#what do you MEAN ‘fight like I want to die’??????

[remnant-emblemeer]

Sylvain Jose Gautier you will never beat the depression allegations if you keep saying shit like this

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Yandere Alphabet | The Salesman Version

Warnings: Obsessive!Salesman - Possessive!Salesman - Mention of his past - NSFW - Violent parts -

Notes: Can be read as reader being his wife already. - I can finally use that gif!! -

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Oh its really intense. The Salesman has no shame on showing you how much he loves you. He will get you lots of gifts. Will be over you all the time when he is at his home with you.

He likes to leave marks on you that last for days. And when these starts to fade he gives you new ones. He just loves knowing that he owns you.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

VERY MUCH. He is a jealous Man and a controling one.He has no problem on punish the ones who threat your relationship. He has a special place that you dont know about where he play games with these people. He does not mind the blood on himself but does not want you to see him like that. So he cleans himself after it.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

The Salesman does not abduct you. He prepares a way that makes you think you two were mean to be from the start. He Plays the perfect boyfriend role and gets everybody to like him.

Only if you start to get distant or he feels like you are having second thoughts on your relationship with him its when he becomes violent. He will ruin your life and yourself till you have no options but him.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Unless you are being difficult...he wont ever try anything against your will. He wants you to love him and to depend on him.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He is a complicated Man when it comes to feelings. Most times he only shows that he loves you and that he would die if you ever left him. But its not vulnerability what it comes from it but rather a feeling of control and dread.

He loves you, he wants you on his life forever. He gets sad when you ignore him, but he never lets you see how real and deep hurt would he be if you were not part of his life.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Oh...Well he can get creative. He does not want to hit you. Unless it comes to sex. He would use other methods, that would make you fear him. Maybe he would say he will go after your family or after something/someone you care for.

He likes games. So he may prepare one for you. So you will end scared for days killing your will to fight him back.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No. He loves you. A lot. Its not a game. He may have his share of flints but no one of them ever sparked this...obesession he has.

Would hate to see you trying to escape or leave him. Thats why he makes sure you are enamored by the time you two start to live together. He cant go back to an empy house after having you with him.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

First, you will have to do something really bad that ends with his patience and makes him see over his obsession. He loves you and would move heaven for you. But does not mean he cant be cruel as well. The worse experience he would put you throw would probably make you face your worse fear in a twisted way that ends leaving him as a hero.

Do you hate talking in public and feel like your chest its closing on itself ? He would be the one who did put you on that position and would be the one who is there to encourage you. To tell you can do it.

Fear of the dark ? A classic. He will mess up the lights of the house and come home late to find you crying on the bed. Will tell you his phone died and he had to work late. Then will pull you on his lap to whisper calming things to you.

Something more extreme ? We know he is a sadistic at heart. But he does not want you to see that part of him. BUT lets say you fuck up bad. And he loses it. He is going to make you play a game of live and death (of course he will let you live but you dont know that) maybe he will blind you and tell you to walk around a room that has lots of sharp objects. Maybe he will make you play russian roulette with him (there is no Rea bullet but you dont know that). Its going to be something that lets you with nightmares for days but also with the lesson that you cant escape him and that you must obey him.

Ideals: What kind of future does they want with their darling?

MARRIAGE.

The Salesman has lived a lonely life and he was fine with it till he met you. Now all he wants its to see you in a beautiful dress and call you his wife. Even better when others know about it since part of him feels like he won a price with you.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He is quiet the cold head. He will get jealous yes but first will try to calm himself down. Does not mean he is not imagining killing the person who is taking much of your time.

Maybe a friend of yours has been getting close and close to you the last days and keeps sending you messages. That friend ends dead or so scared of him that they never approach you again and never talk about what he did to them.

When it comes to strangers he is more wild. If its someone flirting with you, that person is dead. Being bad with you ? Dead too. He feels like you deserve so much respect that the minum thing someone does that he feels like its not worth of you, yeah he wants them dead.

Does not mean he goes killing half Seoul. Will only target the ones that either have made you feel so uncomfortable that you told him about them or the ones who are really mean to you.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

LOVESICK PUPPY !!

No really!! This Man does a change in personality that is hella scary. With you he is not cold or calculated. But rather soft, he still holds that playful look in his eyes but these are less...well violent. His smile is sincere and he loves to have you by his side all the time.

Pouts when you tell him that you need to finish some work and cant be with him (once he finally gets a free day). Its going to make you sit you on his lap so you can work and he can hold you.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

REALLY WELL PLANNED.

He sees you for the first time and the game starts. He will stalk you, know your schendelure, Friends, family, even the school that you went (and if someone bullied you during that time well that person is going to have a very very bad time). He learns the things you like and dislike.

The first time you two actually do talk its a situation he made. You two just happen to go for the same drink and your hands touched themselfs. He is going to give you that charming smile of his and tell you to go ahead. He will also make a comment about something you are passionate about so you two engage in a conversation.

Will "casually" keep meeting you and talking to you till you two finally exchange numbers (not like he did not have it already).

His text are so planned too. Wishes you good morning and good night. Asks if you have ate today and drink enough water. He wants you to see that he cares for your well being.

If by any chance (most likely made by him) you tell him you forgot something for work/or that you must stay till too late and you are scared then he is going to be a gentlemen and offer to go and pick you up. Or help you with whatever you forgot.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

HELL YES.

With others he is emotionless, cold, sharp. All of him its a fake image to trick people into the games and to keep his bosses happy with his performance at work. Hell sometimes he forgets who he is after so many times living like that.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He hates punish you. If he has to it depends on what you did. Some may be really agressive if you crossed the line. And others well...are a mix of fear and arousment.

He does not like to make you suffer, he actually hates seeing you in pain but he wants you to understand that you cant just not obey him.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Honestly? Almost nothing. He will ask you to left your work, but under the idea that he can provied for you. Really ? He wants you to be at his house 24/7. He will allow you to go out to take air and do whatever you want (with limits of course). You want to meet up with a friend ? Oh he is there because he was passing by. He has a tracker on your phone and knows where you are all the time. If he feels like something is odd then he will go where you are.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

VERY

This Man has made a perfect image of you, and its ready to shape you like it. He knows its a slow process and that he cant Force you (too much) into what he wants.

Its going to be a slow process full of Manipulation under the disguise of love and affection.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

NO.

First if you die for whatever reason he will go into a down spiral of rage and sadness. If he knows someone was responsible behind your death then you can trust that person (or persons) will suffer a cruel end. A slow death with lots lots of physocological torment.

If you escape him (congrats!!) He wont give up. He will go after you, threath your family and Friends. In fact you may never really escape him. If you went off from him then you better start to hide very well becuase once he catches you back there is not limit on how he would act.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No and no.

He does not abduct you but makes the idea that you two were mean to be. In his head it makes perfect sense. Or course he wont ever let you go, he wants you by his side for the rest of his life.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

He has been a twisted one since he was a young one. Working at the island did not help at all. He thought he got detached from feelings but when it comes to you he loves you and cant avoid the idea of you with him.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Unless its under the act of sex he hates seeing you sad. Its a hit of reality that he is not doing his work well. Like he cant provide you with the happiness he promised he would give you. He wants you to be happy with him not sad or see that you insolate yourself.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Mhm I would say he is a classic one when it comes to manipulation and obsession but he is not that out from the classic Yandere.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Oh lovely you....while you are his weak point im afraid there is nothing you can do to make him lose control and let you go or give you a free lose.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Yes. If he feels like you did something very bad then he will do it. Not something that will leave marks on you at least not physically ones but mental ones ? Its another story, he will leave you marks on your mind that will make you think twice over trying something.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He would kiss the floor where you just walked. This Man is smitten with you. He is obsess truly, all he wants its you and only you.

He would worship you so much. With endearing words and actions. He loves kissing your hand, these kisses helps him ground himself. He is always telling you how beautiful you look, how stunning you are. If you have a hobbie like music or art he is your first fan. And he also likes to get the best quality food for you, not only remind you of eating but it to be delicious and help your health.

He would go as far as necesary. Does not know limits when it comes to it.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

If this means for how long would he stalks you and then goes to you like "snaps" well its a lot of time. He may get different twisted ideas when he is alone but he shows them only once he believes you are ready for them. If you mean it like when does he shows himself as obsessive well he never really shows himself as that. He crafted your relationship with him to make you think you two are mean to be so most likely you wont ever know how truly obsess he is.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Only mentally and only if you do something to piss him off really bad. He will make you depend on him so much...you wont be able to even think for yourself or take the minum decision without him.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Template Credit

[youngirlfrom]

THE WICKED DIE ALONE

ɞ Someone like Y/N Kent has to find her true self, not just with the strength of a hero, but by walking the fine line between the light and darkness within. Because at the end of the day the wicked die alone. And for Y/N to die alone means all of humanity dies with her.

| Richard Grayson x Fem!Reader | chapter 3

Warnings: bl!!d, k!lling, mental health, slightly jason todd x reader, smut, english is not my first language.

Chapter 3 | chapter 2 , chapter 1

The bright lights of Metropolis disappeared behind her shrinking one by one. While the whole city was asleep, a storm was raging inside Y/N. The effect of this dream echoing in her chest would not dissipate.

Seeing Dick's dream… Witnessing his greatest pain, his darkest moment, even if unintentionally…

This was a limit she could not cross. It gave her a great conflict within herself: She wanted to tell him everything, share his burden, but at the same time she knew that she was violating Dick's privacy. She couldn't forgive herself for this.

Y/N had never told anyone about her dreams except her family. How could he say that anyway? How could she tell Damian that she saw his most private moments when he was just starting to respect her?

The clouds hanging over the city skyline were gloomy, befitting the Blüdhaven atmosphere. Blüdhaven was not as gloomy as Gotham, but it still contained a loneliness in the shadows of the seedy streets of the city.

Dick always say this city was worth fighting for. According to him, the city held hope because people were essentially good inside them. Bad men, especially corrupt police, were destroying this city.

Even at this time of night, Y/N was sure Dick would be on patrol. He was always working. He was giving his whole self for the city, for the people.

When she arrived at Blüdhaven, she immediately noticed a figure moving in the shadows. His eyes and movements were familiar. It was a fast, agile and deadly dance as always. But Y/N had known him for a very long time. There was fatigue behind these movements.

Instead of going directly there, she first hovered over the city for a bit. Maybe she should have given up.

But she couldn't.

When Dick stood on the roof of a tall building and started watching something carefully, Y/N slowly descended to the roof.

Y/N said with a slight smile, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked at those broad shoulders of Dick. "You look tired, Grayson."

Dick "Fuck!" he shouted loudly and reflexively quickly took out his escrima sticks. But when he looked at the owner of the voice, the expression on his face was mixed with surprise and concern. "Y/N? What are you doing here?"

Y/N paused for a moment before answering. She averted her eyes and bit her lips. Dick knew immediately that something was wrong, so he tried to warm things up as he took a few steps closer to her. "Are you tired of patrolling Metropolis?"

Y/N smiled slightly, but there was still a shadow in her eyes. "I needed to take a breather," she said, sounding more tired than usual.

Studying her face, Dick wondered if she ever slept. The under eyes had become more prominent. "Are you just here to breathe, or did something else happen?"

Y/N stole a glance. "I thought I could help lower Blüdhaven's crime rate a little."

Dick tilted his head. "You know me, Y/N. I can tell when you're hiding something." Y/N hated how good he was at reading people.

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling how the wind cooled the night. For a moment she wanted to tell everything. Dick's past, that terrible night she dreamed of, the pain he experienced as a child… But she couldn't do it. Because if she told, it might shake Dick's trust in her. It was as if she had witnessed his most intimate moments and deepest pain.

"It's no big deal," she said finally.

Dick gently held her chin and made her look at him. "I know something happened." He whispered. "Tell me."

That voice… Should Y/N melt into that soft touch or his voice? It was already hard not to throw herself into his arms.

Y/N looked away. "It's quieter here. Sometimes… it's easier to be alone."

Dick continued to look at her face. "But you don't want to be alone, do you?"

Y/N paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and spoke. "Sometimes you don't realize how the past catches up with you, right? You have a dream or a moment comes and everything piles up on you."

Dick remained silent but then ask. "Did you dream? Was it like some kind of nightmare?"

"Kinda."

Dick noticed how difficult she was talking. He decided that this was not something that could be handled on the roof and he gripped her waist tightly.

Y/N jumped from the sudden contact. "What are you doing?" Before she could say it, she was interrupted by Dick jumping off the roof.

"I'm taking you home."

"You know I can fly, right?" She asked and didn't bother suppressing her laughter when Dick leapt into another building with her.

"You can't deny that you didn't enjoy this." Said Dick as he matched her laughter. "Besides, you don't know where I live."

Instead of paying attention to what he was saying, Y/N was too busy having fun with Dick taking her from rooftop to rooftop. It was like flying on his father's back when he was little.

And soon the dick stopped in front of an apartment. Y/N had wished the little excursion had lasted a little longer but she didn't comment. "Do you live here?"

Dick nodded before encouraging her to walk ahead. "After you, ma'am."

Y/N felt her heart warming at Dick's efforts to comfort her and walked through the door he opened. When she entered, she was greeted with dim lights and deep silence. Dick's house was worse than she thought.

The air in the house was heavy, as if he had been trapped in loneliness for years. The dim light surrounded the room like a ghost; The middle of the hall was collapsed, sheets were scattered everywhere, there were a few old photographs hanging on the walls, coffee mugs thrown in a corner and scattered documents. Dick was using the place not as a home, but as a shelter.

"Do you live here?" she asked, shocked.

Dick sheepishly put his hand behind his neck. "I know it's a bit messy."

He laughed when he saw Y/N continuing to look at him in shock. "What is that face?"

Y/N rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "This is more than a little messy. Does a ghost live here or is it Dick Grayson?"

Dick smiled. "I spend my nights chasing criminals on the street, keeping the house in order is not really my priority."

Y/N rolled her eyes again and snapped her fingers. Purple energy swirled in the air like a whirlpool, and the items began to gather themselves together. The sofa was straightened, the coffee mugs floated into the kitchen, the mess on the floor settled into place. In a few seconds, the room was completely transformed.

Dick watched, fascinated. "Thats amazing."

Y/N glared at him. "Seriously, you could try harder."

"Please forgive me, ma'am, I will make this place spotless until your next visit." he said, leaning down. Looks like he was on his showmanship personality tonight.

Just as she was about to sit on the sofa, a dog barking echoed in the house.

"My god!" Y/N shouted and ran towards the dog. "You had a dog?"

"It's only been a week. I saved her from the thugs on the street. I call her Haley, but she probably won't stay here."

Y/N looked at him mockingly. "We both know that this is her home now." she said, sitting on the sofa with the little dog on her lap. Dick got up to change, leaving the two of them on the couch.

Haley closed her eyes after smelling Y/N's hand. She made a slight growling sound, a sign of comfort and trust. Y/N felt her heart soften for a moment. It felt oddly warming for Dick to have someone greet him like that when he came home. She didn't want him to live alone in this empty place.

She sighed as she continued to pet the little dog. "Man I miss Krypto."

When Dick returned a few minutes later after changing his clothes, he smiled slightly when he saw Y/N with the dog. "I think you're more attached to her than I am."

"I love animals." she said and smiled as if she had just thought of it. "Did you know Damian adopted another dog?"

Dick frowned in horror. "How many animals does he have?"

Y/N shrugged. "I stopped counting after those two cows." When she said that, they both laughed.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Do you have coffee?"

"If you think I'm going to make you drink coffee, you're wrong. You look like the Corpse Bride with those eyes." When he said Haley barked as if to confirm him.

"I haven't been able to sleep lately." she muttered as she settled further into the couch. After pouring water for the tea, Dick sat down next to her on the sofa.

"Are you having a nightmare?" he asked to understand her.

"Stuff like that." When she said that, they both fell silent. Y/N looked at Dick as she hugged the tiny being in her arms. She tried not to get flustered while those deep blue eyes were watching her from the beginning. She felt somehow at peace when she was around him. At that moment, she remembered why she had come here from Metropolis.

One of Dick's fingers, roaming Haley's torso, made contact with Y/N's hand. "Is it your dreams that brought you here?"

Y/N nodded. She felt like a little child. She moved his pinky finger towards Dick's pinky finger. "My dreams are not my own." she muttered.

The way Dick looked at her encouraged her, so she continued. She had come this far, whatever was going to happen, happened. "I can see other people's worst nightmares. Or someone's death."

Dick's expression changed as he tried to fully digest the words. The surprise on his face was replaced by deep thought. His ocean blue eyes were locked on Y/N's face; He was analyzing, trying to understand.

This was something he didn't know. He had heard a lot about Y/N's abilities. She could keep a collapsed building standing. By surrounding her body with a wave of energy, she could block all bullets. But this… this was something completely different.

"Other people's nightmares?" he repeated, his voice low and careful.

Y/N pressed her lips together, suddenly realizing that talking about this topic she had brought up was harder than she expected. Having Dick look at her so intently made her feel a little more vulnerable.

"Yes," She murmured. "It's not just dreams. Past… Future… I don't even know how it works. It just happens."

A muscle moved in Dick's face. “That's why you're here.”

Y/N looked away. She sighed as she ran her fingers through Haley's soft fur. "Yes," she said at last. "Tonight… I saw you."

Dick's body tensed involuntarily. Even at that moment, he was trying to control his reaction, but Y/N knew him enough to notice.

"Me?"

Y/N nodded. "When you were a child… That night."

Dick's pupils narrowed. That night. When that night was mentioned, everyone knew which night they were talking about. In a public arena, in the middle of Gotham's most famous circus, the night that changed Dick Grayson's life forever…

When Y/N saw that he wasn't saying anything, she continued. "I don't know if I should tell you this. I just…wanted you to know that. Because I care about you."

Dick's eyes were fixed on her, but the storm inside his was clearly evident. The first Robin, who grew up alongside Batman years ago, became one of the strongest heroes, but some wounds never healed.

There was silence for a while. Y/N waited for him to say anything, but Dick just turned his face away. He remained completely silent for a few seconds, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

Y/N sighed, "If you don't want to talk about it—"

"What kind of dream was it?"

Dick's voice was softer than she expected. When Y/N looked at him, she could see that Dick was still reliving that night in his mind. So she couldn't lie to him.

"There was blood," she said slowly. "Voices… The screams of the crowd… But I remember you the most."

Dick's jaw tightened but he said nothing.

"You were standing in the middle of the stage," Y/N continued, her voice trailing off. "Your legs were shaking, your eyes were fixed on the lifeless bodies of your mother and father. And then, a voice…"

Dick tilted his head slightly, as if reliving that moment in his head.

"When I saw that…I understood you," Y/N sighed. "Why you are who you are… Why you fight for Blüdhaven, every night, every time."

Dick didn't speak for a long time. Y/N realized that he didn't know how to process this. Maybe it was too much. Maybe she should never have told him.

Dick turned to her. "That's why you looked sad," He said with a slight smile. "For me."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm sorry for you, Grayson. You are my…"

Her sentence hung in the air. Y/N didn't know what to say. Dick tilted his head as if he understood what she was trying to say.

But then Dick bowed his head and laughed quietly.

"What?" Y/N asked in surprise.

Dick shook his head. "For you to feel guilty about something like that… It's just like your thing."

The familiar smile on Dick's face was back, but this time there was sadness in it. He stared at her for a few seconds, then pulled Y/N close to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

As Y/N felt the warmth of Dick's shoulder, she realized that the storm inside her was slowly calming down. She had finally shared this secret that she had kept inside her for so long, and what she feared had not happened. Dick didn't shut her out, didn't get angry, didn't even run away. Instead, he accepted her existence and chose to get closer to her.

As the silence dragged on, even Haley continued to sleep silently in Y/N's lap, as if realizing the sacredness of this moment. Y/N could feel Dick's breath on his shoulder, steady and calm.

"What kind of talent is this?" murmured Dick at last. "How do you deal with this?"

Y/N smiled, but she had a bitter feeling. "I can't handle it," She admitted. "Seeing people's deepest fears, losses, pain… Feeling like I have experienced them… Sometimes I even forget who I am."

Dick lifted his head a little and looked at her. His ocean blue eyes were shining with concern. "So you didn't share this with anyone?"

Y/N shook her head. "Except for my family… No. Mom and dad know that I sometimes have nightmares, but they don't know the details. "I couldn't tell Jon because I didn't want to scare him."

Dick bowed his head slightly. "And you told me."

Y/N looked at his face. "Yes."

Dick bit his lips to keep from smiling, but eventually gave up. "This made me feel special."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Don't make this a joke, Grayson."

Dick laughed, his voice echoing around the room like a soft melody. But there was something else behind his smile; that slight resentment that he always tries to hide, but never disappears from his eyes…

"I'm serious," he said. "Thank you for telling me this."

Y/N looked at him sideways. "Didn't you find me strange?"

Dick shrugged. "I already knew you are weird. This just added another item to the list." They laughed when he said. As the night slowly passed away, Y/N could feel her eyes closing.

Dick's smile softened a bit when he noticed Y/N's eyelids starting to feel heavy. Watching her fall asleep next to him like that, feeling so comfortable… it felt strangely warm inside.

Haley was curled up further in Y/N's lap, breathing peacefully. Y/N looked at Dick one last time before closing her eyes completely. Her eyes were tired, but there was a little peace in them.

"You can sleep," Dick said in a low voice. "You are safe here."

Y/N opened her lips to respond, but her eyes closed before the words came out. Dick watched her face for a moment. This girl, who was normally used to standing strong, was now completely defenseless and peaceful.

Dick slowly pulled the blanket from the edge of the couch and placed it over Y/N. He smiled when Haley stirred and gently brushed her tail over her little hand.

He didn't want to ruin this moment. But in the back of his mind, what Y/N had told him continued to echo.

"I can see other people's worst nightmares. Or someone's death."

This sentence stirred something inside Dick. Y/N's powers were even heavier than he expected. Witnessing people's darkest moments, feeling their pain… How could she handle this?

He couldn't wait to ask this, but not tonight. Tonight, for the first time, Y/N seemed to feel safe.

Dick slowly sat up, moving a little closer to the couch, careful not to wake Y/N. Her face was peaceful, but her pretty eyebrows were slightly furrowed, as if she was still thinking about something even in her dreams.

Dick lowered his head and whispered in a low voice:

"What else have you seen, beautiful?"

Y/N stirred slightly but didn't wake up. Dick sighed and ran his fingers through her hair. No matter what, he wouldn't pressure her. She had to tell him this when she wanted to.

Just the fact that she fell asleep like that was a sign of trust in itself, right?

No matter how hard Dick resisted, fatigue eventually caught up with him. He leaned his head back against the back of the sofa, closed his eyes, and tried to quiet his mind for a moment. Y/N's steady breathing sounded like a lullaby to his ears along with the silence of the night.

There were no more patrols tonight. Tonight Blüdhaven could wait for them, for her.

Tonight Dick Grayson was more at peace than ever.

It was one of the best chapters I've ever written. I told you guys it would be worth the wait.

I love you all, see you next chapter 🩵🩵🩵

[winterzebra]

Yesss. I've been chewing on this constantly since the game release. And I bring up the game, because not a single character says a good thing to lllario's face! Which is wild. Teia opposed Lucanis with her - "he is a good assassin" - in one and only specific dialogue option, and when Illario has already left.

And if you don't romance Lucanis, he says - "my cousin got all the charm" - in a pie for Neve scene. But Rook's default response is something like - "did he though?". I wanted to smack my own character for the first time. WTF??? Please shut up maybe? Illario is a charming person just not in a sweet way, if that makes any sense.

Well, Viago said - "forget revenge, we need you" - looking at Rook and Illario. Lucanis was more to the right in the scene, so Vi wasn't talking to him at the moment in my opinion. That's why I am always so confused when I see posts about Teia and Viago hating Illario. Like what do you mean? Viago was so pissed because - "antaam on the one side and the venatori on the other" - which he said loud and clear early in the game. Did you know that Treviso would be free btw? It was the worst timing for a power grabbing shenanigans. And Teia clearly spent a lot of time thinking about Caterina's death. She was her nonna! Of course, Teia was mad and called Illario a traitor during the fight.

The storyline where Lucanis thinks a lot about Illario, but doesn't show it to him, made it to the game straight from the TWJ. I agree. It is so painful. I hate it and love it at the same time.

Illario put his hand on Lucanis's shoulder as a greeting after a YEAR apart. What did Lucanis do? Put his hand away after touching it for a mere second, he was focused on Caterina, on the job. I almost cried. Although I understand that it was enough from Lucanis's point of view, that he showed his affection.

I can see this rivalry sibling energy thing. I'm just hurt on Illario's behalf. And I believe that this betrayal was inevitable. Illario was just strong enough to delay it for so long.

Damn, Lucanis admitted that Illario was his only friend only when Rook said it out loud and only if Illario was forgiven. I mean, was it the first time he said something like that? I think so.

And the fight banter? The "you used to be somebody" and "and you never were". Boys, why do you want me to die from a heartbreak?

I shutter into a million pieces when I think about all this.

looking back through my notes on the wigmaker job (TWJ) and if im gonna be so honest, i would've crashed out way harder than illario. the disparity between what lucanis thinks of his cousin and how he talks to him is INSANE. lucanis speaks to him with this cutting back-and-forth that you see in those sibling rivalry dynamics, but he thinks of illario so fondly! never says it! (he does this in veilguard too; the way lucanis speaks about illario to the team is CRAZY.)

and, i'll be honest, never shows it. the disregard he gives illario throughout TWJ is... astounding. he appreciates illario's skill and their relationship but consistently undermines him, leaves him out of the plan, and expects him to roll with it without complaint. lucanis gets away with changing the contracts, being a revolutionary in his own way, doing all of this because he is caterina's favorite--and they both know it. illario would not be able to get away with half of the things that lucanis does.

and they both know caterina want him as the first talon! i just... there's such a lack of respect and a disregard for illario despite the deep-running family ties between them. if lucanis had been able to be open with illario or say no to caterina... but he couldn't, and he wouldn't, and now look at where they are. idk. illario loved him and wanted to get him out in his own way (if you believe he was being honest about that). idk if lucanis would ever be able to bring himself to say the same. for all the freedom he was delusionally trying to offer others he seems very content denying it to those already in the system.

[chisubi]

safe in your skin — s. haruchiyo

content. fem!reader, timeline 0 spoilers, unhealthy relationships, suicidal ideation, implied／references to substance abuse, unhealthy coping habits, mild sexual content, unreliable narrators

word count. 12.3k

note. the original timeline has been stuck in my head for a long time, ever since it was first mentioned. . i think it is the saddest timeline :c

despite the tags, i think this piece is quite gentle ? sanzu is very soft in this, but in his own way !!

Here lies his grave. Soon, Haruchiyo will make this his home.

The metal bar is uncomfortably hot against Haruchiyo’s hand, the feeling of blood dripping down from the way his fingernails dig more and more into his reddened palms, the moisture makes his hold on the rail loosen.

If he falls from here, he would probably die, he hopes.

Just like Shinichiro-kun, he prays.

It has been five years since Manjiro and Shinichiro have passed. Their deaths — since those cold funerals. A lump forms in his throat as the tightness in his chest refuses to loosen. The realisation that they’ll never come back to him hits him once again. It comes as a surprise to him that he’s still alive, without them — if he can even call this being alive.

If he were to let go right now, he’d die, or he’d survive and be in a coma if he’s (un)lucky. Society has no use for a useless person like him — an unwanted boy, he has been reminded of this many times before. He has no family, he’s been in and out of juvie twice already, and he has never had a legal job (no place would willingly hire someone like him, at least for legal purposes). Nobody willingly wants to be around a teenage dirtbag with an ongoing criminal record. He keeps his hands dirty just to keep surviving — for what, though? He would be doing society a nice favour if he were to remove himself from it.

Haruchiyo only wants to see the two of them again, to see the rising sun, the only remedy to relieve him of this emptiness—

“Oi, don’t even think of fuckin’ letting go.”

Oh, Baji. . .

(His prayers are not met, forever denied, just like they always have been.)

Haruchiyo lifts up his head, throwing Keisuke a spare glance. Sharp eyes noting that he doesn’t look or sound too happy. It’s obvious in the way Keisuke’s dark brows appear frowned more than usual, lips pursed with rough hands curled up into tight fists. There’s fresh blood smeared on Keisuke’s knuckles, he is bleeding, too. He must’ve gotten into a fight earlier, Haruchiyo thinks, he is quick to assume. Keisuke is always like that, he has always been.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You never showed up to the cemetery.” Keisuke’s words are sharp, like they always have been. His tongue has never once not been sharp — cutting into places Haruchiyo doesn’t want to feel. There is a lot wrong with him, Haruchiyo knows he has problems that he doesn’t want to acknowledge or accept, but he also knows that Keisuke didn’t mean it in a literal sense (not this time at least). “I waited an hour for ya.”

“I messaged you earlier, said I was gonna be late.”

“I don’t like using my phone, you know this. You should’ve called instead. I thought you were at home shooting it up or somethin���.”

“Was that supposed to be a joke? It sucked.”

“No,” Keisuke replies. “It wasn’t one.”

It’s hard for Haruchiyo not to roll his eyes at the assumption — the accusation. Keisuke acts faster than he thinks, harshly grabbing Haruchiyo’s forearm, and he winces at the sudden movement. It will leave a bruise on his pale skin; he’s always easily bruised. He sighs, grip tightening against the bar as he hops back over — back to Keisuke's side, to the side of the living. Reaching into his sweater pockets, he notices that his handkerchief is missing.

(This fact makes him notice that the cuts from his nails sting a lot — they don’t hurt as much as the wounds he receives from street brawls, or the sparring lessons he once took as a kid, back at the Sano house, but he’s still hurting. Hopefully these light cuts don’t get infected by the rusted rails.)

“Well, that was one time,” he snaps back defensively, pulling away from Keisuke’s grip when the boy doesn’t show any sign of letting go. “Move it.” He barks.

“That’s what they all say before they get addicted and shit.”

Haruchiyo sneers, “I didn’t even do the shit you’re saying. Learn to mind your own business, Baji.” It really was the only time that he had been caught, opting to do things in the comfort of his own room, Keisuke appearing that night was unexpected.

Keisuke is too dramatic for many reasons, always feeling and acting intensely, which Haruchiyo knows is steamed from genuine worries and his gold heart, though that seems to annoy Haruchiyo even more. He has never once asked Keisuke to care about him. It’s bothersome. Gross. His stomach turns and twists in ways that make him feel physically ill. Keisuke has always been like that. (He always will, deep down, in the walls Haruchiyo doesn’t want to unlock and see, he knows this.)

Silence rains over them as the two boys stare down at the water. It’s not a pretty view. It’s murky and dark gray and dead fishes can be seen floating on top. Nothing worth stopping to see. People barely come over here now, rumours of the dead haunting this bridge scares keeps everyone away. Haruchiyo’s hand twitches as he starts to fiddle with his fingers. It’s hard for him to stay still, especially with all these thoughts running through his mind. Too many thoughts that he can’t fully process, each one comes crashing before the last could settle — most being ones he doesn’t want to hear or remember, and he only knows one way to block them out.

Keisuke stands too closely beside him, his body heat seeps through his clothing and Haruchiyo feels uncomfortable with his close presence. He kicks Haruchiyo’s loafers with his leather boots, his heart tightens and sours knowing Keisuke is reading him — his hidden and jumbled thoughts, temporarily knocking them out of his head. Keisuke reaches into his loose pockets, taking out a pack of cigarettes. It's a brand new pack — the Seven Stars brand Shinichiro would always have on hand. His favourite. Haruchiyo’s first cigarette was that brand, stealing a cigarette from a pack that Takeomi had forgotten at home, choking on the deep bittersweet smoke.

From his peripheral vision, Haruchiyo watches as Keisuke opens the package to take out a fresh cigarette and jams it in between the cracks on the ground (Keisuke thought about giving Shinichiro the entire pack, but someone would definitely steal it — cigarettes are getting more expensive these days. He still despises smoking, he really, really does. It’s disgusting and Keisuke can’t stand the taste of them, but the smell of seta makes him so nostalgic of a time that will never come again. He is a hypocrite for sneering at how Haruchiyo drowns himself in substances, when he searches for the familiar taste of Seven Stars from time to time), he lights it for him, too.

This is a tribute to their late brother.

They watch the setting sun, waiting for his cigarette to fully burn out.

—

You move away from your childhood home into a small, cheap studio in Tokyo. It is smaller than you are used to, but just enough for one person. It feels more spacious than you’ve ever known. You’ve waited a long time for this.

To escape that house and everything that suffocated you.

You take a deep breath; here you are free.

While walking up the steps carrying stacked boxes, you run into something – or rather, someone – causing one of the boxes to drop, you wince hearing something shatter inside. You pray it’s nothing of importance.

“I am so sorry—” you exclaim as you look up, freezing at the close proximity. You’re met with piercing blue eyes; eyes so void of emotion, similar to when winter arrives and frosts over the neverending sea, he keeps a locked gaze, and you almost find yourself captivated within. Almost. “Um, uh, sorry. Are you okay?” you stammer over your words, internally cringing at how lame you sound.

“No, it’s fine,” his voice is light and cold, it suits his appearance — his eyes. However, his hair reminds you of the cherry blossoms that are about to bloom this spring. “Nobody is helping you?”

“No, it’s just these boxes left. . . Oh—”

The boy bends down to pick up the box that had fallen, looking up the steps. “Which way—? Ah, you’re the one who moved in next door, right?”

You nod your head, and without any other words he brings the box and sets it down in the apartment for you. Not only is he pretty, he is also kind for helping you (—which is something most people probably would’ve done, this is nothing special). He leaves before you get the chance to thank him and you feel bad about it. You didn’t get the chance to catch his name, either. You can’t help, but feel disappointed.

You check your phone, flipping it open to see no new messages or calls, your email is empty, too. You almost sigh, it’s not like you expected your mother to call — this isn’t anything new. Your phone sits heavy in your hand.

—

You never see your neighbour around again. The door to his apartment is always opening and closing. You can hear him coming home late at night, around three or four in the morning, sometimes slamming shut which wakes you up from your needed sleep, and you can’t help but wonder what someone is doing out so late — working, perhaps, that is the most logical and obvious answer.

It’s a few days later when you bump into him on your way to your afternoon classes, or so, you think it’s him. The moment you look up it’s someone completely different.

A boy who vastly contrasts him in appearance.

With long black hair, and sharp eyes that shine gold underneath the morning sun. They’re very beautiful, warmth radiates down onto you just from looking into them. Yet something swirling in those eyes that you cannot quite pinpoint. A white bandage sits on his cheek, light bruises littered across his face that add to his intense appearance.

He says his name is Keisuke and he lives here with his friend. You assume his friend is the pretty boy from the other day.

The two of you walk down the apartment together and he talks to you the entire time before parting ways, his speech is rather brash compared to most people you know, however he seemed quite nice. There’s an air to him that feels warm and comforting. You know better than to harshly judge someone based on first appearance. And you can’t seem to forget his boyish smile that he flashed at you before walking away. It suits him and his shining golden eyes very much; he looks like the sun.

Everything gold radiates off of him.

—

Keisuke’s lip is busted once again. A matching black eye to go with. Blood runs down his temple and connects to the stream running down his mouth. However, he wins in the end, like he always does. Out of all his matches, he’s only ever lost three times.

Betting on Keisuke always means receiving extra cash, however, if he loses, they lose a lot.

Haruchiyo watches as a crowd of junkies immediately swarm Keisuke, and he sighs as he takes a swing of his drink. This always happens, and it’s a good thing because they all get hyped up to the max, and sometimes, some guys are willing to pay for dinner. He and Keisuke never say no to that.

He catches sight of someone similar amongst that crowd, and once they catch his stare within seconds, she’s pushing away from Keisuke.

You look familiar, very familiar, and Haruchiyo doesn’t understand why someone who looks so pure like you is here in this sketchy place. An underground bar where delinquents and nobodies hang out, sell drugs, and fight for quick cash. Someone like you doesn’t belong in such a dirty place. Well, Haruchiyo learned from a young age, even the most angelic of faces can appear sinister when you are no longer needed.

“Hi!” Your sudden appearance and cheerful greeting comes unexpected.

“Hi. . .?” Your smile drops almost immediately, and Sanzu doesn’t mean to look or sound unfriendly, but he doesn’t understand why you would come up to him. He hates talking to strangers.

“Oh, do you not remember me? I moved into the apartment next—”

Ah, right. “I remember you.”

A smile automatically falls back on your face. “Oh, okay. That’s good.”

He shrugs, looking around the room at nothing interesting. Where did Keisuke go? “I guess so.”

You stand next to him, taking the empty spot next to him, without a word.

When you attempt to make small talk, he lets you, barely answering, but enough to seem polite. You don’t seem to mind, continuing on speaking to him. And before he knows, he gets lost in the conversation with you, pulled down, you’re magnetic.

It all comes too unexpectedly. Haruchiyo doesn’t remember what happened.

Really, he doesn’t. And a kiss is all it takes, before everything begins to spiral, it’s a whirlwind.

Haruchiyo doesn’t know how it happened. He’s never done this before — always withering at the contact of others, never liking the way cold hands touch his skin. His lips slam against yours, it’s more of a punch than a kiss, and a small noise escapes you — something Haruchiyo recognises as not out of pleasure. He knows.

“Be—be more gentle,” you tell him when he pushes you against the cold, restroom wall.

“My bad,” he mumbles back. He, more gently, grips your forearm as another form of apology.

He can’t understand why he’s doing this, especially with someone he doesn’t know. Your hands are under his shirt, running over his stomach and his heart races. Your hands are smaller than his, softer, warmer, too. And he thinks it’s the liquor running through his veins — your veins, he can taste it when your pretty lips meet his.

He doesn’t know you. He knows you live next door and you did mention something earlier. Something about you being one of his dealers’ friend’s younger cousin. He thinks it’s something like that (and he doesn’t actually care).

Hissing at the sudden contact, biting down on his bottom lip to hold back a groan. Your hand is wrapped around him, moving up and down too slowly for his liking, so he ruts up into your hand before coming undone far too quickly, and his initial embarrassment is forgotten when you don’t say anything, you only giggle while tilting your head up to kiss him.

Shock runs through him, chills run down his spine, yet something feels too warm inside — it’s recognition, almost like it is something familiar that he’s known and lost so long ago.

It’s not long after when he has you bent over the counter, dress scrunched up to your waist, your pretty panties pushed to the side as he pushes himself into you. His movements are nearly robotic and awkward, you don’t say anything about it though, only thrusting back on him. He watches the foreign scene unfold from the mirror, his ocean eyes capturing your blissed out expression in the mirror, and his stomach flips. You feel so soft. So, so soft against him, he grips your hips harder, feeling as if his legs might give out, he leans his body over your back, pressing an awkward peck on your lips when you look up at him, lasting less than a second before he pulls his lips from your soft ones. Kissing feels awkward. It is far too intimate and you seem to crave it. Haruchiyo hates the feeling. He thrusts into you faster, chasing after his own high. It feels euphoric.

Losing his virginity in a grimy washroom – one of the last places he’s ever wanted to step foot in – is the last thing he’s expected. But now he’s here with you, a girl he only knows the name of. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him these days. Perhaps, he’s just desperate to feel something. Forever chasing the high to feel alive once again.

—

Somehow, you are almost all he thinks about lately. Usually in the morning or late nights. He hasn’t seen you since then. Nor does he really want to. Haruchiyo doesn’t think he is the sentimental type — he’s never had anything of his own to feel sentimental about.

“Oh, you missed again, Sanzu. That little pink head of yours is in the clouds tonight, hm?” Ran Haitani is smiling to himself after witnessing his poor play. His fingers are busy chalking up his cue stick and the sound of his brother snickering makes Haruchiyo roll his eyes.

That detached and arrogant look in his eyes reminds Haruchiyo of him. Those eyes that have always looked down at him — Ran has the same look in his eyes and a matching [irritating] lazy smirk that Haruchiyo wishes to smack off of his face with the cue stick in his hand. The scene flashes dark red, beautiful and bright.

“I guess it’s our win again. As expected, right, brother?” The younger Haitani chimes in with a similar grin — one more boyish and wide. He shows more teeth than his brother, but carries the same arrogance. Sometimes, Rindō is cool to hang out with (which seems as a given from how the two of them hang out alone from time to time), but Haruchiyo usually finds him infuriating.

“That’s right, Rindō.”

“Fuck off, Haitani.”

“Hey, don’t get mad at us for your shitty plays,” Ran says as he leans against the table, still chalking his cue stick — he does this after every single shot: always making a show out of it when it’s not needed at all. “Ever heard of hating the game, not the player?”

Haruchiyo rolls his eyes for the nth time tonight, “You always have some stupid shit to say.”

“Huh?” Ran looks at him in disbelief before laughing, “don’t be a sore loser, Sanzu. I was only teasing. Loosen up.”

“That’s what I mean by stupid shit. Whatever, man.”

“Mhm, whatever you say. Let’s play another round before heading out.”

Rindō perks up, “The loser has to pay for our drinks later.”

He hates being around these two pretentious assholes, but one of his acquaintances introduced him to them. They sell good shit and give him a good deal every time so it’s hard for Haruchiyo to find another dealer as good as them. He got trapped in their web. The Haitani brothers continue to make jabs at him throughout the night whenever they catch him staring off into space. Rindō remarks it’s probably because of a girl, and despite denying it, Ran teases him about it. Whatever.

Losing his virginity to you isn’t why Haruchiyo thinks about you, it’s that he can’t get the image of you taking him so well out of his head (and the way you smiled so sweetly at him afterwards, you were kind.) The sensation he felt had his mind dizzy, a new high he’s become addicted to. It’s an obsession at this point, not with you, he clarifies to himself every time, just sex. His hand cannot replicate the hot and tight feeling of being inside of you, and that’s how he finds himself coming back to you, knocking on the door of your apartment, instead of going out to a club with the Haitani brothers.

(“You owe us, asshole.”

“I will later,” he simply says. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

Ran smirks as he elbows his brother. “Stuff,” repeats Ran as Rindō lets out a long, mocking, ‘Ah’, at the indication.

Haruchiyo doesn’t say anything anymore. This is why he never talks to them about anything personal. They’re just a bunch of annoying pricks.)

The sky is pitch black, and doe-eyes stare up at him. Stars shining within. He takes in your sleepy form, hair a mess and pajamas that don’t match. He almost smiles, he wants to.

You wait, before deciding to say, “Hi, Sanzu. . . Um, is there something you need?”

“I just, uh, I came to say hi,” he lamely makes up an excuse that neither of you buy.

“At two in the morning?” you ask teasingly, opening the door a little wider, inviting him inside. You look a little sleepy, hooded-eyes and a pretty smile looking up at him. He recognises this look (just barely) from the night before. You want to kiss him.

“Oh, yeah. . .” he dumbly replies. “Yeah, I was out, and yeah.”

He sounds stupid, he knows. You know, but you continue to smile.

You offer, “Wanna come in?”

Your hand reaches out to him — you don’t touch him, your fingers fiddle with the hem of his shirt, lightly tugging him towards you. Barely. You wait for him to move. And so, he gives you what you want. His hand falls to your waist as he stumbles inside, lips locked, kicking the door shut behind him.

—

Haruchiyo comes knocking more and more. He stays overnight, and he sits at your place without the intention of sex. He doesn’t get mad when you decide you aren’t in the mood for it, either.

You do most of the talking, he listens, and you come to learn that Haruchiyo talks a lot at times.

You think he is cute, really cute. You really like him.

—

Nothing good comes from being with a guy like Haruchiyo, you know this, you really do. You’ve met many boys like him before. Troubled, reckless, and cruel. Cold, scarred, and lonely. He is not a good guy, and the crowd he hangs around is no better. But somehow, you can’t stay away, like a moth to a flame, you are always drawn to things you shouldn’t be.

Beneath it all, he is a sweet guy. He treats you well, you think, better than most of the people you’ve met in your life. Always following you around when you go out, saying it’s dangerous for a girl to walk alone. You think he is a little overprotective, but you also know he is only looking out for you. You think Haruchiyo is sweet, really sweet.

The layout in their apartment is the same as yours. It’s a lot cleaner than you imagined for two young men living together — a recipe for disaster. However, surprisingly, it is almost spotless, despite the few pieces of clothing laying on the floor or hanging on the couch (ones you believe to belong to Keisuke).

Haruchiyo’s room is spotless, not a speck of dust in sight. You eye the old nametag on the uniform on the wall, ‘Akashi Haruchiyo’. Akashi. Sanzu. Haruchiyo. (Sanzu, Sanzu, Sanzu.) You don’t mention it, you sweep those questions away into the back of your mind, it has nothing to do with you.

A pack of cigarettes that always seems to sit on the counter, new and never used, carefully cared for as no spec of dust is seen, you can’t help but wonder why, yet you never find yourself asking. It’s a strange feeling, when you know you’re not supposed to ask or do something without being told, the boundary you cannot cross.

“When will Keisuke be home?” you ask while clicking the start button on the rice cooker.

His silence draws out longer than you are comfortable with, your lips are pursed, wondering if you had said or done something wrong. There is no way you did. You know this, however, your nerves slowly eat away at you the longer the silence draws on. You can’t stand silence like this, the only thing you can hear is his breath mixed with yours and your rapid heart. “He will be home later. Baji usually comes home late, so he won’t be here to eat with us.”

A silent breath of relief escapes you, that anxious tension vanishing from your stomach. “Oh, okay. Then, I’ll pack up the leftovers after and leave it for him to eat once he gets home.” Now that you think about it, Keisuke really is always out and about. He is definitely more outgoing than both you and Haruchiyo combined.

“Sanzu—”

“Haruchiyo,” he interrupts. “Call me Haruchiyo.”

“Okay, Haruchiyo,” you test out his name with a roll of your tongue, and he hums to himself, quite pleased with how his name spills so naturally from your lips, and you bite back a smile when you notice the expression on his face. Your face feels warm. “Where are the rest of your pots? Is this all? I think it might be too small for all three of us. . .”

“Yeah, I think that’s it. Nobody ever really uses the kitchen much. We just eat out most of the time.”

“Oh, well, let me go grab one of the pots from my apartment. Gimme a second,” you say before going to your apartment to look for a bigger pot.

Haruchiyo just watches you cook, or so you think he is, because sometimes, it looks as if he’s lost in his thoughts, even with his eyes on you.

You end up spilling personal things with him, something you have never done with anyone before. You don’t know why. Haruchiyo just listens to you in ways nobody ever has. “My dad never treated me right as a kid. I can barely remember what he looked like, not angry, sober.” He hums. “My mom, well, she is probably doing better now since we’re both gone. . .”

He asks, “Do you miss them?”

“No,” you reply a little too fast. “No, not really. Sometimes, I do think about them, though.”

It’s too complicated, you think. Your feelings get so jumbled up, and you don’t understand them most of the time.

“So, what about you, Haruchiyo?”

“What about me?”

“You know. . .” you trail off, hoping he understands what you are trying to ask (you know he knows), but he doesn’t say anything. “What is your family like? I would like to know more about you, um, if that’s alright with you.”

“There isn’t anything to know,” his curt reply is enough for you to know that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and your heart sinks in disappointment. Maybe it shows on your face, Haruchiyo is silent for a few seconds before adding, “I don’t have any family, so there’s nothing for me to tell you.”

“Oh, sorry for asking. . . I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. Don’t feel bad about it, pretty. You were just curious about me, right?” he asks this plainly, yet there’s a tug on the corner of his lips that lets you know he is happy that you want to know more about him. You nod your head and his smile becomes more prominent, he looks so innocent when he smiles. “I am curious about you, too.”

“I know.”

“Oh, you know?”

“Mhm, I know,” you cheekily reply and even the sound of his chuckle is enough to cause your heart to race. You can’t help that you are so simple, so easy, Haruchiyo makes you so nervous, yet so seen and comfortable. “And when you ask me, I tell you.”

Haruchiyo smiles. “I know you do.”

You believe it to be inevitable, the way you often find yourself pinned underneath him. Something about him is so addicting, you keep wanting more and more. The sound of moaning and skin slapping echoes within the room, it’s obscene, and adds to the erotic scene. He’s unable to contain himself, taking you on his couch the very chance he gets to, and you just let him. You love how he makes you feel, he has you seeing stars — chasing one after another.

He stills his movements for a moment, curious eyes staring down at you; those empty eyes of his are lust-filled and all you can see in them is you. He wants you and only you. You are eager to give yourself to him, to let yourself fall into his arms, completely letting yourself be swept away. You want him, too. He definitely knows this.

“You said he treated you like shit, right?” he says this, and you stop your movements, too. “If I were—were around then, I could’ve taken care of him for you.” The implication of it has your blood turning cold and your fingers wrap around his shoulders as you push him away a little, so you can look at him more clearly.

Those words are spilled so sweetly, like the way he kisses you before he leaves your apartment, or when you wake up beside him during the late mornings to find him still there, gazing at you as if you hung the stars. His words sound so sweet, just like when he tells you about how good you make him feel, they sound so sweet, and it’s not.

You think Haruchiyo likes you. You know he does.

“Th–that’s not as romantic as you think,” you say, voice breathless as you try to steady your breathing. And he’s already dead, you don’t say it, you don’t need to.

“No?”

You shake your head.

“Haru, move. . . Please.”

Haruchiyo hums, and you demand this time, nicely, of course.

“Yeah? Fine. You are so spoiled.” Haruchiyo is quick to give into you if you beg sweetly enough — if you say you need him, and only he can make you feel this way. But he always gives in. He moves, just like you asked — he moves in and out of you painfully slowly, it’s taunting. You whine at how it misses that one spot you desperately need it, yet the pleasure he brings is still, strangely, enough all at the same time. All you can think and see is blue and white swirls, and Haruchiyo, Haruchiyo, Haruchiyo.

“Think you like that idea though, tightening ‘round me like this. Oh, shit—” he chokes on a moan, then heavily sighs.

“So perfect for me, you’re mine. Say it for me.” Strands of his light pink hair falling onto your face, it tickles from the way it brushes against your cheeks with every move. Soft like cherry blossoms. His hand slides up your wrist, placing his hand over yours, your fingers tightly interlocked. “Please, baby. Y’know I would do anything for you, right?” You nod, even though his words are barely registering through, your head feels fuzzy.

He starts slamming his hips into you, you moan loudly as he repeats it again and again, his movements becoming sloppy. You’re too sensitive, overstimulated, it’s almost painful the way he keeps himself in you — it hurts, yet a familiar pleasure builds in you all over again. “Tell me you’re mine. Mine. My girl.”

“I am yours, Haru. All yours. Want nobody, but you. . .”

The moment those words spill from your lips, Haruchiyo immediately cums between choked moans and curses, and warmth spreads inside of you. He clumsily thrusts a few more times, leaning down to close the small gap and kisses you. He smiles down at you so innocently, cheeks red, bruised lips. He asks if you are okay, and you nod, pulling him closer.

Your fingers trace over the scar above his eye, faded yet deep. He leans into your touch. You find it ridiculous how pretty Haruchiyo is. His eyelashes are thicker and longer than yours, you find it unfair. He is so beautiful, you’ve never seen someone as pretty as him before.

“Did it hurt?”

“It used to, but not anymore,” he softly sighs, “feels good when you touch me. You’re so soft and warm, it makes me feel at ease with you around.”

“Me too,” you breathe out.

You know you are falling in love with him. Even if it is something like whim, because he is the only one who listens, understands, and hasn’t abandoned you. You like Haruchiyo. You are falling deep for his pretty blue eyes and the sadness that consumes him like cocaine.

Your beautiful boy.

(He whispers that you are like an angel as you drift off to sleep.)

—

You wonder if it would be presumptuous of you to assume that you are Haruchiyo’s girlfriend. Because technically, you are. Without words exchanged, things have turned out that way, and you think it must’ve been inevitable (Keisuke always refers to you as Haruchiyo’s girl, and Haruchiyo never says anything about it). You are Haruchiyo’s. You feel like Haruchiyo is yours, too.

“Are you two fuckin’ stupid? You’re just asking to get pregnant,” Keisuke huffs while rolling his eyes.

“Keisuke!” you exclaim, hitting your hand over his mouth with a glare. “Shush, lower your voice, please,” you lower your voice, glancing around in hopes nobody had heard him. A few judgmental glances are thrown your way, and you groan, wishing to shrink away. “We’re in public. . .”

Keisuke grabs your wrist, pulling your hand off his mouth as he stares at you. His face isn’t littered with bruises and cuts these days. No white bandage to stop you from seeing everything on his face. He looks a little exhausted these days — you assume from lack of sleep.

“Sorry,” he says, immediately lowering his tone into a low whisper like you had warned him to. “Are you that stupid?” he repeats and you loudly scoff.

“That’s why I just bought the pill.”

“You also bought a pregnancy test a few weeks ago,” he retorts, and you bite your bottom lip at a loss for a comeback. You didn’t actually think you were pregnant, you were only making sure. “I am just saying, keep letting him do it raw and knock you up. Can’t even take care of yourself, so how—”

“I can,” you interrupt, “I can take care of myself.”

“Right, barely. Haruchiyo is fucked up in the head, how could you even take care of a kid?”

You glare at Keisuke. “Hey, don’t talk about Haru like that. He’s your friend.”

“Like I said, I am just trying to look out for you two. Don’t be so mad.”

Does he actually see you as someone so incapable?

Obviously, his words make you mad when you originally weren’t, he can’t keep his mouth shut sometimes, and he makes it up by buying yakisoba for you.

The three of you are barely getting by. Birds of a feather, they say. It’s a shitty life, you all know, but some moments are worth living for.

It’s not so bad when you aren’t alone.

—

“I saw Senju earlier.”

“And?”

“Nothin’. She says hi, though, asking if you’re good and stuff. She probably misses you. You should reach out to her or something.”

Haruchiyo sneers at the idiotic thought. There’s no way in hell he will ever talk to any of them again. Over his dead body — he’d rather die a million times. In the corner, he sees your head perk up at an unfamiliar name, sending the two of them a curious look.

He hopes you won’t ask, he knows you ask anyway.

“Who’s Senju? An old girlfriend?” The moment those words leave your mouth, Keisuke is making gagging noises, your eyebrows pull together as you turn your head towards him. “What’s so funny?”

“Younger sister,” Haruchiyo corrects your assumption.

“Hey, you told me you’re an only child,” you reply with a frown — a small pout to your lips. You look so adorable like this.

“That’s because she isn’t family to me.” He can feel bronze eyes burning into him. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing important.”

You slowly hum, not saying anything else, but Haruchiyo knows you understand him. Not wanting to step into a dark space that he doesn’t want you to know. He wonders why you’re so accepting of this – of him – even after catching him in a lie. He can tell you’re somewhat upset, too. But he knows you won’t mention it and he finds relief in that fact. Keisuke remains silent, too. His understanding is different, it’s familiar, rooted deep into their souls.

“Where did you go today, Kei?” You’re quick to change the topic and that’s one of the reasons why Haruchiyo likes being around you so much.

“I was just out with some friends,” he replies. “We went bowling, then took a ride around town.”

“Aw, bowling sounds fun.”

“You should join us next time.”

“To go bowling? I am not so good, it’s been a while since I’ve last been. Plus, I am not sure if Haru would want to go. . .”

Keisuke smugly grins, gold eyes flickering from you to him. “Yeah, but he would go anywhere you wanna go.”

“Is that true, Haru?” You turn your attention to him, and Haruchiyo shrugs.

“Maybe, it depends,” he replies, though the obvious and right answer is yes. He would do anything for you. Diving deeply into the depths of heaven and hell — wherever you want to take him. You and Keisuke both know this, because you both glance at each other and laugh, already discussing a date to go bowling.

Haruchiyo doesn’t join in on the conversation anymore, he grabs the remote in front of him and mindlessly flips through the television channels.

Keisuke has been distant lately. He is trying to change. He says he always remembers his mother crying in front of him for the first time, something he never wants to see again. Haruchiyo could never relate to this feeling, he doesn’t know what it means. He is trying to get an actual job — a normal job, like what normal people do. As if they weren’t both raised in the same shithole. Keisuke and Manjirō were the lucky ones — they always have been chosen by the stars above.

Keisuke fights in underground clubs every Friday for money, and Haruchiyo — he sells cheap cigarettes and substances to messed up kids like them. They’ve been doing this shit since they were in middle school. That has never changed for him. Haruchiyo knows he’s being left behind once again. By everyone he has ever known. Even Keisuke is moving on, to a life with people he doesn’t know and to a future he cannot see. It’s only a matter of time before you leave him, too. You are too bright, too lovely. No matter how much he digs his claws in you, it won’t be enough to keep you in place.

Even the ghost of Shinichiro doesn’t visit him anymore, and he’s left alone back at the doghouse once again.

—

Lately, he returns home to the same scene: just you and Haruchiyo cuddling up together. Stuck together like super glue.

Haruchiyo’s eyes are always a little clearer when you are around, awake, gazing at you with honey dripping from them. He’s seen that look in those sappy romance films his mom used to watch.

The image of you is captured so clearly within those crystallized eyes, trapped within. Keisuke isn’t stupid enough to not notice that Haruchiyo’s feelings for you are not normal. Society’s version of normal, anyway. Haruchiyo has always been weirdly obsessive and desperate at times; he’s seen so, with Shinichiro, Mikey, and now, you. It’s not normal, but is it so bad? Haruchiyo is beginning to breathe again in the form of you; light glimmering in his lifeless eyes when you say his name, you cover his wounds with your warmth, and love has always been a complicated thing.

Later that night, he and Haruchiyo make a run to the convenience store, and along the way home, they stop by an abandoned park and smoke a joint together — nobody ever stops by here, so there’s no worries in their hazy minds.

“I think I am in love,” Haruchiyo admits as he sucks on a strawberry popsicle. His favourites haven’t changed since they were seven.

Keisuke takes the last hit of the joint before dragging it out on the concrete. “Yeah, no shit, dude,” he replies, “everyone can see it.”

Haruchiyo grins, all teeth and wide, his eyes closed. “No, like I am fucked. So fucked, Baji.”

When he asks why, Haruchiyo is zoning out — Keisuke is buzzed as well, so it’s not like he cares. Haruchiyo is lying on the ground, head in his new leather jacket, staring long and hard at the night sky above, he isn’t here right now. He is a thousand miles away.

After, what seems like a long time (in reality, 20 minutes), he asks again. “No, but like why?”

“If she ever leaves me, I’ll kill myself.”

He says it so casually, then laughs so loudly, it sounds like he’s crying, and Keisuke ends up laughing, too. They laugh, and laugh, and laugh like it’s funny — like it’s nothing.

“No kidding. You’re fuckin’ insane.”

Settling down with deep breaths, he just confirms with a vague, “Yeah.” Pauses, then adds, “She makes me feel alive.”

Keisuke doesn’t doubt it one bit. Haruchiyo is crazy, and obsessed with you. Like a stray dog finding shelter again — you’re his sanctuary in this corner of the world. But is it so bad? Keisuke has never been one for relationships, it’s too complicated and time-consuming, but that is what love is. It’s everything worth the trouble.

Love is so strange, and it keeps them alive.

—

It’s happening again.

He’s stuck there again with no way out.

Mud is caving in on him, he’s choking, and can’t breathe or see anything. His body thrashes around, searching, searching, searching for another body. His hand reaches another — mummified. A black void consumes his entire being.

(He thinks he can hear a calling of his name — it sounds so familiar, like the warmth of his blanket from his childhood.)

When he awakens, he’s drenched in his own sweat, head pounding, electrified down to the rough pads of his fingers.

Haruchiyo downs a couple of pills.

���

You get a call from your mother. It comes unexpectedly, and you almost let it ring until the end, stunned.

Of course, you scramble to answer her call. “Hello? Mom?”

The line is staticky for a moment, and you wince. “Hi,” her voice sounds breathless. “I, um, I did not expect you to pick up.”

“Oh, yeah. . .” You don’t know what to say, but your heart is racing unbelievably fast. You have so much to say, but you can’t form any of them into words.

It is awkward, painfully so. It is the entire call, but you both try to talk, stumbling over each other when silence hits for a little too long.

She is doing well, much better than when you left, and you are glad. You think you are doing better than before, too. She mentions that she met a new man — one kind, one who treats her well, and works at a bank. Her last man was a piece of shit, somehow as bad as the first, he made your miserable lives even worse, and was in it for far too long.

She says she would like it if she could see you, and maybe you can meet him, and you choke. Getting introduced to someone new is too sudden, seeing her again is too soon, and what if she didn’t love him? Or if he doesn’t love her. He could be like the last one. A phony. She doesn’t know, you wouldn’t know. You think you are overreacting, you know you are, but you aren’t sure how you’re supposed to feel.

“No,” your voice is too quiet as you try to control the shakiness of your voice. “Not yet, but soon.”

“Okay. I do not want to force you, nor does he. Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you.”

“This isn’t something you need to thank me for.”

You almost cry for some reason.

Before the call ends, she tells you she would like to call you again; you say okay.

—

Sometimes, Haruchiyo doesn’t like to see you. You understand, and try to respect his space.

Every time he needs his space, he comes back seemingly happier, and he always takes you out despite hating being outdoors around strangers for so long. You learn he is very good at bowling, the two of you beat Keisuke and his other friends quite easily, despite the blond one mentioning he was a professional bowler earlier on (Haruchiyo whispered in your ear that he was definitely lying).

At the arcade, he wins you a giant plushie from an old cartoon, and he tells the others to win their own when they start asking him for one. With his remaining tickets, he trades them in for a ring pop – strawberry, your favourite – and slides it onto your ring finger with a cheeky smile, there’s red coating his cheeks. You mirror his smile, and drag him into a dark empty corner to kiss him. His hand is immediately sliding underneath your shirt.

“Haru, we’re in public,” you warn him as you break the kiss to lightly glare at him to behave.

“It’s fine, it’s only a kiss,” he replies, pulling you back in to deepen it. You melt into it.

Sometimes, Haruchiyo doesn’t like to see you. Especially, when he is high, he doesn’t like when you’re around.

One time, he’s collapsed onto his bed, he mumbles that he wants to see you, despite you being right there.

You can’t help, but worry.

Sometimes, Haruchiyo doesn’t like to see you. He gets so busy with things, and Keisuke says he doesn’t know — but you both know what he is up to. Sometimes, he doesn’t talk to anyone for two days. He stays trapped in the walls of his bedroom, or in places nobody knows of. This behaviour grows more and more frequent as the weeks go by.

Haruchiyo comes to see you, he always comes back to you. He says he wants to rent out a dvd to watch with you, and you bury your head into his chest, and cry.

He frantically asks what’s wrong, ever so weak to your tears. His hand rubs gentle circles on your back as he cradles you closely. “Talk to me, baby,” he coos.

(It’s hypocritical, you think.)

“I miss you,” you tell him.

He chuckles. “But I am here with you.” For now.

For now, for now, for how long?

—

Haruchiyo is falling.

He’s slowly falling down, down, down.

You force your eyes open every time you watch as he is drowning down those little white pills a little too fast, crushing them into powdered stardust, chasing after a star that has been long gone — he will never reach it. Not now, not in another lifetime.

You wish you knew what it was; the very thing Haruchiyo desperately needs to see — that very thing he can’t think of long enough before he drowns himself into something (anything) once again. In a strange way, you think you know. It comes in the form of the cigarette pack that sits awkwardly on the corner of the coffee table, unused and gathering dust (you’ve seen Haruchiyo smoke the same brand during the late nights when he thinks you are asleep, bitterness as he awakens with dread, and a similar scent lingers on Keisuke’s collar, too), to the unspoken sadness that chains them together, that same distant look that is reflected in their eyes from time to time.

It’s too much, too fast, Haruchiyo will slip through the gaps of your fingers if he doesn’t slow down.

You watch as he spills and arranges the substance into a straight, thin line. Your presence gone unnoticed, except for the intensity of your stare, which he finally (finally, finally, finally) notices you and his open door that he rarely ever forgets to close.

“Leave me alone for a moment.” He nods his head toward the door, yet you don’t move.

“Haru, you already did it earlier, isn’t this too much in one day?”

“It’s not—baby, just leave me alone for a minute. Please.”

You know how Haruchiyo is. He doesn’t like anyone seeing him like this, before, during, or afterwards — his one minute means four hours.

When you call his name, he snaps. That wild dog from the apartment above begins to bark, vibrating through the thin walls of the apartment. The owner screaming for it to shut up. He lets out a slow exhale, standing up, “God, why is it always the same thing with you these days? I ask you nicely and—and you don’t listen to me.”

“Same thing with me? I am just checking up on you because I care—”

“I never asked you for that. I didn’t. . . I’ve told you before not to act like that.” What makes it hurt is how Haruchiyo tries to keep his voice light and soft like he always does with you. His jaw is clenched, and pauses every few seconds to take a breath. He gets agitated far too fast. He cares too much about treating you gently, but he doesn’t even realise he’s being mean; uncaring about what you have to say, uncaring of your feelings, he doesn’t care that you just care about him.

Your eyes are stinging. You bite down on your bottom lip, harshly, trying to keep your tears at bay. “You’re being mean. You don’t have to say it like that, I mean well.”

“I wouldn’t if you just minded your own business.”

You don’t think you will ever get through to him. Even if you kneeled down, and begged him like a dog to stop, he wouldn’t understand. You sniffle, body betraying you as tears are edging to fall, you don’t want him to see you like this — you don’t want to see him like this.

Haruchiyo deeply sighs, stepping closer to you, he gently grabs your forearm. You think it would be a comforting gesture, if it weren’t for the fact that he deliberately steps into your space to make you step back, one step closer to being out the door. He wants you gone. “It’s nothing new. Gimme a moment to myself.”

“You want me to leave.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t look at you when he says this. That stupid little white baggie has his attention — his complete attention the moment he gets you out of here. Not living, not dead, no interest in his life.

You taste iron in your mouth. “You want me to leave,” you repeat, exaggerating every word with a crack of your voice.

Haruchiyo yells this time, his patience has always run thin. “Yes! That’s what I keep fucking telling you.” He quickly shuts his mouth and runs his hand over it, swallowing his regret. A tear rolling down your face is enough for him to sigh, he hates when you cry (not when it’s not out of pleasure), he hates arguing with you, and he mutters that he’s done.

He doesn’t push you out. He doesn’t comfort you. He doesn’t close the fucking door.

He walks back to his table, sitting down, rearranging the powder — he doesn’t care. He wants you to watch.

You bitterly tell him you’re done with this, screaming that you don’t care anymore, you’re done, done, done. You don’t even look to see if he lifted his head to look at you when you shouted those words, or if his nose was glued to the table instead. You rush out without closing his bedroom door; you slam their front door shut, it echoes in the apartment’s empty hallway.

A sob echoes with it.

Haruchiyo doesn’t come knocking on your door after. You don’t seek him out, either. A fight between the two of you has never occurred before, not like this, only annoyed remarks exchanged that were resolved by sweets and kisses. Days pass without any contact, you leave your apartment at different times, and you wonder if it is over now — all over a stupid, little fight.

—

With midterms rolling around, you don’t have time to focus on Haruchiyo, your relationship — the remaining ashes of it. You don’t know, you don’t want to know, you’re afraid to know. Your grades have gone down, and you need to focus on getting them back up. On some days, Keisuke attempts to mention Haruchiyo; sometimes, you get mad, sometimes, you grow silent and shake your head, and on other days, you’ll cry at the mere mention of him.

Haruchiyo’s birthday passes without you ever knowing. You hear it from Keisuke when he lets you ride behind him on his motorcycle to your part-time job at an old dvd rental from the 80’s. These past few days, he has been picking you up once you’re done, too. He is kind, so sweet, but you know Keisuke is mostly doing this because he cares too much (and he is worried about Haruchiyo more so than you).

You lie, and say you don’t care that Haruchiyo’s birthday passed, who cares about his stupid birthday? And there’s a shock that runs through you when you realise that you never even knew his birthday — he couldn’t even tell you a simple, little detail like that. Either way, you refuse to swallow down your pride, not this time. If Haruchiyo cared about you, even a smidge, he would’ve come knocking on your door after you left or called. But he hasn’t done that, he’s done nothing for weeks. Keisuke laughs, louder than his roaring engine, and tells you it’s fine, because Haruchiyo has never once celebrated his birthday since way back then, he doesn’t believe or see joy in such things anymore. Your heart aches, and suddenly, for a split moment, your resolve vanishes.

(Always too weak when it comes to him. . . your poor, beautiful boy.)

He drops you off in front of the store — looking ever-so empty inside, nothing new. His heavy hand ruffles your hair, you glare at him, swatting his hand away. “Stop, you are going to ruin my hair,” you complain with a pout.

“Don’t think so much about it. It’ll be fine.”

(It’s fine, it’s fine, everything will be okay.)

Before he drives off, he says, “I’ll pick you up later. See you.”

Your co-worker comes up to you during your shift. He’s a sloppy guy around your age that you’ve spoken less than ten words to. You glance down to his nametag, Takemichi, then to his unkempt black hair, and faded acne scars adorning his cheek. The smile he gives you is both awkward, yet strangely warm. When he asks if you are alright, you just stare at him in confusion.

“Oh, sorry—I, uh,” he begins fumbling over his words, and you sort of feel bad at how put off you are. “You don’t look too well, so I thought, uh, that you are sick or something. . .”

You force a smile, trying to ease his nerves. “I just haven’t been getting much sleep.” It is not a lie, so you don’t feel guilty. “Sorry for worrying you.”

He apologises, too.

So, apologises come easy for some guys. All the ones you’ve known never do.

You wonder if your sorrow is that noticeable — if you are someone so pitiful. It feels worse knowing that it is apparent to people who don’t even know you, and you feel more pathetic than usual.

Life goes on, as it always does. Painfully slow. Days turning into weeks. The seemingly never-ending gray skies, and smoke clouds greet your every wake.

—

Your mother calls again this evening. She calls more often now, and these calls last longer every time you talk, despite the awkwardness that still surrounds the phone calls. The familiarity of her voice is enough to ease you, it’s almost comforting, being forced back to a time when it was only the two of you at home. Just you and her, forcing laughter and smiles, but you were truly happy during those moments, until the familiar creaking of the old wooden stairs and heavy footsteps shattered the rosy glass once again.

The screams take over.

Your mother is a curious woman, very curious. She remembers everything you mentioned, even briefly, even things from when you were only five. She asks you about the boy you told her about before (all shy and giggly), and your nails dig into your palms, eyes darting around your bedroom. From the floor, to the pile of worn clothes in the corner, and an old music box your father had gifted you on your fourth birthday — music doesn’t play from it anymore. The pink ballerina had broken off when you had dropped it, and you super-glued together again. It doesn’t play music anymore, you don’t know why you kept it. It doesn’t play music anymore, you don’t know why you keep it on the nightstand next to your bed.

You tell her you aren’t so sure anymore.

(Your head is spinning.)

“I am sorry, dear. Boys come and go. It is always like that while growing up, but one day, the right one will be there for you,” she says gently, so softly, cradling your wounds. Yet, you wonder why you don’t feel comforted at all. “You are still young and beautiful. Don’t you worry so much.”

You simply agree, “Yeah, I guess that is true.”

When the call ends, you wind up the music box for the first time in years. No sound comes through for a second, and then the first few notes play before going silent — she dances in silence, spinning around and around and around. You watch her dance in the silent echo of your room for a long time, rewinding her before she completely comes to a stop every time.

The memories go round and round.

—

Keisuke basically forces himself into your apartment without an invite, and says, “Wow. You look like shit—I mean, bad. You don’t look good.”

He doesn’t mean it in a bad way, he is just honest with his friends. You don’t look so hot, and he has to let you know.

“Gee, thanks,” you sarcastically reply as you force your head into your textbooks.

So, you ignore him when he speaks sometimes. Keisuke has learned not to mention Haruchiyo to you, especially to how badly you reacted last time, even now the words are threatening to spill from the tip of his tongue. He tries his best not to. (God, you both are so difficult. He thinks he is going insane.)

After a while of making himself at home, he asks, “Wanna go out somewhere with me?”

You glance up from your textbook, asking, “Where to?”

“Come, I’ll show you.”

And without hesitation, you follow him out the house.

So, maybe setting cars on fire and smashing windows with brinks would be a little too much for you. He assumes you wouldn’t want to run from the cops, even if that is a part of the fun. Luckily, his buddy, Kazutora, showed him a spot where they can legally smash things to pieces — not exactly the same thrill, but it’s probably fun, and surely, you would enjoy it.

And you do. You smash everything in that little room and almost trip over yourself a few times while at it.

Keisuke finds it pretty fun, too.

—

After many rejections, it’s considered a miracle when Keisuke gets accepted and passes an interview. It’s been. . . a long time since he got fired from his first actual [legal] job. Honestly, Keisuke still believes he wasn’t at any fault, because what asshole throws a cigarette out at a gas station, right beside the gasoline tanks? That asshole was asking for a beating, and Keisuke only hit the man once. He saved the place from blowing up, if anything, he deserved some reward money. Instead, he gets fired by the lousy, old, ugly manager who sneered that it was only natural that a kid like him couldn’t handle a job.

He said he was lucky the cops weren’t called.

He was the lucky one considering how Keisuke didn’t sock his crooked teeth right out of his mouth right then and there.

(That old prick will get what’s coming for him, Keisuke hasn’t once forgotten his face.)

He knows he needs to start doing something with himself, because once he does, he’s going to make things right with his mom again. Though, it might end up ending the same way as they have been for the past few years. They’re closer compared to most single moms and their sons, Keisuke thinks, and he knows it’s hard raising him — it’s never been easy, because he doesn’t listen. He picks fights, he stopped attending school when he was fourteen, he stays out until the sun comes out, but he tries, he really does. Over the years, her disappointment and frustration builds on her face and it’s enough to make him burn and scream, leaving the room so he can no longer see that look on her face.

He vividly remembers that night, all too well, when he came home to apologise for his behaviour with his mother’s favourite flowers – marigolds like her eyes – and her favourite dumplings that he heard his pops’ used to buy for her when they were younger. Yet before he could say anything, he hears her sobbing through the door, and Keisuke makes a run down the stairs of the apartment complex. He runs, runs, and runs until he’s out of breath.

(Haruchiyo opens the door for him. He’s done so every single time without question, but those eyes of his never leave him — eyes are cold as they silently interrogate him, leaving his insides bare, chills run over him.)

He’ll make things right with her again. She’s his only mom, and he misses her.

Lately, he comes home to Haruchiyo looking like this. Fucked up with dilated eyes, winter freezes over him, hazy and lost like Janurary’s storm. Killing his own mind – himself – for even a few hours with a sense of peace. It’s all pure white laced with a gold rush; a feeling so divine that Keisuke knows he can’t save him.

Haruchiyo is drowning.

But that doesn’t mean he won’t try. Who else would if he doesn’t? (His mind drifts back to you.)

Keisuke takes a deep breath as he marches over to his limp figure on the couch. “Again. You are like this again, Haruchiyo. You need to slow the fuck down.” His words sound too familiar. (“Keisuke, I’ve told you this how many times now?”) Grabbing him by his shoulders, he shakes him, “Oi, Sanzu, wake up.”

He shakes him again. Roughly.

Haruchiyo groans slowly. “I hear you, Shin—” His heart drops at the name, at the ugly and pitiful sight of Haruchiyo. “—Keisuke, very, very clearly. . .” His words are spoken slowly and slurred, and his eyes are wide open, yet unfocused on anything. Ugly and pitiful, his dear friend.

“I am being serious, Haruchiyo. Listen up.” Keisuke inhales sharply, attempting to ease his nerves. He counts to three in his head, twice — something he had learned from a doctor when he broke his arm as a kid. One, two, three. In and out. “What about your girl?” This catches Haruchiyo’s attention, so Keisuke continues speaking, “You know she doesn’t like this right? She just can’t say it ‘cause. . . Like, you heard about her old man right? He fucked up and then. . .” And he can tell his words are falling on deaf ears, it’s pointless, yet he continues to try to reach out to him.

Truthfully, Keisuke would rather be talking to you about this. But every time he mentions Haruchiyo’s name, you get mad at him like he was the one who did something to you. He doesn’t know the exact details of what went down between the two of you; neither of you wanting to say anything, not even blaming each other, just saying vague words. It just adds to his annoyance, because it was obviously some dumb mistake, and if you two were normal and knew how to talk, it would all be good again.

“Say something.” Silence. “Haruchiyo.” More silence. Keisuke grits his teeth, the tip of his fang scrapes against his bottom lip. “Why are you like this? We’re just worried about you,” his voice comes out quieter this time, choking on tenderness, and he hates how he sounds at the moment.

“I know,” says Haruchiyo eventually. “I fucked up. ‘m fucked up. . . And I—I just don’t know how to make it go away.”

“Just cut out the bullshit,” Keisuke replies. He expects Haruchiyo to punch or kick him, to push him away and to fuck off — to call him a busybody, a good-for-nothing loser who failed junior high, a screw up who is just like him — he usually does in moments like these. However, he doesn’t.

“. . . I know.”

“Do something about this. Talk to her.”

“I know, Baji.”

“Okay.”

Keisuke frowns. He can't even laugh or snort or joke about how pathetic this is. His heart is aching at Haruchiyo’s vulnerability — a side he’s only seen when they were little kids, back when they lost Mikey and Shinichiro. Something about it is different this time, and he can’t pinpoint the reason. He just settles on awkwardly wrapping an arm around the taller, yet thinner and frail body beside him, and attempts to keep him grounded as his mind floats far, far away.

There has never been any use in catching him; he’s always known how to run and slip away.

He says, “It’ll be fine. Trust me. We’ll be fine, just like we always are.”

He whispers those words again for good measure, unsure if those words were meant for Haruchiyo or himself. Keisuke almost promises, and Haruchiyo doesn’t respond for another two hours.

—

A constant banging wakes you from your afternoon nap on your only day off from both work and university (you finished all your assignments early, too), and you angrily drag yourself out of bed, still half-asleep. Opening the door, you answer, “What—” and all that annoyance vanishes once your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness and see who it is. “Oh.”

You almost bitterly spit out, “Why are you here?”, but your heart betrays you, racing at Haruchiyo’s sudden appearance, then slows to a pace that aches your very core. All at the mere sight of him.

Before you can slam the door shut, he sticks out his foot and jams it in between, forcing the door to stay open. “Stop—don’t, don’t do that, alright? Don’t be like that, and let me in,” Haruchiyo says, his voice rough and tired. “Let me inside, please, baby. You need to listen to me, please.”

You bite your bottom lip at his pleading and keep yourself pushed up against the door, not looking into the large gap, you can’t meet his eyes or face or him. You end up asking, “Why are you here?” Your voice comes out small, you’re tired, so damn tired — body no longer pushing against the door, and Haruchiyo is swift when taking that moment of hesitation to let himself inside before you had the chance to change your mind.

He takes a step towards you, and you don’t move. He gets close to the point the skin of his hand brushes against you. His body’s cold. “I just wanted to apologise,” he tells you. “I didn’t mean it, any of it. I just—sometimes, I lose control over myself and do dumb shit.”

When you don't reply, he repeats, “I said I was sorry—still am. I didn’t mean any of it that day.”

You breathe out, “I know, I heard you. . . Your apology sucked, it was really, really bad.” Haruchiyo nibbles on his bottom lip, teeth running over dry, peeling, red skin; blue eyes wavering, yet never leaving your face (you still won’t meet his anxious gaze). “But I know you mean it. . . That doesn’t mean I am still not upset or hurt by what you said.”

He visibly eases, shoulders dropping with a silent breath of relief, and he apologises once more.

“I am scared to lose you, Haruchiyo,” you admit, it’s nothing new, but you have to tell him. “I keep thinking, what if something happens, and—like what would I do if you. . .” your words trail off shakily and you swallow the lump growing in your throat. You don’t want to curse the thought to life. Haruchiyo sneers, loudly and sharply, at your unsaid words, they don’t pass him by.

“It doesn’t matter,” it sounds too rough, too soulless, too regardless when he says this. “I mean, it won’t happen.”

You firmly argue, “But it could, Haru.”

“But it won’t. Believe me.” He grabs your hand and places it in his as he gives it a firm squeeze. “I, uh,” he sucks in a shaky breath before speaking, “I want to be better for you. You’d be happy, right? Like we could. . . Yeah, I could try for you.”

He would like to, he means. And you know he would, all to keep you happy. But you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. However, you and Haruchiyo are barely nineteen, barely adults, bad with words and love, but the feelings you have for each other are real, and so overwhelming. If you both try, everything will be alright — Haruchiyo believes this, and you do, too.

“How you live is up to you, but we can figure things out together,” you say to him. His thumb brushes over the skin on your hand. “Please, just let me be here for you. I care about you so, so, so much, Haru. Don’t push me away. I don’t want to leave you.”

“I won’t.” As you smile, he does, too. “I care about you, too, y’know? It drives me insane.”

You know, and he knows that you know.

You pull him towards the couch to sit down and talk, the atmosphere much more relaxing now. “You never called me.”

“I wanted to,” he admits, his hand falling onto your knee as he rubs it unconsciously. “But I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me.”

You shake your head, placing your hand on top of his. “No, I was waiting for you.”

He smiles, a little sad, and you can’t help but notice that he seemed to lose some weight. This worries you as he is already thin. Both your hands reach up to cup his cheeks, sunken and bones, as you pull his face closer to yours and you press a kiss to his lips for only a second. “Have you eaten yet? I still have leftovers from last night that I can reheat.”

There’s not really much left, probably only five bites at most, but it’s still something.

“No, I already ate,” he declines with a lie, but you let it pass. “Let’s just take a bath instead. Yeah?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s do that.”

Haruchiyo runs the bath like he always does, the temperature is always just right when he does it. When you slide into the bath, a soft moan escapes your lips at the warm contact. Haruchiyo takes off his clothes, gets in, and settles behind you. He pulls you into him, back against his chest, arms wrapping around your waist to keep you close.

You lift your head to look up, and Haruchiyo’s face is expressionless, but the look swimming in his eyes is undeniably love. It couldn’t be anything else.

“What is it?”

“I really meant what I said before, y’know. Most of the time, I—I just don’t feel like my own person,” he continues quietly, “I never wanted to make you cry.”

You twist, barely, due to the lack of space in the tub, and get a better look at him. Pink strands all over his face, you brush it away with your hand, tucking a strand behind his ear. The ocean stares back at you.

You snap yourself out of it, before you get lost. “It’s okay, Haru, really.”

He says your name, so softly, such a gentle sound — your soul is weeping. “You are the only thing that is precious to me, I need you, okay? I can’t live without you.”

Your head is swimming; if your apartment had a shower instead of a bathtub like your old place did, you would’ve been unsteady on your feet. The feeling intensifies the longer you stare at him — drifting off to sea.

You tell him, “I am sorry, too. I just worry about you, Haru. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I know, and I am right here with you, baby,” he gently says (his promise of devotion, no other deserving of his worship). “And I am all yours. Only you.”

A silent ‘forever’ follows after his gentle kiss to your temple. His arms wrap around you, his bones digging into your gut, and you lift your head to kiss his cheek, then one over the faded pink scar running across his eye, then another to his soft pink lips. Haruchiyo is beautiful, everything about him is so beautifully blue.

“So, you forgive me, right?”

His hand taps your thigh, twice, a silent indication between the two of you meaning: open up. “Yes,” you breathe out. You let him in, you always do.

“Good,” he says as his other hand runs across your stomach, up to your breast, and he gently squeezes. His lips brush against your ear, his breath tickles, you can’t help, but smile. “We are in love, baby. No matter what happens, it won’t change a thing between us.”

You can’t imagine a life without Haruchiyo, or what it was like before him. You don’t want to. And so, you tell him just so. He pulls you impossibly closer as his head falls into the crook of your neck, smiling into your skin as he presses a delicate kiss — as soft as a cherry blossom petal passing you by. You love him, you love him so much. Even when he is about to fall, you will be there to catch him. Whispering this sweet oath on repeat, Haruchiyo receives each eternal promise with his lips.

—

Somewhere, he is drowning.

Sinking down, down, down to a place no man can reach. Water turns to mud, white static fills his ears, gasoline and cigarettes sting his eyes and nose; he returns home.

Somewhere, he is drowning.

But not here. You are his anchor.

[sightseertrespasser]

Trying out a new method of story sharing.

Set in @keferon’s mecha AU sometime after Prowl and Swerve get rescued.

Sunny Side Screw-up

———————————————————————

Incoming communications…

BLUESTREAK: [Prowl.]

BLUESTREAK: [Prowl.]

BLUESTREAK: [Prowl do humans circle each other as a greeting.]

BLUESTREAK: [Is circling a sign of friendship or a threat time sensitive question please respond.]

PROWL: [What is going on? I need more information.]

PROWL: [Jazz says “Circling is not a sign of friendship but if you’re in Alt mode you’re fine, they’re just checking you out.”]

BLUESTREAK: [Not in Alt mode. Not in Alt mode.]

BLUESTREAK: [Oh Primus they’re getting closer.]

PROWL: [Where are you? The connection is weak, Bluestreak I need more information.]

BLUESTREAK: [So I got the short range shuttle like you asked and I was bringing it down onto the planet when a Quintesson rift opened up. And. A. BIG one latched onto the shuttle so I performed an emergenc-eeee they are getting very close now.]

PROWL: [Bluestreak? Are you under attack?]

BLUESTREAK: [I don’t know!]

BLUESTREAK: [Shuttle landed. Angry Quint. I couldn’t let them destroy the ship so I got its attention and drove away. The new quints they’re sending to Earth are MUCH faster then the normal ones by the way because I could not get enough distance ahead of it to get a safe shot but I had to TRY you know? So I went back into root mode and then it was ON me and I thought I was going to die and there was so much dust and then these two HUGE mecha came out of nowhere and RIPPED the quint apart like they were fighting over it.]

BLUESTREAK: [And now they’re looking at me! And I lost track of where the shuttle is. And the only English words I know are swear words so PLEASE HELP ME.]

PROWL: [Wait a moment. Jazz wants to try something.]

BLUESTREAK: [Wait?! Now? Prowl I think they’re sniffing me! Are they sniffing me? Is sniffing a sign of friendship? Can humans smell fear?]

PROWL: [ Blue! Can ya hear me?]

BLUESTREAK: [What? Yes I can still hear you.]

BLUESTREAK: [Wait is that Jazz?]

PROWL: [Bluestreak focus. We need to know who is with you, describe them as best you can.]

BLUESTREAK: [Oh that is so weird. Okay. Got it. There’s two of them, they’re both bigger than me, they look like fronliners, one’s red and the others yellow? I think? They’re both caked in dirt and gorAGH!]

PROWL: [Bluestreak!]

BLUESTREAK: [I’m fine! I’m fine! One of them got behind me and touched my doorwing. They backed off a little after I jumped.]

PROWL: [You’re not near any cities right?]

BLUESTREAK: [Yes! Or I guess no? I’m not anywhere near any sort of civilization. It’s basically nothing but desert, a slaughtered quint and two extremely intimidating mecha.]

PROWL: [Good news! Sounds like you ran into the twins Sunstreaker and Sideswipe! They’re a couple of Hunter Class mecha, they deal with Quints loose in mostly uninhabited areas. Basically bounty hunters who don’t work directly for Shockwave. They’re apart of another mecha program stationed in Europe that drop them off in a region for a week to kill everything in the vicinity.]

BLUESTREAK: [Great! Good! Now what do I do now? One of them is sniffing me again and the other looks like he wants to grab my face.]

PROWL: [They’re not sniffing you dude, they’re probably trying to check for damage and figure out what you’re supposed to be. Hunter Class don’t have external speakers which is why they haven’t said anything out loud. They’ve probably tried to radio to you to talk to you but obviously that ain’t happening.]

BLUESTREAK: [ The yellow one is poking me again! And the red one keeps waving?]

PROWL: [To them you appear as an unfamiliar Mecha of unclear purpose, with limited means of communication and looking rattled by both the quintesson attack and their presence. There is a 67% possibility you will be able to convince them you are a test pilot of an experimental mecha.]

PROWL: [Here’s what you need to do. Lean into the nervousness but try to focus it on the quint, not them. Try saying “Grazie” or “Thank you”. If you seem grateful and relieved that should instill a sense that they’re protecting you and supposed to be doing that. Technically they did just save your ass so you just gotta re-enforce that idea.]

BLUESTREAK: [I’ll try.]

BLUESTREAK: [I think it’s working? I’m kind of just rambling and pointing but their postures changed. Oh wow they’re even bigger when they stand up straight. How in the Pit is this working.]

PROWL: [Humans are hard wired to take queues from other people. It’s not like, mind control or anything but it’s really strong stuff. Shit man, 90% of the reason I stayed so calm while stuck in space was because Prowl stayed calm.]

PROWL: [Externally. And 82%.]

BLUESTREAK: [They’re walking off now. I can-]

BLUESTREAK: [They’re waving for me to follow now? What do I do?]

PROWL: [Shit.. I was worried about that.]

BLUESTREAK: [Please do not say that without elaborating.]

PROWL: [They either believe you are here to help them hunt, odds at 45%. Or they’ve decided the area is unsafe for you to travel alone, odds 74%. Possibly both.]

PROWL: [Bad news, either way you’re probably in the middle of a feral quint infestation. Good news, you’ve got a couple of scary ass bodyguards! Really bad news, those body guards think you’re a human pilot in a mecha.]

BLUESTREAK: [Why is that worse than “surrounded by feral quintessons”?]

PROWL: [Because if you get hurt, or visibly express that you’re in significant pain, the twins might try to perform an emergency extraction to save the “pilot”.]

BLUESTREAK: [Oh.]

BLUESTREAK: [Oh no.]

BLUESTREAK: [They don’t have alt modes though. I can get away from them right? Prowl please tell me my odds are good.]

PROWL: [There is a 70% they won’t pursue you if you did leave. However you are far more likely to die to quintessons while trying to locate the shuttle than if you temporarily accept protection from the twins.]

PROWL: [Besides, Hunter Mecha are built to be endurance predators. You will run out of fuel before they stop chasing you.]

BLUESTREAK: [So what you’re saying is that if I show any weakness an inescapable giant terrifying killing machine will run me to exhaustion and then rip out my still spinning spark? Oh no. Sorry. There’s two! ONE of them will tear open my chassis while the OTHER one will hold down my thrashing body!]

PROWL: [Actually, they might go for the face first.]

BLUESTREAK: [The face.]

PROWL: [If it happens, your best bet is to just keep yelling “Stop”.]

PROWL: [Behave as if it’s Elita One and you will be fine.]

BLUESTREAK: [Will I?!]

PROWL: [You will be fine because I will ensue you will be fine.]

PROWL: [We’ve been talking to everyone else the whole time we’ve been helping you. Ratchet knows Sideswipe and Sunstreaker and says they’ll listen to him over their actual bosses. Blurr is going to call Swindle who’s going to get in touch with the Twins’ program to get their contact details and Swerve is working out how to bounce the call from Prowl to you to them.]

PROWL: [This will take time. Myself and Jazz will stay available for consultation on everything. You greatest survival asset will be to maintain a positive rapport with these pilots. Assist them where you can but don’t risk sustaining any injury.]

BLUESTREAK: [Okay. Be helpful. Be endearing. Don’t show fear. Act like it’s Elita. Act like I’m human.]

BLUESTREAK: [Fuck.]

PROWL: [That’s the spirit.]

———————————————————————

A one shot story to get a feel for writing comms conversations.

Hunter Class mecha are basically the long haul truckers of the mecha world. Stopping Quintesson attacks on population centers take precedence but since they can drop anywhere, I imagine there’s a niche market for getting rid of the ones loose elsewhere on the planet.

-SSTP

[slttygeto]

♡ ̆̈ loml ; loss of my life — Hanma Shuji

♡ ̆̈ content warning: heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, i honestly don't want to say more. discover for yourself.

♡ ̆̈ word count: 2.3k

♡ ̆̈ inspiration songs: loml by taylor swift, ghostin by ariana grande.

Was it normal to feel like a burden at all times? A second choice to someone whom you hold very dearly to your heart? 

It wasn't that you didn't know your worth, it was the fact that you didn't feel like a priority anymore. But people change, and life happens and major events are bound to change the way someone behaves. 

But it hurts really badly.

You're not too sure when you started to notice it --- the distance, the quiet hums in lieu of an enthusiastic nod accompanied with a loud laugh, a cold hand to your shoulder that never lingered anymore. You could lie to yourself and say that Hanma wasn't a tactile person, that his love language was anything but physical touch but you would be worsening the pain you were experiencing from his shift in behavior. 

And it wasn't like he said anything to you---no, you would prefer if he did. It was his silence that felt like a heavy weight on your chest, pulling you down to the deepest and darkest parts of an ocean you knew you would drown in. You fight  back tears as you stand in the quiet bathroom, the sound of your breathing echoing in the large space your husband had once designed specifically for you. The excitement shining on his face when you had mentioned moving in together as boyfriend and girlfriend felt like a breath of fresh air, and a shy giggle escaped your lips as he scooped you into his arms and whispered in your ear about how living with you might just be the highlight of his life.

Yet here you were, grasping the wedding ring delicately wrapped around your finger while you choke back sobs at how mean your husband has been lately.

"I'm going in the shower," you announce to the man from the door, peeking your head around the corner to see him approaching the bathroom.

"Good." He gives a curt nod but his eyes never meet yours---they're too busy focused on that damn phone, that same device that had been driving you crazy. 

He claimed that he was always busy, shrugging his shoulders at your questioning look when you pointed out the twelve missed calls he claims he hadn't seen. But you know him---probably better than he does, and you are certain that he had been blatantly ignoring you. 

Your heart shatters quietly in your chest, but you hold back tears as you choke out the next sentence. "Not gonna join me?"

Like you always do?

"Nah, I'm good." He pushes past you to wash his hands, tucking his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants before retreating out of the bathroom the moment you started to undress. 

Was it normal for married couples to go through a phase like this? 

Even if you wanted to get answers, nothing about your relationship with the criminal was normal---not the way the two of you met, or how quick you decided to move towards marriage. You couldn't explain your situation to anyone, not even your closest friends in Toman. Not only would it piss off Hanma that you were going around and whining about relationship problems to others instead of him, but you felt too pathetic to utter the words out loud.

I think my husband fell out of love with me. 

That night, like many others, Hanma sleeps with his back facing you. And like every time, you turn to face him in hopes that he could feel your eyes staring at the back of his head. 

You don't dare to touch him, but it had been a habit for your hands to be all over him---caressing his stomach, whining about the tough muscle in his arms, melting against the warmth of his neck and chest---it was yanked out of your grasp so abruptly, heartlessly, leaving you stranded in a place you thought would be your forever after with the tall criminal. 

But old habits die hard, it is the only explanation for what you do next, letting your fingers grasp the hem of his shirt. It feels warm on his body, and the material is a little worn out but you know Shuji doesn't mind. You squeeze the fabric in your hand, your bottom lip wobbling as you start to sniffle.

"I'm sorry," you choke out quietly, praying it doesn't wake him up. "For whatever I did, I'm sorry. Please. I don't like how you're so cold to me." Your stuttered breaths force you to sit up in bed, slowly slipping out of the bed so you could cry on the balcony without waking up your husband. 

It takes you a couple of minutes to calm down, the cold of the night numbing your skin and therefore your heart. You hug your knees to your chest on the patio chair, wiping the remnants of your tears with the paw of your sweater. 

A loud knock makes you jolt, you whip your head to the glass door where you find a grumpy Hanma with a confused look on his face. "What are you doing?" He mouths from behind the door and you shake your head as you gather yourself. You slide the door open, keeping your gaze down as your feet drag you towards the bed. "Couldn't sleep."

"Ah," is all he gives as a reply, his back facing you. You notice that he stands there for a while, unmoving and staring at the spot where you had been sitting. It takes him a couple more seconds to move, walking to the bathroom to do his business. 

Ironically, that had been the longest he had acknowledged your presence in weeks. But your heart takes it and makes a blanket of it, shielding itself from the storm you had been enduring for so long. Soon enough, your eyelids start to feel heavy and sleep washes over your senses shortly after. 

--

You've only seen Hanma wear a special suit once. 

Despite the fact that his job was rather messy, it required him to look presentable at all times. However, he gagged at the idea of wearing that kind of attire to his wedding. It was insane even for a man like Hanma. 

"This feels like a shotgun wedding," Kisaki mutters to the tall man who grins at his reflection in the mirror. "I never thought you'd be the type to have a small wedding."

"You mean, you never thought I was the type to get married."

Kisaki makes a face at the thought, realizing that his right hand was indeed about to settle down. And with a girl he fell in love with during his reckless teenage years. "That too."

Hanma straightens up after fixing his tie, hair brush fixing a few strands before turning to look at his boss. "So, how do I look?" 

"Presentable for once. Now let's go."

And true to Kisaki's words, the wedding was indeed small. A short, intimate ceremony with a couple of people who had been present in your and Hanma's lives up until this point---the venue wasn't that large, but it was impressive enough for you to feel nervous as you walk down the aisle, grasping your older brother's arm.

"Out of everyone," Ran mutters under his breath and you roll your eyes, nails digging in his forearm. "You chose him."

"Shut up." You say through gritted teeth, but it was nothing serious. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see that Ran's eyes were glossy and he refused to look at your face. His body was stiff, and his chest was puffed out as he swallowed thickly. Those were all tell-tales that he was on the verge of breaking into tears, and it makes your heart swell. 

That night, Hanma kissed you deeply in front of everyone. He held you in his arms like a fragile being, beaming at the wedding ring adorning your finger before bringing his lips to your knuckles. You teased him about how good he looked in the suit, and he replied, 

"I can't wait for you to take it off of me."

"Maybe I won't," your fingers wrap around the end of the tie, grinning at him. "You look pretty handsome in it."

"Oh, so the suit stays on?"

"Mhm," you shift on his lap, wrapping both arms around his neck as you whisper in his ear. "And we can use the tie for something else."

After that night, he took the suit to the washers and hid it deep in his closet once he retrieved it. 

Then life was great for a while after that---three years of bliss in a marriage you never expected to happen given the long separation the two of you had endured. You wished you had appreciated the small moments better, but you knew they were tucked in a memory box in the back of your head. It was only a matter of when you could retrieve it. 

So why was he wearing that special suit again? And why did he look so...peaceful? 

He had been excited on your wedding night, he was full of life as he dragged you to the dance floor so you two could warm up. But was it all a show? A façcade to convince people that marrying you was what he wanted, especially after chasing you for many years, a web of lies you found yourself tangled in because he couldn't be honest with you? 

That suit was supposed to be special, it represented the day he swore loyalty to you and you did the same---it felt disrespectful that he would dare wear it again, with rosy cheeks and hair combed in a way he would never choose for himself. 

And he was supposed to be standing tall, smirking proudly at the fact that he easily towers over everyone. He would then shake his hands once then twice, feigning confidence as he fixed his posture. 

Not so relaxed and moving.

Then, he would run a hand through his hair like he hadn't spent minutes fixing it with his comb.

Instead, he doesn't attempt to touch it, and you figure it's because he hates the gel that's keeping it down. 

His grin would look boy-ish, but along with his chiseled jaw, he would look the right amount of manly. Just about enough for the woman standing at the end of the aisle to be swooned. 

Yet the smile adorning his lips was doing anything but---and you push yourself, forcing your body to approach him as you try to make sense of the situation. 

"Someone did your hair," your voice shatters the stillness in the room, and you choose to ignore the other people standing there watching you. Hanma doesn't say anything in return, and you shake your head as though he had given a reply. "No, no it looks---it looks good. Just not something I've seen before."

Hanma remains silent, unmoving, and you brace yourself to keep the conversation going. "Your cheeks---I've only seen them this red when you're sick--are you sure you're not?" 

And when nothing comes, you shake your head. "I just wanted to know."

But the longer the silence stretched, the thinner your patience was running. Your hand grips the wooden box for support, and your chest puffs out as you hold in sobs. "That suit was fucking special, Shuji." And you had promised yourself, him, that you would never cry if it came to this---but the reality was harsher than expected. "That fucking suit--was the one you wore on our wedding! How fucking dare you wear it again!"

"Hey," Chifuyu's hand rests on your shoulder, but you swat him away.

"You can't---you can't be serious, you can't just lay here and say nothing!" You point to the people behind you, Toman executives you had both known while growing up. "You're going to let them see you like this?! You're gonna let them watch you sleep?!"

And you wait for it---for his loud retort, a dry chuckle, a low voice calling for your name and telling you to cut it out. But it never comes, and all you're met with is his innocent, peaceful smile.

"You can't fall asleep here---you can't do that Shuji," your hands scramble to grasp for the white material wrapped around the lower part of his body, but you pull it up higher, as though afraid that he might get colder. "It's not like you---" 

Tears finally start to spill like a faucet, you use the hem of your blazer to wipe them down as your other hand keeps tucking him in. "You can't leave me like this."

"You did this to me, Shuji." Your sobs are gut wrenching as you lean over the casket, your tears wetting the material of his suit. "You gave me everything---you can't take it away." 

Your brother approaches you from behind, hands resting on your shoulders as he attempts to pull you away. "It's time."

"I'll never forgive you. Ever. You fucking coward!" Your fist collides with the casket, and you lean closer to his face. "You could've told me! We could've run away--you could've...you could've been saved, Shuji. I would've done anything to save you." 

But as you watch them approach the casket to finally close it, you realize that the last thing Hanma would ever hear was that you'd never forgive him. You push yourself out of Ran's grasp, and no one tries to push you away as you lean down and press a kiss to his cold, chapped lips. 

He doesn't pull you in, nor does he try to kiss you back and your lips tremble as your thumb traces his cheek. 

"I love you. Even if you don't say it back, I love you so much." 

Then your lips meet his for the last time.

[ribbonedreverie]

He Won’t Say I Love You

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Osamu Dazai – “Don’t Die Before Me”

Dazai doesn’t say “I love you.”

Dazai’s way of loving is contradictory, elusive, and impossible to pin down. His words are always laced with meaning, but never in the way you’d expect—because he does not speak plainly, not about things that matter. Love is a game to most, but to him, it is a ghost—something he has studied, something he understands deeply, yet something that has always evaded him.

That’s why he won’t say he loves you.

Because love, in its purest form, has never been kind to him. He knows love from the pages of books, from the way poets drown themselves in it, from the way people call it devotion but mean self-destruction. And Dazai is a master of self-destruction.

So instead, he turns love into something abstract. Something for you to decipher, something for you to chase, if you’re willing.

He flirts without effort, spins sweet words with a poet’s cadence, smiles like he’s already figured you out. But if you pay attention, you’ll notice the gaps—the empty spaces between his words, the careful distance he keeps no matter how close he leans. The way he offers everything and nothing at the same time.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you’ll hear it in the way he remembers things he shouldn’t—the way your voice sounds when you’re tired, the exact time the streetlights in your neighborhood flicker on. You’ll see it in the way he steals your pen but always returns it, tucked next to a note written in his elegant, half-mocking script.

You’ll feel it in the way his fingers brush against your wrist just long enough to make you wonder if it was intentional.

You’ll notice it in the way he never lies to you. Not because he is kind, not because he trusts you, but because if you saw through him, if you recognized what he really is, he wonders if you would stay anyway.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you do leave, if you choose to walk away, he will not chase you. He will not beg, will not plead. He will laugh it off, throw some teasing remark over his shoulder, and turn the page as if you were just another fleeting story in his collection.

But late at night, when the city is quiet and the ghosts press in too closely, he will still pour two cups of tea.

“Don’t die before me.”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Chuuya Nakahara – “You already know, don’t you?”

He won’t say he loves you.

Not because he doesn’t want to—he does, more than he’d ever admit—but because love, real love, isn’t something spoken. It’s something you prove.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he proves it in the way he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk, shielding you from passing cars. In the way he places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through a crowd, steady, present. In the way he always remembers your favorite drink and orders it without asking, as if knowing your preferences is as natural to him as breathing.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he loves like a storm—fierce, untamed, all-consuming. But around you, that fire softens into something warm, something safe.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will roll his eyes when you forget your scarf but wrap his around you without a second thought. He will complain about your reckless habits but pull you into his arms the second you stumble. He will grumble that you’re a handful, that you make his life harder, but his hands will never let you go.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he loves with his entire being. He will hold you like you’re something precious, something irreplaceable, like he’s terrified that one wrong move will shatter the moment. He will kiss you like it’s a promise, like he’s memorizing the way you fit against him in case fate decides to be cruel.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you are hurt—if you so much as wince in pain, if you ever cry in front of him— he will carry the weight of it himself. He will fight with his teeth bared, his fists clenched, his body a shield between you and the world. Because no one gets to hurt what’s his.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will never ask you to stay. Not because he doesn’t want you to—but because he wants you to choose him, freely, without hesitation. He doesn’t need declarations, doesn’t need grand confessions—he just needs to know that when he reaches for you, you will be there.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when he stands beside you in a room, offering his hand with a smirk that softens only for you, it’s there in the way he holds you.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when he sleeps better with you tucked beside him, when his hand finds yours even in dreamless nights, when he fights like hell to keep you safe, it’s there in the way he chooses you. Every time.

“You already know, don’t you?”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Ryunosuke Akutagawa – “Don’t die before I can protect you properly.”

He won’t say he loves you.

Not because he doesn’t feel it, but because love is foreign to him, something distant and unreachable, like the stars above the slums he grew up in. It is something delicate, something soft, something he was never meant to hold in his own hands.

He won’t say he loves you.

Because love, to him, has always been synonymous with loss. Everything he has ever cared for has been taken, ripped from his grasp before he even had a chance to understand it. So why would this be any different?

He won’t say he loves you.

But you’ll feel it in the way he teaches you how to fight, how he watches your every movement, memorizing the rhythm of your steps as if preparing to shield you before you even fall. You’ll see it in the way Rashomon hovers near you, shifting subtly, positioning itself between you and danger like an unspoken vow.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when you speak, he listens—truly listens, in a way he never does with anyone else. He absorbs your words like they are gospel, lets them settle deep in his chest, turns them over in his mind long after you’re gone.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you are hurt—if someone dares to lay a hand on you, if you ever bleed because of another, his rage will be instant, merciless. Not because he is angry, but because the sight of you in pain is unbearable in a way he doesn’t have the language to explain.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will stand beside you in silence, his presence unwavering, his eyes dark with something unspoken. He will never call you strong, but he will only ever respect those who are, and you are the only one he allows close.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you ever left, he would never stop looking for you. He would never say your name out loud, but it would echo in his mind like an unfinished sentence, like a prayer whispered too late.

“Don’t die before I can protect you properly.”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Fyodor Dostoevsky – “You amuse me.”

He won’t say he loves you.

Because love, to him, is a human weakness. A flaw. A crack in the foundation of something that should be unshakable. Love clouds judgment, warps perspective, turns the brilliant into fools—and Fyodor Dostoevsky is no fool.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you are an exception. A variable he did not account for. A contradiction he cannot solve. And that interests him.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will watch you—not with longing, not with sentimentality, but with the gaze of a man who is used to understanding everything, and yet, somehow, does not understand you. He studies you the way he studies a chessboard, as if you are a piece that does not belong, a move he did not anticipate.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will never lie to you. Not because he is kind, not because he respects you, but because there is no need to deceive something he already considers his.

He won’t say he loves you.

But his touch, when it comes, is deliberate. He brushes his fingers against yours as he hands you a teacup, lingers just long enough for the contact to mean something—but not long enough for you to be sure. He never calls you by your name when he can call you something softer, something more intimate, something that makes it feel like you are special, even when you know you shouldn’t be.

He won’t say he loves you.

But his affection is in the silences, in the spaces between words, in the moments when he allows you to stand close when he would never tolerate another. He lets you speak your mind, even when he already knows what you will say. He allows you to question him, because he enjoys watching you try to unravel something that cannot be unraveled.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he lets you live. And that, more than anything, should terrify you.

“You amuse me.”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Sigma – “Tell me I’m real.”

He won’t say he loves you.

Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. He is a man who did not exist until recently, a being with no past, no childhood, no proof that he belongs in this world at all.

He won’t say he loves you.

Because to love means to claim something as your own, and he is still unsure if he is allowed to claim anything. He does not know what he is, where he came from, or what fate has planned for him—but he knows you.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you’ll feel it in the way he always makes sure your favorite things are stocked in the casino, even if you never ask. In the way his hands hesitate before pulling away, as if he wants to hold on just a little longer but fears what it might mean.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you are the only thing that makes him feel real. The only proof he has that he exists as something more than a placeholder in a story someone else wrote.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will memorize your schedule, not out of control, but out of a quiet longing to be part of your world. He will watch you from the corner of his eye, wondering if he can be someone worth staying for.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when you leave a room, he waits an extra second before breathing again, as if your presence alone steadies him.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you ever tried to leave for good, he would not beg you to stay. Not because he doesn’t want to—but because he fears that if you go, he will forget what it felt like to be wanted at all.

“Tell me I’m real.”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Nikolai Gogol – “You’re the only one who makes me stay.”

He won’t say he loves you.

Because love is a chain, and chains were meant to be broken. Love is something that binds, tethers, shackles—and he has spent his whole life cutting himself free.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he lingers longer than he should, just close enough for you to wonder if he means to stay. He calls you his little trick, his favorite act, his most entertaining performance—but the way he watches you when you aren’t looking? That’s not an act.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you’ll feel it in the way his chaos never quite touches you. In the way his games are never at your expense, the way he teases but never cuts too deep, the way he pretends to be fickle but always, always finds his way back to you.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when he speaks of freedom—his one obsession, the thing that drives him, the only thing he has ever truly wanted—you notice he never includes you in the things he wants to leave behind.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you ever tried to run, he would let you. He would laugh, twirl his cane, bow like a gentleman as if bidding farewell to a fleeting amusement. But if you watched closely—if you really knew him—you would notice the hesitation, the half-second of stillness, as if something inside of him had just unraveled.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you ever truly disappeared, he would burn the world down looking for you, laughing all the while, like it was all just another game.

“You’re the only one who makes me stay.”

That’s what he really means.

[aprillikesthings]

Hi I have More Thoughts on Princess Prom

This couple of seconds has always fascinated me--it's near the end of the episode, they've been fighting, Catra swung at Adora and missed and nearly goes off the cliff, but Adora catches her

And for a second, Catra looks surprised and Adora looks angry:

But then they switch, Catra looks angry and Adora looks surprised:

And there are multiple ways of interpreting this moment and it's killing me

Especially given that this is pre-Promise--so like, Catra is still trying to get Adora back "home" to the Fright Zone, which she does accomplish via kidnapping Bow and Glimmer; anyway at this point they're not "officially" enemies yet

The first shot seems to be Catra being surprised Adora doesn't let her fall--the realization that while Adora might be fucking pissed and chased her up here to fight her (tho Catra lured her up there and is just keeping her busy until that helicopter-ish thing shows up), Adora still doesn't want Catra to like, die.

But here's the thing: to me, that second shot of Adora being surprised? Is it just Adora also being surprised she didn't let Catra fall?

Because to me it always feels like something else--that that's the moment Adora starts to figure out she's got feelings for Catra other than "childhood friends." That she's attracted to Catra. And it startles the shit out of her.

Do I think Adora consciously realizes it? Ehhhh no. (Word Of God is that Adora ignores her own feelings so much she doesn't put it all together until the Heart, and that Catra knew (...and just kept trying to hide/suppress it) the whole time.) I think Adora's feeling something like a moment of "I want her??" that doesn't even rise to the point of conscious thought before she's distracted by other things (...them both falling off the cliff), which gives her an excuse to ignore it and pretend it didn't happen. So it's just this flicker of Something and it surprises her so much it's written on her face.

And sometimes I think Catra's anger here is because she knows exactly what Adora's expression means and is like, "Oh, now you've noticed? You couldn't have done that before you left?!"

--but I'm interested in other people's thoughts

(And let me admit my own bias here: there's a posted scene in my 60's au fic that has a moment inspired by my interpretation of those couple of seconds. No cliffs involved, just a big party. But there's a moment of Adora feeling her attraction to Catra, and not being able or willing to recognize that that's what she's feeling. But the problem is that it's written on her face and Catra notices it and panics and shoves her away. Cut them both some slack, the scene takes place in 1966, they're 17, and they're surrounded by high school classmates. Also Catra had been putting vodka in their punch.)

[chimuelo2005-blog]

Viktor Didn’t Just Want to Live—He Wanted to Be Remembered (And Piltover Took That from Him)

Viktor’s illness in Arcane is one of those things that people talk about, but I feel like they only scratch the surface. Yeah, it’s tragic, yeah, it’s why he pushes Hextech so hard, but the way it actually shapes him. His mindset, his relationships, the way he exists in the world is so much deeper than just “he doesn’t want to die.”

Like, Viktor isn’t just running out of time—he feels it, every second of every day. He doesn’t get the luxury of patience, of hesitation, of slow and careful progress. People frame his desperation as a descent into obsession, but let’s be real; when your body is literally failing you and you’re one of the smartest people alive, of course you’re going to throw yourself into your work. What else is he supposed to do? Accept it? Lie down and die? He’s been sick since childhood, and you can see how that shaped him into someone who refuses to waste even a second.

And that’s why his relationship with Jayce is so painful to watch. Jayce is idealistic. He believes in progress, but in a way that’s manageable, controlled. Jayce is thinking about the future in terms of decades. Viktor? He doesn’t have decades. Every time Jayce hesitates, whether it’s about Hextech, about the ethics of what they’re doing, about the council’s approval, it’s not just frustrating for Viktor, it’s terrifying. Every delay, every “we need more time,” feels like another nail in his coffin. And the real tragedy? Viktor knows Jayce cares. He knows Jayce wants to help. But Jayce has the privilege of time, and Viktor doesn’t. That’s a gap that love and friendship alone can’t fix.

And here’s my hot take: Viktor’s biggest fear isn’t just dying. It’s dying without proving he mattered. His whole life, he’s been seen as weak, as fragile, as someone people pity. Hextech isn’t just about survival for him—it’s about legacy. It’s about making sure that when he’s gone, the world will remember him as something more than a sickly kid from the Undercity. And when you look at it that way, his whole arc stops being a “tragic downfall” and starts looking like the only path that ever made sense for him. Because if the alternative is fading away into nothing? Then yeah, of course he’s going to push further. Of course he’s going to risk everything. Because at least if he goes out, he goes out leaving something behind.

And that’s why the fact that people took Viktor’s name off Hextech is actually one of the most tragic things in the show. Like, Hextech wasn’t just some invention for him, it was his life’s work, his legacy, the thing that was supposed to make sure he was remembered. He built that with Jayce. It was supposed to be the proof that he mattered.

And then the second he wasn’t there to fight for his place in history? They erased him.

They didn’t just take away credit. They took away the one thing that kept him going, the thing that made all of his sacrifices mean something. Hextech was supposed to outlive him, and in a way, that was supposed to be his version of immortality. But now? Now it’s just “Jayce Talis’ great invention,” and Viktor is nothing more than a footnote.

Like, imagine dedicating your entire existence to something, burning yourself down to nothing just to make a mark on the world, only for people to turn around and act like you were never there to begin with. That’s not just tragic—it’s devastating. And the worst part? Viktor probably saw it coming. Because deep down, he always knew he wasn’t the kind of person history remembers.

[stalkedbytrains]

False Idols

Lucienne Prophet watched the Chosen One die. Now there is no one left to stop the apocalypse. But she will not sit back and wait for death, she will try to stop the God of Darkness no matter what stands in her way.She’ll have to recruit some people abandoned by the Empire of Light to help her stop the end of the world. A blood mage with a centuries long vendetta, some spies with questionable methods, and a woman made of fire.Will the war finally consume Lucienne? Will the gods of Light and Dark finally destroy each other and the world in their long war?

I wrote this 116,000 dark fantasy knowledge back in 2019. It's long, but it's good, I promise.

The book is heavily influenced by things like Mass Effect and the original Dragon Age. We have prophecies that may or may not be true (I mean the Chosen One is dead in chapter 2 so like... yeah), we have blood magic, we have vows of eternal vengeance and hatred, we have blood oaths, we have morally ambiguous spies, we have a world spanning religious empire of light and beauty that totally isn't rotten to the core, we have Lucienne and Aracelis as a pair of leads that are really the only thing that the other has to hold on to in the End Times, and we have a badass wardog named Sasha (she's the best).

Below will be some heavy spoilers just in case you want to know about all the things before you commit.

SPOILERS

Aracelis is a blood mage in the last remaining country outside of the Ilanem Empire

She's committed crimes and is imprisoned when the paladins of light invade and start to destroy her country

She loses her boyfriend in the fighting and swears death upon all of Ilanem, summoning a blood demon of vengeance that is bound to her body and soul

Lucienne Prophet is the last surviving friend of the Chosen One who died trying to stop the coming apocalypse of the Corrupt and the God of Darkness Cimenor

She hates Michael (the Chosen One) because he abandoned her, leaving her for dead, and got her husband killed when he rescued her. Both Michael and his god refused to save or heal either of them, so Luce is very bitter

Luce has a wardog named Sasha who's last order from Luce's husband is to protect her no matter what

Luce refuses to just let the apocalypse happens since the Chosen One is dead, instead she takes her Rangers to the most dangerous places and continues to fight, pushing herself beyond the breaking point

Recognizing that Luce is the only hope for stopping this war, she is "chosen" by the God of Light, something she doesn't want, but she will use

Luce recruits and uses the other military branches as she is elevated to a position of power, recruiting a couple of spies, Roth and Charna, who lead the Inquisition, she also recruits the immortal and, up until this point, hidden Aracelis into her crusade

Aracelis secretly convinces Luce to do a ritual to give herself blood magic as well, as Aracelis thinks that the only way to really fight this thing is to use every tool at their disposal

Luce also frees a fire spirit that had been chained up and used as a symbol by the Church of Light

over the course of the novel battles are won and lost, Aracelis and Luce get closer

but Aracelis is compromised, more than she knows

the deals that she made to destroy Ilanem also want her to kill Luce, who she has been in love with for a long time, she refuses to do so

which results in a tense fight with Luce (and a Corrupt Dragon) and ends with Luce seemingly killing Aracelis

but Aracelis is immortal, she can't be killed by something as trite as swords

that doesn't change much for Luce who killed her

Aracelis swears a blood oath to Luce, now magically compelled to help her in every way

Luce, Aracelis, Charna, Roth, and the fire spirit Shula go to confront the God of Darkness and it's armies of Corrupt

Roth and Shula die in the assault

Luce manages to kill Cimenor, almost dying herself

Aracelis is compelled to not act during the battle as the darkness has a hold on her

the novel ends with the victorious team returning to Ilanem only to be greeted by the "resurrected" Michael and the God of Light who wants them all executed for heresy

Aracelis fights her nemesis and Charna helps

Lucienne as a chosen of the Light God can't fight, but when she manages to act, is severely wounded

Aracelis kills the Ilanem god and finally completes her end of the deal, freeing herself from her vengeance demon

Sasha lives through the entire book

Aracelis at some point admits to having feelings for Luce, Luce in turn is beyond stressed out and simply cannot think beyond surviving the next few minutes, although at the very end she recognizes that she does in fact have feelings for Aracelis

[tanukitsuneko-suki]

build episode 38 thoughts:

- my girlfriend’s so dead.. —banjo probably

- evolt’s final? form is the BEST! I love the black and white colors it’s so cool 😭

- oh! my son got flashbacks of mars? that’s not good! very yabai!

- no opening song Oh ok

- AHHH!!! HELLO MAEKAWA I MISSED YOUUUUUUU😭❤️❤️

- me searching for a brooding emo guy in episode 1. me getting the brooding emo guy in episode 38. he’s so fucking funny standing by the spiral stairs. what are you there for, gentoku. can’t you sit your ass somewhere, u silly nepobaby

- GENSEN EX-BOYFRIENDS LIKE RN??? RIGHT FUCKING NOW??? OH MOTHER

- utsumi and gentoku in the rain ohhhh build i am astounded by your game once again

- everybody’s on gentoku’s ass man. everybody wants him. that’s so fucking funny. THEY KEEP BOWING AT HIM FOR HIM TO JOIN. LMFAOOO

- gentoku wants a vacation to mourn his father guys leave him alone /j

- “then it means he won’t ever remember the days we spent together?” lol. lmao even.

- btw i am OBSESSED with gentoku just coming home to cafe nascita. what’s blud doing here 😭😭

- kazumin has a point sawryyy

- katsuragi stumbling 😭 my guy doesn’t know how to fight either??

- katsuragi i’m sorry but you can’t use evol trigger without something you’re fighting for 😭 banjo!!!! remember banjo!!!😭😭😭

- i uhhh drc he died lol 😐

- WIFE YOU ARE HERE!!!!!!!!😄😄😄😄

- maybe the ending should be banjo taking over evolt instead. that would be fun

- no he can’t die they still have a movie. there’s an extra focusing on him. it’s a whole thing

- oh ah. damn that’s one rushed redemption arc lol

- ahhh

- THE BGM AHHHH

- stupid ahh bitch trying to push up his glasses while wearing the suit

[puppyscatorccio]

precrash alpha lottie where ur heat has just started and she’s trying so, so hard to be respectful and fight her biology that’s just telling her to breed u, but she can’t hold back for that long- i mean, who could blame her?

mdni

lottie who is mostly known as a really sweet alpha, who's always so nice to any omegas and willing to fight any other aggressive alphas who can't respect their boundaries. she prides herself in being rational, in being someone that anyone can trust.

that all goes out the window when you're the one in heat.

she's trying so, so hard to be respectful, but even you can tell that she's affected. lottie keeps offering help, asking if you need anything, if you want her to drive you home, fussing so much over you that it's overwhelming. it's doing more damage than actually helping, especially with her pheromones suffocating you.

there's a part of lottie, a tiny little voice in her head just whispering that she should push you down and knot you, breed you until she's satisfied because that's what an omega in heat should be used for. but no, she's determined to not be that kind of alpha, to respect your wishes even if it takes all of her willpower.

lottie is patient, but that can only go so far. your scent is making her dizzy, clouding her brain to a worrying degree. she gets a little more pushy with her offers, trying to get you to just say yes so that she can ruin you with a clean conscience.

"we can just go to my house. you can stay there, i have a guest room and my parents aren't home..." and you can see in her eyes how she's imagining how you'd look on her bed, taking her knot like a good omega should. "i mean, it just can't be good to stay home on your own."

the exact second you say yes, lottie is dragging you to the nearest, most comfortable space she can find. as much as she wants to make it sweet and romantic, she feels like she might die if she doesn't get to breed you soon. but if you really prefer to do it at her place instead of, say, the backseat of her car, she's willing to wait a little bit.

lottie who just can't hold back the moment you give her a green light to be rough. so much biting and sucking, especially on your neck and chest. rambles non-stop about how bad she needs to breed you, how you're the best omega she's ever had and that she just wants to mark you so fucking bad. she physically cannot bring herself to stop even after cumming and knotting you once, twice, even thrice.

[strangelittlestories]

Before the curse, Joaquin had never considered that pain had a sound.

It was like the sky before a storm, the air taut and stretched like a violin string. It wailed as if clawed hands tore wire strands to tinnitus unraveling.

But there was a pattern in it. Like someone playing the saw on your bones. A bass drum beat vibrating through your brain meat.

Joaquin heard it when the demon of the north star struck him with soul sickness and wind howled through the cracks of him. He heard it when he and his coven argued and came to blows; it was like Sam’s black eye sang. He heard it when Andros broke his heart, then his flayed affections began to whisper in the dark.

He tried to shrug it off. He tried to ignore the strange sense the curse had awoken in him. He tried to believe that it was in his head, just a fae illusion.

But he found himself looking for the sound. Longing for it. In the chaos of a fight, he hunted for it. When he made sacrifice to the Midnight Teachers, he ached for it. When he danced around the bonfire and the flames kissed his cheek, he would hear it and he would sigh.

Because it had begun to make sense. He could hear … not quite words, but *meaning* in the pain-song.

“Go here.”

“Help them.”

“Sorrow.”

Simple things. Strange things. Worrying things. And usually deciphered too late to do any good.

Joaquin began to hope that maybe, just maybe, that if he could only learn to listen better, then maybe he could make a difference. Maybe he could discern a pattern in the meaning. Maybe it would not always end in sorrow. He became reckless. After all, if he got hurt (or if he hurt someone else), that was just an opportunity for more half-heard prophecy…

The fairy who cursed him visited Joaquin in hospital.

“Do you understand now?” they asked, in their voice that crackled like old modems.

“I don’t know.” Joaquin’s throat was raw from old screams. “I only have the edges, not the middle. I feel like everything is edges now.”

“Everything was always edges. Sharp as yearning. Bitter as boundaries.”

“Is it real? The poem in the ache. The omen in the agony. Or do you just want me dead?”

“I want you to learn to understand.” The fairy tutted and the hospital lights cracked. “But I don’t much mind if the lesson kills you…”

“Understand what? The noise in the pain … where does it come from?”

“The world, of course. Pain is just a signal. And you, witches, you are the earth’s nerve endings. Just conduits, usually. But if I turn up the volume! Then we can eavesdrop on the worldbrain.”

“Why?”

“Because something is wrong. Very wrong. Its usual confidante, um, let’s say: ‘ghosted’ it.”

“Why me?”

“You were around. You wronged me. This will probably still kill you.” The fairy smiled its oil-slick smile. “But won’t it be nice for you to die *useful*?”

[eliotquillon]

write me a story where cameron finally learns chase is allergic to strawberries thank you (you can ignore this ask)

rip to chase if i couldn’t eat strawberries i’d pretend not to care about anything either. anyway set between s3 and s4 (or maybe at the very start of s4 idk whatever. point is they haven’t been together too long)

“I could’ve killed you,” Cameron says, sounding angry and annoyed and not very sorry, but Chase knows it’s all a front; she’d cried in the ambulance, small and scared looking as soon as the EMTs not-so-kindly told her that as a doctor she should know that there was little else they could do between giving him more epi and getting him to the hospital, and he’d wanted to reach out and comfort her, but that had been difficult what with his throat being all swollen up at the time. “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I wasn’t going to die, or anything,” Chase protests, because he doesn’t really want to talk about this right now: why he never bothered to sit Cameron down and go by the way, now that we’re sleeping each other regularly can you throw out everything you own that contains strawberry? Because there is a reason—Chase isn’t this cavalier with his health on a daily basis, honest—but it is going to upset her, and the whole reason why Chase never told her was specifically to avoid this kind of fight. There’s no polite way to say I was pretty sure you’d interpret it as a sign of impending commitment and run for the hills, especially now that Cameron is kind of adorably self-conscious about that whole period of their lives. He’s only been dating Cameron for three weeks; on balance, the risk of anaphylaxis is far less deadly than the one to their incredibly fledgling relationship. “I had my Epi-Pen on me.”

Cameron narrows her eyes at him in disgust. “I’m an immunologist,” she starts, preparing, no doubt, to rip into him about how Epi-Pens are a miracle of modern medicine but aren’t actually magic, and how anaphylactic reactions can worsen with repeat exposure, and Chase is actually kind of looking forward to it even though his throat is sore and his head is killing him and his body feels like it’s encased in syrup, because a side effect of the honeymoon phase is that he now finds it incredibly hot when she’s on the warpath, even at him—only she takes a big gulp of breath and she suddenly starts to cry again. Not quiet, terrified tears like the one in the ambulance, but big, rolling, heaving sobs. He’s seen her cry before, usually over patients, but not like this, and it freaks him out a little; Chase extends his IV-free arm towards her and corrals her in so she can rest her cheek on his chest. It’s lucky, he thinks, that they’d been closer to General than PPTH; she’d never let him do this if they were in the ER at Princeton-Plainsboro.

“Allison,” he says into her hair, voice still hoarse, “I’m fine. It was an accident.”

He almost adds this has never happened before—because it hasn’t, usually Chase has to actually ingest something strawberry to provoke a reaction, he’s never had one just from kissing someone until now—but he does, for better or for worse, know exactly how Cameron ticks, and he has a feeling that this won’t be as reassuring as he means for it to be. “I’m sorry,” he says instead, “I promise I’m not allergic to anything else.”

“You better not be,” Cameron huffs. She cranes her neck up to look at him, eyes red and puffy, and says, “You’re banned from my apartment until I can deep clean the kitchen. And the bathroom, and the bedroom. I have strawberry lube that I need to get rid of.”

“There’s probably not any actual strawberry in your lube,” Chase says. Cameron makes as though to thump his chest, then remembers he’s hooked up to an EKG and thinks better of it. “No need to ruin all our fun, is all I’m saying.”

“I’m an immunologist,” Cameron says again, but she doesn’t sob this time—it comes out more as a sigh. “You should’ve told me.”

Chase thinks, idly, of all the times Cameron brought her favourite strawberry cream cheese bagels into work and he’d turned them down—how many times House had raised his eyebrows at the sight, but never bothered to say anything, either. He thinks of Cameron crying in the ambulance. There’s a hazy memory of her suddenly running off as soon as the ambulance parked in the bay, which is strange, and then he realises she smells absurdly strongly of medical grade mint. “You threw up,” he realises, and pets her head clumsily. “You should’ve asked for some Zofran.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Cameron says. “When you’re better, we’re going to talk about this.” After a moment, she laces her hand with his. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

She says it so nakedly that Chase doesn’t have it in him to fight back about her being mad at him anymore. “Told you I’m fine,” he says drowsily, and then he falls dead asleep.

[pynkhues]

How do you think Lestat conceptualizes what Louis feels for him? Watching s1, especially with the context of s2, it really looks like Lestat genuinely thought Louis never really loved. I find the contrast between 1x1 and the latter half of s1 so interesting. It seem to me that without being able to read Louis' thoughts and with Louis' refusal to verbally affirm his feelings, he genuinely started to believe that Louis was interested in him physically at most, and then not even that (which must've stang especially, seeing how it can be argued that Lestat has a tendency to objectify himself and tie his self-worth to his desirability as a trauma response). We're really just speculating for now, obviously, but I'm wondering about your thoughts on modern day Lestat especially!

That's an interesting question, anon! Mm, I'd say that he must have known Louis had feelings for him at the very least before he turned him - he could still read his mind at that point after all, and they were courting for a year - but I tend to think that would probably have been a combination of deep affection and attraction more than anything else, given - - y'know. Louis didn't even know they were courting, haha. During their relationship - - I don't know, I suspect he probably pendulumed between knowing that Louis loved him, and having genuine doubt too.

Lestat's raised by Gabrielle to understand that love is something that's generally withheld, and depending on your reading of his relationship with Nicki, I do think that perhaps further entrenched parts of that. While Nicki can be generous, loving and affectionate, the way they break up with Nicki swearing he actually hated him all along and wanted them to die together in Paris would fuck anyone up, especially given Louis and Nicki have some similarities (although I don't think they have as many as parts of the fandom do, really, same with Louis and Gabrielle - I think all three of them are pretty unique characters).

Lestat's a chronic romantisier of his own history as a means of emotional survival, but I don't think he forgets much, and I imagine that the memory of his and Nicki's break-up probably coloured a lot of his and Louis' fights, particularly the one where Louis technically broke up with him before returning with Claudia (Louis, the disaster you are, ily), so in those moments - - yeah. I think he probably thought Louis had never actually loved him, but I think in the moments when they were good, when they were happy, he probably was unwavering in his belief that Louis did.

(It's kind of interesting to think about too that Louis did tell Lestat he hated him too, only where Nicki said it while breaking up with Lestat, Louis said it while getting back together with him, and I'm genuinely looking forward to those parallel gifsets in s3, haha).

I do think he took Louis saving his life as an act of love though, and I think in the long aftermath of that, both before the Trial and after it, when Louis chose Armand, it's probably the thing he clung to the most as reflective of that. There's so much that he feels - the cord between them, their hearts beating in time, the memories of the best of it all - but Lestat's also a character with just so much baggage (totally agree about Lestat objectifying himself as both a trauma response and a manifestation of insecurity, and that Louis no longer wanting to have sex [which is absolutely his right, and normal] was something Lestat took as a much deeper rejection than Louis realised), that I think can outweigh that sometimes.

So yeah, I'd say it probably varies based on his mood and maybe even the minute. A part of him knows, a part of him doubts, the only thing he can be sure of is that he himself loves Louis, and Lestat might withhold his history, but he rarely withholds his emotions.