, anything that boy can name. You better make sure he gets, he isn't called a demon for nothing

-he doesn't portray very signs of getting sick before hand, but after years of it, you've picked up on a few.

-he gets a little more touchy (as if that's possible). It's as though he wants to get you sick too, so then you would really have to stay with him.

-he starts to crave your approval more. It's odd how it works with him. But every time he does something he knows you want him to do (like take he shoes off before getting in the house, or taking off his sweaty jersey before getting in bed) he looks to you with wide eyes, waiting for your hum of approval

-in short, Shidou is a menace, will always be a menace, and all sickness does is... Make your life harder

-by the time he is all healed up. Your sick, and him taking care of you? A whole other story,

Barou Shoei

-Well would you look at that, the rare occasion Barou does get sick has occurred,

-good luck entertaining the bedroom. He doesn't like being taken care of, he likes to take care of you.

-Hes shutting himself him, locking himself up, with everything he could possibly need. Including a picture of you. Although your right behind the door, he won't open it, no need for you to be sick too,

-he calls you all the time, even if he could just open the door and talk to you like a normal person, often falling asleep on the phone together.

-although he hates you sleeping on the couch, sometimes he accepts that you have to suffer through that, so you don't have to suffer as much as he is now.

-Should he finally gets tired of your endless begging, he might crack the door open and look at you with a glare.

"can I come in now?"

"only if you wear a mask and gloves'

"BAROUUUUUU NOOOO"

Rin Itoshi

-its odd, It's as though Rins body will only let him get sick ONCE every 6 months. Twice a year, it's a impressive, never has it gone under, or over that for as long as you. Or anyone else you ask, can tell you,

-he says it's not a big deal, just going off to sulk in his room about this flu that is making soccer such an energy taker for him

-he is usually healed up quick, a bunch of medicine, and a bunch of tea and rest

-he has no issue kicking you out of you are stopping him from resting. To the couch you go!

-he comes over 5 minutes later to ask you to come back to bed. He cant rest knowing you're on the sofa alone and banished,

-not much changes, other than he's grumpier. He cant take out his attitude on hitting a certain worm with a ball. (Sorry Isagi, R.I.P)

-all in all, you can't do anything other than just love on him when he asks for it. He has everything else under control.

"Rin, do you need a tiss-

"already have 3 others waiting under the bed."

"how about a cup of t-"

"I already have one on the nightstand."

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Nineteen: rot

tw: minor smut

January bleeds into February like blood on snow. 

It’s steady, and faster than you realize. Time has always been like this for you—some immeasurable idea that you find is easier to ignore than attempt to keep track of. You’ve spent the better part of the last fifteen years slaving away at your job for Marco’s benefit all while you pretended that you get to live any longer than what he determines for you. You think that’s why the years have flown by—why they’ve slipped through your fingers faster than blood through a wound or water through a sieve. These last few years have been borrowed. None of it is supposed to be yours; why should you get to enjoy it to its fullest extent? 

Yet, things are different than usual—as far as the passage of time goes, anyway. It warps into something congenial, like you’re losing hours and minutes only because you’re too busy laughing to pay attention to it. You spend your nights tucked away in Simon’s house rather than in the heat of Sapori and your days lounging on the couch or in the garage watching him tinker away with some motor or another. 

These days, you do significantly less math. 

It feels strange to admit it out loud, but you don’t think you’ve ever been so happy before. Even with the looming threat of Marco’s letter and your father’s debt, the solicitude is muted. How can your heart have any room for fear when you have warm arms to embrace you at night and rough lips to kiss your cheeks? 

This is a life you never believed you would live to see—even from a young age you thought romance wasn’t for you. Something about you always felt broken. There was silence when there should have been a bomb ticking away in your chest waiting to explode. There was never anything that hungered for a playful fling or a one night stand. As a child, your only concern was to study, or perhaps enjoy the sunshine that basked the wooden benches in your neighborhood’s park. 

Now, you find yourself with an unfamiliar yearning. There’s an odd appetency that tugs at your heart with each smile that graces Simon’s scarred lips or every hum that rattles his chest as he listens to you speak. Your mouth grows sere more often than not these days at the mere thought of his body twisting with yours. Sometimes, when he looks at you, your heart pounds so violently you swear it might kill you. 

It’s a death you wouldn’t mind experiencing—infinitely kinder than a knife. 

The thing that makes everything worse is your dreams. 

Legs tangled in sheets, you dream of him kissing you, soft and tender like he always does, but the warmth is enough to sear your skin. You dream that his fingers press into the back of your neck to hold you still as his tongue slides along your lips, licking you as if he’s never tasted a nectar so sweet. Even in this dreamscape you feel the way his breath fans across your face as he grunts, hands wandering over your body with just the right amount of pressure. He does not claw or bruise—he rubs and caresses. Your dream-self must make a sound, because when he paws at your chest, he leans back to look at you with a grin. 

You’re clothed, but you wish you weren’t. Or, maybe it’s your dream-self that wishes she wasn’t. Where does the real you and the dream you end and begin? Can you only be brave enough to admit these desires into the void where no one can hear you? 

Everything begins to melt. Simon’s shirt slithers off of his back in frayed tatters until his bare chest is pressed against your own, and you don’t realize that you’re naked until his warmth bleeds into you like a sigh into cold air. Nose pressing against the side of your neck, your legs fall open for him and it… you don’t know how to describe it. All you know is that your entire body throbs and yearns for him to crush you as you hold the back of his head against the crook of your neck.

Hips bucking, knees bending; it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. It’s dulcet but numb, not quite reaching you but so close to embracing you. You just need more. Of him. Of his lips on your collarbone. Of his hands on your stomach trailing lower until he’s brushing between your legs; you just need—

You wake up when Simon stirs next to you in bed. 

His legs stretch out until the tips of his toes touch the edge of the bed and your eyes fly open as if all the air has been sucked from your mouth. Hands curled underneath your chin, you pull the blankets closer to your body as you shrivel inwards on yourself. You ache. It’s a terrible, pitiful ache that burrows deep between your legs and throbs. You nearly languish when Simon turns on his side and tosses an arm over you, pulling you into his chest. 

“Mornin’ baby,” he murmurs against the crown of your head. 

“Morning.” 

Your voice is quiet. So fragile that it nearly shatters in your throat. You nuzzle your nose against his sternum as that vicious need still rages inside of you. Breathing him in does not quell your concupiscent want; it only stokes the fire until it grows from a whisper into a roar. 

“You feelin’ alright?” he questions. 

“Yeah.” Your answer comes too quick. Too sharp. You swallow. “Just… don’t wanna get out of bed.” 

Simon only hums in response before his muscles begin to melt around you. Loving fingers caress the curve of your spine as you breathe each other in. Your heart beats so strongly that you realize you can’t hear his pulse over your own, as if you’re drowning out everything in the universe all because of your unfamiliar want. Eventually, he tenses as he places another kiss to the top of your head before he pulls away and leans over you while he drags the blankets higher up over your body. 

“Stay in bed a while longer,” he says. “I’m gonna shower, then I’ll cook up breakfast, yeah?” 

You stare up at him with wide eyes—he looks at you for so long you’re afraid he might see the way erotomania has clouded your mind. “Yeah, okay.” 

It’s foolish of you to believe things would be easier the moment he slides out of bed and hides himself behind the door to the master bathroom, because if anything it only gets worse. Surrounded by the scent of him and with the memory of his kiss still lingering on your skin, you find your fingers tingling. They’re being pulled down, down—

You sit up as soon as the shower begins to run. Covers tossed aside, you sit there for a moment with quivering thighs before swinging your legs over the bed. Anxious molars dig into the insides of your cheeks as you attempt to steady your thoughts. It doesn’t work. All you can imagine is Simon in the shower—moist skin beaded with fresh water, inky arms wrapping around you, teeth flashing before they’re hidden away with soft lips ready to devour yours. 

Snatching your phone off of the nightstand, you wander out of the bedroom as you shake your head. Distracting yourself, you click your phone on as you skim through a handful of unread messages. You’re met with unimportant spam e-mails and system notifications, but your lips pull into a smile as you notice a message from Bee. 

[1 attachment(s)]

Nonno made capellini pomodoro last night and I thought of you. I miss you ): Come back soon!!! Please!!!! You’re the only hostess I can stand working with!!! Oh, and bring Simon with you ;) 

She adds a picture of the pasta with her text message, and as you send off a quick reply, you find your stomach growling at the sight of fresh tomatoes and golden noodles. Breakfast—yes. 

A distraction. 

The stove hums to life with a click as the coils on the burner begin to illuminate a bright red. There’s no shortage of eggs in this house, so you bring the carton out and set it on the counter as you prepare your ingredients. Pan on burner. Salt and pepper. Maybe some toast. Melted butter. The motion of cooking is enough to quell the thoughts in your mind, but you don’t even dare to thank the universe for this change in pace, lest you jinx yourself. 

It isn’t long before eggs are sizzling and heat wafts around the kitchen as if it was the middle of July. You stand with a spatula in hand as you watch the food. Your eyes meticulously soak in the way moisture bubbles along the bottom of the pan as rolls of steam emanate upwards, melting the skin of your face in the process. You breathe in, then out, and—

“I thought you were stayin’ in bed.” 

—a pair of hands brushes against the sides of your waist and you squeal. Jumping on the tips of your toes, you twist around with wide eyes only to be met with a heavy chuckle from Simon. His hand ensnares your wrist as the spatula nearly digs into the side of his face and he only raises his eyebrows at you. 

“Easy there, killer,” he says with a titter. 

Huffing, you lower your hand and set your cooking utensil on the counter behind you. “You scared the shit out of me, Simon Riley,” you chastize. “I couldn’t hear you coming.” 

“Sorry, sweetheart. Reckon you might have to put a bell on me,” he teases. 

Your mouth opens with a retort at the ready, but it snaps shut once you see him. Really see him. Fresh out of the shower, Simon’s short hair sits in messy strands on his head, clumped together with lingering moisture. Aftershave mixes with the eggs cooking next to you as you realize the stubble on his chin and jaw have vanished, leaving behind smooth skin—or, as smooth as the various scars on his face will allow his skin to be. 

He’s handsome. Diabolically handsome and—

—not dressed. 

Not fully dressed. Donning nothing but a pair of house slippers and joggers, he stands in front of you shirtless. Water still gathers in tiny beads on his collarbones, and his chest glistens with soddenness. Sparse hair dots along his chest and thickens below his navel, and your mouth dries at the bulk along his pecks and abdomen. There are a few scars to be found—ones you’ve never been able to fully pay attention to during the brief moments he’s changed in front of you. A thick, puffy keloid sits along his shoulder, and another lighter one slashes across his sternum. 

You’ve never seen him like this; bare and up close. The warmth of his shower clings to his skin where it flows from him and into you. Pulse quickening, you feel your thighs begin to quiver again and you let out a huffy laugh and pray that it obscures your embarrassment. 

“You’re burning the eggs, baby.” 

Blinking, you whip back around and clasp the spatula in your hand once more as you curse. Turning off the heat, you remove the pan from the burner before attempting to divide the eggs evenly between the two plates you have set up, but you’re trembling so bad that you end up dumping all the contents onto one instead. 

“I swear I’m a better cook than this,” you say as an attempt at a joke. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Simon chuckles. You’re hardly able to put the spatula back on the counter before his hands are on you again, and this time you don’t jump. Thick fingers gently squeeze the sides of your hips, and your muscles tense and twitch against him as your mind goes blank. All rational thought leaves you. “You seem a little distracted, sweetheart.” 

Humming, he pulls you against him so that your back is flat against his chest. Hands still firmly on your hips, he begins to sway and you let him dictate the flow of your body as your head leans back against him. You’re coming undone. Trembling hands rest on his, and when you squeeze him he squeezes you back. 

“Wanna tell me what’s on your mind?” he purrs. 

You swallow. “I dunno- I just… you’re…” 

Discombobulated, your words are cut short and staccato. There’s not enough air in your lungs or blood in your brain—it all rushes elsewhere. It pools in your skin until you’re superheated to the point you might melt in his hands, bones and all. 

“Yeah?” he prompts. Head dipping low, Simon rests his cheek on your shoulder. His damp hair bleeds into your night shirt, but you find that you don’t really care about that; not when his lips begin to tenderly press against the side of your neck. “Tell me more.” 

His teeth softly nip at the side of your throat and you gasp. “Y-You’re doing this on purpose.” 

“Doin’ what?” 

“T-This.” 

“Oh?” Simon stops swaying, but he keeps his hips flushed against yours. “Should I stop?” 

“No.” Your reply is quick. Sharp. You hardly recognize the desperation in your tone. 

Simon pulls himself away from you, and you nearly whine until he spins you around to face him. Lower back pressed against the edge of the counter, you stare at him with wide eyes and warm cheeks. His dark eyes rake over your body—he soaks up the way your legs rub together and the odd quirk of your lips. Hand coming up to rest on your chin, his thumb swipes over your bottom lip as he tilts his head to the side. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind, baby,” he reiterates. 

Your lungs allow you to exhale only one shuddering breath. “You.” 

Mouth pulling into a faint smirk, he leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your forehead. Humming, he slowly works down until his lips have touched half of your face—all the way from your cheek to the curve of your jaw. You begin to ebb beneath his touch. Each connection of his body against yours leaves your skin tingling and your brain buzzing as if your skull can hardly hold together your thoughts. Mustering as much bravery as you can, your arms slowly begin to snake up around him. Courageous fingers dance along his chest until you’ve wrapped them around the back of his neck, pulling him closer; even then it still doesn’t feel like enough. 

Then—finally—he kisses you. Lips locking together, you have to hold back your moan as his hand moves from your chin to the back of your head, cradling you close. This is different than the other kisses you’ve shared with Simon. It’s not quick and sweet. It’s hungry. The pressure of his mouth on yours grows as you dance in sync, fingers tenderly sliding up from the nape of his neck into the mess of his hair. 

That desire begins to throb inside of you again. It pulses and writhes so much that it hurts, and you don’t think this is enough to satiate it. A simple kiss. His body against yours. You need more. Hungry to be devoured, you yank Simon even closer, but the movement breaks your embrace. Grinning, he chuckles, breath washing over your face and—

—it’s mint. 

It’s on your tongue and in your nose. Fresh and stinging menthol. Peppermint like candy canes during Christmas. He’s just brushed his teeth, and he’s kissed you, and now it’s in your mouth. Stuck. Stagnant and plaguing. 

You try to blink your shock away, but you cannot cease the pounding of your heart anymore than you can forget the way blood soaks linoleum. But mint is never just mint anymore—it is death. It is rosy intestines cradled in cold hands and a fresh floral arrangement bathing in stale ichor. It’s someone kicking your feet and forced oaths and promises. 

Suddenly, the counter against your back feels like a wall, and the hands on your body feel too low. They traverse too far—further than what feels comfortable. Hands sliding free from wet hair, you find your palms pressing up against his chest. You can’t breathe. Simon looks at you and it’s Marco. 

It’s Marco, and he’s grinning as his hands slide up between your thighs, and he’s grinning as his fingers press against your sex, and he’s grinning as he taints you, and he’s—

“Hey, hey, Chip. Breathe, baby.” 

It’s Simon. His hands retract from your body to instead cup your cheeks in his hands, and you don’t realize you’re crying until his thumbs wick the moisture off of your skin. Tremulous fingers brush against his as you mentally scream at your body to focus, but everything is too fuzzy. Circuits are snipped and you have nothing but fried synapses attempting to force everything into submission, but your breathing comes so quickly that your vision begins to fade and your knees feel weak. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. You laugh and it feels wrong. It’s tense in your throat and your bottom lip begins to tremble the moment the sound escapes you. “I dunno what’s happening to me, I just- oh my god, Simon, I don’t know what’s wrong, but- I c-can’t-” 

“I’ve got you.” He’s pulling you away from the counter, but the lack of support nearly makes you collapse. “C’mon, let’s sit you down. I’ve got you, baby. C’mon.” 

Your panic morphs into unbridled sobbing the moment you reach the couch. Knees buckling, Simon pulls you into his arms and holds you against him as your sorrow wracks your body with constricting muscles and uncontrollable tremors. Each wail that leaves your mouth rips through your throat with the same kindness a bullet offers unprotected flesh. You are raw. A pile of meat. 

You clutch your stomach as a coalescence of grief and shame rips through you, leaving you as nothing but an empty husk. Can Simon smell the rot? All the sewage and filth that stains you? Can he see the squalid fingerprints that taint your skin with Marco’s essence? 

Does it sicken him as much as it sickens you? 

It doesn’t matter—this moment has proven that your worst fear has come to fruition. Marco haunts you. He has control over you even when he’s not here to force your hand. 

“Talk to me baby.” You’ve stopped shaking. Your sobs have quelled into simple pules, but your body feels limp against his own as he continues to hold you against him. A desperate thumb rubs against the side of your arm as if he’s coaxing an animal out of hiding. “What’s goin’ on?” 

You do not answer him—he does not push any further. 

Settling into the couch, Simon Riley closes his eyes as he leans his head against your own, knowing that—in this moment—there is nothing he can do except hold you as you rot away in his arms.

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | get early access to chapters here

[im2tired4usernames]

It's so frustrating when you look for "affordable" ways to live it's all

"get a roommate"

"live at home with parents"

"live in a tiny home that costs a billion dollars and needs a property to be set on"

"get finical aid that no one can actually get because there's so many hoops"

"live in a million dollar van"

"live in a absolutely desecrated fixer upper home that has holes in the floor roof and rats the size of a small dog and is unlivable "

"work three jobs don't use your lights and eat one meal a week you don't need your meds either"

"find a shitty run down appartment that MASSIVELY over charges will continue to bump rent up after You've stayed so long there and has a six month mim wait period"

I have no fuckin hope of ever bettering my life or gaining freedom and independence

[just-your-average-tangerine]

Doing real bad folks

[dreamyberry]

/23.1.24

[alexiroflife]

"first day"

fluff, happy fushiguro family, slice of life, megs' first day of school send-off

Synopsis: you've been dating toji for a while now and megumi subconsciously calls you mom for the first time on his way out the door

to sum it up: you adore the little family you've come to be a part of

WC: 1,701

Warning(s): none

"Megs!" you call out, standing by the front door awaiting the dark-haired boy's arrival. He soon shuffles around the corner from his room, throwing a bag over his shoulder with a tired expression on his face.

His father turns to watch him walk in, crossing his arms as he leans against the counter. "The hell were you doing in there that took you so long?"

"Nothing," Megumi grumbles, moving to brush past the two of you to rush to the door. "I just wanted to look presentable, that's all."

"So you took thirty minutes to get ready?" Toji quirks a brow.

"Believe it or not, dad, some would say that's not enough time to get ready in the morning."

"Not at all, actually," you agree.

Toji tugs the corner of his mouth in judgment. " Well, you should know," he says to you. "You spend at least ten years in the bathroom when we have somewhere to go."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "That's such an overreaction. I never take any longer than an hour." Megumi and his father exchange knowing looks and you place your hand on your hip. "What?"

"Don't worry baby," Toji assures you. "It's okay to be in denial."

"We've timed it before. The last time we all went out to dinner as a family, you took two and a half hours to get dressed," Megumi adds.

"That's only because I had to shower and pick out an outfit then do my hair and makeup," you defend.

"Isn't that a little overkill? It takes me half that time to shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, and get some homework done."

"Whatever. Your sister would understand," you sigh.

"Unfortunately, she may be worse than you."

"Women," Toji tsks. You slap his bicep and he pretends to flinch, smirking down at you playfully. "Ouch."

"Alright, well, I'm ready now. I don't wanna be late," the sixteen year old says, turning back to reach for the door handle.

"Ah ah ah, wait!" you stop him. "You're not going anywhere without me getting a good look at you. Turn around, I wanna see how the uniform fits."

Megumi lowers his head and complies, turning back around stiffly for you to admire him. You press your hand to your lips to conceal your smile, eyes gleaming with pride as you look over the sharp navy jacket and pants he adorns.

"Awwww," you coo. "It fits perfectly! How does it feel?"

"Pretty good," Megumi nods, moving his arm around slightly to show his mobility in the fabric. "It's comfortable too. It shouldn't be a problem during missions."

"I still can't believe how quickly time has gone by," you muse. "You're already going into your first year at Jujutsu High! Are you excited?"

"You better be," Toji grunts. "Your uncle Gojo hasn't gotten off my ass about your enrollment for years. At least now, he'll finally shut up."

"I still don't understand why I have to have him as a teacher. He's such a moron, I doubt he'll teach us anything useful," Megumi mumbles.

"Moron or not, he's the strongest sorcerer of the modern age and he's helped out so much. I'm sure he'll be able to give you a good experience," you say positively.

"We talkin' about the same Gojo here? The one who trashed my house playing tag with Megumi and the dogs in the living room?" Toji points out and his son grits his teeth at the memory.

"Oh come on, Satoru was like twenty one back then. I can only imagine the crazy shit you've with the kids when you were raising them," you tease.

"You don't even want to know," Megumi exhales.

"Please, you came out just fine, didn’t ya?” Toji says, reaching out his hand to ruffle at Megumi's spiky hair. The teen recoils, craning his head away and shielding himself with his arm.

"Quit it. I'm not five anymore."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're all grown up now, I know. Gonna be a first-grade sorcerer before I can even blink an eye."

"Who said that I would be first grade? I'm only a first year."

"Yeah, and look at who your pops is," Toji grins. "Plus, you got an advantage that I never had. You'll do just fine."

Megumi hums indifferently, doubting himself momentarily but accepting the words nonetheless. "Alright, are we ready?"

"No, not yet!" you pull out your phone quickly and open the camera. "I need to get pictures."

The blue-eyed boy slumps. "(Y/n), I gotta go."

"I know, I know, just a few," you promise, holding your camera up to capture his awkward figure in the frame. "Okay, smile."

Megumi doesn't, and of course you don't actually expect him to. Instead, he calmly stares at the camera with his arms at his sides, unsure of what to do with themselves. Toji moves to stand behind you, leaning down to take a peak at the million pictures you're snapping.

"Toji, go stand with him so I can get one with the both of you."

The two groan simultaneously. "Doll, can we just focus on gettin' the kid to school?"

"It's fine. His stuff is already moved into his dorm. We have time."

"But-"

"Shut up and go stand with your son, now," you glare firmly up at the green-eyed man and he huffs.

"Yes, ma'am."

Toji raises a hand to his hip and tilts his head boredly as he stands beside Megumi, the two of them sharing the exact same blank stare as they look into the camera. You squeal happily. "You two are so cuteee!"

"We done, now?"

"No, I wanna get one more with Megs, and then I'm good." The boys give you a look, but you wave them off. "I mean it! Gosh, here Toji. Take our picture."

Toji obliges, grabbing your phone from your hand as you rush over to the tall boy. His expression melts into serenity as you place your hands on his shoulders and lean your head against his arm, smiling widely at the camera as a hint of a smile touches Megumi's lips.

Toji's heart warms at the sight, watching the way his son grows comfortable in your presence. The picture of the two of you looks so natural t to him like you are meant to be a part of his family, which he knows you are.

He snaps the photo and nods. "Got it."

You exhale, turning to face Megumi. You brush your hands over his shoulders to straighten his jacket, ridding it of any lint and wrinkles. "Okay, Megumi, please remember to be safe."

"I know. I will," he nods.

"And don't be too reckless when it comes to training."

"I won't."

"And try to make friends. I know how easy it is for you to push others away."

"I'll try."

You press your lips together with a final sigh, looking over Megumi's face warmly. You wrap your arms safely around him into a hug, your emotions getting the best of you. You have spent the past year caring for Megumi like your own, and watching him head off to achieve his goals makes your heart swell with joy and fear all the same.

"Text me or your father or Tsumiki if you need anything. Anything at all," you tell him. He returns your hug gently.

"Okay," he chuckles lightly and you pull away. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"...I know you will..." you pout. "Okay, I'll let you go. Good luck. I hope you have an amazing first day. I'll see you at the end of the week, yeah?"

"Mhm. I'll call you to let you know how the day went later."

"Please do."

Toji hands you back your phone and walks toward the door with Megumi. "Let's get a move on," he says. He leans over quickly to peck your lips farewell. "I'll be back in a few."

"Don't speed, Toji."

"Speeding gets you places quicker," he winks and you suck your teeth disapprovingly. Megumi opens the door, his dad gripping the frame.

"Bye, boys. Stay out of trouble," you wave, eyes glassy as you watch Megumi walk out.

"See ya, doll."

"Bye, mum."

The three of you freeze the second the words hit the air, everyone stilling in their tracks.

You feel your heart burst as overwhelming happiness consumes you. Megumi keeps his face forward, hiding his reddening cheeks as he processes what he has just said. Toji stares at the back of his son's head, eyes wide, before he turns to look at you to find your shocked, giddy face.

You don't have any time to reply when Megumi clears his throat suddenly, sweat dotting his forehead, and he walks rigidly out of the house and swiftly down the hall without looking back.

Toji stays behind, keeping an eye on you when you look up at him, stunned. "Did he just...?" you murmur.

"Yep."

Your eyes immediately well with tears and your lips wobble, your hands flying over your mouth. "He sees me as his mom?" you whisper.

Toji chuckles, ducking down to you with his hand still gripping the door. "Of course he does. He's always adored you. Him and Tsumiki."

"I'm gonna cry."

The assassin chuckles softly, pressing his thumb to the corner of your eye gently. "You're already cryin.'"

"Shut up," you sniff. "God, I love those kids so much. I just wanna give him all the hugs in the world."

"And you'll be able to. There isn't a better woman on this planet to be there for the kids," he kisses your cheek. "That's why I plan t'marry you someday."

"Fuck you, Toj. You're gonna make me cry even more."

"Sorry, baby. Can't help talkin' about it," he leans back to the doorway. "Let me get the kid squared away and make sure he's not dyin' of embarrassment, then I'll be back to talk to ya about makin' this official."

"You're being for real?"

"Of course I am."

You lower your hands and beam. "Tell Megumi I love him and get back here soon."

"I will," he hums. "But I thought you said no speeding?"

"Just- make sure the two of you at least get to the school in one peace."

He smirks. "Will do, doll."

[lost-romantique]

Imagine being Stolas...

You're chilling on your living room couch drinking your favorite brand of alcohol, waiting for the commercial to finish so you can watch your favorite rom-com.

All of a sudden, the channel switches to a live broadcast of your ex-situationship that you still can't get over, despite how much of an ass he was last time you saw him.

"Oh my Lucifer! What are they doing!?"

You rush in anyway to stop whatever the fuck is going on because OBVIOUSLY you can't just sit there and do nothing!?

You don't think, you're an autopilot, but you have one thought on your mind. You need to save him! You love him! It doesn't matter how much he hurt you, he also saved you in so many ways, and you still love him! FOR FUCKS SAKES! YOU WOULD DIE FOR THIS MAN!

And all of a sudden, you’re on a suicide mission...

You will take the fall for whatever his charges may be because you love him, and it's better to die than live in a world without him in it.

You go in that courtroom knowing that you are going to die that day. You expect it.

Of course, you have some reservations doing this, some regrets...

The man you're sacrificing yourself for will probably never return your feelings, but what can you do?

You love him so much, and can't imagine a world without him.

If one of you has to go, it's better you than him.

You're bound by chains and the moment of your impending death approaches...

The moment he's freed, he rushes right to you, clutching at you, desperately begging you not to do what you're about to do.

He fights his captors tooth and nail, having to be dragged out in chains, and he doesn't stop screaming your name.

You feel a flood of emotions, happiness, sadness, love, anger, desperation, longing... so you give him one last look.

It's here, you're impending death and as you approach the device that's about to seal your fate, you're at peace with your decision...

Only...

You didn't die... You can't die...

You're royalty after all...

Your life holds actual worth...

Instead, they strip you out of house and home. Taking away everything of value as you're banished from the life you've led till now.

The only thing you could think about as you're stripped of everything is your daughter.

They drag you out of court, and throw you to the gallows and the first person you see is the man that you did all this for...

And the first thing he does is grab your hand and offer you a place to stay...

People are throwing things at you, makes sense, you did this to yourself after all... but he keeps you close, wrapping his arm around your waist as he leads you back to his place.

He takes you by the hand, and for the first time ever you see his tiny dingy one-bedroom apartment that's a lot smaller than you thought it would be.

As you look at the unfamiliar surroundings of this small home, you're greeted by the sight of the man you did all this for and his daughter, hugging...

And it fucking destroys you, as the gravity of the situation finally dawns...

You have just lost everything for a man you think doesn't give a shit about you.

You were supposed to die...

Why aren't you dead?

Why do you have to live with the consequences of your own actions?

Things are a blur...

Fuzzy...

You can't think properly, but you find yourself in his bathtub as he helps you bathe...

He's being unusually kind and soothing, and doesn't try to make conversation.

He says reassuring words to you, but it doesn't register.

None of this feels real...

As you drearily walk to his couch you feel both exhausted and defeated, he tucks you in and thanks you for saving him.

"Always."

You're angry at him, justifiably so, and you're having the worse day of your fucking life, but you'd save him again and again.

Always...

[foldingfittedsheets]

I am a little creature largely made up of anxieties. There have been times in my life when it was worse. It’s currently significantly better. This story takes place at a time when it was pretty bad.

Food was a prison for me. I moved out early with very little idea of how to feed or care for myself. Every meal was a question mark. For three years I had Brendan doing most of the cooking but when things ended between us I moved in with some other friends. I suddenly had no way to feed myself again.

I was working at the sex shop and living with all my coworkers; a premise that would make sitcom writers weep. In that house, at the age of 24, I learned how to fry an egg. It was the only thing I knew how to do but by god, I mastered egg frying. I was so proud. I could now have one stress free meal a day of an egg on toast.

The problem was my roommates. Living with three other people is already tough but messes pile up alarmingly fast, especially in the kitchen. No one sees the whole mess as their responsibility but the one person who’s responsibility it absolutely wasn’t was mine, as I only ever cooked eggs. Glaciers moved quicker than the dishes got done, mountains of greasy unwashed dish ware were fixtures across the counters.

My friends occasionally cooked for me and each time I happily cleaned all the resulting dishes. This seemed fair.

But on my own I only used three implements for my egg. When I finished with my spatula, pan, and plate, I carefully washed them and set them to dry. Every time I came back to the kitchen there was nothing clean.

Crusted on ketchup, dried food, and unsavory residues plagued everything I needed to touch. So I ended up doing all the dishes twice, once to use my three implements and again once I was done.

I started to realize I’d come home, see the filthy pile of dishes, then go to bed without eating because I didn’t have the energy to wash it all. So I finally addressed my roommates about it. Please, I beseeched them, can these three things always be clean. I cannot function like this, and eating is already hard for me.

The answer returned: no. My request was deemed unreasonable and a counteroffer was made to turn off the small space heater I ran in my room in exchange for them magnanimously cleaning up after themselves. I declined, as my bones ached with cold everywhere except my room since no one else wanted the heat on. The impasse continued. I went to be hungry.

I noodled on it. I schemed. I plotted. And on my day off I went to a thrift shop and acquired a nice little pan and spatula. I squirreled them away into my closet. The plan was just to wash and dry it after meals and keep it in my room.

This is not how it went down. On day one of my pan coming home one of my roommates popped into my room to chat, glanced into my three quarters shut closet and immediately said, “What is that?”

I sighed and admitted my plan. All three roommates roundly condemned my plan as extremely passive aggressive. I tried once again to explain that I wasn’t eating, but my secret pan was now a source of contention, a precious resource held back from the collective.

Their discontent reached a fever pitch and I finally declared, “Fine! I will put my pan in the kitchen. On one condition. If I ever find this pan dirty, ever, I will scrape whatever is left on it into your bedding. I swear to god, if I ever come home to it being dirty there will be a reckoning.”

Terms were agreed.

The first month or two went okay. On the third month I awoke to eat breakfast and found my precious pan sullied. I grabbed it and marched upstairs. Betty was named as the culprit. I strode into Betty’s room and stood over her sleeping form like the vengeful ghost of dishes past.

“If you don’t get up and clean this right now I’m going to dump it on your bed.”

Betty groggily regarded me. “Seriously?”

“I have never been more serious.”

“It’s one time, can’t you just clean it yourself?”

“No. You promised.”

With much huffing and grousing Betty arose from bed and tromped downstairs, hastily cleaning my pan while I watched. “Happy?” She demanded.

I was. I made my egg, cheerfully cleaning the pan afterward, leaving it to dry.

[allyricas]

imagine if eddie never got caught up in the upside down stuff in season 4. all the same people are still vecna'd, but chrissy never sought out eddie for drugs at school that day so he is oblivious to everything going on.

maybe he spends spring break playing music with the guys and getting drunk in the back of his van.

or, better yet, he's not even in town at all. he and the other members of corroded coffin are in indy for battle of the bands.

in fact, he literally has no clue what happened until he sees the news about the earthquake and he rushes back to make sure uncle wayne is alright. he's freaking out because when he calls his trailer numerous times, no one answers. he tries calling the plant to look for his uncle and they say he didn't show up to work.

chrissy was too intimidated to seek him out at school even in the privacy of the woods, so instead later that evening she goes to the trailer to look for him. she still gets vecna'd and the trailer becomes a gate.

eddie is never a suspect since he has a verifiable alibi. wayne still finds chrissy's body the next morning and still helps by telling nancy about henry creel. he can tell the teens are about to do something reckless and dangerous so he gets involved and ends up in the upside down instead of eddie.

he turns out to be very handy with various weapons and has a mind for battle strategy thus the party having a much better plan.

they win this time. steve gets really hurt, like nearly dies. wayne is the one who carries him out of the upside down and helps make sure he doesn't bleed out. they form a bond and wayne refuses to leave his side at the lab.

which is why eddie can't get ahold of him.

imagine eddie rushing back into hawkins only to eventually find out chrissy cunningham died on the porch of his trailer and that no one's heard from his uncle in days. he finds out from dustin that his uncle is at the hospital standing vigil over steve harrington's bedside, of all freaking people.

wayne looks pretty roughed up, but he's safe and he's okay. eddie is so relieved to see him with his own eyes that the reality of everything doesn't really sink in.

after everything is settled, the government compensates wayne with a new home. everything could have been a lot worse were he not involved and the earthquake split the trailer in two.

it's nothing fancy, just a three bedroom home on a nice plot of land. it's cosy and there's room for a fire pit in the backyard, maybe even a garden and a chicken coop. wayne manages to make anywhere feel like home, but this place has a certain charm.

once steve is well enough to go home, wayne all but insists that steve comes home with him and eddie. wayne tells steve he has a permanent home with him, that they're family. for once in his life, steve let's himself be loved and taken care of by an adult. wayne is everything his parents could never be.

wayne's heard all about steve's parents, noted that they never showed up to see their son and wayne doesn't want steve rotting alone in his big house. wayne always had a habit of picking up strays after all.

the problem with the situation is, of course, that eddie doesn't like steve. in fact, he absolutely cannot stand him and does not understand why his uncle is suddenly so close with him.

he steadfastly believes in his munson doctrine and has no plans to reevaluate. steve is a douchebag jock. in his mind, there's no way he has actually changed into this funny, dorky man who hangs out with his uncle for fun and drives around the younger teens just because he likes them.

he can't actually be best friends with band nerd robin buckley or close to his ex and her boyfriend. he can't be the man who put his body in front of someone else's. he can't be the man who smiles softly at eddie while he makes his snarky comments and refuses to budge and inch on his dislike.

steve harrington who helps his uncle plant a garden and build his chicken coop. who cooks and bakes far better than some rich kid should be able to. who asks about his band and hellfire and his books. who is far funnier than he has any right to be.

so, eddie is all snarky comments and rolled eyes every time he comes home to wayne and steve watching a game together. he is so jealous and can't say anything since wayne adores the guy...and since steve almost died.

he pretends that all the things he's learning about him must be a trick or a lie. steve can't be this person who fits so seamlessly into his life. even the other members of his band warm up to him

eddie will not budge. nope. never.

wayne knows his nephew. knows that eddie would like steve if he just gave him a chance. watches the way his nephew watches steve and waits for the day the eddie realizes what he thinks is loathing is a lot closer to something else. he loves the boy, but knows what a stubborn ass he can be.

steve likes eddie immediately and thinks he's adorable. he thinks eddie is cute when he's annoyed, enjoys the way he huffs and rolls his eyes. he is content to wait for eddie to catch up. he and wayne gossip over coffee and the subject has come up a time or two (or many) and wayne insists that eddie will figure it out eventually.

imagine a world where eddie never gets involved with the upside down but wayne does. even in this world he and steve are inevitable. wayne sees it the minute he watches them interact the first time in the hospital. he has a feeling they'd have found their way to each other somehow. he knows steve was meant to be apart of their family.

[misstycloud]

[Yandere.Rich man x ballerina reader]

(I don’t actually know much about ballet so forgive me if things are incorrect!)

—————

Rich. Yandere who was pestered by his friend and his wife to join them at the opera house and enjoy a performance. The couple had asked him numerous times before but he’d always declined. He was a workaholic and didn’t have any other commitments, so there was no need to break his routine. Although he would never admit it to anyone- he barely does to himself- he often find himself imagining a different life; one where he had a wife to welcome him home every evening. Perhaps a few children too. There was no sound besides himself and the staff in his home, it would be so very nice to hear the noise of running feet and happy chatter echo through the empty halls.

Rich. Yandere who is lonely above all else. His family is dead and he has next to no friends- the only one he has is married and devote all his time to keep him company. He knows that he doesn’t have the best track-record of being the kindest person in the world, and he might not be the friendliest or the most out-going, still, doesn’t he deserve some love too?

Rich. Yandere who eventually give into his friends demand and goes with them to the opera. As they took their seats- the expensive and best ones, of course- his friends wife babble on about her favourite dancer. They were regulars there and had seen many performances. He simply sighed and leaned back into his seat, waiting for the show to begin. He could only hope that it’ll be somewhat enjoyable since he doesn’t like wasting his time.

Rich. Yandere who was prepared for it to be a dreadful 3 hours, rubbing his eyes and suffering from lack of blood-flow in his legs. Oh how wrong he was. Instantly his gaze zoomed into you as soon as you stepped forward from behind the curtain. You were so beautiful and you moved your body gracefully to the music. It was magical. While he knew close to nothing about ballet, he knew that the point of it were for the women to look like they’re floating, and it’s exactly what you were doing.

Rich. Yandere who is instantly enamoured with you. As someone who’s never felt love this was all a brand new experience for him. He asked his friend and his wife if they knew who you were, since they frequent the opera so much. And turns out the wife did know who you were; you were her favourite after all. Rich. Yandere was never close with her or particularly liked her even, but he had to give it to her: she has excellent taste in performers.

Rich. Yandere who starts looking up information regarding you. It’s be your name, age, background, family, where you went to school and where you live. Everything. He also begins donating a lot of money to the opera house. In a short amount of time he’s become their nr.1 funder. The managers and owners are ecstatic at the news! They ask why he’s so generous and he simply answers that he loves culture and thinks it’s important it doesn’t disappear. Then, they wonder if there is anything they can do for him return, to which he smiles in response.

“Well, I do suppose there is one dancer I would be delighted to meet in person.”

Rich. Yandere who you feel uncomfortable around. He is so strange. You were just a normal ballerina, a dancer, no better or worse than anyone before your time. That’s why you can’t fathom the interest this wealthy man has taken in you. You two came form completely different worlds! But what can you do when your bosses not-so-gently urge you to see this man alone? You dont have any other skills and can’t apply to another job if you get fired.

Rich. Yandere who is determined to make you fall for him the way he has fallen for you. He’ll take care of you, love you and protect you. You don’t have to worry about a thing. He will do anything for his love.

“Don’t be scared, just keep on dancing, my little dancer.”

[chilumi-shipper]

A prompt came into mind.. up to you if you're interested.

So, character and reader got married but character cheated because he said he doesn't love the reader anymore. They're technically done, but haven't finished doing the divorce files (because it's expensive and takes a long long time). But.. character got into an accident.. which made him forget everything that happened recently, and only remember the days he loved the reader. Reader's conflicted, the mistress that character has doesn't know what to do either. Character was confused on why he would marry anyone else when he has the reader fo begin with.

I think this fits your styles.

Btw, I LOVE ALL YOUR STORIES! I RE-READ THEM EVERYDAY-

Someone Better

Childe x Fem!Reader

Summary: Childe was a wild spirit, so when he got bored of your relationship, he sought the excitement of another woman. You were heartbroken, ultimately asking for a divorce. But just as your connection was almost severed, he got into an accident, losing every memory of his infidelity and returning to the man that made you fall in love him.

Tags: Cheating, Amnesia, Pining, Angst/No Comfort

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You were staring at the tremendous amount of divorce paperwork sitting on the desk of your hotel room.

It was very complicated, five years of marriage with joined insurance, property, bank accounts, and now you have to meticulously separate all your joined assets, all while constantly on the verge of a breakdown.

Not to mention you had no family to stay with in Snezhnaya. There's absolutely no one you could talk to about everything, you've left your homeland thinking your future in the cold nation with the love of your life would be nothing less that fantasy.

As you rest your head on the desk and closed your eyes tightly to ease the headache, your ears perk up as loud knocks hit your door.

With a groan, you got up and opened it to reveal your two of Childe's older siblings.

"He's looking for you." The older sister said, Alevtina, her seriousness evident, looking at you somewhat panicked.

"I know, big si-" I paused for a moment, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples. "I'm working on the assets, I'll send it as soon as possible."

"No." The chilly tone of the older brother, Alexei, sent shivers down your spine. "You need to come with us."

...

"Big sister Y/N is here?" You hear Teucer's innocent voice as you enter their home. The younger children laid their eyes on you, seemingly eager to come closer, but perhaps they've been told that now would not be the time.

"Honey... Thank you for coming..." Their mother embraced you warmly, still accepting you with motherly affection. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry..."

"Mama, has he calmed down?" Alexei asked from behind you.

Your mother-in-law parts from you slightly, looking at you tenderly. "She will definitely help."

You put your confusion and questions aside, seeing the somewhat tense air within the house.

"Stop staring." You weren't looking at him, but you felt his eyes watching you set down a tray of soup and medicine on his bedside table.

Childe lets out a chuckle. "Sorry, love, I can't help it..." His eyes never faltered, containing a look of admiration that you've been unfamiliar with for so long.

"After the avalanche, I got a pretty bad head injury. When I woke up, you were the first thing on my mind. And when Mama said you weren't here with me, I freaked out."

You sat down on a chair next to his bed, your eyes observing the bandages wrapped around his head. "What did the doctor say about your injury?"

"I'm gonna get some very bad headaches, and I also got a bit of amnesia, I think." Childe looks as if he's in thought. "Do I seem like I forgot something?"

"Maybe some things..."

"But I love you just the same! So I bet what I forgot wasn't even that important!"

...How cruel.

Having to take care of the man that broke you apart, even worse, a version of him that you loved too much to despise.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

It was painful, staying with him.

Childe would keep you close, call you his different pet names, cuddle up to you, all while you were under the pitiful gaze of his family that knew of his infidelity.

On the other hand, he's been feeling the cold responses his advances have been receiving. But to him, he thinks he can solve it by smothering you in more of his love.

He is pretty observant, he's put it two in two together that he may be missing a memory in which he had done something wrong. He just didn't know how much it had hurt.

Though, not only from you, Childe had also felt that his younger siblings seem distant as well, no longer asking him to play snow games outside, or looking up to him as some sort of hero.

One early morning, when he walks up to the kitchen to see you cooking for the whole family, a smile formed on his face.

He steps closer, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist. "Hmmm... Morning, honey..." He basks in the feeling of you.

You remain quiet, letting him do as he pleases. The ginger frowns, however, feeling unsatisfied by your lack of reaction.

"Babyyyy... Loveee meee backkkk..." He whines, nuzzling his face on your neck.

"Ajax, come on..." You stifled a laugh, moving slightly away as his action tickled you. He hears the slight giggle of your words, smiling against your skin.

You compose yourself, pushing him away from you. "Stop." He lets you push him away, and you feel him freeze slightly at the harshness of your tone.

His blue eyes looked at you worried. "...Hey," He starts. "I'm sorry, darling, did you not like that?"

With a sigh, you looked down. "When the others wake up, tell them I already made breakfast. I have somewhere to be."

You walk pass him, but you did not miss the hurt tone of the faint call of your name.

...

You come back to his family's home after doing some more paperwork for the divorce that your husband doesn't even remember, feeling your head pounding as you ready yourself to face him again.

What you don't expect to see this late at night is Childe sitting on the porch with a lantern next to him, his head hung low as if he's thinking deeply.

"Childe?"

He looks up, but he frowns at you. "Ajax, darling..." He reminds you.

Standing up, he pulls you into his warm embrace. "I love you... I missed you..."

His words take you aback, as you reluctantly wrap your arms around him.

"I've been thinking about this morning, about you. You hate me."

"I know I must've done something... you can tell me." He kneels in front of you, staring at your eyes while his sparkle with the light of the lantern. "And even if I don't remember, I'll make it right..."

As you look down at him, you see the fiery passion of love that burned in his eyes as he knelt down to ask you to marry him so long ago.

It scares you...

You might not be able to control yourself...

"It's just hard to take care of you sometimes." You smile ever so slightly, yet his frown only deepens as tears start to escape your eyes.

He stands, his hand finds its way to your cheek. "Love..." His eyes held such conviction that you've not seen for years. "I'm so sorry..."

You close your eyes to hold in the tears, shaking your head and swaying his hand away. "...You're not."

Despite the tears, you tug at his arm. "Come on, let's head inside."

He's filled with questions, but seeing your sad face makes him set all those aside and focus on you for now.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"Teucer, hey, little man." Childe calls for his little brother.

The little boy looks at him wide eyed. "I don't want to talk to you." He crossed his little arms, turning around to leave with a displeased look.

"What...? Oh come on..." The harbinger pouted, getting down on his little brother's level. "What did I do wrong...? All our siblings are acting so mean to me..." He whined, frowning as he tries to persuade the little ginger.

"But you were also very very mean!" Teucer refused to look at his older brother, the one he used to look up to the most. "We don't like you anymore!"

Childe's playful facade faded as his expression contorted to a confused one. "Hey, what do you mean...?"

"You're so mean to Y/N, you hurt her! She doesn't deserve tha-"

"Teucer!" Just as his brother erupted to a crying mess, screaming at him with all his little heart, their mother walked into the room, grabbing the little boy.

"Don't talk like that to your elders!"

"But it's true, Mama!"

"That doesn't matter, say sorry to-"

"What does he mean, Mama? Why did I do?" Childe looked at his mother expectantly, his voice starting to shake as he saw the fit of rage Teucer had because of him. "W-What did I do to Y/N?"

HIs mother shook her head, trying to ease her expression with a smile. "Nothing..."

"It's not nothing, Mama!" He raises his voice by accident due to his frustration. "I see it, the way she looks at me, it's different. The way you all look at me, like you have a monster inside your house."

Teucer forced his way out of his mother's hold, running to his older siblings room all teary eyed. Childe felt bad, but he desperately needed answers from his mother.

"Mama, please, I need to know why Y/N doesn't... love me anymore..." It hurts him to say, but based on the way you're acting, he could only make the assumption that your feelings have wavered.

"Oh, Ajax... it's not like that..."

The ginger then felt a sharp pain in his head, making him fall down onto the couch. He groaned as he clutched his head.

"Hey... where are you heading off to so late at night?" He hears your soft voice in a static audio playing in his head.

"Out." He then hears himself replying coldly.

"Ohh, when will you-"

He's out the door before you could even finish your question.

"Ajax, honey!' His mother's voice was a hazy blur as he keeps his eyes closed to envision what he's hearing in his head.

He tries to shake the feeling away, but his mind is flooded by fragmented memories.

"You've been going out a lot more recently." Your concerned voice entered his ears.

"I've been busy."

"Busy where?"

He then hears shatters of glass and yells as you sob while trying to talk to him.

He pictures your face, your crying, begging face, asking for some sort of salvation from his cold and merciless actions.

"T-There's someone else?"

"Someone better."

"H-How could y-you do this?"

"When I look at you now... I feel... nothing."

Childe opened his eyes, not realizing that tears had started to flow to his cheeks. "Mama..."

"Y-Yes, dear?"

"I hurt her..." He was in a state of disbelief. "I-I... Why...?"

His tears fell faster, looking at his mother for answers. "W-Why, Mama? Why was I so stupid? Why did I choose to lose her?"

"I don't know, dear, but that's simply what happened, and you could never make her forget that, even if you forgot."

His breathing started to accelerate, feeling like he wanted to punch himself. As his head started spinning, his vision turns black.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You took a deep breath as you walked into the house, feeling everyone's eyes on you as you entered.

"Honey..." Your ex mother-in-law embraces you once again, holding you tight. "I'm so sorry... I didn't want to make it difficult for you..."

"N-No, no..." You returned her hug, sniffling as you start to tear up. "I readied myself for this, I'm just here to drop off the final papers..."

"Could you talk to him?" Alevtina suddenly asked, looking at you hesitantly. "I know he's been a jerk... but he won't eat unless he talks to you."

You parted from their mother, feeling the pressure of their request.

"It's okay to curse him, or to scream, or rough him up, I'll even help you." Alexei placed his hand on your shoulder to comfort you.

You nodded, sighing as they guided you to his room. And as you entered with a heavy feeling in your chest, he immediately sat up, alerted by your presence. You stare at each other for a bit before you muttered a word.

"Hi." You greeted him shortly.

"Hey..." His voice was soft, and his eyes followed you attentively.

"I'm sorry to intrude, I'll make this quick." You breathe deeply, trying to relax yourself. "I finished the papers, split the assets, got the lawyers."

"I talked to her, y-your woman..." You looked down, fidgeting with your hands. Childe seemed unfazed by it, though his gaze seem to falter at the mention of 'his woman'.

"She... umm... wasn't really interested anymore after the accident..." You breathe heavily, feeling small under his gaze. "But... your family's here to take care of you..."

Clearing your throat, you continued. "I do have one request, if I could... I would like a safe boat ride back home." You stepped closer, intending to hand him the envelope that contained all the paperwork to finalize your divorce.

"Take it all." You stopped in your tracks as he spoke.

"The house, the mora, the boat. It's all yours..." He lays back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "Would you also do me a favor?"

You looked at him, encouraging him to speak.

"Carve my heart out and take it with you."

"...Can we be serious for a second?" You sighed.

"I would like to stay with you. I think that would be a good way to do it without constantly wanting to punch myself." You noticed that his eyes started to flood with tears.

"Ajax... I'm sorry this happened to you..."

"No, Y/N, I'm sorry... I'm sorry for everything." He sat up again, tears falling from his eyes as he looks up at you with genuine eyes. "I don't know why I did that. And I... I regret it so much..." He reached for your hand, and you let him hold onto you for strength.

"Every tear I had in me I already cried when you left me for her." You smiled bitterly, though you remained soft, making him even more guilty as you try to stay strong. "But I appreciate the apology..."

You pull your hand away from him slowly, feeling that he was reluctant to let go.

"I-I still love you..."

You gave him a final smile. "You'll love someone better than me... Childe..." You back away, leaving him alone in his room still yearning for the days where his memory only consisted of loving you.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Hiiii again after quite a while! I think I've been noticing that my recent fics have been angst, I guess I just feel like hurting you guys this season of giving (I give pain :D)

Anywayy, anon, I think at some point I went my own direction and didn't fully stick to your request (I'm sorryyy TvT) but I hope you like it anyway!