#she caused every problem in my life!!! she thinks she does no wrong!!!!
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I fucking hate my mother so much
#skelly rambles#like!!!#she caused every problem in my life!!! she thinks she does no wrong!!!!#sheâs such an asshole and every time I get slightly upset she yells at me and tells me to be happy!!!#she wonât let me be on the phone!!! she hates all my friends and never believes me about anything!!!#she lied to me all the time and calls me a bitch under her breath thinking I canât hear!!!!#I want to run away but it would kill my father!!! I cant loose him goddammit!!!!#heâs the only good person in this house!!!!#my mom canât even be called a mom all she does is fucking sit around all day and yell and complain at me#and she thinks this has no effect on my mental health????#I havenât had a mother for that past six years you asshole why wont it go through your fucking head!!!!!! :D
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spending my whole life trying and trying and trying and trying to be good enough for people who don't give a fuck about me
#im so tired living seems pointless why am i doing this what is the reason#the firm i work at is going thru a merger so it's releasing all the interns except 2#i went into her office and said that id like to stay here bc my dad said so bc i got in cause he was friends with the head#and she said ill think about it based on performance ive not decided yet#and this other guy he went in to tell her that cool he'll leave and she told him that she was hoping that he'd stay#he literally does nothing but play games on his phone he doesn't work at all#i have no idea what he has that i don't#but just. im stuck like this forever right never ever good enough for people i like or care about#not for parents they have a diff fav child not for ex gf not for bestie who has a boyfriend much better at loving her than me#not for that one guy who rejected me in interview bc i don't read the newspaper and didn't know the date of the finance act#im so fucking sick of this i never even wanted to this fuckinh course and obviously even my best isn't enough and ofc im not good enough#for anyone in this field and ill just struggle and struggle and struggle all my life just to earn some fucking money so i can live away#from my sociopathic parents#and the worst part is that i can't stop feeling like maybe it IS me yk maybe i am the problem maybe im not trying hard enough#but how else am i supposed to handle this i prioritize my studies and lose all my friends i prioritise my friends and fail in d#exams#and the trauma keeps on coming every fucking day bc sociopathic parents but i jsut push it down and say not rn i will cry at night anx then#never cry#i wish someone would just tell me that idk you're wrong you're not made for this you really do have some mental illness and you're really#trying your best and do something that's easy and that you love doing#oh god this is now a ventpost#mes
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Nearly every time I've rewatched Infinity Train Book 3 since I first saw it in February, I saw more parallels and narrative echos, and infodumping my friends about them isn't enough anymore
I figured I should do a post about this one because I don't think I've seen a post about that specific thing yet, and I love this show's writing, and. idk. I just need to praise it I guess
So, the most obvious part first:
Grace became everything she hated about her parents
When Grace mentions her mother in the Debutante Ball Car, it's made pretty clear she's trying to distance herself from her mother as much as possible, and at this point, we realise retrospectively that Grace's room in the Mall Car in episode one was full of sports clothes - it seems she tries to avoid things reminding her of her life before the train. And of her mother. And yet-
She tries to control everyone and everything around her, and makes people do what she doesn't want to do
And she decides what's cool and what isn't
She makes people kneel in her presence, like her mother towers over her in her mind's eye
Obviously she constantly lies to get what she wants, and her dad does that in her tape
When her younger self looks up, she looks right through adult Grace, and it's actually her parents she's looking at! Her younger self is metaphorically seeing her parents where her adult self is standing!! I still can't get over this shot
Also I feel the need to mention her mother has the same voice actor as her in her tape and even if it might be to cut corners in the budget, that feels significant (and to be fair, sometimes you can cut corners while making meaningful choices at the same time)
Now you might think I'd have nothing to say about Simon on that matter, since we don't see any flashback of his life before the Train, and we know next to nothing about his parents. But I think it's very telling that the only actual backstory we get for him is his backstory with The Cat.
Because-
Simon became everything he hated about The Cat
Ok I never see anyone mentioning this, but hear me out
First, we have no idea if Simon knew The Cat was routinely invading people's privacy through their memory tapes, but he sure has no issue doing the exact same thing
But that doesn't stop there. He also collects things obsessively
And makes kids collect things for him as well, by the way
He thinks he's above others, but he immediately switches to victim mode when it comes back to bite him
HE. ABANDONS. A CHILD. WHO WAS UNDER HIS CARE!!
And. Uh. They both dig their heels instead of trying to change, too
Don't get me wrong, on some level I would have liked to know what Simon's parents were like too. I would have liked that a lot. But there's a good chance it wouldn't change anything, because everything we need to know about his background to understand why he's Like That⢠is already in the show
But yeah, Grace and Simon both pretend they found freedom on the Train, and both distance themselves from parental figures who are at the source of their trauma, claiming they're different and better than them - and yet they are both subconsciously repeating patterns that caused at least part of their problems and/or trauma in the first place
And since they decided that making numbers go up was good, as long as they stick to that idea, they are bound to never escape from that self-perpetuating loop of harm and trauma
And I love it
And I hate it
#infinity train#grace monroe#simon laurent#samantha infinity train#this has been in my drafts since May
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Keep hearing people say maribug keep asking adricat if he's ok and he keep saying he's ok instead of telling her his problem but I don't remember it happened more than once in s4 in Rockettear but even then the circumstances of that episode did warrant the "nothing" answer he gave her unless he want to tell her that "nino tell me you let nino and alya know each other identity" which will reveal adricat identity. So when else did she ask? about the thing in hack-san, I think another credit goes to alya since she's the one who bring the topic to maribug who seems to be blissfully unaware that her leaving without telling adeicat that she send subtitute would be a problem.
I didn't get into this side of things in my other post because it was long and I wanted to focus on why Chat Noir's behavior was so frustrating, but this ask brings up the other big reason why the season four conflict was such a frustrating and terribly written plot line. Specifically, the part of your ask where you point out that Maribug seems blissfully unaware that her actions are having a negative impact on Chat Noir until someone points it out to her.
Yes, she is presented as blissfully unaware of this and every other interpersonal conflict we're given in season four. Your ask treats this as a failing on Maribug's part as if she should have obviously realized that she was in the wrong, but that's the whole problem. Telling kids - telling anyone really - that they should just magically know what others need is a frankly terrible life lesson as that's just not how the world works. You cannot just assume that everyone will have the same view of the world as you do and instantly pick up on the same issues as you do. That is the path to easily avoidable frustration and conflict. It also teaches people to assume that their view of the world is inherently correct when that is rarely the case. We often don't know the whole story and the other person's point of view may end up being equally or even more valid. This issue is extremely present in season four as Marinette has legitimate reasons to behave the way she does, which I'll get into in a bit.
If Marinette were written as feeling guilty about how she was treating Chat Noir, then this would be a different story. She'd be way more in the wrong and would shoulder a much greater portion of the blame. But as is? She has no idea that she's doing anything wrong. And until someone takes the time to tell her that her actions are causing harm, she is going to continue causing harm because she has no idea that she's causing harm.
In fact, I'd argue that the Alya thing in Hack San is a point in Maribug's favor. Throughout the episode, we see Marinette sending Alya messages on ways to be a good partner to Chat Noir, proving that she does in fact care about him. And then, as soon as Alya says, "You need to talk to Chat Noir," what does Maribug do?
She goes and talks to Chat Noir, giving him a pretty good apology for the problem she now knows she caused. Because, shockingly, Maribug doesn't actually want to hurt her partner. She also clearly cares about his feelings, making me want to take the season four conflict and tear it into itty bitty pieces because what is the conflict even supposed to be when you write shit like this?
I want to briefly step away from Miraculous and talk about this issue in a broader context via this YouTube short:
This short is from a Vietnamese woman who moved to Germany. Her YouTube channel is about her experiences there, including things like the short above which goes into the differences between what it means to be a dinner guest in Vietnam and what it means to be a dinner guest in Germany. In Vietnam, it's apparently standard for the guests to cook dinner with you where as, in Germany, you're expected to have the meal ready when the guests arrive, making this a situation where it's super easy to come across as rude just by doing what you think is normal.
Society is relatively aware that these types of culture clashes are a thing, but you don't have to be from different cultures to have these types of situations. Every person has their own unique needs and ideas of what "normal" is. The culture they were raised in will affect this, but so will their family, their personal needs, and many other factors. Two people can be raised on the same street and wind up with wildly different world views even though they supposedly share a culture. This is extra true when you add in compounding factors like neurodiversity, which is why it's an exercise in futility to say, "But Maribug should have realized..."
Well, she clearly didn't. And you can't change that she didn't realize whatever you're mad about. All you can do is have someone tell her what she's doing wrong. If she then continues the behavior, go ahead and judge away. But if she immediately corrects it like she did in Hack San? Doesn't that just prove that she truly didn't know that Chat Noir was hurting and would have probably fixed all of his problems if someone just pointed them out to her?
This is only exacerbated by the fact that Marinette's behavior in season four is largely unchanged from her behavior in previous seasons. The only major change is that she revealed her identity to Alya, but as soon as that's pointed out as a problem, she course corrects with an apology. After that, she thinks that everything is okay because why wouldn't she? Chat Noir said it was fine and everything else has been business as usual.
Bringing temp heroes into help as needed? That's been going on since season two. Having these additional members has been vital in multiple battles and there have been plenty of times where Chat Noir took a background role to the temp hero of the day like in Sapotis, Rena Rouge's season two debut. So why would Maribug suddenly think that this dynamic is a problem when it's been working fine for so long? We even had a whole episode about how Chat Noir was still needed in spite of the new heroes back in season three! Or, at least, I think that was Desperada's message? This show is shockingly bad at giving clear lessons.
Keeping guardian knowledge from Chat Noir? That's also been going on since season two and was even treated as a conflict that supposedly got resolved in the episode Syren which was the episode that ended with Master Fu coming to the mansion to talk to Adrien after everything was over.
When I watched that episode, I assumed this meant that Chat Noir was going to be more involved in things like picking the temp heroes. I actually thought this was how we were going to get Queen Bee because I knew she was going to be a thing, but it made no sense for Marinette to pick Chloe for a miraculous. Of course, I was wrong. Nothing changed after Syren. Chat Noir remained nothing more than the comic relief while Ladybug got all the insider info.
To be clear, I think that was a terrible move writing wise, but it doesn't change the fact that this is what they went with. This is the established dynamic. I can't even say that Alya learning Marinette's secret led to something new. She's just taken Marinette's old role while Marinette has taken on Master Fu's old role. This show loves it's status quo and Chat Noir has been at least tolerant of that status quo since Syren, so it's not surprising that Maribug doesn't register that this is a thing that should change and no one bothers to point it out to her even though she has a mentor in Tikki (and Su Han, I guess?) and a confidant in Alya and a whole slew of Kwamis who could also provide insight if they were allowed to do that sort of thing. (Sass and Wayzz were robbed of mentor roles.) Additional blame goes to Plagg because he should absolutely have told Adrien to talk to Ladybug. What is the point of giving these characters mentors who never mentor? It's aggravating in the extreme.
To circle back to the first part of your ask, outside of Hack San and Rocketear, I don't think there are any times when Ladybug invites feedback from Chat Noir unless you want to give credit to the end of Kuro Neko:
Cat Noir:Â (lands next to her)Â I've been a really temperamental kitty, m'lady. I didn't realize how much trouble I'd make for you by giving back my Miraculous. Ladybug:Â (sits closer to him)Â Just because I don't need you all the time doesn't mean that I don't need you at all, Cat Noir. No one could ever replace you.
Which isn't Maribug inviting him to tell her what's up, but she is clearly willing to listen to him and reassure him, further backing up my point about this conflict being some of the worst writing I've ever had to suffer through. If Maribug always fixes the issue as soon as she learns about it, you are not writing a situation where she's clearly in the wrong. You are writing an easily solved communication issue where she gets blamed for something she clearly doesn't realize she's doing wrong and it is so frustrating!!! I feel so bad for her. The next episode is Penalteam, btw, which starts the battle with this gem:
Ladybug: (laughs) Nice scare tactics, but it's not gonna work. Cat Noir and I are the best at soccer! Cat Noir:Â (Whispers to Ladybug)Â I don't know a thing about soccer M'lady. Maybe it's time to call the real team?
And basically just spends the whole episode making Chat Noir seems like a worthless partner while Maribug tries her best to make him - and everyone else - feel special.
Oh, and the episode before Kuro Neko? Well, it's technically Ephemeral, but that got magically overwritten so let's go one further back and we get to Dearest Family, which ends with this:
Cat Noir: (grabs a golden paper crown on the coffee table) Since I'm the king, (wears the crown on his head) would you be my queen, Ladybug? Ladybug: With pleasure, kitty cat! Tradition is tradition!
Oh yes, these two are in such conflict and Maribug does nothing to validate Chat Noir. He's in pain every episode and she's just totally oblivious to it.
If that was what they wrote, then I'd probably agree that we needed more instances of her asking if Chat Noir was okay. But it's not what they wrote. If you look through the list of season four episodes, you'll find that less than half of them deal with the supposed conflict of the season (by my count, only 8 of the 24 episodes before the final actually showcase the conflict and they are not in a logical order in terms of escalation as I tried to demonstrate above). The rest of the episodes flat out ignore it or even straight up work against the conflict like when Ladybug says this to Chat Noir in Guilttrip: "I probably don't tell you this enough, but I couldn't do this without you. And it'd be a lot less fun too."
Seriously, what even is this season? What is the conflict supposed to be? Because it sure as shit isn't Maribug undervaluing Chat Noir, if memory servers, season four sees her validate him more times than any other season. And it isn't her guiltily hiding things from him like so many fanfics claim because we have multiple points of evidence that prove that she's completely oblivious that there even is a conflict. So what conflict are the writers actually trying to write?
What's even more baffling is that none of this logically leads to the loss at the end of the season:
Maribug's new secrets didn't lead to her downfall. The only reason she lost was because of the secret that's always been there - a fact that's never revealed to her - and a freaking evil twin! So why did it matter that Maribug was keeping secrets? This is made even worse by season five maintaining all of the secrets, once again begging the question of what lesson were we trying to teach here???
Chat Noir wasn't needed for the final fight of the season, Maribug only needed the powers of a few of the temp heroes to win, a baffling ending to a season whose focus was Chat Noir feeling unimportant. You could scrap that conflict entirely and the ending would not change. In fact....
Adrien quitting to be nothing more than a good little boy who obeys his father would have actually saved the world from eventually being rewritten. If you think about it, the season four final actually punishes Adrien for being defiant. So does season five as, if Chat Noir had quit, his father would still be alive. I thought this show was supposed to be a romcom, not a tragedy. Why is Adrien being punished for being a hero? Is this supposed to be karma for lying to Ladybug with the whole Catwalker thing?
This shit is why I say I'm a writing salt, character sugar blog. I can't get mad at the characters when they're in such a nonsense story where things never logically tie together. They all deserve so much better.
None of this is meant to imply that ignorance is a blanket excuse for hurting others. Nor is it meant to imply that you have to forgive someone who hurt you just because they didn't mean to. There's a ton of nuance around these topics. But season four acknowledges none of that nuance while creating a situation that desperately needed nuance because there was no clear right and wrong here. Should Maribug work to be more aware of others feelings? Sure, but that journey can only start after she's made aware of her faults and no one ever points them out to her. Does Chat Noir need to work on clearly communicating his needs? Desperately, but no one is teaching him that lesson so he remains a terrible communicator who suffers in silence. What impressively bad writing.
#ml writing critical#ml writing salt#adrien deserves better#marinette deserves better#kuro neko salt#my queendom for some good character arcs#and good story arcs#there's just so much squandered potential here#ml fandom salt#ml fandom critical#Adding those tags because I am sick of people holding Marinette to unrealistic expectations#This was long so I didn't add this part of the rant but:#It's important to remember how much we know as an audience vs what Maribug knows#Adrichat is really good at putting up a front that everything is fine#And Marinette knows nothing about his homelife when he's Chat Noir#Plus the show has made this kids kinda terrible at understanding Adrien's home life
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symptoms and causes | ch. 11
ጠpairing professor gojo x med student reader
ጠsummary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heartâand of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.
ጠwc 13.5 k (enjoy your meal lol)
ጠwarnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, overdosing, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive and abusive behavior, manipulation, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.
ጠauthor's note hey loves!! thank you so much for your patience, i know it's been a while. buckle up, because we're taking another trip inside satoru's mind, so yeahhh. it's gonna be wild, oh and we're continuing right were we left off in the last chapter. this chapter is again in satoru's pov!! i've also updated the trigger warnings, so please take a look before reading (might be spoiling tho). and lastly, credit to the fanart in the cover, if you know the artist, pls let me know!! can't wait to hear what you all think & thanks for sticking with me!! âĄ
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They say before you can love someone else, you have to love yourself first.
And there lies the damn problem.Â
I don't know how.Â
Never have.
Why am I thinking this now?Â
I knew this was right.Â
Right for her.Â
But then why does my heart feel like it's being ripped out by the fucking roots?
Suguru will take care of her. He always does. That's the only thing that keeps me from screaming, keeps me from chasing after her.
I trust him, damn it, but it shouldn't be him.
It should be me holding her. Me, who knows how she likes to be held when the panic claws its way up. Me, holding her until the world feels less sharp, less cruel. Â
Me, who knows that she doesn't want to talk about it. Me, who knows to give her space. She needs space. My strong girl needs space first.Â
I hope he gives her space.
But he wouldn't know any of this. He couldn't comfort her in the ways I instinctively knew how.Â
Me, who knows how to soothe the invisible wounds, the ones even she denies exist. Me, who knows the soft words she needs to hear after it passes.
It shouldn't be him.Â
Sorry.Â
It shouldn't have been him.
Past tense.Â
It all might be past tense now.
And the thought is more than I could bear.
Shattered.Â
Was that the word?
Was there even a word for what I felt in that moment?
How could I ever convey this suffocating agony that's tearing me apart with mere words?
Words are meaningless in the end.
Meaningless when they couldn't be spoken to her, couldn't reach her, couldn't make her understand, couldn't heal the wound I'd carved into her heart.
So, yeah, maybe shattered is the right word.Â
The wrong word.
The sterile air was acid in my lungs. Each ragged breath felt like sandpaper against my throat. I held my breath, a desperate plea for the world to stop spinning, for the clock to rewind, for a chance to undo everything.
But time doesn't care.Â
It marched on, relentless, while I stayed trapped in this hell, drowning in the mess I made.Â
My lungs burned. My vision blurred. I waited until she disappeared. The world seemed to tilt sideways, losing all color and shape, leaving only the sharp, agonizing realization that I'd made her walk away.
I didn't want to breathe anymore.
Not in a world where every breath ached without her.
"Dr. Gojo?" A voice, distant, muffled.Â
Irrelevant.
My gaze flickered to Sukuna. He watched, a predator savoring the kill.Â
His twisted smile fueled rage within me. But there would be no fighting this. No grand defense. Not when her life was the bargaining chip.
So, I lied.Â
Each word a nail in the coffin of the connection I craved more than life itself.
Each word a drop of poison forced down my throat. A self-inflicted wound, a desperate mutilation of the only thing that had ever felt real.
Her eyes, those beautiful eyes I loved so fiercely, wide with confusion and horror. The strangled gasp, the way her body went limp in Geto's arms â a haunting image that would forever be etched on my heart.
Muscles screamed, a silent protest against my own pathetic stillness. But I remained frozen.Â
This was my punishment.Â
I had to watch her leave, had to sear the pain into my very being, an endless penance for the choices I'd made.
The door clicked shut behind them.
That simple sound, final, absolute.
My lungs filled with air, a betrayal. Oxygen I didn't deserve, didn't want.Â
My own body, this treacherous thing kept going, kept me alive against my will, kept me tethered to this cruel reality.
The room swam back into focus, the judges' accusing faces nothing but a blurry backdrop. The sounds of their inquest washed over me like meaningless noise.
"Dr. Gojo? Can we continue?"
I nodded.
They pressed on. More questions about the research, her involvement, their accusations of favoritism.
How stupid.
Of course, I favored her.Â
How could I not?Â
She is everything.
Oh, sorry. Forgot. Past tense.
She was everything.
Did I regret it?Â
Did I wish I could go back and treat her with the same damn indifference I afforded everyone else?
Yeah, maybe.
A familiar craving stirred my senses, the desperate need for the numbing escape that would mean failing her even more. My fingers clawed at my forearm, trying to replace the hollowness with physical pain. It wasn't enough.
My responses were rote, mechanical.
Yeah, I favored her.Â
Yeah, I let her into the OR because of it.
Yeah, and she outshone every damn surgeon twice her age.Â
No, she didn't know I'd set it up.Â
No, she never asked for special treatment. She just worked until her eyes were bloodshot, pushing harder than anyone else.
And hell no, she didn't do a single thing wrong.
Except maybe â maybe loving me.Â
After what felt like an eternity, the judges seemed satisfied, or perhaps just exhausted by my robotic replies.Â
They painted me the arrogant professor with a weakness for a young student, who abused his power, who played favorites.
Whatever they wanted to believe, fine.
Didn't even have the energy to care anymore.
Let them drag my name through the mud, tarnish the reputation I'd worked so hard to build.Â
Because the title, the position, the facade of success meant nothing when all I wanted was to rewind time, to undo the damage I'd done to the one person who truly mattered.
I didn't feel anymore.
I was done.
âââ ¡â§Âˇ âââ
I burst out of the courtroom.
I needed escape, not just from this sterile prison of a room, but from my own traitorous flesh.
That itch.
It was a wildfire beneath my skin, a thousand insects gnawing their way to the surface. My fingers twitched, claws desperate to tear, to bleed out the poison of this relentless craving.
My legs moved without conscious thought, pushing me towards my office. Somewhere. Anywhere I would be able to breathe again. The guilt was a serrated blade twisting in my gut, each movement slicing me open anew.
Her terror-stricken eyes seared into my very soul.
The walls of my office closed in, the familiar space suddenly too small, too suffocating.Â
My fist slammed into the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, a meaningless sea of white against the dark wood.
They didn't matter. None of it mattered.
A half-finished coffee mug followed. Porcelain shattered. Dark liquid splashed against the wall.Â
My blood roared in my ears.Â
Across the room, my framed diploma. I ripped it off the wall. Glass smashed. Sharp edges bit into my palm, drawing blood. But it wasn't enough. I hurled the frame against the wall.
Blood, hot and slick, coated my hands, the pain nothing.
In the shattered frame, I caught a glimpse of myself â wild eyes in a sweat-slicked face, a man on the verge of collapse.
It was a stranger.
I was across the room before I even registered the decision.
The drawer.
My fingers ripped it open.Â
There, like a coiled viper, the amber vial gleamed, a venomous promise of oblivion.
Don't â
Don't come at me now.Â
Did you really think I wouldn't keep a backup?
My hand reached, then hesitated.
The world lurched to a sharp halt as a knock pierced the chaos. My breath hitched, the vial a burning brand in my bloodied hand.
The door creaked open.
And there he was. Sukuna.Â
He leaned against the doorframe, that sickening smirk plastered on his face. It was like a lit fuse to a powder keg. The rage that had been gnawing at my insides, tearing me apart, finally found its target.
Before a single rational thought could form, I was on him. Fist to jaw, heard the crack, felt it in my knuckles. He stumbled back, the smirk finally wiping off his face.
I pinned him against the door. Forearm across his throat, crushing his windpipe. His eyes widened, but even then, there was that damn flicker of amusement.
"Well, well," he choked out, "this is a nice welcome back."
"Funny to you?"
He coughed, a harsh laugh scraping out of him. "C'mon, Satoru, relax. I did you a favor," he sputtered. "Your precious little student, she's better off now. You know I'm right."
Every muscle in my body tensed.
He was right.Â
In his twisted way, he was.Â
And that's what made it all so much worse.
My grip on his throat tightened. But there was nothing, no satisfactio, no release in the violence.
Sukuna saw it, the hesitation. His mouth twisted into a smirk again. "See, you get it. Sweet thing doesn't belong in this mess, does she? It's not for her, Satoru. It's for us."
His words scraped like nails on a chalkboard.Â
Yes, she was safer now, untouched by the rot that festered within me. Some desperate, logical part of me clung to that. But how could I hold on to that when my heart was screaming for her closeness?
"Or maybe," Sukuna drawled, pushing the knife deeper, "maybe you wanted to see where this goes. Stain her a bit, make her just a little bit more like you."
My breath hitched. For a split second, the floor vanished beneath me.
"Hit a nerve, did I?"
"Shut the hell up!" I couldn't face it, couldn't face the ugly truth as it would tear me apart. "You twist everything. Play with lives just for your own sick amusement."
This was his game.
Sukuna thrived on chaos, on exploiting pain.Â
He knew my guilt, my fear for her, and wielded it like a scalpel, laying bare the raw nerve of my fragile sanity.
"Perhaps. But ain't I right? You needed to end it, but you lack the guts for it. Waited a bit longer, it'd be a total disaster."
I hesitated, then my grip on him slackened. I stepped back.
"You know I'm right," Sukuna continued. "You know how this would have ended. Suspension. Scandal. She'll be doomed forever for getting involved with her professor for favors. You wouldn't destroy her like that, would you? You're not that cruel."
"I'm not so sure." I ran a hand through my hair. It had taken everything in me to push her away.Â
But I can't deny that an ugly part of me wanted to keep her close. Drag her down with me.Â
See her drown.
"Damn, you hit hard," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Go beat up some students again, not me."
"Stop giving me reasons to punch you."Â Exhausted, I slumped into my desk chair, burying my face in my hands. My head pounded, the infuriating itch worsening with each damn moment. "Was this your plan all along?"
"What?" he scoffed.
I lifted a single eyebrow at him.
"You think that low of me? Honestly, Toru, a bit of credit, please. It was your pathetic indecision that made this entertaining. You basically gift-wrapped this mess and handed it to me."
"Besides," he continued, "let's be honest, you were holding her back. Now maybe she'll have a chance to become someone who might surpass you one day. You wouldn't deny her that, would you? No thanks needed."
He was right, and I hated that more than anything.
Sukuna sank into the chair across from me, a picture of smug satisfaction despite the visible bruise. "Damn, that punch still stings."
I opened my desk drawer and wordlessly tossed him the bottle of opioids. His eyes widened in surprise, before he gave the bottle a knowing shake. "Still on the hydromorphone?"
I didn't answer. The sound alone threatened to shatter what fragile control I had left. The itch was unbearable, each nerve ending screaming for relief.
Sukuna observed me, a predator watching its prey struggle. "Withdrawal never suited you," he said, popping a pill. "You always get soâ" he paused, savoring the word, "âtense."
"Yeah, real supportive of you."
"Actually, I'm being incredibly supportive. I'm leaving for a little research trip overseasâfour months. Ethics committee can't meet without me, soâ" He leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "Gives you time to get your shit together. Isn't that nice of me?"
"Shut the hell up."
"C'mon, I put in a good word for you too. No suspension for now. You can keep teaching, just no surgeries. Yaga really hates my guts, doesn't he? But hey, at least you're not totally screwed."
"You expect a thank you?"
"Relax, Toru, the show's over," he said. "Trust me, they don't want a scandal, let alone lose their star surgeon. When I get back, a slap on the wrist, maybe a semester's suspension, then you're back to the boring old grind."
A bitter laugh escaped me. "Last I checked, you were the one pushing for a scandal."
He rolled his eyes. "Someone had to do it. Knew you'd drag this out forever, playing the tragic hero. Needed a villain to get things moving." He gave a mocking bow. "At your service, my friend."
"Also," he continued, leaning forward in his chair, "the focus is off you now. The committee's sniffing around those implant engineers. Funny, isn't it?"Â
Sukuna paused, savoring the moment. "Honestly, never thought there was anything wrong with your surgeries. You wouldn't make that kind of mistake. Tech malfunction more likely."
Of course.Â
The bastard never doubted the damn research. It had all been a game to him â my career, my sanity, her â just pieces on his chessboard.
It should've made me furious, lash out, pound his face in again â but all I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion, a weariness that seeped into my very soul. I was too tired, too hollowed-out to do anything but swallow the bitter truth.
"That supposed to make me feel better?"Â
"A little," he said, tossing the opioid bottle back. "This, though? That'll do the trick even better."
I caught it, my fingers clenching around the plastic.
He rose, stretching with a theatrical sigh. "Well, time to go. Remember, you owe me big time. You should take one," he gestured towards the pills, "you look like shit."
My grip on the bottle tightened. I looked up at him. "When all of this is done, I never want to see your damn face again."
He laughed. "We both know that's a lie. You and me? We need each other."
"The only thing you need is some damn therapy."
"Ah, Toru," he dismissed me with a smirk, "you'll come crawling back soon enough. We both know how this works."
With that, he was gone. I was left alone in the echoing silence, the pill bottle a burning weight in my hand. The world seemed to sway around me, my eyelids growing heavy.
The will to fight simply wasn't there anymore.
âââ ¡â§Âˇ âââ
Cruel.Â
Cruel how one little pill can undo everything.Â
Cruel how one little pill can silence everything.Â
Cruel how one damn pill can soften the world, make it â bearable, almost.
Unfair.Â
It's truly unfair.
The screaming under my skin, that relentless itch â it's still there, but it had dulled to a faint hum, pushed back by the familiar numbness.
Finally.
Oh, finally some fucking silence.
I let out a shaky breath. It wasn't peace, not really. I knew that all too well. Borrowed time, each second ticking closer to the inevitable crash, the return of that relentless screaming in my head.
But for now, it'll have to be enough.
I collapsed on the couch, smoke curling lazily before my eyes.
I knew I shouldn't mix opioids with cannabis. That's something they teach you within the first year of university. What I used to teach students within the first year of university.
What a hypocrite I am really.
Another drag â harsh, burning down my throat.Â
The urge to close my eyes, to sink into oblivion, was almost overwhelming. But sleep wouldn't bring respite. Only nightmares. I knew that only too well.
So, I lay there, staring up at the ceiling.
It really came down to me failing again, huh?
What was it now?
Attempt number five?Â
Six?
I started losing count.
Maybe this was my fate.
A broken record, stuck on the same damn track.
Deep down, under the chemical haze, guilt gnawed at me. It was a dull ache now, no longer the searing pain of earlier, but a constant, insidious reminder.Â
She were out there, her life forever marked by my choices, while I was â here. Hiding in a haze of pills and smoke.
God, I hoped Suguru was looking after her. Making sure she ate, making sure she was safe â that she didn't hate me too much.
I brought the joint to my lips again, the smoke curling up towards the ceiling. It left an acrid taste in my mouth.
I watched my hand for a second.
Bloodied earlier, the wounds had scabbed over, the blood dried. It was perfectly still now, the trembling smoothed out by the chemicals in my blood.Â
I clenched it into a fist, then unclenched, watching the movement like it belonged to someone else.
Traitor.
This body was a traitor â betrayed myself, betrayed her, betrayed everything I held dear.
Weak.Â
Broken.
A pathetic mess.
Was that it?
Living as a slave to these chemicals to patch up my crumbling sanity one day at a time?Â
Chained to pills, each dawn a ticking clock until the next dose, until I could silence the screaming for a few damn hours?
My eyes locked onto the half-empty vial on the table.Â
Took too many, didn't I?
I knew that, even through the haze. But a cold certainty twisted in my gut. There'd be more. Always more. Until there was nothing left.
Before I could think, I threw another down my throat. Bad idea, probably, after a few clean days.
Suddenly, the haze warped, twisting into nausea. Bile rose in my throat.
I lurched to my feet, the world tilting precariously with each step. Surfaces rippled, the bathroom light stabbing into my skull.
I barely made it. My stomach heaved. Each retch wracked my body, leaving me gasping, weak.
Too many.Â
Way too many.
How the hell did I forget? Forget my body's limits? Somehow, I felt like some reckless student again, stumbling through experiments, blind to the consequences.
Stupid. So damn stupid.
Darkness swam at the edges of my vision. Another wave of nausea, and I was back, hunched over the toilet.Â
I hauled myself up, hands shaking, clinging to the sink. In the mirror, a stranger stared back. Eyes bloodshot, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.
This wasn't me anymore.
I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the acid burn. Didn't help. Drops of water ran down my face, felt like they were melting the damn skin off.
My knees buckled. I slid down the wall, my head heavy against the tile wall.Â
The bathroom light, needles in my brain moments ago, seemed impossibly distant now. Each breath was a ragged gasp, each pulse a dull throb in my temples.
I waited for it to pass, the nausea, the haze. But as minutes crawled by, a new, searing pain gnawed at me.
My fingers trembled against my abdomen, pressing into the tender spot. Liver, of course.Â
Wrecked it, just like the rest of me. I'd known the risks, had ignored the warnings, and now my body was demanding payment.
How pathetic.
Darkness gnawed at the edges of my vision, pushing back against the stubborn spots of light. My head felt heavy, detached from my body. Arms and legs useless.
Each breath a battle I wasn't sure I'd win.
Time warped. Stretching, then snapping, leaving me floating in nausea and pain. Then I heard something â muffled, distant. Footsteps, getting closer.
My eyes struggled to make sense of the shifting shadows.
Then, a voice. Soft, achingly familiar. I couldn't make out the words, but the warmth of itâ
I knew that voice â would always recognize it.
Cold water hit my skin. Hands, gentle, but firm, on my face. I strained to focus, to see her, to soak in the sight I needed, yet feared more than anything.
Oh, how desperately I needed to see her. Needed her to be real.
But my eyes betrayed me.
She must be so beautiful. She always was.
Then, a touch on my outstretched leg, a flash of metal â was that a scalpel?
Agony ripped through me, shattering the haze. I jerked back, my scream ragged against the tiles. My head slammed back with sickening force.
Before I knew it, a needle pierced my skin.
The room spun as whatever she'd injected battled the comfortable blur of the pills. Nausea churned in my stomach, the numbness receding with terrifying speed.
Groaning, I shifted on the floor.
My vision sharpened, my senses returning with brutal clarity.Â
The first thing I noticed was the metallic glint of the discarded syringe beside my leg.Â
Then the cut, a ragged gash through the fabric of my dress pants where she'd stabbed the needle in â the unnecessarily deep and brutal cut â but in the chaos, I let it slide. Didn't even register the pain as I watched the blood drain from the cut.Â
I reached for the syringe and read the label.Â
Adrenaline.Â
Smart girl.Â
But as I turned it over, a frown creased my brow. Two fucking milliliters? Was she trying to give me a damn heart attack?
I lifted my head, the question burning on my tongue. But the words died unspoken as my gaze locked on hers.Â
She stood there, just a few feet away, her breath ragged, her eyes â those pretty eyes.
Terror.Â
There was raw, unadulterated terror etched in her eyes. But I was right. She looked as beautiful as ever. Even with those terror-stricken eyes she was breathtaking.
She stumbled back, slumping against the wall opposite of me with a choked gasp, pulling her knees up. I didn't move, couldn't move, my gaze locked with hers.
The terror faded slowly, replaced by a weariness that was far worse.Â
For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of that familiar defiance, the spark I both loved and feared. But even that felt strangely muted now, as if even the energy to fight had been drained out of her.
She simply watched me. In silence, in that devastating silence.
How I hated her silence.
Because her silence was far worse than anything she could have screamed, any insult she could have hurled my way. Her stillness, her silence, was the most terrifying weapon she'd ever wielded against me.
And for the first time in a very long time, I was truly afraid.
Time stretched, then I choked out, "You're angry."
Her answer was blunt, devoid of emotion. "Oh really? What makes you think that?"
I glanced down. Blood still seeped from the gash in my leg. With a trembling hand, I fumbled for a towel and pressed it against the wound. "Your cut is kinda deep. Was that on purpose?"
She didn't say anything.
It probably was on purpose.
My gaze fell on the syringe. "Where'd you get that?"
"What happened to your hand?"
"I asked first."
"Don't try to play games now, Satoru. You're walking on thin fucking ice," she snapped.
"Shattered some glass," I said after a pause ", and punched Sukuna."
"Stole it from the hospital."
"What?"
"You think I'd date an addict and not have adrenaline on hand?"
My lips twitched into a weary smile. Oh my beautiful, brilliant girl, always prepared.
"But you know, two milliliters is a bit much." I moved my leg slightly to check if she had cut any tendons, which would complicate the healing a bit. "Or are you trying to kill me?"
Her gaze pierced me, colder than any scalpel. "Looks like you're doing a fine job of that yourself."
My smile faded.
Silence.
Oh, that cruel silence again.
She didn't say anything. Maybe I should be thankful for that, because if she said anything now, I'd probably crumble completely â if I haven't already.
Ironic, wasn't it?Â
How much power this woman had over me.Â
Yet it was me who destroyed her.
She dropped her head, ran a shaking hand through her hair, then looked at me again. "How much did you take?"
Huh?
Why would she ask that?
Didn't she see that it's over?
That I'm too far gone?
It was unbearable.
It was unbearable, how she could still look at me and see someone worth saving. It was unbearable, knowing she believed in me even when I didn't.Â
Almost pissed me off, how stubbornly she clung to that stupid hope. Because seeing that hope in her eyes â it made me hate myself even more.
I wouldn't change, couldn't. Not for her, not for anyone.
"Doesn't matter. It's over."
"Satoru, please," she choked out, pain raw in her voice, the pain I caused, "cut the crap and tell me. Now."
"It doesn't matter," I repeated, my voice cold. I couldn't bear the flicker of hope, couldn't bear to fail her yet again.
Then, the first tear rolled down her cheek and my heart shattered, the fragments piercing me from within.Â
I'd never wanted to be the reason those beautiful eyes filled with pain, the reason her sweet lips trembled. Every fiber of my being wanted to pull her close, erase the hurt I'd caused.
I would have given anything, sacrificed anything, if only I could make it stop.
But I couldn't.
Because I was the problem. I was the poison.
She buried her face in her hands. "I'm tired, Satoru."
"I know."
"I'm so fucking tired," she whispered through tears.
"I know, love."
My eyes burned as I watched her fragile body shudder. Each sob of her driving a stake deeper into my already bleeding heart. I bit my lip until I tasted blood.Â
I hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself because â because I was the reason for all of this.Â
She'd never wanted this, never wanted to fall in love with me to begin with, but I dragged her into it anyway.
Because I was selfish.Â
Knew how it would end.
And now, I could only watch â only watch in this unbearable silence as the woman I loved wept over the man I hated.Â
"It's for the best, believe meâ"
"No," she cut me off. "You're sacrificing me for thisâthis reputation of mine you think matters. It doesn't. I don't want any of it without you. I don't want a future where you're not in it."
She looked up then, eyes red and filled with unshed tears. "Because I love you, Satoru."
What?
The words turned my blood to ice.
After everything â the lies, the ways I'd hurt her, the desperate attempts to push her away â there it was, the confession I'd craved and feared in equal measure.
My heart was being ripped apart and stitched back together again in that very moment â vulnerable and yet so unbearably full.Â
She loved me, she said it.
She loves me.
She loves me.
And I love her.
God, how I loved her. More than I thought possible.
I've never once loved in my entire life.Â
Not until her.Â
Not until she changed me completely.Â
What is that, anyway? Love?
How can I possible describe the type of feeling I feel when I'm with her? How can I ever convey the words when they are not even clear to me?Â
How cruel it is. How utterly cruel the type of feeling is, that she makes me feel.
Because how could I ever live without it.
Not when she showed me how to breathe.
How to live.
How could I ever go back to what I was before her â was there even something before her?
Not when she showed me how to breathe.
With her.
For her.Â
Because she is the air that fills my lungs.
The pulse that keeps me alive.
And nothing can ever change that. So how could I ever go back to what I was before?Â
Oh, how she tortures me, tortures me with feelings I rather not feel, tortures me with her love that I deserve so little.Â
Nothing.Â
I deserve nothing and yet she gives me everything.
Why can't I give it back? What chains me, binds this rotten heart? Why does it fail me so cruelly to love her the way she deserves?Â
Because she does.Â
She deserves everything.Â
She is everything.Â
Yet there is only my own failure in loving her. I'm failing her again and again. I hurt her again and again. I hate myself, hate myself for the pain I cause her.
Stillâ
How can I let her go, when she's the only good thing in my life?Â
It is selfish, selfish to say the least, to want to keep her close when all I do is fail her.
Her tears were molten iron searing my insides. But I clench my jaw, refusing to let them break me. If she saw weakness, she might hesitate. Might stay and continue to be broken by me.Â
Every fiber of my being wanted nothing more than to reach out, to comfort her, to tell her it would all be okay.
More lies for a heart that deserved nothing but the truth. So I swallowed down the love threatening to spill from my lips.Â
I would give her anything, my life, the last shreds of my sanity â except the one thing she asked for, the only thing she ever ask for.Â
Because loving her, truly loving her, meant letting her go. Even if it destroys me.
"I spare you," I rasped.
"No." She slowly shook her head. "You're killing me. Can't you see?" There was a cold edge in her voice now. "You're killing me."
"I can't change. Love isn't enough. I can't stop."
"You're the only one who thinks that." Her reply held a flicker of her old, beautiful defiance, a defiance I loved so dearly. "I'd follow you anywhere, Satoru. Even if you can't get clean, then so be it. I don't care. I won't leave you."
The sincerity in her voice was a blow, a beautiful, terrible blow. Complete, unwavering acceptance of who I was, in all my brokenness.
And in that moment, I finally realized.Â
It wasn't about saving her. It was about saving myself from the terrifying vulnerability her love demanded. From the weakness that threatened to drown me if I let her in.
Perhaps I'm just a coward after all.
My heart was too damn small, too messed up. Of course I had to push her out, deny her the love she offered so freely â because it terrified me.
Her love terrified me.
"I can't do this to you," I choked out, the words scraping my throat raw. "You deserveâ" I swallowed, the words catching in my throat. "You deserve better."Â
"Better?" She leaned forward slightly. "You are my better."
Oh, love, that's not true.
You are my better. I'm your worst.
I wanted to say that, should've said that.
But I remained silent, unable to say anything.Â
"Say something, Satoru."Â
I couldn't, simply couldn't. Because mere words were too hollow, too insignificant against the depth of her pain.
"Say something, damn it!"Â
"It will get easier someday," I chocked out. Each word felt like a stone I was forcing down my own throat. Each word empty â we both knew it.
"Is that what you hope for?"
"I have to."
She closed her mouth. Her silence more devastating than any scream. She didn't explode, as I half-expected. Instead, she straightened, her movements slow, weary.
I watched her, unable to move, unable to look away, as a horrifying realization bloomed across her face. It wasn't anger, wasn't sadness â it was a terrible understanding.
She knew. She always knew.
Perhaps that's what I hated about her the most.
"That's it?" she asked.
"That's it."
She watched me. Not in anger, but with chilling detachment. Her eyes, usually so filled with warmth, were now as distant as those of a stranger.Â
Still, I burned the image into my soul, knowing it might be the last time.
Then, without another word, she turned. And walked away.
When she finally disappeared from sight, a wave of crushing despair washed over me. It wasn't just the loneliness. It was the terrifying certainty that there was no going back from this.Â
I had destroyed the best thing in my life â a sacrifice she didn't even ask for.
But then again, my sacrifice is really only an illusion after all, masking a desperate, terrified selfishness.
Because I'm selfish.
I do love her. Gods, how I love her.Â
But my fear was stronger.
And I was too damn weak to fight it.
âââ ¡â§Âˇ âââ
Four weeks.
Was it four weeks?
I can't remember.
Time â it didn't tick or flow anymore.Â
It was a shapeless thing. Punctuated only by the empty thump of my heart in this wrecked chest.
Those first days â or weeks, who knows? â they melted together in a haze. After she left, I was â raw. One giant exposed nerve. Â
Each damn breath without the pills felt like scraping sandpaper across it, a reminder of what I'd lost â no, what I'd destroyed.
So I was barely sober.
My body didn't even protest. At first, it was almost â nice? The rush, the way it wiped out not just the pain but any thought at all.
But the crash was always brutal. Mornings, if you could even call it that, I'd wake up shaking, sick to my stomach, and terrified of â what was I even terrified of? Somehow of everything and nothing at all. But I knew the fix for that.Â
It was a sick, relentless cycle.
The phone rang, vibrated with messages. Suguru mostly. His messages growing more urgent with each unanswered text. Liver issues. Treatment. Something about irreversible damage.  Â
It was all white noise compared to the screaming in my head.
Her name, though, cut through the haze.
There were nights â or was it days? â when a desperate, clawing need to hear her voice, to see her face, would rise up in me. I'd reach for the phone, fingers hovering above her name. Then the fear would crush that impulse.Â
I knew that reaching out to her would be the final act of cruelty.
So I stumbled on, each day collapsing into the next.Â
Until the next semester started and I remembered I had an actual job.
âââ ¡â§Âˇ âââ
I stood in the corridor outside the auditorium.
My fingers fumbled with the familiar pill bottle. Just enough to numb the edge, get me through the lecture. With a bitter swallow, I tilted the pill into my palm, chasing it down dry.
Four weeks. Four weeks of barely holding it together, four weeks since I almost OD'd, four weeks since she left, and the weight of it all threatened to crush me at any moment.Â
Yet, muscle memory took over.
I limped slightly as I walked into the auditorium. My leg still hurt after she basically cut my muscle in half.Â
She definitely did that on purpose. She was too smart not to not know what she was doing.
The usual chatter died down when I walked in. Old routine. Time for the performance. Pretend I'm the professor, pretend like this whole thing isn't ripping me apart, piece by piece. It should have been comforting.Â
Once, perhaps, it was.
Wordlessly, I grabbed a marker, scrawled my name on the board. Like they didn't already know who I was, right?Â
Everyone on campus knows, especially after this summer's mess.
With a sigh, I turned towards the class.
And there she was.Â
My breath hitched, the marker clattering to the floor. My lips parted, but no words came.
Of course.
Of fucking course.Â
Second-year lecture.Â
How the hell could I forget that?
She was here, after everything, right in front of me. The pain of the past weeks, that suffocating emptiness â it all melted away, replaced by a pounding headache in that one instant.
My eyes clung to her, unable to look away, drinking in the sight of her. That stubborn tilt of her head, the pain in those beautiful eyes â God, how I'd missed her.Â
Yet with every beat of my yearning heart came a fresh wave of guilt. I longed to reach out, to apologize, to tell her how much I'd missed her.Â
But I knew it was wrong.Â
Then, it hit me. Every eye in the room was on her, following my gaze like a spotlight burning into her. Damn it.
Still, she didn't flinch.
Endured it like she has always endured everything.
Clearing my throat, I managed to speak as I adverted my gaze. "So, uh, let's start the lecture."
My voice echoed in the now tense auditorium, words tumbling out in a forced attempt at normalcy. The lecture blurred. My own words were just noise in my head. I pushed through the lecture. Don't even remember what I lectured about.
It was routine, should have been easy, but â not with her there. Never with her.Â
Every damn minute, my eyes flicked towards her, drawn like a magnet. I couldn't help it. Because all I could see was her. But she avoided my gaze.
Should've expected that.
Shouldn't make me angry, right?
Still did.
Finally, thank god, the bell rang.Â
I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.
I remained behind my desk and gathered my notes. Students surged towards the exit, a faceless blur of motion. My traitorous gaze remained locked on her as the auditorium slowly emptied.
She and her friends passed by me. Before I could even think, the words tumbled out, "Wait, notânot you, first-year."
Silence.Â
Her friend's chatter halted abruptly. I hadn't meant to say it, hadn't thought before the desperate need to speak to her had short-circuited my brain.
Now, it was done.
Her eyes, those beautiful eyes, met mine. For a moment, time seemed to stand still.Â
Her friends exchanged glances. I could feel Zenin glaring daggers at me, didn't even need to look. She'd always been fiercely protective.
"I'll catch up later," she said then to her friends, a strained smile plastered on her face.Â
They left, leaving us alone in the vast, suddenly suffocating auditorium.
Silence again.
My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I feared she could hear it.
Finally, she spoke. "You know I'm not a first-year anymore."
I rounded the desk, the wood rough against my fingertips. "Yeah, right. Sorry." Leaning against it, I crossed my arms.
"Didn't you get suspended?"
"They postponed it."
She watched me for a moment, those beautiful eyes drilling into me. Her eyes held a coldness I've never seen before. For a sickening moment, I thought I might throw up.
"How are you?"
"Don't," she snapped. "Don't ask me that. Don't you dare pretend to care afterâ"Â
She stopped herself, the silence louder than any accusation. After everything you did. After you pushed me away. After you nearly killed yourself.
She didn't need to voice it.
My hands clenched into fists against the edge of my desk, nails digging into my palms in a futile attempt to ground myself. Needed to maintain this thin illusion of control.
I do care. Dammit, I care more than you'll ever know.Â
I wanted to scream it, to tear open my chest and show her the bleeding wound she'd left behind. But the words stuck in my throat.Â
Pointless now, anyway.
Knuckles turned white, nails digging deeper.
She stepped closer. Her hand darted into her bag, then shot out, palm open. Keys glinted in the harsh light â the keys to my apartment.Â
I watched them for a second. Should've expected that. Shouldn't hurt me. Still did.
"You don't have to return them. I want you to keep them."
"Why? I won't need them anymore, will I? Or are you planning on overdosing again?"
Each word was acid on an open wound.
I deserved this, the anger, the contempt, it was all on me. But why the hell did it make me so fucking angry?
"Have you ever thought about how I felt when I found you?" she snapped, her voice rising. "How terrified I was when you wouldn't respond? When you couldn't even recognize me? When I thought you'd die on me?" She took a shaky breath. "Fuck Satoru, I held your face in my hands while you were barely breathing!"
I tried to speak, but she cut me off. "Don't. You. Dare."
"Four weeks," she went on, her voice sharp, laced with a fury that cut to the bone. "Four weeks of silence. Ever think I might be drowning, haunted by what I saw? Or were you too busy numbing yourself with pills? Hell, I didn't even know if you'd overdosed for good this time!"
Her words hit me cold, but they weren't the storm tearing me apart. It was the image of her, terrified, holding my barely-alive body, that ripped my insides out.Â
Those eyes â her eyes filled with a terror that was all because of me. The guilt choked me. Seeing my near-death through her haunted eyes is twisted a knife in my gut.
It was the look of someone who'd had a piece of her soul ripped out.Â
It was the look of someone who loved me.
"But then again, you never cared about me, did you?" she added, the raw hurt bleeding beneath the anger.
My stomach twisted. "Don't you dare say that," I rasped, the words ripping from my throat. "I care so much it damn near killed me. You were the only thing keeping me alive, the only reason I fought at all! Don't you dare say I don'tâ" I choked, the pain unbearable.
The room seemed to tilt, my anger threatening to consume me.Â
I took a step towards her, closing the distance in one move. We were so close, I could smell her damn shampoo. "Every damn thing I did, every stupid decisionâit was all because I care about you too much."
Her eyes widened. But only for a second. Then, that cold defiance was back, and it cut deep.Â
"You're really pathetic, you know that?" she spat. "You talk about caring, but in the end you threw everything away. Because you are too terrified to let yourself love me. Because apparently your own damn peace is worth more than me."
Her words were knives, finding their mark with cruel efficiency.Â
"Shut up," I whispered. "You know nothing."
"Oh really?" She glared at me, "then let me paint the picture for youâthe minute things got difficult, the second you had to face actual consequences for your actions, you used it as an excuse to back away. Shut yourself down."
She moved closer still. "Convenient, wasn't it? Pushing me away, destroying usâit absolved you from having to confront anything real."
Her accusations hit uncomfortably close to home.
And I didn't want to hear it from her lips.
Not from hers.
"Shut up," I growled.
"Don't you dare tell me to shut up," she snapped back, her voice rising. "You don't get to play the victim here. You did this. You ruined everything."
Fury ignited, not at her, but at myself.Â
Blindly, I reached out, my fingers gripping her jaw so tight it bordered on violence. I forced her to look at me, my eyes burning into hers. "Shut up, or I swear to god, I'll make you."
Her chin lifted, eyes narrowing. "I dare you."
The words set me on fire. Every rational thought, every vestige of self-preservation was devoured by a sudden, desperate need. My gaze fell to her lips, slightly parted, a vulnerable target I craved to claim.
Without even thinking, my hand went to her waist, fingers digging in as I pulled her impossibly close. My other hand tangled in her hair, forcing her head back. Our eyes locked, some kind of messed-up challenge.
I could feel her rapid breaths on my skin, smell that damn perfume of hers that I'd always loved, but now was driving me to the edge of control. Her heart pounding against mine.
Everything in me screamed to close the distance, claim those lips that had haunted me, haunted me for weeks.Â
I wanted to claim her, to silence her, to lose myself in her, but my last shred of sanity held me back.
Because pushing her further into my nightmare was the ultimate act of cruelty.Â
"Uncomfortable, isn't it? Getting confronted with the ugly truth?" she whispered against my lips.
My grip on her tightened. She really didn't know when to stop, or maybe she simply wanted to watch me burn. Perhaps both.
"Don't push me."
"Why? Scared of what you'll find if you let yourself be honest for once?" Her head tilted. Her gaze was fire, and I was already ash. "You run, Satoru. From everything, but most of all, from yourself."
"And that," she leaned closer, almost brushing my lips, "is what makes you the most pathetic person I know."
Oh, she could be so viciously cruel when she wanted to. So disgustingly cruel. It was one of the things I'd fallen hopelessly in love with. Even now, as it tore me apart, I still loved it.Â
But I also wanted nothing more than to fuck that attitude out of her right then and there.
"You're right. You're always right. Maybe that's what's terrifies me about you so much."
"You're not terrified of me," she whispered. "You're terrified of yourself."
The air between us crackled. Every rational thought in my brain begged me to stop. Still, I couldn't resist. I inched closer, helpless against the force that binds and burns us both.
My hands tightened their hold as I took a sharp inhale. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling.Â
Our lips hovered, almost touching, two aching souls suspended in that impossible space. So much unspoken words, so much hurt, and the destructive pull between us that had always tethered us together.
Then, the auditorium door creaked open.Â
Her head snapped towards the sound. But I couldn't look away, wouldn't miss a second of her. Because this, right here, was all I had left.
Had to be Suguru anyway â anyone else would be screaming their heads off by now.
After a pause, she turned back at me. "You know, I'm still waiting."
"For what, love?"
"For it to get easier."
I looked at her, the woman I loved, and guilt clawed at my insides. That hurt, that anger on her face â I deserved it all. Because it was the consequence of the pain I'd caused.
"You said it would get easier," she added.
It was a lie. Nothing about this was easy. Nothing ever would be again. Suddenly, the room felt too small, the air thick and unbreathable.
"I don't know if it ever will."
Perhaps I was only meant to love her in silence.
In distance.
Because at least then I couldn't hurt her anymore.
Suguru cleared his throat. He stepped into the room, breaking the moment.
Reluctantly, I let go of her. She stepped back, eyes holding mine for a second, something flickering there that I didn't dare try to read. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.
I watched her go.
Suguru approached me, stopping close by. He didn't say anything.
I leaned against the desk, running a hand through my hair. The adrenaline from that almost-kiss crashed, leaving behind a hollow ache.
The sound of the door slamming behind her echoed in the empty auditorium, way too loud.
Suguru's hand landed on my shoulder.Â
"You really have a thing for bad timing," I muttered.
"Bad timing," he echoed, "or good timing to stop you from doing something stupid?"
I didn't answer. The memory of her, so close, choked every thought out of my mind.
"You know it was the right thing to do. With everything going on, letting her go was the right decision."
"I know," I said, pushing off the desk and rounding it to gather my things. I couldn't meet his gaze. "I'm trying to remember that."
Suguru then started placing pill bottles on the desk with a serious expression. The first clink of plastic on wood cut through the silence.Â
"Prednisone for the liver inflammation." Another bottle. "Lactulose for the hepatic encephalopathy." Then another. "Vitamin B and K for the nutritional deficiencies."
"But you know the first step would be toâ" he paused for a second then placed another two bottles in from of me. "Methadone, to manage the withdrawal and craving. And Naltrexone, to block the euphoric effects of your opioids."
Hesitantly, another bottle appeared. "Clonidine, in case you feel like you're dying."
"Suguruâ" I began, but he cut me off.
"Satoru, you have to get clean. The pills won't do a damn thing if you keep wrecking your liver."
"Yeah, it's a little late for that, don't you think? It's the only thing keeping me sane right now."
He sighed. "You're the absolute worst patient ever."
"Aw, come on, I thought you liked a bit of challenge. You're the best doctor, you'll figure something out."Â I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a folder.
"Even the best doctor on earth can't help if you don'tâ"
I shoved the folder across the desk, cutting him off. "What's this?"
"It's a patient. An anyeurism. I'm still not allowed to do surgery, not until this thing with the ethics committee is over."
Suguru opened the folder, flipping through the pages. "You want me to do it? Is there something special about this patient?"
"I want you to take her with you," I said quietly. "She likes aneurysm clippings."
Suguru looked up, that familiar crease between his brows. "She'll figure it out. Sooner or later. Latest when you're in the hospital waiting for a liver transplant, not lecturing anymore."
Silence stretched. My eyes fell on the pill bottles lined up on the desk.Â
I sighed, then gathered them and crammed them into my bag. "Let's go. I need fresh fair," I said as I brushed past him, putting the withdrawal meds back into his hands.
Without another word, I left the auditorium.
âââ ¡â§Âˇ âââ
My eyes snapped open.
I sat upright, a strangled gasp tearing from my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat threatening to burst right out of my chest.Â
For a disorienting second, the world was a blur. Sweat drenched my skin. My lungs screamed for air.
Damn nightmares.Â
Another night of that shit.Â
I clutched at my chest, trying to quell the frantic pounding. Cold sweat made my shirt cling to my skin. The room spun. My pulse thundered in my ears.
I fumbled for the lamp, the sudden brightness stinging my eyes. But it didn't chase away the image seared into my brain. Her face, cruel, beautiful, cruelly beautiful, twisted in absolute terror. My stomach twisted.
My fault.Â
Always my fault.
I couldn't breathe right.
Sleep was a lost cause now. First decent rest in a week, and my brain decided to torment me again. Exhaustion was its own kind of hell, but it was nothing compared to this. That, more than anything, was the real torture.
I slumped forward, scrubbing a hand over my face.
I'd hurt her.Â
I'd hurt her, the one person who meant something.
Every day, it felt more like I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Letting her go, pushing her away, Iâ
I hated myself.Â
Hated the way I ruined everything.
Hated the way I ruined every chance at something good.Â
It was like a damn curse.
Nothing good ever lasted for me. I should've known that by now.
Damn it, I knew it was wrong. But how the hell could it be wrong when it'd felt so damn right? When she was the only thing, the only person, that cut through the crap, made this whole mess seem like it might have some sort of meaning?
How could that possibly be wrong?
Guilt ate at my insides. Had I been a damn coward? Too scared to fight for something that made me feel, really feel?
Perhaps.
Easier to push her away, sabotage the whole damn thing, than risk actually letting her in. Letting anyone in. Losing control. But it didn't matter now, did it?Â
It was over.Â
I needed out. Out of my head, out of this apartment, out of my own damn skin.Â
The silence was unbearable.
I pushed off the bed, muscles screaming in protest. I slipped into running clothes, the routine automatic. As I laced up my shoes, a sharp sting shot through my leg from the still-healing cut on my leg.
That bitch.Â
The more I thought about it, the more sure I was she'd done it on purpose.
Good thing I was addicted to painkillers, huh?
I drowned a pill â no two, for good measure â before stepping outside into the pre-dawn chill.Â
Cold autumn air bit at my skin. Each step echoed on the empty street. The pills kicked in, dulling the sharp pain in my leg. Good. Long as the cut didn't split open, I didn't damn care.
I pushed myself, needing the burn in my muscles, the ache in my lungs, to drown out the constant echo of her voice, her name, in my head.
The world blurred. Streetlights, shadows, it all melded together. The only reality was the ache in my body, the cold air forcing its way into my lungs. My mind, for once, was mercifully blank.Â
No nightmares, no guilt, no memories of her haunted eyes â just the simple focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
I didn't set a goal, didn't choose a destination.Â
Just moving, pushing, escaping.
Sweat dripped, but I barely registered. With each mile, the crushing weight eased. Not gone, hell, not even close to forgotten, but â manageable.Â
I ran until the city was a smear of lights, until my legs burned and my lungs screamed.Â
Finally, gasping for breath, legs threatening to give out, I stumbled to a halt. The neon lights of a Seven Eleven cut through the pre-dawn darkness. My throat was sandpaper. I pushed through the door.
Inside, the harsh lights stung my eyes. I grabbed a water, my body on autopilot as I shuffled toward the register. The bored-looking teenager behind the counter gave me a sidelong look as I fumbled for my wallet.
"Rough night?"
"Something like that." I glanced down at my leg, the still-healing cut a visible red line. Wincing, I shifted my weight, favoring the uninjured side.Â
I pulled out my card to pay, but then a flash of color caught my eye. Beside the cashier's register, stacked in a gaudy pyramid, was a display of energy drinks. I starred at them for a second, the name oddly familiar.
I knew why the name was so familiar.
I reached for a can and placed it on the counter. "And this."
Outside, I downed the water in a matter of seconds. Then, I cracked open the energy drink. The first sip hit my tongue. Surprisingly, it didn't taste half-bad without a shot of stale coffee to ruin it.Â
But the taste wasn't the problem, wasn't it?Â
Memories flooded back. Her, hunched over a massive anatomy textbook in the dim library, those beautiful eyes ringed with exhaustion. Beside her, half-empty, a mug of coffee â spiked with the sickeningly sweet energy drink I currently held.
Just the thought of that awful mixture made my stomach turn.
Still, a smile tugged at my lips.
Dammit, I didn't want to think about her. But to be fair, thinking, not thinking â it was all the same. The dull, constant ache of her absence throbbed beneath it all.
I chugged the rest of the energy drink, crushing the can in my hand.
Ah, fuck it.
Before my sanity could interfere, my legs were in motion.
I knew this was wrong. Knew every step took me closer to more pain. Knew all along this was stupid, reckless â inevitable.Â
I couldn't stop.
The pull towards her was too damn strong. I needed to see her, to confirm her existence, to know she was real, to fix â what? What the hell could I fix? What the hell did I even think I was doing?
Finally, gasping for breath, I stumbled to a halt outside her apartment building.
A glance at my watch confirmed the hour â well past 3 am. Insane. I hadn't expected her to be awake. Just needed the pathetic reassurance of her presence. But as I looked up, my breath hitched.Â
In a second-floor window, a flicker of warm light spilled into the darkness. And there, etched against that warmth â her silhouette. Unmistakable.
A heavy exhale escaped my lips.Â
She was there.
Here.
On this same cursed world with me.
My heart pounded against my ribs. I knew, I had no right to be here. But god, I needed this, needed to see her.
She sat on the windowsill, book in hand. My future wife. Even in the dead of night, she was studying. How I loved her.
My gaze traced the familiar curve of her shoulders, the way the soft lamplight painted her skin with warmth, highlighting the strands of hair escaping her messy bun.Â
In that stolen moment, I could almost convince myself that things were different, that my actions hadn't irrevocably shattered something precious.
But then, she moved. Rising from her seat, she stretched, drawing the fabric of her shirt upwards. Before my mind could catch up, she was at the window, pushing it open. I froze.
She was staring down â right at me.Â
Shit.
I held my breath. For what felt like an eternity, we simply stared at each other. A muscle in her jaw twitched. Then her gaze dropped, breaking eye contact.
"You're bleeding."
I glanced down. The edge of my shorts was soaked through, a fresh stain of crimson spreading. Damn it. The cut had reopened.
"Yeah," I said, looking back up at her, "I'm a mess."
I braced myself for whatever was coming. The anger, the disgust, the righteous fury â it would all be justified. I deserved it. But she simply watched me. Her gaze was steady, devoid of emotion.Â
"You know where the entrance is," she said finally, then leaned back into the soft glow of her room and closed the window shut.
Before my brain could catch up with how wrong this was, I walked toward the apartment building.
âââ ¡â§Âˇ âââ
I sat on the edge of her bed, she on a chair in front of me, her hands already on my leg as she pushed the fabric of my shorts up. "How could you not notice that?"
I opened my mouth, but she cut me off, "Wait, forget it."Â
Yeah. Now she remembered.
With practiced efficiency, she began cleaning the wound. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, considering how pissed she must be.Â
The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of bandages and my occasional sharp intake of breath when the antiseptic hit a raw spot.
My eyes wandered. Her space, even small and half-finished, felt warm, lived in. Smelled like her. Books spilling everywhere, papers scattered on a desk, a yoga mat forgotten in the corner â the organized chaos was so perfectly her.
Then my gaze landed on the half-unpacked boxes stacked against the wall. She really still didn't fully move in. Occupied with my mess, huh?Â
Guilt flooded me. I didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her gentle hands on me, not after everything.Â
Yet, a selfish part of me wanted nothing more than to stay exactly like this, wanted nothing more than to keep her hands on me.
With a sigh, I sank back against her pillows. Exhaustion seeped into my bones. Pain returned as the effects of the pills wore off.
Her fingers brushed the reopened cut. I winced, throwing an arm over my eyes. The relentless pounding in my head threatened to split me open, spilling all the ugly thoughts onto her pristine sheets.
"You've had nightmares again, haven't you?"
Huh?Â
I lifted my head a fraction, struggling to meet her eyes. She glanced up briefly, her eyes guarded, then focused back on my leg.
"Yeah, something like that." My head thumped back onto the pillow. "Hard to sleep when your head won't shut up."
"What dose?"
"You really don't want to know."
"I asked because I do," she countered. The sharp tug as she tightened the bandage around my leg was enough to make me speak.
"Ten milligrams," I admitted, wincing. "The usual."
She scoffed, then another, even sharper, tug had me gritting my teeth. "Nghâfuck," I moaned.Â
I really needed a pill now.
She stood, gathering the first-aid supplies. "Heals slowly, doesn't it?"
I knew it.
I popped myself up on one elbow, raising an eyebrow at her.Â
"Don't give me that look. You know damn well you deserved it."
I let out a dry laugh. "You really are a bitch sometimes." I dropped back onto the bed, my hand reaching for my throbbing head.Â
I needed two pills now.
"You've got some damn nerve. You show up here in the middle of the night, injured, highâ"
"I'm not highâ"
"Save it," she spat. "You know what your fucking problem is? You can't stand being alone. Alone with your thoughts, with yourself. So you run. You run to pills, to whatever distraction you can find, anything to fill the void."
Yeah, how the hell am I supposed to want to be alone after feeling what it's like to be with you, stupid.
"You're too damn scared to face your fears," she continued, her voice laced with a bitter edge, "and when someone threatens your artificial peace, someone who might actually force you to look in the damn mirror, you panic. You sabotage it, push them away before it all gets too real, too close."
She stepped closer. "Because it's easier, isn't it? Safer to stick with the misery you know than risk having to face that void."
Every word stung, but I couldn't deny it, couldn't lie anymore.
"You're right. And I'm sorryâ"
"Don't." She rose a hand at me. "Don't pretend you care, Satoru. You've made it clear how little I matter."
How little you matter?Â
Oh, love, you couldn't be more wrong.
A harsh laugh escaped me.Â
"You find this funny?"
"No, love," I said, pushing myself up. My leg throbbed in protest, but I ignored it. Everything narrowed down to her. I moved closer, a strange recklessness fueling me. "Quite the opposite."
Something flickered in her eyes â surprise? wariness? â but the anger remained.
"Keep going," I insisted, moving closer. "Let it out. Yell at me, tell me how pathetic I am. Make me feel something, anything other than this damn emptiness."
She hesitated. Her eyes searched mine, and for a breathless moment, I hoped that her fury, her anger, would burn away the numbness, making me feel something, anything.
Because even her anger was better than her indifference.
I couldn't stand being indifferent to her.
Might as well make her hate me.
"You want me to yell at you?" Her voice rose, the first hint of the storm I craved. "Fine! You wanna be a pathetic mess? Go ahead! Piss away your career, your life, whatever the hell you care about, I don't give a damn anymore!"
Each word hit me, but there was a desperate relief in it. Finally, she wasn't looking at me with that chilling indifference, that cold pity that twisted a knife in my gut.Â
Her rage, it was fire â scorching and brutal, but alive. And I loved it.
Because it was prove she still cared, even if it was just to hate me with every fiber of her being. It was better than the void, that terrible chasm that had opened up between us after I'd pushed her away.
I closed the distance, enjoying the anger in her eyes. She flinched, but didn't back down.
"More." I grabbed her waist, lifting her with ease, and hauled her towards the bed.
"You're weak!" she spat, pushing against my chest, her voice rising with each word.
Yeah, so damn weak for you, love.
"You're selfish! So consumed by your own self-pity you can't see how you hurt everyone around you!"
Her words should have hurt. They probably would have, under different circumstances. But right now, I couldn't care less.
"Keep going," I rasped, my pulse pounding in my ears. I forced her onto the bed and hovered over her, my body trapping her between the mattress and my own. "C'mon, love, let it all out."
"You don't deserve me," she continued. "You don't deserve anyone who gives a damn, because you only know how to destroy things."
Each word was a knife. Yet, with each insult, the suffocating hollowness inside me eased a fraction. I wanted her anger, the full force of it, wanted the burn only she could inflict on me.
"More."
Her breath hitched, eyes narrowing. "You keep breaking my heart over and over, then come crawling back when it suits you, like it doesn't matter!"
"You're right." I leaned in, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip. The thin fabric of her shirt did little to hide her shivers. "C'mon, love, give it to me. I know you can do better."
In one swift move, I ripped my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. I leaned down again, my breath ghosting over her lips. "Hate me." My hands went for the flimsy waistband of her shorts. "Tell me how much you despise me."
Her breaths came fast, quick gasps against my skin. I could see it all over her face â the rage, the fear, and maybe â yeah, maybe that darker edge, the same desperation burning in me.
"I fucking hate you, Satoru. Hate that you made me care, made me fall for you, then crushed it."
"Don't stop," I said, my voice a hoarse rasp. "Say it again." Before she could react, her shorts were down, exposing her to the night air. My own pants followed hasty, desperate. "Say you hate me."
"I fucking hate that you treat me like I'm just another damn plaything to fill whatever void your messed-up mom or whatever left you with!"
Okay, now it gets personal.
"I fucking hate that you act like you can control me," she hissed, but her body betrayed her, shivered running down her skin as my hands gazed her collarbone. "Hate that you make my choices for me, decide what's good for me, like you got to have control over something when you obviously can't control yourself!"
Damn, Freud himself is on to something tonight, huh? She really doesn't know when to stop.
"You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that?" I leaned closer, my mouth close to her ear. "You hate who I am, but you crave this, don't you? Giving up control, being at my mercy. Admit it."
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She lifted a hand, as if to slap me, but I was faster. I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, pressing them hard into the mattress.
"You know it's true," I pressed, relishing the way she struggled against my hold. "It's hard always being the composed one, isn't it? The responsible one. It's draining. Maybe that's why you're drawn to me. You love the thrill as much as I do, don't you?"
She stared at me, silent, her lips a tight line.Â
"Prove me wrong, sweetheart. Call me a liar, and I'll show you just how wrong you are," I leaned in closer, my voice a harsh whisper against her lips. "We're the same, you and me. We feed off each other. Even if you hate to admit it, I fill that emptiness inside you same as you do for me."
"You arrogant piece of shit!" she spat, twisting and bucking against my grip. "You think you know everything, control everything!"
"Don't I?" My grip tightened, feeling her pulse throb against my fingers. "Seems I've got you pinned pretty damn well, wouldn't you say?"
"You know it's true. You love this. Makes you feel something your books, your fancy grades never could."
"Screw you, Satoru," she hissed, venom in her voice. "We're nothing alike."
"You really are a fool, for wanting to fix something so broken it'll cut you to shreds the moment you get close and then you cry afterwardsâ"
Her spit hit my face. I closed my eyes for a second, then a smile twisted across my lips.Â
My future wife just spit in my face â what a good anecdote on our wedding day.
"That's my girl," I rasped, shoving her legs wider. "Tell me how much you hate me. Scream it."
"I fucking hate you Satoru, I hate youâ"
Her words died on her tongue as I thrust forward, filling her completely. I closed my eyes, letting my head hang heavy for a second.Â
My god, the things this woman's body could do to me. I could feel her body trembling beneath me, her heart racing as she arched her back.
How treacherous a body can be, huh?
"Hate you, Satoru," she managed to say before she closed her eyes, biting down her lip as I thrust deeper still. Her thighs spread further apart, inviting me closer, urging me onward.Â
She's so damn beautiful.
I grinned, my hands still holding her wrists in place over her head. "I know you do, love. But you know what?" My lips were only a breath away from hers. "I hate you, too. I hate how you make me feel, how you expose every broken piece of me, how I crave you like I crave another fix."
Hell, I might just be addicted to this woman.
I pulled out fully, before thrusting back into her. Her head fell back, pressing into the mattress as a strangled moan escaping her lips.
She felt incredible.
Pulling back slowly, I watched her body react to the absence, her eyes flickering open to meet mine. Those pupils dilated with need, mirroring my own hunger for her.Â
In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not our fight. Not our problems. Not our insults that had left our lips moments before. Just us â two halves coming together in a perfect whole.Â
I pushed back into her, deeper, harder.
With each thrust, I felt myself sinking deeper into her, losing myself in her. Fuck, if there was anything better than this â well, I hadn't found it yet.
This woman owned me â plain and simple.
It was madness, this pull towards her.Â
Insane, perhaps.
But it was also undeniably real. So real that even though dawn threatened to break soon, stealing away whatever remnants of darkness remained, I couldn't help but chase after that high only she could provide.
Even knowing full well that when morning arrived, reality would crash down upon us, forcing us back onto opposite sides of the divide.
"Look what you've done to me, love. You're making a fool of me." I whispered against her lips without touching them.
Weren't together anymore after all.
Kissing would be too much.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath me. Her nails dug into my skin where my hands gripped her wrists. With each deep thrust, I watched her face contort with pleasure and pain, her features illuminated by fleeting streaks of moonlight seeping through the curtains.
I loved that look on her face.
I wondered if I could make that look even more pathetic.
I pulled out, dragging the tip of my length across her clit before pushing back in. She squirmed underneath me, arching her back. But I denied her, keeping my unhurried pace. I wanted to draw out this sweet torture for as long as possible.
Hours passed â or perhaps mere minutes. I couldn't tell anymore. All that mattered was this woman writhing beneath me.
Groaning in frustration, she attempted to break free from my grip. "Dammit, Satoru. If you won't finish what you started, then get off me!"
I smirked. "Why so eager, love. Can't handle the wait?" I leaned in to kiss down the side of her neck. She shivered beneath me, her breath hitching as my teeth grazed her skin.Â
With my free hand I reached down, running my fingers down her quivering stomach, relishing in the shivers that coursed through her body.Â
She glared up at me, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Stop calling me 'love'. I don't belong to you, not anymoreâ"Â
She gasped into my mouth when I found her clit. Slowly, deliberately, I began to circle it with my thumb, feeling her surrender to me. I plunged deeper, thrusting into her mercilessly.
Let her hate me all she wants. She can't deny the chemistry between us â a spark that refuses to fade, no matter how hard either of us tries.
She must have hated this â hated how she surrendered to me, even with all that anger. Made me wondered if I could rail her up even more.
"You think you're so much better than me?" I rasped. "So strong, so selfless, always putting others first? It's a lie, and you know it. You're just bored."
"You fucker!" Before I knew what was happening, she broke free of my grasp and had flipped us over so that she was now straddling my hips.Â
Without warning, she reached forward, gripping my throat with surprising strength as she leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around our faces. I couldn't help but smile.
"Don't project your bullshit on me," she seethed, her face inches from mine.Â
Her words sent a chill down my spine, stirring up a fresh wave of desire within me. Damn, this woman was infuriating â and captivating in the worst way possible.
We glared at each other like enemies preparing for battle.Â
"Aren't you a little tired? Pulling up that act all the time?" I choked out, feeling her fingers dig in further. "Deep down, you're just as bored as me, you're just too righteous to admit it."
"Shut up," she hissed, pressing harder, choking the words out of me.
This was madness. Destructive madness. But for this one desperate moment, I didn't care. It was exhilarating, addictive. Because love, our twisted, broken love, wasn't supposed to be pretty.
It was messy, chaotic, and borderline abusive. But sometimes all you need is a firm grip around the throat to remind you that you're alive.
"Harder, love," I gasped, a laugh bubbling up in my constricted throat. "Come on, make me feel your rage."
Slowly, deliberately, she began grinding her hips against mine, setting a maddening pace that left me reeling. Fuck, I think I love it even more when she hates me.
"Ahh, shit," I gasped, clutching at her thighs as she rode me mercilessly. "That's it."
Eyes squeezed shut, my head rolled back. Chills prickled my skin, possibly due to the cool breeze drifting in from the window. Or perhaps it was merely her.
She rode me with increased speed, and I could barely contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through my body. Every fiber of my being screamed for release.Â
My knuckles on her thighs turned white from the force. "Oh, shit, you're going to kill me," I moaned between choked sounds that escaped my lips.Â
My lips twisted into a smile again. "Admit it. You love the chaos as much as I do. The thrill, the way it makes you feel alive."
"You're wrong," she said, increasing her pace making my cock twitch inside her. "We're nothing alike."
"Keep telling yourself that," I replied, struggling to catch my breath, as she made me lose my mind. "But I know the truthâwe're two sides of the same coin."
"You really believe that, don't you?"
"Why else would you be here, like this, with me?" I countered. "Face it, we're addicted to each otherâthe highs, the lows, the constant push and pull. It's exhilarating, isn't it?"
"You're the only addict here."
"Liar," I rasped.
Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She was close. Each contraction of her pushing me further towards a peak that I knew would soon shatter me.
But I wasn't ready yet. Not quite.
I shifted our positions, sitting upright before spinning us around so she was now beneath me on the mattress. I positioned myself behind her, forcing her down onto the mattress.
I slowly slid my hand along her spine as I pushed her further down, feeling her tremble beneath my touch, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips.Â
It was intoxicating to watch her submit to me.
"Fuck, you'll be the death of me."
Leaning down, I pressed my lips against the small of her back, feeling her shiver once more. My hand continued its descent, stopping just short of where she needed me.
"Satoru," my name fell from her lips.
Oh, how I loved it when she breathed my name like that. I couldn't resist her â could never resist her. I was at her mercy. Even now.
She arched her back, silently pleading for me to continue. I slid my hand between her legs. "God, you're so fucking wet," I murmured, slipped a finger inside her, then another. She was so tight, so warm.Â
I couldn't wait to be inside her again.
She gasped, pushing back against me. "Don't stop."
Curving my fingers, I searched for that spot that I knew would drive her mad. When I found it, she cried out, her hips bucking against my hand. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, grasping for purchase as I started to move inside her.
"Yes, fuck," she moaned, spreading her legs wider. "Right there."
Oh, love. I know you like that.
I smiled, relishing the fact that I knew her body better than herself. I knew every inch of her, every freckle, every scar, every sensitive spot that made her squirm.Â
"More," she begged.
I happily obliged, adding a third finger and thrusting deeper. She was soaking wet, her juices coating my fingers as I fucked her with my hand. Her moans grew louder, more urgent. She was close, so close.
I increased the pace of my fingers, pumping them in and out of her as I used my thumb to apply pressure to her clit.Â
However, as her moans reached a fever pitch, I withdrew my fingers, denying her release.
She gasped, glanced over her shoulder at me, her mouth open, but said nothing â probably out of breath.Â
I brought my fingers to my mouth, savoring the taste of her. It was so uniquely her. I couldn't get enough.
Leaning in, I pressed my body against hers from behind, my hard length probed at her entrance.Â
I leaned down over her, my hand snaking into her hair. I grabbed it tightly, forcing her head up to meet mine. "I love you, first-year," I murmured against her ear.
She trembled, but her defiance remained strong. "I hate you."
I sighed â always so fierce, makes me wonder what it takes to fuck that stubborn attitude out of her.Â
"It's alright, I love you enough for both of us."
With that, I pushed her head down into the mattress. Her cry muffled by the sheets beneath her as I thrust into her once more, bottoming out inside her with a groan.
I began to move in and out of her. Faster now, harder until the headboard slammed against the wall. Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her moans muffled by the fabric.
As her cries grew louder, I quickly pushed her face further into the mattress. "Quiet, first year," I murmured as I angled myself to rub against her G-spot, making it harder for her to keep quiet. "Wouldn't want to disturb anyone in the middle of the night, would we?"
Neither of us spoke a word â not that she could but â perhaps because there was nothing left to say. Instead, we communicated solely through our actions, saying everything that needed to be said without opening our mouths.
I increased both the pace and pressure. Nearly causing her to fall forward hadn't I held her in place with one hand on her waist and one sill in her hair. Her breath hitched, her entire body tensed as she approached her breaking point.
Oh, how I loved feeling her tighten around me.
Bringing her closer to the edge was a thrill like no other. Watching her lose control, hearing her cries and moans, feeling her body tremble beneath me â it was intoxicating.
I could feel myself getting closer to the edge, my balls tightening as I approached my own release.Â
Her cries grew louder, more urgent, until finally, she shattered around me, her orgasm triggering my own.
With a final thrust, I emptied myself inside her, filling her completely. Her contractions milked every last drop from me, her body still quivering around me.Â
I stayed inside her, savoring the feeling. It might be the last time.
I was panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to catch my breath. My cock was still twitching inside her. Reluctantly, I pulled out with a low moan.
I stayed behind her for a moment longer, admiring the curve of her waist, the sheen of sweat on her skin in the sliver of moonlight.Â
Don't know when or if I'll ever see that again.
Time seemed to stand still, suspended indefinitely as we tried to find our breath again.
Then she turned her head. "You're a fucking idiot," she finally said.
"Tell me something I don't know."
She shifted to face me, her expression serious. "Promise me something."
"Anything you want, love."
"Promise me, you won't kill yourself with your pills."
I swallowed hard. That's not what'll get me, I thought, as I felt a sharp pain lancing through my right side.
I moved closer, cupping her face with my hands that trembled slightly. For an insane moment, I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I couldn't â couldn't ever again. "I promise," I rasped.
The words heavy with a lie we both knew.
<- prev chapter | next chapter ->
author's note: wooooaaa, another insane!gojo chapter lol. this chapter really killed me, was crying, screaming, throwing up while writing.
i'm equally scared and excited to hear what you think about todays chapter, ngl. originally i didn't plan a smut scene in this chapter, but you know, somewhere down that line gojo just happened and here we are.Â
also like, i think now both their's darkest secrets are now out â in the worst way possible. also because i keep getting messages regarding how much chapters are left of the story, idk i write form chapter to chapter. we're down somewhere the 60â70 % line with the story i guess, but we'll see. still more to uncover of gojo's past and all that.
also sorry for the people asking of for more fluff and happy moments, ehhh, there will be some in the future?? also i'm still sticking to the plan of a happy ending, so don't worry!! gojo fucked up big time and the next chapters will center about him trying to fight his fears and get shit together â let's see if he can do that. curious myself.
so thank you so so much for sicking by with the story. sending kisses to all of you lovely people seeing me messages, leaving likes, comments and reblog stuff. it really makes my heart happy everything i see a notification. love you all sm!! âĄ
okay my last note, just so you know, i'm going on vocation soon, so the next chapter will be a bit delayed again, sorraaaayyy!! wishing you a great day or night and an awesome weekend ahead! âĄ
đˇď¸ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 @kendall0111 @bloopsstuff @therealestpussyeater @louoi7 @whereflowerswenttodie @billiondollarworth @deluluforcarlos55 @starrynight-777 @vina21 @michelleeveline @boba-is-a-soup @cre8inghavoc @love-jelly @daimiyu @d0nk3y-k0ng @mo0nforme @smolbeanzzz @oneiricals @ynishalee @gojolvrr34 @nanasukii28 @ariiiii0938 @kelppsstuff @tojisdollx @drakenswifeyy @bakarinnie @vina21 @phoenix-eclipses @nanamis-baker @neptnszn (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)
#symptoms and causes#gojo saturo#jujutsu kaisen#saturo gojo x reader#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo x you#gojo x female reader#satoru gojo smut#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo angst#gojo angst#jjk smut#gojo satoru#jjk x you#jjk fanfic
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No one has ever thought about Blitzo's perspective and I think that's the problem: a tiny analysis/essay
I was rewatching season 2 episode 6 when something kind-of rubbed me the wrong way, and it was how Fizzarolli described the fire.
He states:
And I'm a fizz lover- dont get me wrong- and I understand he was angry and obviously not in the correct mindspace at this point in time-
But this type of comment seems so unfair considering how unfair the circus life for Blitzo was. He mentions how he's angry at Blitzo for being jealous of him- but he never addresses why Blitzo is jealous. Fizz has never (on screen) addressed or even acknowledged how unfairly Blitzo's father treated him and how Blitzo had it harder in life because of that.
I feel like it would hurt so much if your best friend was so blatantly favored by your own father, the father that abused you (I think selling your kid and forcing them to steal without a care for the child's safety counts as abuse), and your best friend never acknowledged that situation and held your jealousy against you?
Barbie does a similar thing on a more extreme level, only thinking about how the accident, the fire, losing their mother, was hard FOR HER. And if you look at Barbie, she doesn't really seem to have any scars (besides on her tail, and the tattoos on her body). Therefore we can assume that Blitzo sustained more physical injuries than her - in addition to losing their mother. Yet its all about how hard it is for her.
So far no one in the series has really ever looked past Blitzo's hard persona and think about maybe why he does the things that he does.
this obviously results in Blitzo blaming himself for the fire- besides the one "You have no idea what I lost in that fire" Blitzo never ever brings up how hard the fire was for him. He never ever allows sympathy to be directed his way in relation to the accident, not from himself or anyone around him. He's convinced he's the monster, the villain of the story. It's why, every single time the fire is brought up, he is solely focused on apologizing, on taking the blame, taking the blows from Fizz/Barbie. He never defends himself. Never once does he try to seek any comfort for himself, not once does he make it about him.
My problem is that everyone lets him.
Everyone sits back and watches as he takes the blows for everything. As if its all his fault. They place the blame on Blitzo because its easier, easier than acknowledging Blitzo's pain too.
Which brings me to Stolas.
In this current Stolas situation, where Stolas goes wrong is by repeating this same behavior that Blitzo was faced with when it came to Barbie and Fizz after the accident. Something happened, people were hurt, Blitzo was hurt, Stolas was hurt- but of course it's all Blitzo's fault - it's always Blitzos fault. Stolas takes very little blame for what happened, even though he very much is equally to blame as is Blitzo.
Also note here: Blitzo has his flaws and he does make mistakes that he needs to take responsibility for. This is not to say he is 100% innocent, he's just not 100% to blame either.
Its always Blitzo who needs to apologize, Blitzo who ruined the relationship, Blitzo who broke Stolas' heart, Blitzo who ruined Barbie's life, Blitzo who destroyed Fizz. This pattern happens so much that Blitzo's turned it into a core belief: when something bad happens, he's at fault. He's the reason behind all the bad things that happen. He's the common denominator.
Which is how we got to today: he doesnt believe he deserves love, sympathy, or comfort: because he believes hes the sole cause for all this pain: therefore why should he feel happiness when all he does is take other's away? Why should he allow himself to be loved by Stolas when he hurt Barbie so badly? When he ruined Barbie's chances at love? At a good life?
It's like he's constantly punishing himself for something he thinks he's responsible for. He thinks he deserves to be miserable as some sort of pay-back for ruining everyone's lives.
And you can see as he desperately tries to act the opposite now. It's subtle, because he has to keep up his hard exterior, but its there.
Every single one of his relationships (besides those from childhood) were created because he wanted to help. Adopting Loona to help her escape foster care, befriending Moxxie and helping him escape the abuse of his father and the mafia, befriending Millie (which we don't know their back story yet but i assume he also helped her out of a bad hole, maybe by offering her a position at IMP? We will see!).
I just think he doesnt get the credit he deserves.
I think if just one person acknowledged what happened to Blitzo, allowed Blitzo to be vulnerable, allowed him to express his feelings, allowed him to grieve and mourn the things that happened to him: he would be able to move on, and improve.
It's even worse that some of the people who are the worst offenders are also the ones to claim they love him. Verosika, Stolas, Fizz, etc. They like him for the fake persona he puts up. This enforced Blitzo's belief that he must repress things, that they wont love him if he were anyone else- if he showed his true scars and trauma and if he showed how soft he really is. They love him for his fake persona, not really for him.
So he lashes out. He's shitty. He pushes them away.
And when he does let some of that vulnerability slip? He's shit on for it. When he expresses it to Fizz, Fizz covers up his words with "Glad you could admit it, want a medal?" The only small reprieve Blitzo got was when Fizz said "I guess you didn't really ruin my life."
When he expresses it to stolas "Treat me like one of your butler imps!" Stolas's response is "You think that little of me?"
Which isnt an invalid response point to bring up (and definitely needs to be addressed, which I think Blitzo is getting to bc he's becoming very aware of his other shortcomings), but at the same time Stolas has the responsibility of thinking about why Blitzo would think that. Stolas has never really listened to Blitzo when Blitzo doesnt fit into this mold that Stolas made up of him. When Blitzo gets angry and expresses how Stolas makes him feel:
"Dont act like this is anything more than you wanting me to fuck you" "You can't just throw this feelings bullshit on me" "give me a second to think!" "Oh, sorry, this entire time I assumed the worst because I was convinced a prince could never love someone like me and I've let my self hatred stop me from apologizing to anyone I could ever care about!" "How could you ever actually care for an imp⌠Me? How could anybody?"
He's always faced with Stolas bringing it back to...well.. anything else. He either ignores the comment all together or he goes into what he wants.
And Blitzo isnt perfect either, but I feel like we all know that. I think that everyone is well aware of how shitty Blitzo can be, but no one really addresses everyone else. Which is why i'm not getting into Blitzo's flaws, because those are a lot more obvious.
So yeah, thats why I wanted to post this lil analysis. Also because its fun to break apart their relationships and wonder why they said the things they said, get a better understanding of the story and the characters. I could be totally off with all this but I had fun writing it lol.
This is not a blitzo/stolas/fizz/etc hate post AT ALL. I love everyone and think that the story will show us who they are.
Let me know if you agree or disagree!
#helluva boss#stolitz#blitzo#hellaverse#stolas#helluva boss blitz#blitzo x stolas#hazbin hotel#helluva boss blitzo#helluva boss analysis#stolas goetia#hb stolas#verosika mayday#fizzarolli and blitzo#helluva boss fizzarolli
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What plan the Universe has for you đŞ
| Private readings here | | PAC masterlist| |$5 readings|
*pics stolen from pinterest*
Pile 1 đš
âThe heart is an arrowâ â Inej Ghafa. 6 of Crows
I see that if have been held back from a certain endeavour, the Universe is now aligning everything for you to move forward. If you have been done wrong in the past, I see you rising above that and receiving justice.
For most of you I see that you will be able to nurture your project/endeavour and finally start working on it. Your enemies will be dealt with. Prepare to defend and STAND for what is yours. No matter how many people tell you your ideas are stupid, or they try to cut you down or donât believe in you. You believe in you. The Universe believes in you and does everything for you to move forward. Nobody will be able to hold you back. Your ideas are devine, fiercely believe in what is yours and protect it with the might of your spirit.
I just feel the need to tell you that I love you and you got this, honey!â¤ď¸đ
Please put in an ask in my box and tell me what it is youâre going through lately or what youâre planning, if you want)
Bye <3
PILE 2đ§¨
âI say whatever I want, I do whatever I wantâ - IDGAF by Drake & Yeatđś
Honey, you are about to be so BLESSED. Youâve got an opportunity to shine here, my love. Itâs so funny to me how your channel picture is a match and literally every single card that came out for you is on FIRE. Like, brrr. The Universe plans for you to rise in confidence. You are about to have a very joyful, prideful and inspired period of your life. Literally feels like youâre on fire. Your come in yourself is about to rise, you will be enjoying life more.
I asked the Universe WHY this is the case, and She says you have been in a resting period and have been completing a stressful cycle of your life. You donât deserve all that stress, honey, gotta enjoy, âcause lifeâs too short for ANY bullshit that you donât enjoy. So I suggest you go all OUT. Fuck them people who are thinking they have a say in YOUR LIFE. You do you, boo. For some reason I have a need to talk to you extra like that, but itâs the energyyy, okay. Go shopping, go play outside, do whatever it is that makes feel good. You deserve and youâre a Queen bitch!!â¤ď¸âđĽ Donât forget that.
That is the plan for you, dear pile 2 people.
What have you been doing prior that got you to exhaust you joy meters and resources like that? I would love to know. Come tell me.
Love ya, byeee~
PILE 3 đŞ
âOh, she doesnât see, the light thatâs shining. Deeper than the eyes can find.â â Scars to your beautiful by Allesia Cara
I see you breaking the chains others have put on you. You are going against what youâre told and youâre finding your true voice. It seems to me that you are indulging to much in the thing that donât actually matter to avoid the bigger issues. You feel like you are being held back from your desires and the world is so close yet so far out of reach. Itâs being unfair to you. You blame your problems on the world, but ask yourself, what exactly have you been hiding from yourself and why do you feel so comfortable shifting responsibility for your fortunes and misfortunes on a higher power. Isnât it so convenient that itâs out of reach?
Ponder on this, please. Your picture is perfect for you, because thatâs exactly how you feel. Like something or someone is holding you back from your freedom. But the truth is, the only one who can hold you back is you.
The plan is for you to realise this and close out this cycle. Find personal freedom.
Guys, this is my pile as well. Come talk to me however you want.
Bye-byeđ
#tarothouselattier#tarot community#free tarot readings#pick a card#tarot pick a pile#pick a pile#pac#tarot reading#tarot pick a card#tarot advice
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đđąđŞđˇđŽđľ đ°5 ~ đđžđźđ´đŽđť đ đĄđŽđŞđđŽđť
Oh, to be young and in love, in the most romantic era of the notorious 1950s, with one very magical man who never fail to make you swoon with every suave look who offers.
It isn't very often that Husker reminisces his past life - He knows, if he does, he will remember all of the good times, when his heart was gold and trembling with pure emotion - After all, if he recalls the time he was alive, and very much in love, his frozen heart will just shatter to dust once again, with the same infinite anguish he felt once everything was ripped away from his grasp.
A pain so intolerable, that runs so deep - A pain that no amount of alcohol can mend.
He never truly knows whether he wants to remain asleep forever, so that he will never have to face reality again, or if that would be a nightmare, tormenting him for the remaining abyss of eternity...
Or, perhaps he should stay awake, so that memories will stop toppling him over, beginning with a most beautiful reverie, yet always ending with the same night terror he must face every time.
If this is his way of paying for his irredeemable sins, then he is well aware he deserves it, and even more - Yet every smell reminds him of that sweet Chanel N°5 that she used to wear. Every time he closes his eyes, he dreams of the gracious dances he would share with her. Every song he hears, he recalls that angelic voice of hers, and every time he lays abed and stares up at the ceiling, her seraphic visage flashes before him.
"You are drinking again." Angel slumped in one of the stools by the bar, noticing his best friend looking in a far worse state than usual. "Rough day?"
"Rough life." Husk rasped, chugging down a whole bottle of strong spirits.
"Wanna talk about it?" he tried, in vain, to appear sympathetic - The feline demon was far too gone into his own darkness to even think about slurring away his never-ending sorrows.
"I wanna die, that's what I want." he growled, slamming away the bottle into the nearest wall. "Just like this fucking bottle. That's what I fuckin' wanna do - I wanna die, damn it!"
Angel's eyes widened greatly - Yes, life in hell surely was crazy, and especially for demons like the two of them, who sold their souls away because of their own failures, both in life, and now, in hell - But what in the world could it have caused him to get so hopeless that he was unable to fight back the tears glistening in those tortured eyes?
Even someone like him couldn't dare to make light of the situation, or try and crack a joke, let alone taunt or flirt with him. He felt... Pity, for the poor bartender who always listens to others' woes, yet dares naught speak out his own problems.
"Listen... Husk, ergh... I'm not the best at comforting, okay? But... If I can help, you can tell me... And, if not, then... I'll still be here. And maybe try to keep the others away from you. How's that?" Husk didn't quite seem to compute what his friend said, though he robotically nodded his head, as if remote controlled.
Angel remained in that stool for a few hours, watching the winged demon drink bottle after bottle after bottle, yet his sorrows only washed over him tenfold with each shattered glass against a different wall. He wonders what is going through Husk's mind, what he's ruining himself over with each sigh o grip on his fur.
Who would have thought that, of all things possible, Husker's greatest lament was...
"I fucking hate red. Why the fuck are my wings red? Of all the fucking colours in hell, they just had to be red, yeah?" he stammered angrily, pulling at his feathers. "Y'know what? They can't change colour. Tried dyeing 'em, but nothin'. Got so much fuckin' red on me - I wonder if it's Hell's way of punishin' me forever for my fucking sins."
He hates red...? What an odd statement - He truly seems to have a personal vendetta against that colour - But why? It's just a colour, after all, it can do no wrong. "Why... Do you hate red so much...? Angeldust dared to ask.
At first, he was met with a low growl, hostile, yet inoffensive at its core. Then, he heard a most disturbing answer. "That was the colour of my wife's dress when I last went home." Angel's brain shut down completely. To think someone was trusting him with such a vulnerable piece of himself, the very core of their hopelessness, their weakness; In a way, he felt flattered that Husk trusted him so much, yet in another way... He couldn't help but feel borderless pity for his friend. He wishes such a fate to no one... Well, maybe to Valentino.
Angel forced himself to smile softly, placing his hand gingerly over his own, taking away the alcohol from his hand. "What was her name?" Husk looked up with shock, a little startled, right into his dual coloured eyes - He hasn't ever spoken her name out loud, it almost felt like a blasphemy against her purity. Yet... Maybe... "Y/N." he dared whisper.
"Y/N." Angel repeated after him. "A beautiful name for a beautiful lady." Husk nodded his head.
"She was a Princess." he muttered, his sight blurry with tears.
"A Princess? Really? Nobility and all that?" much to his surprise, Husker chuckled.
"Nah, not quite." he rasped. "At heart, she was. Her family was very rich, so she was pampered up. Huge manor, servants, a personal maid, luxury brands, jewellery and perfumes, indulging in any studies and hobbies she liked..."
"How'd you two meet? I don't suppose you were a Prince or something, were you?" Angel tried to joke friendly, encouraging his friend to open up.
"Ha. Far from it." in his hand, a few dices appeared, and he idly played around with them. "I was an ugly dead beat from a working class broken family. Hardly worthy of her attention." he gritted his teeth bitterly. "Got around to finding work at a young age - Gambling, magic, sax player - If I had money to live, anything worked."
"Did you meet at one of your gigs?" Husk nodded his head affirmatively.
"No clue what she saw in me, Angel. She could do so much better." for a split second, he had a dry smirk on his face, before it disappeared again. "I asked her once, what the hell did she see in me - And she said... I played her favourite song. Silly, innit?"
He didn't receive a mocking laugh, much to his surprise - Instead, Angel cooed. He never imagined the jaded demon before him could be so romantic! "What did you play?" Instead of answering, Husk turned around to his bar, and took out another bottle, yet this time, he hummed a familiar tune as he was doing his bartending for two glasses. "Oh, now I get it - You always hum that song when no one's around! I thought you were just bored out of your mind." he let out an amused exhale. "Fly me to the moon... Refined tastes, alright."
"The stars in the sky never sparkles as brightly as those in her eyes when she looked at me." no wonder he never accepted any flirting from anyone - How could anyone match the love he had for Y/N? "If I were a decent man, I'd have told her not to waste her precious time and love on me. Instead, I was a selfish fuck. I stole years of her life... And in the end, I even stole her life. All because I wasn't even half the fucking man I pretended to be."
The conversation soon turned significantly sour. "I was the man - I was supposed to provide for her. Afford all that fucking expensive Chanel N°5, and the Dior dresses, the Chantelle lingerie, and the damn Cartier and Tiffany's jewellery." even someone more modern like Angel knew all those luxury brands, and was even more impressed and shocked that they could so easily afford such high-end items. "I brought her flowers every day and I took her out on brunches every morning, on dates every afternoon, and to soirees every fucking evening. She loved dancing at parties... But I suppose she preferred the moonlight over the chandeliers."
"You must have overworked yourself a bunch to afford all these things. I'm sure she appreciated it." Angel tried to comfort him, earning a nod of agreement.
"She told me she didn't need any gift, except for my presence. Genuine woman, that one. But how could I, in good conscience, go to her parents and ask for her hand in marriage, when I couldn't even afford a half-decent house with a room for each of her hobbies, a drawer for each month outfit, another for her shoes and three more for her bags, jewels and perfumes; and a large flower garden and a fucking rose gazebo and a swan pond with ten different breeds of pedigree dogs." Angel cringed a little, realising the tremendous gap between their living conditions. "I lost myself on the way to greatness. She was making me so euphoric that I just wanted to see her excited every moment of her life. I didn't need to eat or drink, I just needed to see her smile, and I could work again a few more days without rest."
"But then... You collapsed from overworking?" Husker shook his head.
"Worse. I fooled her parents completely, and we planned our wedding." he replied bitterly.
"How is that a bad thing? Isn't the wedding day the happiest day in a couple's life?" Husk sighed, from the deepest part of his soul.
"It was." he said. "I got greedy. I went to loan sharks, took a shit ton of money to make that wedding the most grand event the country saw in a while. Then went on a month-old honey moon around the world." he cursed in a few different languages that Angel couldn't understand, but was sure were some highly offensive and crude words that he would never utter around Y/N. "I don't need to say more, do I?"
Yeah, he needn't continue speaking the descent into madness, alright. Angeldust didn't want to hear that his friend's love story ended up in his soulmate getting murderer by the loan sharks, only for him to end up killing them, and then himself, out of pure rage and sorrow. He didn't want to hear that an innocent woman like Y/N never knew that her husband was broke and took loans, just to try and mimic the lavish lifestyle she grew up with and deserved. He didn't want to hear the broken shriek of anguish, or the streaming river of tears that befell as Husker saw her dead, on the floor, her pearly pink dress dyed a deep crimson from her own blood, and getting even more stained with each strong embrace he held around her shattered body, just like a precious porcelain doll fallen off the shelf.
They only just recently became something akin to 'best friends' from both sides... Yet Angel couldn't bare to hear the tragic end of the story, and he couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he felt, having to live his afterlife as a Sinner, for as long as he has, without the woman he loves by his side.
"It's better this way, I guess. At least she finally got rid of me. Wherever she is, she must be living far better, than with a lying fuck like me who couldn't keep it together." the spider demon frowned, watching his friend slump on the bar counter.
"I don't think that's the case." he spoke vehemently. "I don't believe there is any person, of any kind, treasuring her as much as you did." Husk's ears perked up immediately, twitching lightly. "At least on an emotional way, I'd say, you and Y/N were lucky. There's so many people who never experience the love you had, let alone get to meet and marry their soulmate."
"What the fuck would you know?!" he growled, throwing a bottle at his head, only for the demon to dodge.
"... I wish I had fallen in love too, you know?" Husk gritted his teeth, realising the sensitive wound that he unwillingly stabbed open - But it wasn't his foult - He is hurt! He is in pain! "As a human, as a demon... I was like you, sort of. I was so shit at managing my life, that I ended up falling prey to my vices... I needed more and more, and I couldn't resist. I had no ration or logic. I gave in to my so-called 'friend group' and got addicted to drugs... Couldn't get rid of that addiction even after death... And I clinged on the only demon who could give me what I wanted... And now, I can't escape Val, even if I wanted to turn my life around and live the life that I never could." Angel had a wry smile on his face. "Do you really think a drug addict or the most famous porn star of hell would be able to meet his soulmate, without destroying their life in the process also?"
The two remained silent, only hanging their head and sighing. No matter how happy life can be for some... It will never have a chance of turning around for them. It just couldn't be. They are in hell, after all. Even Charlie won't be able to save them and bring them on the path of redemption, no matter how insanely enthusiastic and cheerful she can be... They were still sure to drown.
Somehow, this few hours of vulnerability brought Husk and Angel closer, and although they won't be speaking about it again, it was clear to the residents of the Hazbin Hotel that the two were as close as two demons can get, without the inclusion of vice or extortion.
Things were going well enough for them, even with the new addition of Sir Pentious, the villain turned... Something? It was still not too bad around the hotel. Though unsure of whatever Charlie's plan was, to fight against the purge from the Angels, they were still there to sort-of support whatever dream the Princess of the Pride Circle has.
That is, until the Hotel opened its doors to a brand new resident, a gorgeous demoness dressed elegantly in a dress of pearly pink, adorned with high quality jewellery, and with her long hair done stylishly, and smelling like a fresh day of Spring. She walked in guided by the Radio Demon, of all people, and she was smiling so demurely, completely unafraid of the fiend next to her, yet still reserved and soft.
"No way, is that Chanel N°5?! How'd you get it in here?!" Angel squealed, fangirling over the flowery perfume - But then, it clicked for him. Didn't Husker mention his wife loving this scent the most?
"Oh, you noticed! I am so happy that there are more sensible people - Erh - Demons with refined tastes!" the girl unfolded her laced fan and giggled behind it demurely.
Although she looked even more regal than even the Princess of Hell herself, as they stood next to each other, there was one particular detail that made the new-comer stand out from any other netizen.
With her hands clasped together over her chest, a bright white gold ring, with a most brilliant zircon was shining brighter than even the moon herself.
Whilst the other demons gathered around the seraphic beauty, wanting to have her attention, and even going as far as to have Alastor speak out about this new lady, Husker's breath stopped completely; His brain was going into overdrive, and his heart, he wanted to rip out of his chest.
That ring... That ring, he knew all to well - After all, he bought it himself, when he proposed to Y/N. That voice, the fashion, the mannerism... Even with altered looks, she looked the same. Even in hell, she looked the same. Even with demonic eyes, she looked the same.
She was the most beautiful woman in the universe.
"Y/N, this is Husker, our bartender." Charlie's face was split open by her overly-cheerful grin. "Husk, won't you introduce yourself to Y/N?"
"I'm not a fucking child. I don't need to introduce myself." the man hissed aggressively. "This is fucking stupid, I'm out." without even realising, he shattered the glass in his grasp, before stomping away into his room.
How could that be? Was this a nightmare? Surely, this must be some impersonator demon or something - There's no way an innocent being like Y/N could possibly have ended up in Hell, with a bunch of Sinners, of all thing. Was this his fault also? Did he bring her down with him to hell? Was he never going to be forgiven for all of the shit he's done in his previous life? Did Alastor bring her to the Hotel, so that he could blackmail him even more? Was his empty soul worth so little, in the end?
He was so afraid - Will Y/N be angry once she realises who he is? He couldn't blame her, obviously, he's earned her scorn... Yet why is his heart hurting so bad? He wishes so badly to jump on her and wrap her in his arms and wrings, and never again let her go. Ah, but he looks like a stupid flying cat... He looks ridiculous. There's no way...
...
Perhaps... She should stay with Al...
He has the influence, the money, the fashion sense, the looks, the freedom and privilege, the elegance...
Alastor has everything, and embodies everything that he could never be.
In life, he was selfish, and he didn't let go of her. Perhaps, the only way to apologise and make up for his sins was to let her be cherished by a man capable of doing what he never could.
As he lay awake on the bed, curled up and cursing his whole existence, wanting to sob until his body was all dried up and shriek until his throat was bleeding raw; he wanted to claw his face to velvety ribbons and drown his lungs with all of his blood... As he was succumbing to his self-hatred and spiraling down into the depths of despair, Y/N decided to end the day with some delicious pastries and an aromatic cup of tea in the garden, with her friend, Alastor.
Y/N was idly playing with her ring, looking at the inscription inside of it. 'Y/N ⥠Husker'. How absolutely adorable, she thought, a beautiful smile gracing her features. "He looks... Different. Are you sure it is the same person, Alastor?" her voice showed nervousness.
"Y/N, Y/N, would I lie to you?" he grinned, as always, sipping from his tea. "You should hear him purr. He truly resembles a little kitten."
Y/N looked up into he friend's eyes, a look of intense surprise and borderline intrigue taking over. "Are you being truthful? He... Purrs?" she gasped, quickly slipping her ring back on her finger.
"Yes, my darling. Unconsciously, someone strokes his fur, he gets so very adorable~." Alastor hums, watching the lady before him being so romantically melancholic over a life long gone. "What did you think about today's meeting?"
Y/N sighed, looking up into the sky. "I feel guilty for enjoying the moment I ripped Velvette apart, yet I feel no remorse for killing her. Such an uncouth and vulgar person has no right to behave with such disrespect towards me." Alastor's grin widened significantly. "And... I cannot wait for the next purge. I want to burn Heaven to cinders. Those hypocrites have grown far too arrogant for their own good, and I believe they need to be taught a harsh lesson."
"I see we are on the same wavelength as always, my dear." the demon sipped from his tea. "I am quite glad those arrogant hypocrites turned you away, for such a silly thing like - Vanity - They say. Beautiful women should be allowed to feel that-a-way, not ostracised for being such jewels for one's eyes." ever the charmer with poison dripping from his tongue. "Before I turn in for the evening, I have a gift for you - For friendship's sake." Y/N rose a suspicious eyebrow, watching as he took out a carefully folded picture from his blazer's pocket, and handing it to her. "I am going for a new fitting with Rosie tomorrow, should you wish to join us for a lovely day of self-care." the girl smiled, nodding her head at him in appreciation. "Have a pleasant evening."
Y/N muttered her pleasantries, and waited for Alastor to leave her sight, before unfolding the picture and bursting to tears. She cradled the precious memory to her heart, and sobbed for as long as her heart needed.
What have they done so wrong to deserve this? They were so happy while alive, so what went wrong? Was her opulent life, the reason for their downfall? Did her beloved think she wouldn't love him, if he couldn't match her family's wealth? Were all soulmates made to be torn apart while at their most blissful?
Still, she was grateful that she wasn't accepted into Heaven, for she would have had a most awful afterlife, as opposed to the many Overlord friends she made since she's been sent to Hell after her gruesome death, and the many favours she received from the Lords and Royals who went to Earth to retrieve items of importance for her.
Drying her tears, Y/N walked back inside the hotel, ready to turn in for the night, only to stop in her tracks as soon as she heard a soft sob, followed by a few very familiar curses in a variety of languages that she knew all too well. Her heart clenched as she stepped cautiously towards the foreign room, eavesdropping for any other sound, only to be met with more muffled cries.
Biting her lip, the demoness knocked on the door, only to be cursed harshly and told to fuck off. Y/N gulped, feeling taken aback by being talked in such a way - Though she immediately composed herself, reminding herself that he, too, is hurting, most likely far more than she is.
She excused herself before opening the door and entering. "What fucking part of 'FUCK OFF' don't you FUCKING UNDERSTA---" Husk was livid, getting in a sitting position as he growled with incredible hostility at the one who dared barge in his bedroom so rudely, only to remain speechless as he realised it was the demoness herself, standing with a sympathetic smile on her face. She also seemed to have been crying prior to this. "Oh. It is you." he cleared his throat, getting back on the bed, unable to face her.
"I have missed you dearly." her voice was so soft, so beautiful, so endearing... "I... Cannot believe that I am seeing you again. It seems to me that, no matter how far apart, our souls will forever traverse oceans of time and space, just to embrace each other once more."
She could hear him sniffling, his nails digging deep into the blanket. "You have always been so romantic and poetic." he grumbled, hiding his face in the pillow. "You shouldn't be here."
"You will have to be more specific, my love." she hummed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. "Here - In Hell? Or here - In your room? Either way, I would say, I am right where I need to be."
"I don't understand." as if burning with frustration, Husk shot up, looking with self-hatred at the girl. "You did nothing wrong your entire life. You were nothing but a living sunshine. A fucking flower in human form. What the fuck did those angels not agree with, that they cast you to this shit hole?"
"There was a time when you would beat up any man who would curse in my presence." Y/N's adorable giggle made the demon's face flush red. "I am sorry that you are suffering so much, at my expense. I could never repay you for everything you have done for me, while we were alive."
"What the hell are you apologising for anyway? I got you killed, not the other way around - And even if it were that way, it'd've been a blessing in disguise, getting rid of a dead beat worthless fuck like me." he huffed, looking away. "You always were too good for me." the demon had so much to say, so many regrets to yell, so much love to spill... Alas, he remained quiet. "You seemed happy with Al. I wish I could be that, while we were alive." his voice went to soft, it was barely audible. "You should... Stay with him."
"Yes, I am happy being friends with Alastor. He was the one who introduced me to Rosie and Carmilla and Zestial, and I cherish them all dearly, as my like-minded friends." Y/N spoke calmly, reaching her hand to cup her lover's soft cheek. "He also was the one to tell me of your misdemeanours. How you succumbed to your vices; to gambling and alcohol, to the the point that you lost your soul in a deal with him. How pitiful." he was so confused as to where she was trying to get with her words, yet in spite of the anticipation for blames and reproaches, he couldn't help but lean into her warm and gentle touch. "He is the one who helped me become an Overlord, and I took your place. And it is Alastor, and some other friends of mine, who helped retrieve some objects I thought long lost."
"... You still smell like Chanel N°5." his comment made the girl giggle again.
"One of my friends had his little imps go to the human world and rob an entire Chanel store, to bring me all Chanel N°5 perfume bottles." how incredulous, Husk thought, staring at the girl flabbergast, speaking of a clear crime, committed in her name. And then, he started laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of her statement.
"Angel would kill to have a whole room of Chanel N°5." he said, his eyes softening as he put his hand over hers. "Y/N... Knowing that you are doing fine... That you aren't suffering... Or anything that I put you through... It makes me... Content."
"My darling." Y/N called out. "Do you remember the day of our wedding?"
"Of course I do. What's that question?"
With a cheeky grin, she took out the picture from her purse, handing it to her beloved. "Alastor was able to find this. His connections truly are amazing." Husk's eyes were wet with falling tears, and his lips were trembling. "I forgot I had pink roses braided in my hair. I was so busy looking at my handsome husband, that everything around me vanished." Husk's sobbing got even louder. "I wanted to frame this picture first, but I couldn't resist showing it to you first."
"Get out, Y/N! Get out!" his voice was broken and raw, so pained that even her heart shattered. "I am not the man you fell in love with. Why do you think my name is 'Husk'? I am just that - A husk of the man I never was. I am not worth anything. I don't amount to anything. I just gamble money I don't have and drink booze until I pass out. I don't deserve a second chance, and I certainly don't deserve you. I never did. I got you killed, damn it!"
"You think too much, you fool." Y/N cupped his face, bringing him into a gentle kiss - A kiss so loving that it numbed his pain, and hightened his senses, that got his heart pumping again and his lungs screaming for air. "I fell in love with you for good reason, and I intend to remain by your side, loving you." she smiled, wiping his tears with her thumb. "You can try as much as you wish to drive me away, but it will not work. You may succeed in convincing yourself that you are a lesser man, but you cannot do that with me. I know the man before me, and I know I will never leave you."
"Y/N..." the man sniffled, burying his face in her bosom, holding so tightly onto her petite body that he almost feared breaking her.
"There was once a time when you would only call me 'Sweety'." her honeyed giggle sounded so teasing, yet it didn't embarrass him. It served only to make him chuckle.
"There was also a time when I would only call you 'Chanel', if you recall." it almost felt as though they were both alive, and during their honey moon, without a single care in the world, and living a most carefree life.
"That does bring back some very amusing memories." Husk hummed in agreement, feeling melancholic, despite the intense joy surging through his body. Perhaps it was due to the unfamiliarity of this positive feeling, that he felt exhausted, or maybe from his excessive crying and whining. Regardless, he wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in his wife's arms, and never leave this blasted room ever again.
"Can you promise me something?" the man asked. "I am selfish still - Even more so as a demon. I am nothing but filth. I didn't deserve you then, and I deserve you even less now. Still... Now that you're here... I can't let you go again. So..."
Though he found himself eating his words, Y/N only smiled, laying down on the bed and taking him down with her, nestling him comfortably into her loving embrace. "Alastor said you purr like a kitten. I would love to hear that, tonight." she hummed, hearing his annoyed snarl. "And every night going forward, for as long as we may live in this afterlife we have." Husk's body became stiff, frozen with shock. "That is what you wanted me to promise, isn't it? That I will never leave you." he didn't respond. "It is within our wedding vows, silly. There is no way I would walk away, after I have just found my soulmate."
"... Even though I look like... This? And I am irredeemably addicted to gambling and drinking, even more so than before... And I have lost my soul to the Radio Demon? I am stuck doing his bidding for eternity... And..." Y/N only hugged him closer.
"No matter what, in sickness and in death, you and I will still be soulbound." his small body was softly trembling with emotion. "I've got you, my darling. Worry not about anything. I have got you." she remained silent for a little while. "But, Husk..." her voice sounded so distant, so... Melancholic. "Do you... Still like me? The way you did before?"
Startled by her words, Husker jolted up, looking at the pitiful visage of his lover. "What... What do you mean...?"
"My skin is pure white, with no colour, except for my make up. My eyes are black where they should be white, and the worst carmine red, where they should be embodying the aspect of nature. Even my hair looks to be an abnormal colour, and no matter how much I try to dye it, it will not retain its original shade." she gulped, looking away from him. "Any shred of normalcy that I have... Is so tiresome, so much work to keep up, the princessy facade that I used to have, that I used to love... That you used to love..." she sighed softly. "Yet even that completely dissolves as soon as I transform in the monstrous form that I fight so hard to keep veiled from the world."
"Y/N." he caressed her soft face, only to notice small particles of powder latching onto his fur. "I'm a fucking furry mammal with wings. I look like a children's plush toy or somethin'. Meanwhile, you look as doll-like as always, and you're afraid I wouldn't like you anymore? How silly." he sighed, leaning to place a kiss on her forehead. For a few seconds, he stopped to ponder over a rather bold move, and in a split second, he retrieved a wooden box from under his bed. "This is my secret. Nobody has to know about this." he spoke, a rosy tint on his cheeks. "Open it."
Carefully, the girl did as instructed, revealing the content of the box. A bunch of letters were preserved there, all of them neatly placed and handwritten with black ink. "Husk..." Y/N felt the air in her lungs dissipating, as she realised all those letters were recreating the exchange of love words from their time alive. "H-How...?"
"I have all our letters memorised." he chuckled lightly. "I... Needed some way of keeping you close... Of remembering you. I am shit at drawing, but I have a good enough memory... So this was the only way of preserving what we had."
"It's been so long... And yet, you... You still remember... All of it? There must be tens, if not, hundreds of them... How...?" the girl was flabbergast, yet melting completely.
"I read them every night before sleep, when alive, and I read them every night now also." those precious teardrop diamonds caressing her cheeks falling down so gracefully.
đź đđđđđ đđđđ đśđˇđđđ đ˝đśđ
đ
đžđđđđ; đź đšđžđšđâđ đđ˝đžđđ đšđđđśđđ đ¸đśđđ đđđđ; đź đ¸đđđđšđâđ đđđśđđđ đˇđđđžđđđ đžđ đđđđ, đ°đđđžđ đź đťđžđđśđđđ đđđ đ����đ.
His usual raspy voice sounded so romantic as he recited the love poem he wrote to her. A voice that he only reserved for her. A voice that only she would ever know.
đ¸đđđđ đšđśđ đđžđđ˝ đđđ đđžđđđ đđ đś đđ˝đđžđđ; đđđ đđ đšđđđśđđ đđđ đđžđ¸đ˝đđ đťđđđťđžđđ. đź'đ đś đťđđđ đťđđ đđđđ đ¸đ˝đśđđđ; đ´đđ đˇđđđđđ đžđ đđ đśđđđ; đżđđđ đđ; đ
đđđśđđ đđśđ đđ˝đśđ đđđ đđžđđ.
A love so pure and true, bottomless and without boundaries; Husker himself forgot just how endless his emotions could run. He thought himself jaded and cold, having lost his own heart, the second he lost her... Yet now... Perhaps it wasn't as bad as he first thought. Perhaps... Even someone like himself deserves some kind of redemption.
đťđđđšđžđđ đđđđ đ˝đśđđš đ˛đśđđđ đđ đ˝đđśđđ đđ đžđđ ���đđđ. đźđâđ đ˝đśđđš đđ đžđđśđđžđđ đťđđ đź đ¸đđđđš đđđđ đđđ đđđđ.
Without her, he wasn't whole. Without her, he is not himself. Without her, he is empty. Without her, his whole life falls apart. Without her, he is nothing but a worthless deadbeat.
đĽđđđ đđđđđžđđ đśđ đđđ đ˘đžđđđ đđ đś đđ˝đđžđđ. đź đđđđ đđđ đđđ, đđđš đź đśđđđśđđ đđžđđ.
But now, he is not alone anymore - Well, perhaps he never was to begin with, considering he still had Angel and Charlie, to some extent, yet nothing can compare to sweet Y/N's existence by his side. Nothing can heal his aching soul, or revert the damage he did to himself throughout life and afterlife, the way her love for him did.
⥠~đ đľđ¸đżđŽ đđ¸đž, đśđ đźđđŽđŽđ˝ đđťđ˛đˇđŹđŽđźđź~âĄ
#hazbin hotel#hazbin angel dust#hazbin alastor#hazbin charlie#hazbin hotel husk#hazbin husk#husker#hazbin husker#husker x reader#husker imagine#hazbin hotel husk x reader#hazbin hotel husker imagine#charlotte morningstar#hazbin vaggie#Hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel imagine
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Here's another thing I feel like we need to talk about regarding the current war between Israel and Hamas. Minor as it may be, I've been losing my mind over this.
As a person who grew up in the early 2010s, I grew up mostly on the internet and fandom culture, and have written quite a lot of fanficition in my early teens.
Something I've realized this past week is that people are seeing Palestine as a fandom. And not only does it belittle the actual problem, it dehumanizes Palestinians and Israelis alike and allows the rewriting of facts and truths as if it were an AU fanfic.
After realizing that I jokingly told a friend that I wouldn't be surprised to see RPF about the events of October 7th. I had in mind something like slash fiction of Hamas members, but today I found out people are writing fanfiction about A HOSTAGE AND HER CAPTOR.
I also found out it didn't happen in a vaccum - apparently tiktok is exploding with this stuff, saying Maya Regev - the hostage in question - had "left her heart in Gaza", because she smiled and said "shukran, bye" to her captors.
In case you have forgotten - Maya Regev was SHOT IN THE LEG AND TAKEN HOSTAGE INTO GAZA along with her brother, who was released FOUR DAYS AFTER HER. She was released with a shattered leg and without her brother - but if she smiled, her captors must have treated her so well, amirite? (Even though there are already plenty of horror stories from Hamas captivity, and children came back pale and whispering with their heads full of lice.)
Even in the early 2010s there was a debate whether RPF is legit or not (and at 26 I can safely say it's a no from me), but in this case it's even worse. These are not public figures we are talking about. This isn't One Direction or The Beatles. The Hamas terrorists are, well, terrorists, and Maya Regev is a private person made public because she was TAKEN HOSTAGE INTO GAZA. Writing a FANFIC about actual people who were actually injured during October 7th is beyond sickening, and it's probably the most immoral thing you can do on social media for the Palestinian cause (and if you guys claim to be on the side of morality you might want to be consistent).
Another thing that's driving me crazy is the difference between Israelis and Non-Israelis who grew up on the same things at the same time. my friends and I learned a lot about justice, critical thinking, and the power of art and creativity on the internet. I met a lot of my online friends in socialist youth movements and rallies, and many of them later became my classmates in Bezalel - BECAUSE we applied what we had learned into our adult life.
Non Israelis who grew up on the same platforms as I did who took part in the same fandoms, read the same fanfiction works, learned the same truths of social justice and the power of art- are now viewing the conflict as a fandom. You're either a fan or you're wrong - there is no middle. No room for critical thinking, for "Palestinians have every right to self-determination and an independent state BUT Hamas who actively prevents them said rights has comitted crimes against humanity on 7.10 and must be held accountable", or for "the occupation must end BUT the Jewish people are indigenous to the region" - there is only room for "by all means" and "from the river to the sea". It doesn't matter if they don't know which river and what sea - because if the conflict is a fandom, then they can write an AU to deal with every truth that doesn't settle with their narrative, and rewrite reality to fit their next fanfic.
#personal#×׊ר××#×׊ר×××ר#××פץ תר××ת×#××׊×#i will post that on my story#antisemitism
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I wanted to ask if you could write something with rafe where reader does selfharm and he finds out? Maybe with a soft version of rafe
Not Going Anywhere
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader
Warnings: SELF-HARM and Talks of DEPRESSION (Please don't read if these are a trigger).
Pronouns: She/Her
Word Count: 1.1K
A/N: If you or anyone you know are experiencing depression, then please know you are not alone and there are people who can help. The internet has information on the best places for you to go to in your country. Not tagging anyone just in case this is a trigger for anyone on my tag list.
Masterlist
It isnât for attention. That is one assumption most people make whenever they see the scars. Itâs the reason why she hides them on her hips. She doesnât have to worry about anyone seeing it because no one sees her naked, not even her boyfriend. The only times the marks see the light of day are when she changes or showers. She makes sure the cuts made can be hidden by her underwear and any panties or bikini bottoms she buys need to pass that test as well.Â
No matter how wrong she knows it is, she canât help but hold the cold sharp blade against the tough skin. It is resting on top of a barely healing scar because she has no other place for it. Her breath hitches as she pulls the Exacto knife across her, going a little farther than the mark already made. Tears are running down her face. Her eyes blur as she repeats the motion below the blooming red line. Her breath is uneven and hitches every time the metal touches her skin. In some sick way, the pain gives her a small relief. It gives her a reason.
Most people wonder why someone would cause harm to themselves. They would guess that the despair is caused by a lack of food, shelter, money, clothes or love. However, Y/N doesnât have that issue. How could she when she is a kook? No, she has never felt hunger or fear and that is the cause of the turmoil inside of her head. Nonetheless, ever since she entered teenhood, she would experience these months-long periods of extreme sadness. She would do her best to hide them from everyone by pushing herself to get out of bed and go to activities that she would normally enjoy. She would make sure to cry when no one else was at home and to track her family membersâ phones to verify she was alone. It was a secret she kept so deep within her that she started to question why she felt this way. That is when the true problems began. She felt guilty for feeling this despair without a reason and it was furthered by the secrets she had to keep, so she began to self-harm as her reason. In her brain, partly because of what society has told her, she needed a reason for why she was melancholy because there are people in the world who were dealt much tougher times in life.Â
So, that is how she finds herself standing in front of the mirror, holding down the right side of her underwear and dragging an Exacto knife along her skin. She has fallen into one of her episodes and this time, it is the worst one to date. She has never pressed so hard into her skin with the blade. It has never bled this much. She curses as the blood begins to seep into the cotton of her underwear. Her attention is on stopping the red from staining her clothes, so she doesnât hear the front door open.Â
Rafe whistles whilst he uses his copy of the key to open Y/Nâs front door. People thought it was too early when they exchanged house keys after only six months of dating. They didnât though. It felt like the next step when she told him that she was saving herself for marriage. They found a different way to reach a new level of intimacy and it worked for them. Her house is eerily quiet and dark. Normally, she keeps the hallway lights on when she is home and if she is watching TV/listening to music, it is so loud that it could make a deaf person hear. He doesnât let the lack of normality stop him from making his way to her bedroom, thinking nothing that her door is closed. He uses the doorknob to push it open and he is surprised to see her standing in front of the mirror with her hands pressing against her hip. It takes him a second to process that blood stains her hand. His shock turns to worry as he rushes to her side. He trips over something in his attempt to get to her and looks down to see a bloody Exacto knife, like the kind she uses to cut things for her art. He kicks it away and removes her hand from her side. He curses at the amount of blood. This needs stitches.Â
âMy love, what happened?â he asks, hoping the theory he has isnât true. He sees the tears running down her face and the way her mouth opens and closes. She has no idea how to answer. The hiccups of her crying make it even harder. Instead of waiting for an answer, Rafe washes his hands and gets the first aid kit in her bathroom. He uses the bandage wrap inside it to catch the blood, instructing her to use it to apply pressure whilst he guides her to his car. The drive to the hospital is silent.Â
âââ
Y/N told the medical practitioner the truth as to how she got the cuts and scars. She couldnât lie with Rafe in the room. He had offered to step out, except she asked him to stay. She was tired of lying. It only added to her exhaustion. Y/N didnât have to say much before the doctor excused herself to get a hospital psychiatrist. Rafe said nothing as she described the anguish she felt. He felt a sharp stab to his heart at every word she said, criticizing himself for not seeing the mental pain his girlfriend was in.Â
With the doctor gone, he speaks up. âIs there anything I can do right now that can help you feel more comfortable?â She appreciates that he doesnât assume that there is an easy fix to this or that at the moment there is something quick he can do to make her feel better. His focus on her comfort causes a flutter in her stomach. She nods, âCan you just hold me?â He joins her on the hospital bed and pulls her to his side. The buzz of the lights is the sole thing that can be heard for a while. âThis isnât your fault,â she clarifies, concerned that he might think it. He kisses her temple, âI know. Thank you for trusting me enough to be in the room when you told the doctor what happened. This isnât your fault either and you are so brave for asking for help. If you want, I will be here to help you every step of the way.â A different kind of relief comes over her. She feels a glimmer of hope that she doesnât have to do this alone. âI want you here,â she whispers, pressing her face into his side. âThen Iâm not going anywhere.â
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#outer banks#rafe cameron imagine#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks imagine#outer banks x reader
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Been thinking about Galinda and Elphabaâs choices at the end of âDefying Gravityâ and how different things might have been, and it makes me so sad because at the end of the day, while it was Elphaba who did the right thing, Galindaâs decision has less to do with her being cowardly or evil, and more to do with her going with what she knows to be a safe/effective strategy.
Galinda doesnât insult or downplay Elphabaâs concern for the animals. She yells at Elphaba for defying the Wizard because doing so âhurts her cause foreverâ. Galindaâs whole thing is popularity, playing the system, playing the social game. Thatâs what she does, thatâs the world she knows, thatâs what sheâs comfortable with. She knows that Elphaba leaving will only lead to her being vilified, even if Elphaba is 100% right. Yes, Galinda loves her popularity and has ambition, but she does it with intention and purpose. Whereas Elphaba, who has never been popular and has no chance of eclipsing the Wizard in that domain (but totally can and already has in terms of her power) is way more comfortable calling him out right here and now. Galindaâs comments about Elphabaâs delusions of grandeur and her not knowing what sheâs doing with the book also hold some truth to them as seen in Act 2 when Elphabaâs attempts to fix things with the book have unintended consequences, yet work. Thereâs some truth to both their perspectives and no perfect and effective and 100% moral solution to this problem. These are two college girls trying their best with the cards theyâve been dealt, and it is not either of their faults what happens: itâs the Wizardâs and Morribleâs. Galinda is not the villain of the story, they are.
Galinda makes mistakes, she does selfish things, for sure, but sheâs certainly not evil. I point this out in my analysis of âNo One Mourns the Wickedâ but the Wicked story, while it is about Galinda and Elphaba and features them as the main characters, isnât a story of Galinda vs. Elphaba. As Galinda says, despite their different choices, they were friends, and they cared for each other. Wicked is the story of Elphaba vs. the Wizard, as told by Galinda, who was friends with Elphaba and worked for the Wizard. The villagers in the song characterize Galinda goodness itself and sing that âgoodness knows what goodness is, goodness knows the wicked die aloneâ and in the end, Galinda is the only one that does know the truth about the Wizard being the truly Wicked one and Elphaba being wonderful. Galinda also knows in the end, sheâs ruling Oz and carrying out Elphabaâs mission to make Oz better for everyone, including the Animals, which is what she believes Elphaba died for. Meanwhile, Galinda knows the Wizard, who was truly Wicked, died/left Oz grieving what heâd lost/what heâs done.
Thatâs why I have a hard time blaming Galinda or calling her the villain for her choices during âDefying Gravityâ. Even though there is tragedy in both Galinda and Elphabaâs endings, their respective strategies pay off for both of them. Elphabaâs stance against the Wizard leads to him being exposed by Dorothy as a fraud and allows Elphaba to help the animals. Whereas Galinda becomes so popular and loved by the people, that they totally accept the Wizard leaving because they have her now, and Galinda is able to take power from Morrible and send her to prison, no questions asked. Now sheâs ruling all of Oz and can actually make things better for the Animals. She had to make moral concessions to get there that Elphaba wasnât willing to, and yes, that was wrong, Iâm not saying it isnât, but Galinda didnât just do it because she was 100% selfish, she genuinely believed this was the best choice and winning strategy, and given her background, why wouldnât she? Galindaâs popularity is what has gotten her this far in life despite her lack of ability, and Elphaba was asking her to give all of that up, every bit of power, influence, and protection she had, to become a scorned criminal, and anything Galinda tried to do to bring about positive change would be twisted and manipulated by the Wizard and Morrible. Whereas Galinda was asking Elphaba to let a man who is abusing the Animals (who for many years, were the only friends Elphaba had) use her power for his own evil designs in order to slowly gain more power and influence and make gradual changes and concessions for the sake of the Animals all while there are huge injustices being committed right now that sheâd be doing little or nothing to stop.
Given these situations, of course Galinda and Elphaba made the decisions they did at the end of part 1, of course they still hope things work out for one another, of course Galinda smiles to herself with pride when she sees Elphaba flying away (I loved that detail, she so happy to see her get away, itâs so sweet). Neither of them are in a fair position at all, and you can argue that Galinda should have been more willing to take a risk and had a moral obligation to do so, but the fact that she didnât wasnât 100% self-motivated and if anyone is to be blamed itâs the grown Animal abusing deadbeat father and professional conman who put her in that position, not the college girl who just wants to support her bestie without losing the only card she had to play.
The unfortunate byproduct of this (and I talk about this in other posts about how powerful Elphaba and Galinda could have been together), is that we will never know if things could have been better if Galinda had gone with Elphaba or if Elphaba had decided to stay. Galindaâs popularity might have been enough to make the students at Shiz, her parents, and her friends question the Wizardâs vilification of her or at least frame her as an impressionable and confused young girl, but would it have been enough for her, a college student, to totally expose the Wizardâs plot and rally all of Oz to her and Elphabaâs side? And had Elphaba chosen to stay, could she have found a way, after the Wizard makes the people see her as âwonderfulâ to use her magic she still barely understands to secretly protect her Animal friends until she finds a way to stop/expose the Wizard and Morrible? Both sound unlikely, but at the end of the day, we donât know. You can argue that Elphabaâs choice was more morally correct and Galindaâs was more strategic and effective long term, but weâll never know what might have been. Though goodness knows, the two of them will probably wonder for the rest of their lives.
#Wicked#Galinda#galinda upland#wicked witch#wicked witch of the west#wicked the musical#elphaba thropp#wicked movie#Wicked 2024#wicked part one#Wicked the movie#defying gravity#wicked elphaba#wicked spoilers
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KARMIC BALANCE ⡠CHAPTER III
âˇWARNINGS cursing, pining??? idk. mention of the nd game and h*annah h*dalgo
âˇNIYAH SPEAKS aye we back! this one is just paiges pob
âŚâŚâŚâŚ
SENIOR YEAR
We lose to Notre Dame every year.Â
Every. Fucking. Year.Â
And now that Iâm home in Storrs, looking at everyone as they try to mask their disappointment, I feel the loss even more.Â
Which is why Iâm walking around in the middle of night, the December air biting into my skin. I canât stop thinking about everything that went wrong. Why everything went wrong.Â
I honestly have no fucking clue why, but I know what went wrong. Everyone does. Our defense was lousy, our shots were horrible, we got too tired. I could go on, but that wonât fix anything.Â
I find myself at Xavi and Janes house before I realize it. I tell myself that itâs because Yannaâs there, and not because of the wisdom that Xavia seems to have about every aspect of life.Â
When Xavia opens the door wearing a smile and a moo moo, I ignore that bubly feeling in my chest and ask to come in.Â
Once inside, I see her apartment is almost completely dark. The big lights are off, the living room being lit only by a candle and two lamps in opposite corners.Â
âSo, whatâs up P?â Xavi asks, running her hands down the silk of her moo moo. âItâs almost midnight and youâre usually dead to the world by 9.â
Knowing that Xavia knows my bedtime makes me smile for reasons I donât want to admit.Â
When I first met her, Xavia was like a mystery. She was funny and smart and absolutely fucking beautiful. Sheâd apologized for making a false assumption about me. It was the first and only time anyone had ever done that and I never forgot it.Â
When she and Jane started coming around more, I forced myself to swallow the want I had to learn more about her, to learn from her because I knew that if Iâd gotten to the root of who she was, Iâd be even more enthralled than I already was at that point.Â
Eventually my heart stopped beating so fast around her. Iâd stopped avoiding being within 3 feet of her and trained myself to treat her like Iâd treated all my other friends.Â
Because thatâs what she is. My friend.Â
It didnât matter that her not worshipping ground I walked on excited me. It didnât matter that almost every conversation we had alone rested in the back of my mind at all times.Â
Xavia is my friend and thatâs all sheâd ever be.Â
âYeah I know. I just canât get the ND game outta my head and I thought Yanna would be here to talk to.â
Iâm lying and I know it. Whether Yanna was here or not, I would have found a way to talk to Xavi. I always did. Not because I wanted to be around her, but because she always had the answer to whatever problem that I have. Anyone would do the same if theyâd stopped to pay attention when she was trying to get a word in.Â
âOh, yeah, sheâs not here.â Xavi pointed a thumb to the back of her house, where Her and Janeâd bedroomâs were. Her locs swayed with the turn of her head. âHer and Jane went to Urgent Care cause she hit her shoulder on the wall and-â She waves her hands anxiously, as if she doesnât feel like explaining a complex situation. âIt was a whole thing. Iâm sure youâll hear about it tomorrow.â
I know I should be worried about my teammate who canât seem to stay healthy. And I am. I make a mental note to check in on Yanna at some point, but right now, Iâm thinking of a way I can stay and talk to Xavi without making it a thing.
âOhâŚâ is what I came up with.Â
âYou can talk to me?â Thank. God. â If you want.â
Of course I fucking want. Itâs all Iâve done for the past three years.Â
I want to be a better person.Â
I want to be 19 again and do everything differently.Â
I want to win the championship this year.Â
But all those wants are null and void for the biggest want of all.Â
I want to get drafted to the WNBA.
And Iâve made too many shitty decisions to get there to just throw it all away. So what if Iâm miserable?
âUh, yeah. Thatâs cool.â I play off my desperation and take a seat on her orange bean bag.Â
Xavi plops down on the couch in front of me, crossing her legs and folding her hands. All her attention is on me and a part of me feels like I donât deserve the attention of this amazing woman. But a bigger part is screaming that this is how it should be.Â
Me, admiring every part of her, and her, willing and ready for anything I give her.Â
Of course, in this situation all she wants is to know whatâs on my mind, but I would give her whatever else she could think up.Â
âSo whatcha thinkin âbout?â She asks sweetly.Â
Her voice isnât obnoxiously high. Itâs kinda deep and mellow, just like she is.
âUm⌠I just canât get over everything.â I shake my head and look at my hands. Hands that are supposed to get me everywhere I want in life. âLike, I get why we lost. What we did wrong on the basketball front. But we were off the other day. Weâd run those plays over and over again in practice. Studied film. We should have been prepared, but we were just off. Like no matter how hard we tried, we just couldnât get there.â
Xavia nods her head like she understands everything Iâm saying.Â
âLike everything was against you guys?â she questions.Â
âNo. I donât think that anything was unfair. I think that our all just wasnât enough.â
âWell, I know you canât speak for anyone else, and Iâd never ask you to. But why do you think you were off that night?â
She sounds like a therapist. The kind that isnât just trying to fix you, but trying to understand you. The kind that hangs on to every word, but not to hold it against you.
âI donât know. I just kept getting madder and madder and it threw me off. I did everything I was supposed to do.â
She looks confused now. âWhat do you mean âsupposed to doâ?â
âLike everything I thought was right. Everything I've always done.â
âMaybe thatâs the issue.âÂ
Now Iâm confused.Â
âWhat?â
Following my routine has taken me and my team to the Final Four, and for Xavi to tell me itâs wrong stings a little.Â
âMaybe doing everything youâve always done isnât the answer. Paige, youâre a somewhat mature adult. Do you honestly think youâre right all the time?â
What does she mean âsomewhatâ mature?Â
â...No?â
âRight.â Xavi sounds so sure of herself, leaning in and starting to talk with her hands like she does when sheâs talking about her coursework or something equally as interesting to her. âItâs impossible to be right in every situation because every situation is different. When you throughout your daily life, do you treat every person the same? Do you go into every conversation with the same mindset, expecting the same outcome?â
I mean most people are the same, so what else am I supposed to do?
âKinda, yeah.â
âWell thatâs no bueno, babe.â She huffs out, pointing at me. Then, she entrances me again with her hands as she speaks. â Every human is different. They have different pasts, and different views. Even if the difference between one person and another is miniscule, itâs there. And that difference is why itâs so important that we donât generalize people.â
I know sheâs stopped talking but Iâm so caught up in her voice, and her hands and her face, and her to contribute to the conversation.
âAre you understanding?â She asks, seemingly genuinely concern with whether Iâm comprehending what sheâs telling me.Â
And the answer is no, Iâm not understanding. Whether thereâs a differenc eor not, each person want the same thing and should be dealt with the same, based on what they want.Â
This is the code fucking live by,a nd sheâs sitting her debunking it in the most intellectual, attractive way possible.
âNot really.â
âOkay so likeâŚâ She sighs, pauses to think and then continues. âDo you remember when we first met? When I assumed you were a whore like alot of college athletes are?â
The reminder of our first interaction brings a calmness to me. I remember everything abou that night in her dorm. She wore sweats with no bra, and Iâm pretty sure she was stoned.
âYeah of course. You apologized to me that night and it kinda weirded me out.â
âRight.â Xavia snapped her fingers, bringing me out of my memory. âI apologized to you, because I generalized you and made an assumption based on one aspect of your identity. And I think it weirded you out because youâd generalized every person whoâd made an assumption about you. I guess itâs rare that people apologize after being an asshole to you.â
It was rare. So rare that sheâs the only person whoâd ever done it.
âOkayâŚâ
âSo. Incourpurating that into basketball. Every team is different.â
I nod my head to let her know I was following. âOf course.â
âOkay and so every player on every team is different too.â
She lost me.
âNo.â Now Iâm the one leaning forward, talking with my hands. âThey all move as a team. Yes, they have differences, but theyâre all working together.â
âI see it differently.â She shrugs like sheâs the master of basketball and done copious amounts of research on the psyche of an athlet. âI feel like every player on that court moves individually. Do they play for the same team, and have the same goal? Of course. But theyâre all different. They all have different thoughts and concerns and ideas. You said that girl Hannah was the head of the snake, but I think you should see it differently.â
âHow so?â
âInstead of thinking of a team as one snake, think of it like⌠Like cheetahs!â
âCheetahs?â
âCheetahs.â She finalizes. âOnce the mama cheetah gives birth, she trains her cubs to survive in any situation. To adapt to any surroundings. She teaches her cubs how to kill different animals, to hide, all that. Eventually, the cubs form a sibling group and go out together to execute everything their mother has taught them. Are you getting the analogy?â
When sheâs explaining it in laymans terms, of course I get it. She could probably explain thermodynamics to me and Iâd understand it fully. Xavia just has a way of making everything in life seem so simple. Itâs wonderful, really.
âYeah. Like the coach is the mother, the players are the cubs.â
âRight. But each cub is different. Thereâs a more dominant one, thereâs submissives and then theirs the runts. Each one has to edit their mothers lessons to make it useful to them individually. Does that make sense?â
Iâve decided that sheâs blown my mind enough for tonight, once again by being right about everything. So I just chuckle and dismiss the topic.
âHow do you come up with this shit, Xavi?â
She laughs like a seductress and leans back on the couch, âI dunno. I read alot.â
You read alot? Reading alot has given you the ability to break down a sport like youâve played it your whole life?
âWell thank you for sharing your knowledge with my dumbass, oh wise one.â
I stand up from the beanbag and make my way to the door, ready to take my exit.
âIâm not wise, I just see from a different point of view than you. Sometimes you gotta get outta your head.â
âI guess.â I sigh, then open my arms. âThanks, Xavi.âÂ
She steps into me, her head just below my chest and wraps her arms around me. Her body is warm, but the silk sheâs wearing cold. She doesnât hug me tight or aggressively. Just stands there with her arms around my waist.Â
It feels terrifyingly comfortable.Â
âAnytime P.â she mutters, pulling away and ushering me out of her home.Â
The whole walk back, my mind is on her and everything she said.Â
How is it that this girl that is the exact opposite of everything Iâm looking for, seems to be everything I need?
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So, I saw this tweet come across my feed, and I thought it was rather interesting! Mainly because while I agree on principle, I think the way Silco goes about it is his greatest flaw as a leader and a revolutionary.
As I said, I agree with the sentiment, if you want change, massive change like ending opression, Violence sometimes is the only way to have your voice be heard. Specially if every other avenue has been shut off and is no longer an option.
However, the problem is that Silco doesn't use his violence and cruelty on his opressors, he uses it on his own people.
Under his leadership Zaun became even more dangerous and more of a mess, he has filled the streets with a dangerous drug , he uses child labor for the production of said drug and he has allowed the Chembarons to run rampant. It's become so bad that he has divided his own people, with groups like the Firelights standing against him, and as we are shown, repeatedly, Silco has no problems killing people in his way, zaunite or otherwise.
In contrast...how many Pilties did Silco inflict violence on? Well, he killed Grayson (though that almost feels like she was at the wrong place at the wrong time), he's been manipulating and stressing Marcus out, that's two...and he did try to kill Caitlyn, though again, mainly cause she was around Vi, who he actually wanted to kill.
Now, the argument is that he is bidding his time, preparing his weapons for the eventual revolution, and that is true, but alright, after the revolution and Zaun is free...what does he have a plan to fix the mess he made? Does he stop shimmer and kill the other barons? How does he un-fuck Zaun? And may I point out, all this time Piltover is still leagues ahead of Zaun, he has not made his enemy weaker in any meaningful way, the worst we see is that some shimmer made it's way topside, but clearly not as much or as bad as it got in Zaun.
In contrast, Vander's passivity didn't improve things, true, but we are also shown he made an effort to keep people safe, to make life just a bit more beareable in hell. There was a sense that you were stuck in a terrible position, but together that could be mitigated. When Vander died, he got a statue. When Silco died, he was mourned by exactly two people.
I think it's very telling that when Jinx DID become a symbol for revolution, for Zaunite freedom, she was directly connected to Vander and not Silco. Because Silco wasn't a good revolutionary or leader, he was a mob boss, who did more damage to his own people than his opressors.
(Mind you none of this is a critic of the character, I think these flaws are what actually make him incredibly interesting and deep as a character)
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Notes on Scottâs Wild Life 3 POV
In summary: our gaslight king controlling the narrative as usual, what an icon.
Scott has very economical editing, having one of the shorter POVs, yet takes care to include several instances of being nice to Pearl (noticed this when he left in giving Pearl food, both at the beginning and when they were building the new castle together). However, he left out the session routine of chastising Impulse and Pearl for picking fights with Gem/Joel (seen in Pearlâs POV), only including warning a freshly yellow Pearl to not try to kill them.
Scott doesnât die this episode. Notably, his main contributions to base building are simply moving materials from one chest to the other â a very safe activity when being pursued by a snail. Gem and Joel who also avoided snail death built in a wide open area, and the other no-snail-deaths generally forgoed building and dangerous activity altogether (although, RIP Lizzie for surviving mining only to be Skizzâd). All this to say: Scott wasnât playing sweaty, he still took risks, but they were very small and calculated.
Scott doesnât include a lot of the Spanners antagonizing GGGG. Partly because they failed and itâs not very interesting to just see Scott looking at the dirt for Mumbo and Grian digging, or warily watching Skizz from 15 blocks sway. But I also think heâs building a villain narrative for Pearl and Impulse and having other groups wrong GGGG would upset that balance. Though, this point is my most tinfoil hat theory.
Scott, Cleo, and Impulse half-heartedly warn Etho of an approaching creeper, sort of totally 100% causing his death. They all celebrate, Cleo and Impulse both breaking into delighted cackles, however Scott calls Impulse out on taking more glee from Ethoâs death than the other two. Heâs taking care to point out any villainous behavior in Impulse/Pearl, justifying his own negative behavior towards them and painting himself as a long suffering yet loyal teammate. He does this every season, and I eat it up every time â although heâs particularly negative towards Imp and Pearl compared to, say, Martyn.
Related, Scott is stressing how put together and connected GGGG is. Heâs complimenting all of them and turning to the camera to gloat about how theyâre not gonna fall apart. This session didnât leave a lot of room for Impulse and Pearl to prove him wrong, but even then heâs doing the prep work to make it their fault if/when the divorce happens. This is made easier by his reputation as a good and loyal teammate combined with Impulseâs and especially Pearlâs fandom reputation as instigators. (And to an extent, yes, they are both consciously approaching WL with a âcause problems on purposeâ mission.)
But I canât ignore every time Scott badmouths their decisions to other people and denounces their actions as suspicious/villainous. That sort of behavior only makes him look better instead of strengthening his whole team: if he really believed in GGGG, heâd be lying on their behalf and definitely not calling them out for picking fights. Just as Cleo didnât back up Pearl when she tried to poison Gem, Scott is actively making his teammates look worse. And I fear he might get away with it.
I love Smajor and watch his perspective as a fan! I think he intentionally plays âthe social gameâ like this: partly to make it more interesting, and partly because he enjoys the chaos. And really, who doesnât?
#trafficblr#scott smajor#smajor#for the record i think the way to combat scott villainizing imp and pearl is to fight back verbally when he says stuff#and even spread the counter story of scott trying to make them look bad. so when ppl are talking to him theyâre on alert for that#a very âfire with fire strategy#unfortunately imp and pearl have been very open about starting trouble so they canât be the ones to protest and/or spread the counter story#thatâs why cleoâs so interesting to me because theyâre in position to completely discredit scott. and theyre being nicer to pearl#just another tinfoil hat theory :)#life series#life series spoilers
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Okay so im gonna just throw randomly my thoughts on sm6 while rewatching it cuz why not, I was doing the same thing for hazbin hotel so why not spooky month too?
So yeah, SPOOKY MONTH 6 SPOILERS WARNINGâźď¸
Ok im just gonna say: that starting scene with thieves was kinda funny. Also rewatching it, im starting to suspect that this giant spider thing in Lilas attic have her husbands soul, IDK WHY, I JUST FEEL LIKE IT, it just looks so important, it even appeared twice in the ep: in the begining n in the end.
Also ARE WE JUST GONNA IGNORE HOW JAUNE CALLED LILA "HOT STUFF"??? WHILE HAVING A HUSBAND?????? A HUSBAND THAT SITTING NEARBY HER WHEN SHE SAYING THAT???????? ARE THEY IN A POLY RELATIONSHIPS HOLY FUCKING SHIT????????????? IM EVEN MORE INTRIGED NOW
Okay so Skid does know and remember his dad, I just was thinking that his father left/died when Skid still wasnt born or when he was very little so Skid doesnt even know that he had a father, but no he does remember his dad, so that means he presented for quite long time in Skids life.
Also im really suprised how big Pumps house is, well i meanâ he said that his parents work alot so ig i shouldnt be suprised-
Poor Ignacio just wants some peaceâ *watched the ep a lil longer* Oh hes kinda fucked up actually---
Also for some reason i find kinda interesting that Ross n Rob were kinda comforting Roy every time they were on the screen like "We're here for you, Roy" etc etc, so im thinking maybe something bad happened to Roy? I mean he looked kinda frustrated n angry, so maybe somethng between him n his parents?
Okay but can we talk about how Moloch look so much more scarier than before?
Okay so--- get ready for my rambleling bout my boy Dexter-- HE LIVED WITH HIS MOM N ALOT OF CATSđđđ N HIS MOMS PURE GRIEF BOUT HER LOSS WAS GENIUNALY SO SAD TO WITNESS đđđđ
Okay so looking at Skids impression when Father Gregor asked him bout his father-- yeah i think his dad actually died---- but i can be wrong ofc
Okay- im sorry but-- why does Kevin n Radfords interactions make them look like a couple--- I AM SORRY BUT----
Also the way Father Gregor gave Kevin holy water was really funny to me, it was like: "You know these children?? Yeaahhhh i feel bad for u, kid. Here have some holy water, just in case...." ALSO the fact that ppl started coming in the store ONLY after Radford sprinkled holy water in it-- DOES THAT MEAN THAT THERE WERE DEMONS IN IT THAT WERE KEEPING PPL AWAY???
Dont mind me guys, im just a little crying :')
Okay but the way how Skid n Pump were SO exited to see Moloch again was really funny n cute at the same time
Okay... This is the part when i literally teared up. I know it was just Moloch trying to fool Father Gregor to give him kids but idk.... It still made me tear up for some reason, and i even know the reason: i just miss Dexter so much n i didnt expect him to appear so much times in this ep, I just think hes a precious boy who deserved better. I KNOW THAT HE WAS KILLING ANIMALS N I DONT APPROVE THAT AT ALL, but hes still a sweetie idfc.
Also why would Patty need a gun so immediatly?..
Also that part when Moloch were wandering around the town n Father n spooky bois were trying to catch him was so funny and entertaining
Poor Pelo got ooffed again. Press F.
AND OMG THIS PART WHEN MOLOCH POSSESED SKID N PUMPS BODIES AND THE FATHER EXORCISMS THEM WAS SOOOO COOL, I DONT EVEN KNOW WHY, I THINK I JUST HAVE A THING FOR DEMONS N EXORCISM.
And this is the part where i actually cried alot. Poor Skid doesnt know that its not his fault at all.. Also even if Father Gregors words were kinda mean, that Lila is irresponsible mother, I cant disagree with them. Yes, she is an alone mother, but it doesnt give her permission to just leave her child to himself n his friend n go drink n then spent time w her child drunk. Yeah i know, that she leaves him to mr Wonder n Susie, but lets be honest, were here even a single time when the kids didnt just leave the house n cause problem? No. So i think the Fathers words are make perfect sense, n Lila should think bout it. Also a lil thing i just thought bout, why would Lila throw away her husbands stuff? If he actually died why would she do this? Or hes not dead n he just left for some reason? Idk
Also OMFG THAT OOGA BOOGA JUMPSCARE GOT ME SO FUCKING GOOD, I WASNT READY FOR AT ALL
and so ummm i think thats it. It took me 1 hour to write this lol.
#spooky month#spooky month hollow sorrows#spooky month spoilers#sm hollow sorrows#spooky month dexter#spooky month skid#spooky month pump#sm skid#sm pump#sm patty#spooky month kevin#sm kevin#spooky month roy#spooky month robert#spooky month radford#sm hatzgang#sm radford#sm robert#sm roy#spooky month lila#spooky month jaune#sm lila#thats alot of tags holy shit#my post
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Two beautiful and loving souls both gone way too soon I'm so tired of people disrespecting Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley they looked happy together but one thing I hated was how people treated these two lovebirds as awful people not every single day I get infuriated and enraged they were so happy together and full of life i may not know Lisa Marie Presley at all but she deserves a lot of love and respect abd admiration I'm getting tired of people disrespecting her and ex husband just because two people love each other deeply doesn't mean that people should be ripping others apart and finding it funny people should actually stop doing these things this is not funny anymore not every day that I encounter this as well with my soon to be husband this is ridiculous and pathetic i am fed up already this whole Ordeal needs to stop already i am not happy anymore if people cannot stop this nonsense already they will serious consequences for their actions I am really over this whole Ordeal not every day that I have to fight off people trying to ruin my relationship and my marriage in general what the hell is wrong with people nowadays just because someone is in a relationship or is married does not give them the right to start causing trouble for those that are trying to get married or wanting to get married i get tired of people doing these things not every day that I have to stop people meddling in my marriage this is the nine hundredth time that people continue this madness they need to stop already I'm not happy anymore this is ridiculous who thinks it's funny to ruin someone relationship because they are happy with each other not every single day I get irritated and annoyed already people need to stop already their actions will get them in serious trouble already don't be going around trying to ruin someone's relationship with their significant other if people cannot stop this nonsense already they be facing serious consequences for their actions nobody has the energy nor the desire or the patience to be dealing with someone who likes ruining relationships for their own selfish ways people who do this to me deserve to get cussed out in a brutal way i do not have the energy nor the patience nor desire to be dealing with someone who thinks ruining relationships is funny and comical they will face serious problems later on in their lives if they keep this up people should really stop trying to ruin michael jackson and Lisa Marie Presley's relationship as well this has gotten out of hand for the dumbest reasons possible I'm not happy at all why can't people these days cut their antics out already I don't find this funny anymore I'm not a happy woman anymore if people cannot stop this madness they will face significant consequences and issues nobody wants to deal with their antics or their cocky attitude and snarky behavior of theirs this is saying I'm a self entitled know it all who takes the brunt out of ruining someone else's relationship with someone else they deeply love this is a way of saying i have nothing to do with my life people like that don't know when to actually stop what they are doing is disrespectful and damaging relationships with other people that love someone else deeply i get tired of people doing these things and thinking it's funny this whole charade is a train wreck what is up with people nowadays do they get a sick sense or what I'm completely confused and baffled right now but I'm not a stupid person who is that oblivious to believe the lies and rumors that people be spread on the internet this is not funny this is immature and childish and petty and saying I'm a basement dweller who takes the joy of messing with other people's relationships this isn't funny at all I am not sure why people feel like they have the upper hand when it comes to someone's relationship with their significant other đ¤Śđ˝ââď¸
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