#( & HE WAS MOST LIKELY SO DEPRESSED AND PURE HATRED FOR HIMSELF )

[pretentious-blonde]

aftermath

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve is wrecked, haunted by the thought that he’d lost you for good. but when he finally braced himself for the worst, your answer shattered him in a way he never saw coming

warnings: 18+ emotional distress, angst, depression, major self-hatred, crying, smut, but like make up smut, minor bruising/scratches during intimacy (consensual), this is heavy guys

a/n: i hope this makes up for the cliff hanger. you do need to read this to fully understand what is going on. hope i did the make up justice!

series masterlist

You’ve been living in your pajamas since Friday, the same ratty jumper and threadbare bottoms you’ve slept in for days. The curtains in your living room are half-drawn, letting in just enough gray light to remind you it’s daytime—though you’re not quite sure which day it is anymore. 

Tuesday, probably. 

You’d asked for the whole week off, a near-unheard-of request, but you couldn’t face the world after what transpired. Your hoarse voice must have been enough to convince your boss of your current state, though he most likely believed it was a result of a bug or the flu. You were grateful he didn’t press further. 

Everything in your flat reminds you of him. The bookshelf he painstakingly built and shoved into the corner. The stupid T-shirts he left behind, folded on your desk. The toothbrush tucked in next to yours in the bathroom. You’ve cried more than you ever thought possible, especially as day after day passes with no call, no communication. Nothing.

That’s why you’ve barely left, lying low in your own sorrow. You should be out celebrating your first ever published article—yes, that finally got the green light—but even that feels tainted now. Steve had helped you with the idea, reading every paragraph you placed in front of him for inspection. Thinking about it only reopens the wound.

By late afternoon, you’re in a numb haze, scrolling absentmindedly through the same TV channels, when a sudden knock on your door makes you freeze. Your pulse spikes with pure dread. You beg some higher power as you take a few tentative steps toward the entrance, pleading for it to be anyone else but him. 

“Who—who is it?”

A boy’s voice answers. 

“It’s Dustin.”

Surprise fills you, but you tug the door open anyway, still half-hidden behind the frame. The teenager stands there, head tipped back to look at you with wide eyes. He takes in your rumpled clothes, your blotchy cheeks, the dark circles under your eyes—and his face softens with genuine concern.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi?” You can’t hide your confusion. You’ve met him enough times to be friendly—even invited you to his birthday party—but this is definitely not the level of closeness where you expect him on your doorstep.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his tone polite.

“Uh—yeah,” you say, stepping aside. You’re mortified at the state of your living room—blankets and tissues strewn around, half-eaten toast on the coffee table. But Dustin doesn’t so much as blink. He just walks in, glances at the chaos, and settles himself on the couch.

“Have you heard from Steve?” he asks gently, but the question punches you right in the gut. Your breath catches, tears immediately threatening to spill. He sees the way your eyes go misty and holds up both hands in alarm. “Whoa, hey. No, wait, why are you crying?”

“Sorry,” you manage, swiping at your face with the edge of your sleeve. “I just—I don’t think me and Steve are… together anymore.”

“Alright.” The boy exhales, like the missing piece just slid into place. “Well, that… would explain a few things.”

“Explain what?” you ask, voice shaky.

He glances around, looking conflicted. Then he pats the space next to him on the couch. 

“I think you need to sit down.”

Something about his earnest, grown-up tone makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time, but you sink down anyway. You stare at your own hands, picking at a loose thread on your jumper.

“Do you want something to drink? Tea?”

“Um… yeah.” You blink, surprised by the shift. “Top cupboard in the kitchen.”

“Okay… You stay there.”

He heads into the kitchen and starts rummaging through your cupboards like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You watch him, baffled as to how this kid is behaving. 

He returns, balancing two mismatched mugs in his hands. He places one gently on the coffee table in front of you and then settles next to you on the couch. You notice the way he glances around at the mess once again, but he doesn’t comment on any of it—just holds his own mug close, like it’s offering him a little comfort.

“Um,” he begins, voice hesitant, “I need to ask you… about Steve.”

Your grip tightens on your mug. 

“Have you…have you spoken to him?” you try not to let your voice crack. 

“Sort of.” Dustin exhales. “That’s why I’m here. He didn’t show up on Sunday when he was supposed to, and when I tried talking to Robin, she just told me to stay out of it.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking troubled. “I’m worried. Robin says he’s gonna quit—his job, I mean—and I haven’t been able to get ahold of him since Thursday. I was hoping maybe you knew what was going on.”

You let out a shaky breath, tears pressing at the corners of your eyes again. The puzzle just kept getting more complicated, first his outburst, and now he’s quitting? None of it made any sense to you. 

“Dustin, I wish I fucking knew what was going on,” you admit, voice trembling. “But I don’t. Steve made it very clear how he felt about me.”

Confusion crosses his face. “He…made it clear?”

“More or less.” You manage a bitter laugh, though it hurts. “Let’s just say…there’s no chance of me diving back in to figure out what’s wrong, okay?”

“You won’t?” he presses, leaning forward, his mug clutched between both hands. “I know it’s a lot. But the only time I’ve seen him act like this was when…” He hesitates, almost like he’s afraid to say something more. 

You speak before he has the chance to elaborate. 

“Yeah, well…” You suck in a breath, blinking away fresh tears. “I’m pretty sure it’s over between us.”

He sets his mug down so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t spill and scans your face, as if trying to analyse the best approach to this situation. 

“I wouldn’t be asking, except… I’m scared.” His lower lip trembles, and suddenly you realise how much this is hurting him, too. “He never talks to anyone about how he’s feeling. Not really. You were my last option.” He swallows, looking away. “Whenever I call and he hears it’s me, he hangs up. He’s shutting me out. And Robin. And—everyone.”

Something tightens in your chest. You see Dustin’s fear written all over his face, and it hits you how much he looks up to Steve—how much he cares. 

Without thinking, you set your own mug aside and pull him into a hug. At first, he’s stiff with surprise, but then he slumps against you, like the weight of this worry is too heavy for him to carry alone. You press your lips together, forcing the tears back as you hold him. 

“Okay,” you murmur, stroking his back. “I’ll try. I’m not making any promises, but…I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” he says, relieved. “Thank you so much. I just—I don’t know how else to reach him.”

You nod, your throat still thick. 

“I’m not making any promises,” you repeat, needing him to understand that you’re as shaken as he is. “But I’ll figure something out.”

He offers you a small smile, picking up his mug again. You both take a few moments to sip your tea—hot and soothing, but not nearly enough to un-knot the anxiety in your stomach. Still, Dustin’s presence is oddly comforting; it’s nice not to be alone in this, even if it’s a teenager by your side.

“So…” You clear your throat, stealing a glance at him, gaining the courage to lighten the sullen mood. “Are you gonna tell me how you know where I live?”

“I’ve seen Steve practically sprint here a bunch of times.” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Took me about three tries before I got the right door.”

You let out a laugh, but then something clicks. 

“Wait—three tries?”

Steve had never felt so low in his life. Five days holed up in his room, only sneaking out to the ensuite to splash water on his face or raid the kitchen for whatever snack he could grab—mostly stale crisps and soda—before retreating back inside. 

The place was still a wreck, remnants of that explosive outburst he couldn’t even remember starting. Not that it mattered, really; he’d be getting kicked out in a few months, so why bother cleaning up?

He’d turned off the ringer a while ago, but the calls still came, filtering distantly through his phone on his bedside. Sometimes he picked up the receiver out of some faint, mechanical impulse, but he never spoke. Except once, to Robin. 

’M not feeling so good… might quit, but I dunno.

He’d mumbled it out, half-delirious, knowing she’d recognise the alarm in his voice. She’d shown up at the door not long after—he could feel her worried presence behind the wood—but he couldn’t make himself stand, couldn’t find the will to undo the lock and let her in. Plus, he’d moved the key. 

She had her own life anyway, right? 

Her own happiness, her own girlfriend.

His body ached from lying in bed so long, muscles protesting every slight movement. His mind felt worse, drifting in a haze of guilt and regret so heavy that sometimes he wondered if he could even take another breath. 

He had no more tears left to cry, not after everything that went down—especially with you. The memory of your face—that hurt, that fear—was seared into his brain. Even when his eyes closed, he saw it.

Part of him wished you had stayed, just so he could apologise or explain or… something. But another part felt a grim sort of pride that you walked out. You deserved more than the pathetic shell he’d become, and he knew it. He’d flung the ugliest parts of himself at you and he couldn’t even figure out why. 

It felt like some twisted reflex, lashing out the moment he’d felt cornered.

It stung especially hard because he remembered every time you’d cried into his arms about your job or life in general, how he’d held you close and never once used your own aspirations against you. He’d admired your drive—even if it sometimes left him feeling insecure. 

So how had he ended up painting you as the villain for doing what you love?

Now, it all felt rotten inside him. He could see exactly how cruel his words had been—every insult sharpened by his own self-loathing. And there was no taking them back. He’d never understood before what it meant to watch someone you love crumble right in front of you and realise it was your own damn fault. 

It hollowed him out, left him lying in stale sheets, counting the cracks in the ceiling, wishing for the strength to rewind time.

But it was too late. And with each hour that passed in that cramped, messy room, he felt himself caring less about fixing anything—less about everything. Because when he closed his eyes, you were always there, the memory of your wounded gaze burning behind his eyelids. 

And he didn’t think he deserved a way out of it.

The moment you pull into the driveway, your hands grip the steering wheel with white-knuckles. You can’t shake the memory of your last conversation—if it even counts as a conversation. 

Part of you wants to slam your car into reverse and leave Steve to his own devices. He hurt you, humiliated you, and you haven’t forgiven him. But you made a promise, if not to him, then to Dustin. The kid all but worships him, and someone has to check on Steve.

Seems like you were the logical option here. 

So you climb out and make your way to the front porch, heart pounding with each step. The absence of his parents’ car in the driveway tells you they’re gone; the Harrington house is eerily still. You knock, loud and firm, each rap echoing in the silence.

No answer.

A chill snakes up your spine as you bend down to lift the mat—nothing. You bite down on your lip, anxiety churning. But then you notice the pot beside the door. You reach in, fingertips brushing over cold metal, and pull out the key. You feel bitter that this is the thing he decides to listen to. 

Stepping inside feels like walking into a tomb. The air is dank, a smell of something musty that makes your nose wrinkle. You notice the coffee table, still shoved askew from wherever he’d kicked it last time. 

A glimpse of the kitchen stops you in your tracks. The muffins he must have finished are perched on the counter, days old now, untouched. They look sad, deflated. You can’t decide if you’re more confused or hurt by that. Mail lies in a messy pile on the table, corners curled, unopened envelopes scattered. It’s like the whole house has been abandoned.

Each step up the staircase feels heavier. Despite the countless hours you’ve spent here—movie nights, lazy mornings, heated make-out sessions on the couch—it all feels foreign now. Wrong. The hallway is silent, the lights dim. The air clings to your skin, intensifying the sense that you shouldn’t be here.

You notice his bedroom door, slightly ajar. You pause, trying to calm the growing panic in your chest. 

You didn’t come to intrude. You just needed to make sure he’s alive. 

But a quick glance through the gap reveals a sight that stops your breath short. Clothes strewn everywhere, books and tapes littering the floor, a desk chair toppled on its side. The place looks destroyed. 

Not in a casual, messy way—this is carnage.

You push the door open, and the state of the room hits you like a punch to the gut. This isn’t just sloppy. It’s the aftermath of something far darker. A breakdown. And there, at the center of the chaos, is Steve—sprawled on his bed like a shadow of the person you once knew.

He stirs at the creak of the door, blinking groggily. When his gaze lands on you, his face pales even more, if that’s possible. He looks so different, like a ghost wearing his skin. His cheeks are hollow, hair unkempt, eyes ringed with shadows. 

He doesn’t speak—just stares, wide-eyed and stricken, as if he can’t believe you’re really standing there.

Anger simmers beneath your ribs, fighting with a rush of pity so strong it nearly chokes you. You’re furious with him, furious for how he treated you, but the sight of him like this—broken, listless—makes your stomach lurch. 

No one deserves this.

You snap into problem-solving mode. No words, just action. 

You stride to the window and yank it open, letting a sharp gust of air sweep into the stale room. Behind you, Steve finally rouses enough to realise what is happening, but you cut him off by walking past him, heading into the bathroom.

The pipes groan as you turn the faucet. Steam fills the air, and you test the temperature with your fingers. Your mind runs on autopilot: 

Get him up. 

Get him clean. 

Breathe some life back into him.

When you return, he’s half-upright in bed, blinking in confusion. You hold out a hand, expression set in stone. For a moment, he just stares.

“Come on,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended, but firm. He looks at your outstretched hand like he isn’t sure what it means. 

You try again, gentler.

“Steve… let’s go.”

Slowly, he sets his feet on the floor, wincing at the effort. You guide him toward the bathroom, every step feeling like treading on eggshells—somehow both intimately familiar and gut-wrenchingly new. 

You still hate what he said, what he did—but seeing him like this, you hate the situation more.

No words pass between you as you ease him toward the tub, your body moving on memory. Your gaze flicks over his clothes—so easy to remove in moments of warmth and laughter, but now the act feels unnatural.

You pause, fingertips brushing the edge of his shirt, and look up into his sunken eyes for permission. His nod is barely there, just the smallest tilt of his head, but you accept it.

Stripping off his clothes feels like undressing a corpse; his limbs move sluggishly, offering no resistance. You gather his T-shirt and jeans, tossing them aside on the sink, your stomach twisting at how distant he feels in your presence. By the time he’s left in nothing but his underwear, you can hardly meet his gaze.

“You got it from here?” you ask unsure.

He nods again, a weak gesture that does nothing to reassure you. You scoop up the discarded clothes, slip out of the bathroom, and softly shut the door behind you.

Outside, his room looks just as you left it—an absolute wreck, the fallout of some internal war. Despite the roil of anger and pain under your skin, something in you is set on fixing whatever can be fixed.

So, you get to work.

You gather wrappers and empty bottles, muttering under your breath as you fling them into the bin. Next, you scoop up the random VHS tapes littering the floor, shoving them onto the shelf in a messy row. 

He can reorganise later if he wants to. Not your problem.

The clothes get tossed into a laundry basket, clean or not—it doesn’t matter anymore. You strip the bed, sheets and blankets in one swoop, hauling it all downstairs and stuffing it into the washing machine along with the rubbish. 

You don’t even know why you’re doing this, not when your own place is a disaster. But each step feels necessary in a house that’s clearly falling apart from the inside out.

In just under half an hour, you’ve turned the carnage into something that resembles a house again—no longer a battlefield. Even got rid of the stale baked goods in the kitchen. 

Your heart thumps in your chest as you head back upstairs, nerves jangling when you hear water draining from the tub. You catch sight of his half-open drawers and rummage for something soft—a pair of old joggers, an oversized sweatshirt.

At the bathroom door, you knock lightly before pushing it open just enough to slip inside. Steam clings to the tiled walls, but the sight of him makes your chest tighten. The towel wrapped around his waist might hide him as he brushes his teeth, but you can see the exhaustion carved into every line of his shoulders. 

Even clean, he looks terrible. Empty.

He notices the clothes in your arms, glances between them and your face, then finally takes them from you without a word, toothbrush hanging awkwardly out his mouth. 

“I’ll be outside when you’re ready,” you say softly. 

It’s the only explanation you can offer before turning on your heel, escaping the suffocating press of sadness that fills the bathroom. 

He emerges, hair damp and curling at the ends, wearing the sweats you picked out. He looks like he’s expecting a lecture—or worse—and some part of you can’t help but want to give it to him. 

After all, he hurt you. Yet the sight of him, freshly washed but still sunken-eyed, strips away most of your anger, leaving something more complicated in its place.

He glances at the newly cleaned space. 

“You… you didn’t have to do that,” he mutters, voice scratchy. He won’t meet your eyes.

“I know,” you shrug, your tone clipped. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

He swallows, nodding once. 

“Okay.”

Silence. 

He moves to sit on the far edge of the mattress, opposite you, as if he’s afraid to cross an invisible boundary. You can feel the tension stretching between you—a chasm carved out by wounded pride.

“Are you seriously not going to talk?” you finally bite out, the frustration tightening your chest.

He flinches, as though your voice itself is too sharp. 

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he admits.

“A ‘sorry’ would be nice,” you snap, though your anger is already warring with pity. He looks so frail.

“I’m… sorry.” He ducks his head, hair falling into his eyes. 

A beat passes, and you feel your patience fray. 

“Great.” You swing your legs off the bed. “If that’s all I’m getting, I’m leaving.”

“Wait.” His voice cuts through the air, urgent and tremulous. “No—please. Don’t. Just—”

You pause, catch a glimpse of his face, and see raw panic etched into every line of it. With a sigh, you sink back onto the bed, crossing your arms.

His relief is almost palpable, but it’s quickly replaced by shaky breaths. His hands tremble, and he can’t seem to keep them still on his knees. Panic floods his features, twisting them into something agonised.

“Steve,” you say quietly. He’s on the verge of hyperventilating, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.

“I—I can’t—” he stammers, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “I just—fuck, I’m sorry, I—”

You shift toward him without thinking, placing a hand on his quaking shoulder. 

“Shhh, hey, it’s okay,” you murmur, gentling your voice. “Just breathe. Start from the beginning, okay? We’ll work from there.”

His eyes flicker up to yours, haunted and glassy. The weight of everything unspoken hangs between you: all the damage he’s done, all the nights you spent upset and alone, all the ways you once trusted him.

You can’t forgive him—not yet. But you can’t leave him like this either.

“Please?” you add, your own voice betraying a shaky undercurrent of worry. “Just… talk to me.”

Like you once did.

He takes a ragged breath and nods, swallowing hard. His hands cling to the bare duvet as though it’s a lifeline. 

You wait as he struggles to form the right words. And he tries—is trying—lips parting and closing in fits and starts, heart pounding so loud you can almost hear it. 

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” he says, voice ragged. “Never should’ve spoken to you like that. I—I don’t even know where it came from.”

“It clearly came from somewhere, Steve. But we’re not talking about us right now.” You quietly shake your head, eyes fixed on him. “We’re talking about you.”

He exhales, shoulders slumping as he stares down at his unsteady hands. 

“Okay,” he whispers, “yeah. Okay.” A deep breath. A hesitant glance at your face. Then, almost in a flood, the words come out once more.

“My dad… my dad got in my head. T-told me I was nothing, a disappointment—couldn’t even bear the thought of me.” His voice quivers, and he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s trying to block out the memory. “I just—I don’t know how—don’t even know who I am anymore. He just—just looked at me, like I wasn’t even worth the conversation.”

Your heart twists, but you don’t speak—just let him continue.

He scrubs his hand over his face, eyes flicking to the doorway as though someone might burst in at any moment. 

“I was going to come see you on Friday, I swear—you have to believe me, angel—I really was. But he caught me on the way out, and…” His breath hitches, panic threading through his words. “He was just confirming what I already thought—what’s already true. That I’m a fucking failure.”

He presses a palm to his chest, as if trying to steady his heartbeat. 

“And I know that,” he says, voice shaky. “I know I’m nothing special. And in that moment, I just— I wanted someone to feel what I felt—even…even you.”

You swallow, stunned by how raw and desperate he sounds. Even in your worst nightmares, you never imagined him this broken.

“I know it’s not fair—but I’ve seen this story before. You’ll get bored of me—I know you will.” He glances up at you, eyes pleading for understanding. “You say you won’t, but you will. And I’m sorry—so fucking sorry. You have to believe me. I never meant to be mean to you or—or scare you.” His mouth twists in self-disgust. “God—I can’t believe I made you feel that way… Like you were ever unsafe with me.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand on his arm, and he flinches—more out of self-loathing than fear. 

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft, but firm, “Breathe for me, okay?”

A shuddering exhale racks him, and he bows his head, eyes squeezed shut. For a moment, you think he might push you away—tell you not to touch him, that he doesn’t deserve it. But the words never come. 

Instead, he stands there, quietly shaking under your hand, a broken boy who’s convinced himself he can’t be saved.

Your chest feels like it’s caving in at the sight of him—at the guilt, at the rawness, at how he’s clinging to these warped ideas of his own worthlessness. 

“I don’t know how to fix this.” He keeps going, voice splintering as he tries to get it all out before he loses his nerve. “There’s no fixing this—I’ve got three months.”

“Three months?”

“He’s kicking me out… basically—my dad. If I don’t get my shit together, I’m done here.” His breath comes in ragged gulps, the admission shaking him. “And I know—God, I know this is so unfair. So fucking unfair on you, sweetheart. I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire. I never should’ve—” His voice breaks, and he drags a hand across his mouth. “Never should’ve asked you out that day you came into the store—never should’ve done this to you.”

You want to protest, to tell him he’s talking nonsense—but your words get stuck behind the wave of memories that crash over you from all those months ago. 

That first day, his dorky smile lighting up the entire shop. The way he nearly jumped out of his skin when you said yes to hanging out. Building that bookshelf together in your living room, both of you laughing as he insisted he didn’t need your assistance. 

The time he showed up at your door unannounced because he just sensed something was wrong. Showing you off to all of his friends. All that progress, all those private jokes, all that slow, deliberate peeling back of each other’s layers—cut to ribbons by a single night’s outburst.

Now, here he is. Tears still clinging to his lashes, voice choked with regrets. The ache in your chest flares hot—hurt and a fierce tenderness all mingled into one. 

You couldn’t bear it any longer. 

You slide closer without a word, pulling him into your arms, and he clings to you. Trembling so violently it’s like he might shatter if you let go. His breaths come in spurts, each exhale sending a tremor through his body. You press your forehead to his shoulder, eyes burning. 

“Steve?” you ask softly after a minute, voice muffled against his sweatshirt.

His head lifts, eyes rimmed in red. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, brushing the hair off his clammy forehead. 

“Have you eaten?”

“Uh, no?” His brow furrows. “That’s not really—why are you asking?”

You pull back just enough to fully meet his gaze, then lean in, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips. He freezes, almost like he doesn’t believe what you’ve done is real.

He doesn’t question it, just grateful that it means you’re not leaving him alone. He won’t read too much into it now, doesn’t want to assume that you’re here for good.  

“Because,” you say, “we’re gonna go downstairs and make something to eat.” Your voice is calm, like talking to a scared child. “And then we’re going to figure out what to do.”

“You’re staying?” He stares at you, confusion and hope warring in his eyes. “But—why?”

“Because, Steve,” you murmur, the corners of your mouth twitching in a sad smile. “You said it yourself. I’m independent.” You pause as you cup his jaw, running a thumb over his cheek as you gaze up at him. “And you’re going to learn how to be, too.”

He sits at the kitchen table, eyes fixed on the way you move around in front of the stove. If he blinks just right, he can almost pretend it’s a normal day—just you and him, making an impromptu meal after a long shift. 

He watches you crack eggs into a pan, stifling a sigh when you scrape the shells into the trash. You’d hoped for something more elaborate, but the fridge was nearly empty—most of the produce spoiled. He curses himself silently for not taking care of it.

A pang of guilt floods him, prompting him to stand, to do something. He goes to the cupboard, rummages around until he finds the familiar box of tea bags you keep here for yourself. He lifts a mug, glances back at you. 

“Tea alright?” 

You shoot him a quick look over your shoulder and nod. 

“Yeah. Tea’s good.”

So he gets to work, carefully measuring out just enough hot water, placing a teabag in each mug. He adds a bit of sugar and a splash of milk to yours. 

Just how you like it. 

When he turns back around, you’re already plating the eggs—fried sunny side up, edges crisp and a little burned around the rim—along with a couple of slices of toast.

Just how he likes it. 

The two of you sit down across from each other at the table. The clink of cutlery against plates sounds almost unbearably loud in the silence. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You watch him push at the meal with his fork, taking tentative bites at first. Then something shifts. He goes from nibbling to devouring the entire plate in a matter of moments, like a man who hasn’t seen food in days.

A pang grips your stomach. Clearly, he hasn’t had anything decent to eat in a while. You slide your plate toward him. He gives a shaky protest. 

“No, I’m good.” 

But you shake your head.

“I already ate,” you tell him gently. “Not really hungry. Please, eat.”

He studies your face, then seems to accept it, nodding slowly. Within seconds, he’s finishing off your portion, too. You sip your tea, quietly reeling at how hollow his cheeks look, the bones more pronounced than you remember.

When the food is gone, he rubs his hand over his face and slumps back in his seat. 

“You’re not at work?” he asks, voice low.

You exhale a thin breath. “I… took the week off.”

“What?”

“Yeah, well,” you say, trying and failing to sound nonchalant, “I was kind of upset. Didn’t want to hide in the red room if I needed a cry.”

Remorse surges in his eyes, and he ducks his head. 

“Sweetheart… I know it doesn’t make up for anything I did, but from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry.”

“Steve,” you begin, voice trembling slightly, “it’s fine. We’re focusing on you right now—”

He shakes his head, cutting you off.

“I know, and that’s important. But there’s something I gotta ask...” He presses his palms to the table, steadying himself. “What I did was unforgivable. If we’re over—if you can’t do this anymore—tell me. I just—I need to know.”

Your heart lurches; the raw plea in his voice stabs at you. 

“Steve—”

He lifts a hand, begging you to let him finish. 

“I don’t care if you—if you need space, or if you don’t want to see me for a while. I get that. I just… I need to know that I still have a chance. That once I figure this shit out—I haven’t—haven’t lost you completely.”

You swallow hard. The weight of his gaze feels almost too much to bear, but there’s no hesitation in your reply. 

“You haven’t lost me.” Your voice softens. “I....I love you too much.”

His face crumples with relief, a choked exhale leaving his lips. You reach out, tentatively resting your hand on his, and for a moment, the two of you stay like that—clinging to the thin thread of hope that still binds you together.

Finally, you clear your throat, pulling your hand away.

“So,” you say, steadying yourself, “we need to figure out what you’re going to do. Are you sure your dad will kick you out?”

“Yeah. He will.” His mouth twists into a grimace. “He’s an asshole, but he doesn’t lie. He cut me off already when I didn’t go to college—he follows through on every threat.”

“Okay. So what about renting? You make enough to cover it, right?”

“I’m pretty sure I do, but there’s hardly anything on the market. And what there is…” He trails off, leaving the rest unsaid. 

You know all too well how soul-crushing it can be to search for a decent place in Hawkins. It took you months to find yours.

“Yeah,” you whisper, nodding, “I know.”

A hush settles between you, the quiet palpable, almost electric. He fiddles with his empty plate, pushing around the leftover crumbs with his fork, while you stare at him, mind churning over possibilities. 

Then a single thought sparks—a ridiculous, terrifying idea that sets your heart pounding.

“Steve?” you say softly, and his eyes lock with yours. “I… I might have an idea.”

His eyes scan your face, searching for any hint of hesitation. And then, suddenly, it all clicks into place for him. 

No. 

There is no way you’re suggesting that. It’s absurd. It’s idiotic. It’s not even something he’d ever let himself consider.

“No,” he rasps almost immediately, shaking his head. “No, angel, I can’t—I can’t do that. Are you serious? That’s yours—not mine. I can’t just—whatever you’re—I mean, after what I said? After what I did to you?”

Finally, you see what you’ve been searching for all week—you see your Steve. 

The Steve you’ve always known. The one who never wants to impose, who refuses to be a burden, who won’t ask for more even when he desperately needs it. The remorse in his eyes is painful, and it only solidifies your decision.

This is your boyfriend, Steve. And God, if it meant keeping this version of him—the one you cherish, the one you love—you’d let him stay with you forever.

“This is my offer,” you say. “I’m offering it to you. If you want to treat it like a last resort, that’s fine. But…” Your throat bobs with emotion as you draw in a shaky breath. “I really, really want to wake up with you every day. Split the rent. If your dad’s so concerned about your future, why don’t you make one? One you’re actually proud of... One with me.”

He blinks, tears shimmering in his eyes, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as he struggles to compute what you’re saying 

You’re insane for doing this. 

In his eyes, at least. You’re supposed to be the smart one—the one who thinks things through, who knows better. And this? This is the furthest thing from a smart move.

But he sees it—the way your eyes shine with conviction, how your expression doesn’t waver, how every fiber of your being is offering this to him, fully and completely. 

You’re not lying. 

He knows when you are. And this? 

This is real.

“You… You really mean that?” His voice trembles, and the raw hope shining through makes your heart twist.

You nod, eyes glistening with your own tears. 

“Yes. I really mean that. I’m ready to do this—seriously.”

A choked sound escapes him, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. His body aches with the need to have you near him. 

“Come here,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Come over here, please?”

You push your chair back, crossing the short distance in two steps. The moment you’re within reach, he pulls you onto his lap, arms locking around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. 

His hands come up to brush the hair away from your face, the gentleness almost undoing you. Then his lips meet yours in a lingering kiss. It tastes like promises and second chances, and he pours every ounce of relief, every fragment of devotion into it.

“You’re not gonna regret this,” he murmurs between soft presses of his lips, voice thick with emotion. “Swear on my life, I’m gonna spend every single day showing you how much you mean to me. You’ll never—ever have to worry about anything again, long as I’m around. You know that?” He kisses your jaw, your cheek, your temple, like he can’t get enough. “You’re an angel—call you that all the time, I know, but you have to understand I mean it—fully. You’re a godsend—straight from fucking heaven.”

You feel your heart swell, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. A little laugh slips out—half joy, half disbelieving relief—while you bury your face in his neck, letting him cling to you as if letting go might shatter the fragile moment.

Eventually, you have to pull back, your lips still tingling from his. 

He inhales shakily, a new determination igniting behind his tired eyes. A tear slips down his cheek, but he doesn’t look away. 

He couldn’t. 

Even if he wanted to.

Because this girl—this stupid, stubborn, impossibly insane girl in his lap—has just given him the one thing he never thought he’d have. 

Salvation. 

A way out. A chance to live his life—not the one dictated by his father, not the one shaped by expectations he could never meet, but his life. The way he’s dreamed about since leaving high school.

It’s been a few days since that heart-to-heart—since all the raw emotions and apologies spilled out and brought you two back together. You find yourself trudging up the stairs to your flat, a small duffle bag clenched in your hand. 

It’s not your bag. It’s Steve’s. 

He insisted on carrying the heavier stuff, so he’s right behind you with a large cardboard box balanced carefully in his arms. He keeps throwing concerned glances your way, reminding you not to overdo it, especially after the whirlwind you both survived these past few days.

When you offered him your place—opened the door to your home, and more importantly, to your future together. It felt cathartic at the time, but neither of you were naive enough to think it would be easy. Later that same day, the two of you ended up at his dining table, drafting a meticulous list: bills, rent, utilities, a hundred different phone calls you’d need to make to set everything up. 

You were both determined to do it right. He kept emphasising that he’d pull his weight, that he’d take on more than his share if it meant showing you how committed he was. The idea of this new life with him thrilled and terrified you—but mostly, it filled your chest with a heat you could hardly articulate.

Hours passed, and by ten at night, you were rubbing at your eyes, complaining of a headache from all the numbers and paperwork. He looked at you, concern shadowing his features. He’d noticed your exhaustion well before you said anything and felt guilty for letting you push yourself so far. Relenting, he agreed that you both needed to step away and breathe.

That night, you slept at his place, and the sensation was immediately familiar—like returning home. Wearing his old Hawkins Phys Ed shirt, you crawled under the covers and felt his arms circle around you. He held you so gently, like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers. You could feel his shaky exhale against your hair as he tried not to tear up, clearly thinking about how damn lucky he was.

Even after you drifted off, he found he couldn’t sleep. Not with the guilt still gnawing at him, not when the knowledge of how he’d hurt you weighed on his mind.

Call it self-inflicted punishment or penance, but he carefully slipped out from under your arm, doing his best not to stir you. 

With measured steps, he made his way back downstairs, returning to the scattered papers on the table. He picked up the old calculator he thought he’d never use again, muttering every sum under his breath. Even though it was late, the methodical tap of buttons and scribble of pencil across paper soothed him.

Each calculation that confirmed a real, shared future gave him the momentum to keep going, no matter how sleep-deprived he felt. Some of the equations he did twice, not wanting any part of this to be left up to chance. 

When you woke up sometime later, you realised the bed was still cold on his side. Anxiety prickled through you as you called his name into the darkness, flipping on the lamp to peer through the dimly lit bedroom. The quiet of the house led you downstairs, where you found him hunched over the table, eyes rimmed red from strain, pencil in hand. 

He didn’t even notice you right away, so lost in thought—tallying numbers, crossing them out, re-checking them. Your heart melted at the sight of his serious expression, that little line between his brows telling you just how deep in concentration he was.

Padding across the floor, you stepped into his line of vision. He glanced up at you, and the softness in his eyes nearly made your breath catch. Leaning back in the chair, he waited—almost timid—until you climbed right into his lap. His arms came around you instantly, hugging you like he was grounding himself in your warmth.

“Should be sleeping, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice husky with fatigue. “S’almost two.”

“You’re not in bed.” You told him in a drowsy mumble as you burrowed yourself further into his chest.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted softly. “Thought I’d finish what we started. Want to make sure all of this works out.”

“It’s not going anywhere,” you gave a small shake of your head.

It was true. All these papers and logistics would still be there tomorrow. There was a movement in his eyes but he still wasn’t quite ready to give it up. Wanted to be absolutely sure he wasn’t going to lose this too. 

“Please?” You pleaded, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “Wanted to sleep with you... Haven’t had the chance all week.”

At that, he broke. His expression gentled as he brushed a few stray hairs out of your face. 

“Okay,” he whispered, like he was surrendering to something bigger than both of you. “Yeah, okay. Come on.”

You led him quietly back upstairs, exhaustion weighing down both your limbs. The moment you slipped under the blankets and into his arms, you felt a warmth settle through your bones. He held you close, and you could sense his heart thudding in his chest as he finally let himself relax. 

Within minutes, he was drifting off. 

That was four days ago. Now, everything’s official—all the logistics sorted, all the phone calls made. You stand in your bedroom, setting his duffle bag in the corner of your room. Behind you, he carefully places a large box on top of the dresser. When you turn, he meets you with a soft, lopsided grin that crinkles the edges of his eyes.

“Is that it?” he asks.

You cross your arms over your chest and nod slowly, taking in the modest stacks of his belongings that are now scattered around your bedroom. 

“Thought you had more stuff than this,” you say, frowning. 

“I decided to get rid of a few things.” He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “New start and all that.”

“You threw them away?” You scowl in mock indignation. “Instead of giving them to me?”

He chuckles, stepping closer to hook an arm around your waist. 

“Sweetheart,” he lets out a low chuckle, nudging your chin with a gentle finger. “You now have full access to my entire wardrobe, and you’re complaining?”

“Hmmm.” You pout as he leans in, you let him kiss you—warm and tender. When you finally break away, you clear your throat. “Did you call Keith?”

“Yeah,” he replies, running a hand through his hair. “Got my job back—already squared things away about my time off. Robin forgave me for being a complete idiot, and Dustin too.”

He’s got a second chance, and he’s not going to blow it.

When you told him how Dustin had turned to you for help, you saw the panic ignite in his eyes again—fear that he’d let everyone down, especially the kid who looked up to him like a brother. 

So you’d forced him into the passenger seat, driven to Dustin’s house, and watched from the window as Steve hesitated on the porch before finally knocking.

You weren’t sure what was said in that living room—he spent an hour in there. You do know that, by the time you joined them, Dustin had tears in his eyes, but they were happy tears. And Steve looked lighter. Like he’d scraped the burden off his shoulders and left it on the welcome mat. 

The three of you ended up sprawled in Dustin’s living room, eating too many slices of pizza, and watching a random comedy on TV. By the time you left, your heart felt a little sturdier.

No more tantrums. No more breakdowns.

You’d believed him too, especially with how his eyes shone with fresh resolve.

“I, uh, moved some of my stuff around in the bedroom,” you tell him. “Had a few spare drawers or whatever—you’ve got the bottom two, and there’s some free hangers in the wardrobe.”

His eyes flick to the space you’ve made for him, you catch the gratefulness that softens his entire expression. He looks at you like he still can’t believe this is real—that he’s here, that you made room for him. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for a slow kiss, his lips lingering on yours.

When it ends, he presses his forehead to yours, murmuring a playful “thank you.” But before you can reply, the gentle press of his mouth becomes more insistent. His hands shift to cradle your jaw, and you melt into him as the kiss deepens—hungry, a little desperate.

“Steve,” you mumble, pulling back just enough to speak, though his lips still ghost over yours. “We need to unpack…”

He hums, not letting you stray far. 

“We can unpack later,” he murmurs. “Got all the time in the world.”

You want to roll your eyes at the cheesy line, but the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters—makes your heart ache. When he dips his head to nip gently at your neck, you let out a breathy laugh, your hands coming up to clutch his shoulders. In one swift move, he lifts you onto the bed, settling you against the pillows.

Your pulse skitters in your chest as he looms over you, his warm, steady gaze sweeping across your face. 

“Can I?” he asks, voice hushed. “Wanna say thank you properly—wanna make you feel good.”

A little huff slips past your lips, your cheeks hot. He’s ridiculously sweet, and he knows it. He sees you hesitate for half a second, so he leans in, pressing a series of gentle, coaxing kisses along your jaw, his hands finding purchase at your hips. 

“Please?” he murmurs, breath fanning against your skin. “Wanna take care of you. You gonna let me, angel?”

His thumbs begin to knead soft circles into your sides, and you feel your heart skipping a beat—or maybe five. You tug him closer, inhaling the comforting scent of his shirt as your arms loop around his shoulders, deciding then and there you’ll never get enough of him.

You blink up at him, heat already flushing across your cheeks. The second you mumble your agreement—“Yeah, all right. Okay.”—his face lights up with a grin so bright it makes your stomach flip. 

He leans in, giving you a quick kiss before pulling back to yank off his shirt. The muscles in his arms and chest shift, and you can’t help the way your eyes trail over his skin. Your own shirt follows suit as well as your bra, stripped away and tossed onto the floor, and then he’s on you again—breath warm and urgent against your mouth, hands skimming over your bare sides.

He’s nipping gently at your bottom lip, then your jaw, and you feel that fevered press of his body. Each touch says he needs this. Each breathless kiss says he’s missed you.

“Wanted to do this all week,” he murmurs, voice raw with relief. “Can’t believe you chose me, sweetheart—I mean—could’ve had anyone.”

Your heart clenches at the genuine wonder in his tone. You cradle the back of his neck, pulling him down for another firm kiss. 

“I want you,” you say, voice catching on the words. “Only you.”

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes falling shut as though your confession alone is enough to undo him. 

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk. “Well, I gotta show you how grateful I am, then. Gonna make you see stars, baby. You deserve it—so fucking beautiful.”

Heat crawls up your face, and you instinctively try to duck your head, flustered by his praise. He catches the motion, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. 

“Oh? You getting shy on me?”

“N-no…” you protest, but it comes out smaller than you intended.

“That sounds like a ‘yes.’” His voice is teasing as his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants. Before you can work up a witty retort, your trousers and underwear are slipped down and off, leaving you bare. His gaze darkens appreciatively. “You don’t like it when I say nice things?”

You shake your head, but the denial dissolves the moment his hand slides between your thighs. Calloused fingertips brush against your slick skin, and the breath escapes you in a shaky exhale. His responding chuckle warms your ear. 

“Oh, baby, I think you're lying—just look at you.”

A mortified whimper bubbles out—though your body clearly isn’t complaining. It’s a mess of conflicting emotions: the embarrassment of his unabashed words and the molten desire pooling low in your belly.

“It’s—it’s embarrassing when you talk like that,” you manage to squeak, squirming under his touch.

“Embarrassing?” he echoes, sounding far too amused. He presses his hand more firmly, and a moan slips out of you, your thighs quivering at the sensation. “Can’t have that,” he murmurs, dipping his head to kiss down your neck. “Was so mean to you, angel—don’t deserve you.” Another slow swirl of his fingers has you arching up. “Gotta make it right—s’only fair.”

You part your lips to respond, but all that comes out is a broken, breathy sound. The rhythmic press of his hand is driving coherent thought right out of your head. He watches you, clearly reveling in how easily he can undo you.

“You’re dripping, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice dropping to a low hum. “You sure you don’t like it when I tell you how pretty you are? How perfect you are for me?”

You give a pitiful whine, your cheeks practically on fire. It only seems to spur him on, his fingertips slick as they work you open. Each thrust of his hand feels so sinfully good that you can’t tell if you want him to keep talking or just shut up and kiss you senseless.

Steve was always all sweet words and gentle smiles in bed, but this was different. He was savouring you, getting off on calling you names—not the degrading kind, but the ones that made your stomach twist and your throat tighten.

His cocky little grin flashes again. 

“Aw, baby, you’re so sensitive.” He leans in, brushing his mouth against your ear. 

You let your eyes fall shut, surrendering to the flurry of sensation he’s stirring inside you. The desperate tingle in your stomach builds with each curl of his fingers, and just when you think you might be careening toward the edge, he pulls away. You open your mouth to protest, only to watch him stand up and strip out of his jeans and boxers.

He shifts back onto the bed, bracing himself over you, and a sharp bolt of arousal lances through your core when you feel him—hot and hard—rubbing insistently against your clit. 

“Gonna fuck you, baby,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “Gonna show you how much you mean to me—how good you are to me—”

He guides himself to your entrance and pushes in, inch by inch, until he’s fully sheathed inside you. Your jaw goes slack at the delicious stretch. Both of you gasp at the same time—like you’ve just remembered how good this can feel when all the walls are down, when you’re both so desperately in need of one another.

A shudder runs through him. 

“God, I missed this,” he groans, beginning a slow, steady pace. “Missed you.” He leans in, mouthing at your neck, your collarbone, anywhere he can get his lips. “Gonna do this every day—after every shift—hell, before every shift. Want you on my cock anytime I can have you.”

The rhythmic drag of him thrusting deeper and deeper has you arching your back. Your nails instinctively rake down his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. The sting must register because he lets out a rough moan.

“You gonna scratch me up, huh?” he rasps, his pace growing more determined. “Gonna leave a mark on me?”

“S-sorry.” You freeze for half a second, peering up at him through hazy, pleasure-blurred eyes. “Don’t wanna hurt you—”

“Could never hurt me—not after what I did.” He shakes his head, eyes burning with intensity. “I—I want it, baby. Wanna feel you tomorrow—everytime I move—wanna remember who’s at home waiting for me. Our home.”

Something about that—our home—sends sparks of electricity tearing through your veins. 

“Steve,” you breathe. Your voice cracks with urgency. “Shit, I’m gonna—”

He knows what you mean before you even said the words. Bearing down, he snaps his hips a bit faster, and his words become even more ragged and desperate, tumbling from his lips in quick succession. 

“So fucking smart—so fucking pretty,” he manages between thrusts. “Always so sweet for me—God”

His chest is heaving, damp with sweat, and he’s pounding into you like he can’t hold anything back. He feels you squeezing around him, and it only drives him further—spurs him on like he has something to prove. He can’t give you much, but what he can offer, he gives tenfold. 

This is what he can give you, and fuck, he wants to give you so much more. He’d give anything to make you happy—to make you feel even a fraction of what you’ve given him. He needs you to understand. Needs you to feel it.

“Always working so hard—taking such good care of me—making me feel so fucking good—aren’t you, angel?” he mumbles brokenly, delirious. He’s teetering on the edge, and you feel it in the way his strokes start to falter. “Need you to know how much I—Fuck—need you to cum on my cock, baby. Won’t stop ’til I feel it—please.”

You’re too strung out to do anything but obey that fierce longing in his voice. With one more thrust, you tumble into release, your body seizing beneath him. The rush has you clawing at his shoulders, your head thrown back as waves of ecstasy roll through you. You vaguely register him letting out a guttural moan as he follows you over the edge, the tension in his body snapping as he spills into you.

For a few seconds, you both just hover there—lost in the throbbing aftermath that feels electric and tender. Your vision spots with warm, dizzy bliss, and you’re semi-aware of him collapsing onto you, his lips brushing your temple in a dazed kiss.

You pull away from him, chest still heaving, and the giggle that slips from your lips sounds almost delirious in the quiet that’s settled around you both. his flushed cheeks crease into a satisfied grin as he tilts his head, studying you.

“What is it?” he asks, brushing his fingers through his damp hair.

You push at his chest—just enough to make him tumble to the side—and roll your eyes. 

“You talk too much.”

 “Me?” He gives an exaggerated gasp. “That’s weird. Usually you love my mouth.”

Heat crawls up your cheeks as you huff, trying to will away the memories of just how much you do love his mouth. 

“Yeah,” you grumble, “but when you talk like that…makes my head all scrambled.”

“Oh, I know, baby. I’m so mean, aren’t I?” He pouts exaggeratedly. 

Another huff leaves you, though you can’t hide the corner of your mouth twitching in amusement. He leans over the side of the bed to grab his discarded shirt and jeans, and you start to do the same—only to freeze when you catch sight of his back in the low light.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe out, eyes going wide.

“What is it?” He whips around, alarmed by your tone. 

 “I, uh…I actually did leave marks on your back.” You grimace a little, shifting your weight to your knees. The faint, reddened lines stand out against his skin—four vivid stripes that trace the path of your nails from earlier.

He glances over his shoulder with a casual shrug, though the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrays his real reaction. 

“Oh yeah?” His voice dips lower, interest obvious.

“I’m really sorry,” you say, feeling a hint of guilt.

“I wanted you to,” he replies without hesitation, and you notice the flicker of heat in his eyes. “Shows I was doing a good job.”

“Still feel bad,” you mumble, cheeks burning. You move closer, fingers ghosting over his shoulder blades. 

“You know…” His grin widens. “Could always kiss ‘em better. Hear that helps.”

You scoff but lean in, pressing soft kisses to each mark, and he practically melts under your touch. 

“Better?” you ask softly, lips brushing the raised skin.

“Much,” he murmurs, letting out a shaky sigh. There’s a definite pink tinge staining his cheeks now—you’ve managed to fluster him now.

"Aw, you getting shy on me?" You tease as a giggle bubbles up your throat.

"Shut up." He huffs as he leans down to pull on his boxers, holding out his shirt for you to slip on. "Shower?"

You nod as you pull on your clothes, letting him guide you to the bathroom, his touch gentle.

He doesn’t let you lift a finger—cleaning you up was his job tonight, just like making dinner, just like everything else.

He promised you wouldn’t have to worry about a damn thing ever again, and Steve keeps his promises.

Any stress?

That’s his job now. Not yours.

Because you’ve already given him the greatest gift anyone could ask for. You. Your trust, your future. And he’s going to spend the rest of his life making sure you never regret it.

He didn’t tell his dad he was leaving. Didn't see the point.

If the old man wanted to find him, he could, but it wouldn’t change anything. He had made his choice, and for the first time in his life, it wasn’t about living up to someone else’s expectations.

He blocked out the past, because the only thing that matters now is you—safe, warm, cared for, loved. He would spend every day proving that you’d never have to doubt that again.

[r0-boat]

Yessssss I lOvE your headcanons about the 2 unreleased kings 😋 must be because I love dark headcanons.... (and that in Abbadon is something couldn't miss out 😈)

But can you do some moreeee? 🥺 Like about the headcanons about interactions between kings perhaps (seven kings---!!!!) Or maybe between kings and MC pls 😚 I kinda crave for some dark contents right now (cus when I first play WHB, I already expect this 👀)

Only if you're fine with this request, and jusst ignore it if you don't okie 😘

Oh my God interactions with the Kings hshshs

I mostly just have really stupid headcanons about those guys interacting but I got some dark ones

Dark!whb King headcanons

speculation for asmodeus and belphegor(I'm writing these two before they come out)

Cw: yandere, murder, drugging/drugs, death, cannibalism, sexual slavery mentions of being sold off, most of this shit is just talking about a black market shcsdgj. This shit is dark dead dove do not eat

Disclaimer: I do not condone anything I write This is purely for fantasy written by adults for adults only!

Belphegor and asmodeus has been fully released here's the update

Links to little asks about people's questions

Question one about Satan's desires

Question two on Mammon

Satan

I don't think we talk about Satan's depression as much as we should have. What I feel like you would think himself as a wrathful monster unable to control his wrath, sometimes he would have depressive episodes where his personality is a completely 180. He's just as angry at himself as he is at everyone else.

The first time you've witnessed this depressive episode is when he accidentally struck you and made you bleed. His whole body starts shaking as he began to break down He tore apart his room and started crying and took weeks for him to calm down.

The reason why his subordinates are okay with him taking out his anger and physically hurting them is because if he doesn't have an outlet he'll take out it on himself.

Satan is dependent on you for his emotional needs. He loves you, and he needs you; please do not leave him.

Satan is definitely holding back a lot of his dark thoughts because he doesn't want to hurt you, and he doesn't know how much longer he can hold back these darker desires. Normally he tells you everything, but he doesn't want to scare you. He wants you to like him.

Leviathan

Leviathan is a budding yandere, He already stalks you. Trying to keep his obsessive thoughts underneath a layer of hatred. That hatred mixing into more obsession. Of course he wants you to love him, but he also wants to be hated by you just as much as he is loved because it gets him on your mind. And that's really all he wants. It doesn't matter if he makes you hate him. As long as you're thinking about him he is okay with that.

Because of his abuse as a child from angels I would not doubt he wouldn't know how to normally show affection.

He has killed another devil for you. And he will gladly do it again. He sends the heads of lower rank devils that you dare show a smile too under the name "You're admirer" isn't he so romantic.

Leviathan only tolerates the kings being around you because chilling one of them or they're subordinates would start a war. So to have you he must use sneakier tactics.

Beelzebub

He has a fantasy where he roofies you at a bar and takes you home with him. Whenever you go to the bathroom thinking that Your drink is safe with him, He stares blankly into the glass, thoughts swirling with mental images of your nice loopy giggly self being laid on his bed.

Angels taste like chicken, humans taste like beef, demons taste like pork. Humans so far is his favorite. Humanoid meat especially humans are delicacy and highly illegal in the Tartaros black market. A delicacy He has been recently craving.

If he ever dies he wants his last meal to be you after he fucks you of course.

Levi gives the bodies of the devils he has killed too Beel to eat.

Beel definitely does drugs He's mostly immune now... He hates that Adderall doesn't affect him the same as the others.

Mammon

Tartaros is home to the rich and the very powerful. They hold grandiose special parties where the wealthy gather. Of course Mammon attends these parties. These demons see you as a pretty little exotic pet unknowing that Mammon is the pet and you are the master. And these same demons frequently talk about how they would buy you at any price, talking about your body as if you are a piece of meat and a prize to be bought and sold. Sadly you are not for sale.

As the demon of greed flaunting is his specialty And he has definitely thought about telling you up and all his gold and jewels to bring you to one of these parties to show you off. As a message saying 'This is something you cannot have.

Mammon knows of the Tartaros Black market and he turns a blind eye, but he will gladly do something if you tell him to. Or if belphie gets off his ass and strong arms him.

Giving him a little more because getting asked for it: Mammon doesn't do shit about the black market because He owns part of it and he practically created it. This man runs his kingdom like a mafia and he is a mob boss. Shady dealings to other kingdoms smuggling goods anything for More money and greater goods.

Lucifer

Has purchased a human corpse from the same black market for scientific purposes he swears up and down.

He slowly corrupting himself He beats himself up over it but at the same time he kind of likes it.

"hey can I cut you open and look at your organs? No? Oh okay..."

Lucifer because of his past as an angel suddenly gets urges to kill you. They have gone down over time since his transformation as a devil but he really shouldn't be getting this hard over thoughts of putting his hands around your neck.

Makes aphrodisiacs as a paid commission for asmodeus. And asks you to test the drugs.

If you ever die he wants to keep your beautiful eyes.

Your blood is a beautiful drug like sweet wine. He's obsessed with the taste

Belphegor

Belphegor and his superpower of a kingdom are the only reason why the Kings actually give a damn about their laws. Nifleheim is a strong powerhouse and a great enemy to those who don't want to make one of them.

However, Belphegor isn't all justice and the law and order in fact far from that. He is the law whatever he wants he can bypass it and everyone will turn a blind eye. If you were ever sold by Mammon to the highest bidder Belphegor would be your buyer.

Grand spectacles of public executions are very popular thing in Nifleheim(Belphie Danganronpa fan)

The real horror is that belphie invest in cryptocurrency and has an NFT/j

Belphie is also completely dependent on you and he will make you stay any way necessary.

Belphie only hasn't cracked down on the others harder as he should is because he doesn't give a fuck what happens in other kingdoms if it is in his own.

Belphie thinks Asmodeus is a disgusting freak. Leviathan is an amateur to him. Satan and belphie would get along pretty well I think they would be FPS partners.

Asmodeus

All of hell's most heinous devils come here because the laws are so lax. You're wondering why this kingdom hasn't fall to complete anarchy... Apparently getting you addicted on sex and then withholding it as a punishment is surprisingly very effective.

Asmodeus would love to have you but hasn't invite you yet because... Well if your kingdom is filled with half trained rabid dogs and you throw a nice fine steak inside.... Yeahhh.

Asmodeus is actually a pretty nice dude, He's very calm, polite and chivalrous. Which makes you wonder how much of that is a mask. Something you'll never know.

Asmodeus has a harem I think that goes without saying. And he talks greatly about adding you to that harem and how you would be his favorite~

It's no secret that I think humans are a very sexualized being in hell. Asmodeus is one of the demons with a huge human kink. Humans in his eyes are still primal animals which is part of their biggest appeal to him.

Asmodeus thinks belphie has a stick up his ass and he needs to loosen the fuck up

[cheesymellow]

Alright after processing everything that’s happened, Heres my predictions and theories for EP:8

(Spoilers, ofc, +horrible explaining!!)

.

.

Alright starting with my theories on “Truthless Recluse” aka corrupted pv

So first off, I believe this truthless recluse ISNT actually pv, or at least the REAL real real pv. lemme explain-

This specific dialogue gave me an idea..

What if Pure vanilla was hiding this half of himself without knowing it? And shadow milk’s goal was to reveal this other half, These 2 half’s of him probably being:

A:

The pure vanilla we all know and love, The truthful one, The one that never gives up for peace and the happiness of all cookie kind!

B:

The “real” pure vanilla, The shame, doubt, and hatred of himself thinking he’s worthless, And that he cant help all cookies. basically the depressed side

Ever since ep 10 of crispia. Pure vanilla was able to let go of pv B and always stayed persistent and kind. Splitting himself in half. Only ever revealing the other side of him when provoked & manipulated.. Only by one specific cookie.. Shadow milk!.. So.. silly lil smilk mentally tortured PV A in order to let pv show the “real” him. PV B

So, Hes split by shadow milk cookie in order to truly break him. So like uhm, The sides switched. PV A is the one hidden within the abyss of regret now while PV B is the one as Truthless Recluse.

So like, Its still him. But not the full him. And in believe pv B is aware of that. Except, He thinks A is nothing but a poor illusion. What is he is now, Is the “real him”. (in his eyes prob)

And the only way for him to awaken is if he embraces both sides of himself. By accepting the cruel truth about the world and that he cant save everyone, Its inevitable. But aslong as he dosent give up and tries. Its the best he can do, and it still makes an impact on cookiekind

So the only way to bring him back is for the trio (or possibily WL) to do the opposite of smilk:

Give this man a WARM BLANKET. SLEEP. HOT COCOA. ALL HIS FRIENDS THERE FOR HIM, ALL HIS SHEEP AND A THERAPIST

But even if he does awaken and embrace those two sides. Its safe to say he will never FULLY recover from what shadow milk has done to him. Its gonna take an awfull long while for him to do so. And i hope devsis KNOWS THAT.

Anyways moving on~

He also couldve been truthless recluse for a WHILEEE by now..

comfirmed by fortune teller. shadow milk can probably control time in the spire with a flick of a wrist!

meaning that.. Even if the trio only ventured for merely a few hours. What if pure vanilla/truthless recluse has to experience days of torture and suffering to turn like that.. Only proof i have of this theory is his eyebags (he’s had too much.)

this is PV B were talking abt. so Since he literally has no hope anymore he’s probably been overthinking about everything nonestop, his uselessness, his failure as a king, his whole life merely being a game to shadow milk. HIS WHOLE LIFE BEING A LIE. Which explains the eyes :((

Im gonna hope its just emo eyeshadow

The pupils & eyecolor also intrigue me too. I believe its to show how shadow milk has control of him now. Orr, It shows how he now only see’s everything in shadow milk’s lies :((

(Devsis when i catch you.)

Just. Why. why are you so easily manipulated PV. FIGHT BACK PLEASE. I NEED A GROWLING HATRED SCREAM FROM YOU AGAINST SMILK. LET IT OUT 🙏🙏

you CAN CANONICALLY DO THIS WITHOUT THE POSESSION OF YOUR SOULJAM. LITERALLY JUST DARK MOON MAGIC (i think) TO DO THIS

Beat HIS ASS IN EP 8.

anyways SPeAKiNG OF FORTUNE TELLER COOKIE

ho- HOW ARE THEY THE SAME?!

THEY WERE IN THE- THE SAME ROOM LIKE HOW HUH?

My only guess is that, Fortune teller IS really a seperate cookie. But after Truthless Recluse found out he was helping the trio. He probably decided to posess him. Most likely with dark moon magic. We know he IS was stronger now by what the trio said at the end.

talkin abt truthless, i dont think WL is gonna be the one saving him. I believe all respective beasts stories start at the same time, Except white lilies which is just a little late since she decided to go with pv but later left.

I believe the riddle at that spire was purposely added to make white lily leave. Its too much trouble for shadow milk. so he tricked her into going to silent salt.

(i want to believe raisin will be there for him but. really doubtful abt that 😔)

Alright now Lets move onto shadow milk:

lets start off with how i think he’ll be defeated:

if i had to predict.. He’d be defeated by straight off anger from pv. But what if he got beaten up while pv was still Truthless Recluse? Like, Pv straight up snaps and not only almost crumbles smilk. But the entire spire and his friends with it

I believe in his corrupted form, he’d be more powerful than ever considering the ending of ep 7. Probably because hes now using dark moon magic.

like IMAGINE. HE WAS SO TORTURED AND MENTALLY UNSTABLE SO HE SNAPS AND PROCEEDS TO BEAT THE 💩 OUT OF SMILK. EVEN IF HE DOSENT WIN THE FIGHT IT WILL STILL BE VERY VERY SATISFYING

EVEN WITHOUT HIS SOULJAM. WE KNOW HES SO POWERFUL BUT YET HES A HEALER. JUST GOES TO SHOW HE CAN OBLITERATE EARTHBREAD ANY TIME. BUT CHOOSES PEACE

“Wait but what about the beast sealing ritual thingy?”

i dont think its exists. Because if it never did or got destroyed. That would be such a plot twist. But that defeats the whole purpose on why they went there and pv would go through all of that for nothing. So id like to imagine it would get destroyed last second

wait that gives me another idea:

What if the trio tries to get pv back to his sense while pv is trying to protect the beast sealing ritual. But right when pv is abt to snap back to his senses. He COMPLETELY DESTROYS the ritual on accident or mind control. Only a small hint left. And they are forced to confront shadow milk for the truth.

Okay thats it for now. My silly brainrotted brain has nothing else to say.

if i have more theories i will add the link of it down here ⬇️

[disruptivevoib]

Long Ramble about CCCC and my overall feelings on what the album means and such

Something I find important about CCCC is like.

The fact that all three of them are, in some way, trying.

Heart is emotion, he is prone to himself and being reactionary, in the moment. Prone to the past of learned behavior and trauma. Reactive and rapidly changing. He isn't going to make pure sense because he isn't based in logic or in societal ideals or views. He is an instinctual response to the environment and circumstances. His manipulation is not intentional. He has very little control of himself in the end. Its why Mind talks about claiming to relish entropy yet clearly needing help. But, Heart in earnest wants them to be okay and safe. He believes that Mind's control will drain the life from them. It will make things monotonous and the same. Too much order.

Mind in turn, believes Heart is manipulative with intention. He wants to control Soul or wants to just drag them all down with him into this depressive state. Mind is logic, he is the reasoning out of your emotional instinct. Your inner critique, and when unchecked, that inner critique goes from a guiding hand for your emotion to one that debates and bullies it. Invalidating its responses. Ultimately, though. Mind just believes he is helping. He is doing what must be done and telling the "hard truths" to Heart. And that Heart is being the petty child. Which- I mean. Sort of sure. But Mind is definitely fucking petty and childish. He's stubborn! Prideful! So ofc he is. Admitting you're wrong? No.. why would he EVER do that.. nuh uh.

Which is what makes Light so crucial. Mind asking Heart for help- but also. There is Soul.

Who while ambiguous in purpose, is mostly that background voice. Your inner narration. If Mind is Logic and Reason then Heart is Emotion and Instinct,, Soul is all that lives between it. And he is constantly silenced or spoken over or around. He does not get a word in edgewise until TSE. He may show up in the background occasionally but as much as Heart and Mind claim to want to keep him alive and help him, they also fail to actually acknowledge what he says.

Which is that they both are right and wrong. That this fighting is doing directly what they both feared it would. Soul is desperate by the end. He is angry and resentful because.. well. Self hatred due to intense self awareness and reflection is rather ig. Common. Im not a professional here but from personal experience, you get so tired of rehashing the same shit with yourself over and over. It all feels pointless.

The only out, by the end of it all to Soul is that if they cannot be Whole, whats the point? He is desperate. He does not want to die but he feels theres no other solution.

And. About Whole, Soul throughout the album seems to want that. At the beginning, to be Whole or Harmonious is to be mentally healthy, maybe even "normal" by society's standards. To be able to put a mask over your problems and be, again, "normal". It takes the entire album for Soul to realize that this:

1. isnt possible

And

2. There isn't anything evil or wrong with him for that.

Mental health is a struggle. But you are not evil and should not be othered because you struggle. You also do not need to be fixed for being a little different and people's opinion of you is not what matters most so long as you are happy (and not hurting others. Lol).

Thats what Two Wuv is entirely about as a song. Its a "fuck you. Fuck this! I thought I needed to be this! But I DON'T. Stop telling me who I am! How to be! I'm gonna be me!"

His entire arc is parallel to Heart and Mind's and is crucial in the culmination of becoming yourself again and accepting yourself.

But, as mental health will always be, this period of respite and self acceptance is not always forever. And as life continues or as you lapse back into a depressive episode.. you cannot help but forget what it is like when you're not this way- and hell! Vice versa too! Some people have this disconnect between the periods. Where the things from the depressive state seem dramatic or obtuse to you while you are doing better. And from the other end, you just want to be happy again.. but you get so lost in it all you can struggle to feel like you've ever been happy.

The album is about the human experience. It is about self-sabotage, mental illness, self-hatred and reflection and it is, maybe more importantly about self-acceptance and healing. Having a bit of mercy on yourself. Accepting that you are imperfect and that this is okay. And whatever flaws you may have that need to be mended or worked on, can be. And that who you are, for example, if you are queer, is okay. And no one has the right to take that identity from you! That the internalized ideas of how someone should be are not always correct or right. Not for you, at least. Stuff like that.

[raileurta]

Well this post got me thinking about how the humans would react to Raf's death. It also would not be pretty to say the least.

⚠️ Trigger warnings in the tags ⚠️

Both Fowler and June are devastated at the loss. He was just a kid involved in war he shouldn't have been anywhere near. I bet for the longest time they would blame the Autobots for the loss and resent them for it. They would also become extremely overprotective of the other kids. Especially June who was already protective. This whole thing made her lose complete trust in Arcree's ability to protect Jack. (The femme bot doesn't blame her for it) She would try to keep Jack away from the base for any excuse. Logically she knows he is technically safer there but her heart is too scared of being away from her kid. Fowler also can't help but agree with her. He is much more aware and strict about the kids now too. He was even tempted to sorta kidnap them and send them to a secret base in Washington or something. For now he is going to have the kids being monitored 24/7.

Jack is depressed as hell to say the least. He blames himself for not being able to protect Raf. He was the one "meant" to stop their trio from being hurt and he failed. It cycles through his mind constantly on what he could have done to prevent this, how he could have been better, why wasn't he better?

Jack visits Raf's family a lot and tries to help them any way he can. He feels like he has to atone for his failure in some way. Then when that doesn't work to help free himself of the guilt he would resort to "punishing himself." I'm pretty sure you can figure out what that entails..... 🔪

Jack also is much more aggressive about preventing Miko's reckless behavior. He will tackle, and even restrain her to prevent her from potentially getting herself hurt. They have many arguments now and aren't really on speaking terms. He will text her a lot though just to see if she's alive, Miko will always respond no matter what.

Miko at first just went into shock. Her mind went into a complete shutdown. For two days she barely spoke, ate, or just did much of anything; once the shock wore off though she exploded. She ripped off the posters off her walls, broke everything in sight, screamed, cursed out the world, and even smashed her hand through her mirror. Once the adrenaline wore off she clutched her bleeding hand and sobbed. She doesn't know how long she sat there crying but by the time she was done her hand had stopped bleeding and she was covered in dried blood.

Miko stared at her arm the glass embedded in the skin, and felt nothing but seething hatred for Megatron. It wasn't the kind of usual fiery animosity she held towards the man but a freezing loathsome whirlwind that had frozen itself across her entire body. This wasn't some superhero show anymore, where the hero would defeat the villain in a spectacular explosion of power but a cruel war that was going to end with the excruciating death of Megatron.

She planned, rewrote her plans, researched, planned again and did more research. For one of the only times in her life Miko didn't rush into something. Megatron was going to die and there couldn't be any way he would survive or somehow come back from death again. Miko had to make sure it was perfect, Raf deserved it she almost religiously thought. Early into her plans Miko recruited Bumblebee into helping her. The scout hated Megatron just as much as she did. Bee told Miko everything he knew about how Cybertronians could be hurt and the ways to do it. The autobots always feared transformers tech landing in human hands and they had a great reason to do so. Humans had remarkable twisted minds that could think of things that would disturb even some of the most callous of bots.

Miko is no different, especially when she is motivated by pure unfiltered hatred. It took many sleepless nights and three months of preparation but they finally had everything ready. They just had to wait for the right opportunity. By this point bumblebee's anger has calmed down slightly and he was now starting to doubt if they should really do this. The consequences could be disastrous.

You see Miko had realized scraplets or the rust plague couldn't really hurt her so she could easily use them to defeat Megatron. So she has been breeding scraplets, training them, and trying to selectively breed them so they would be able to resist the plague. Miko had the scraplets micro dosed with black energon so they would crave the stuff and be more powerful. Bumblebee would obtain metal for them to eat and he tried to make sure the other autobots weren't catching on. Once they could get on the nemesis Miko would command the scraplets to infect as many bots as possible. They had made around 100,000 of these suped up mega disease scraplets so there's basically no way anyone is escaping uninfected. They were basically sentencing every decepticon to death.

Bee questions whether Raf would want this and Miko just replies,

"It's not about whether he would want this or not but what Megatron deserves and he deserves to die. If I have to kill every decepticon to do it? So be it. I don't care what happens to them, every bot on that ship is a horrible person. "

He reluctantly agrees with the reasoning and continues with the plan.

After the ship would go down a infected wounded Megatron escapes the scraplets his priority would try and cure himself. When he tries to make it he's in for a horrible surprise; while they were preparing the scraplets they had also set out to purposely destroy ingredients essential to the cure (They of course made a lot of vaccines themselves) Any place he might look for the ingredients he would just find a data pad stating,

//Start message

"Hello Megatron, you may not remember me but I do. My name is Miko nakadai, and I was a friend of Raf, the human charge of bumblebee that you mercilessly had killed. He was just an innocent child but you didn't care, why would you? You're the powerful evil overlord of the decepticons, the bot who strikes fear to every Cybertronian who knows of you. Humans are nothing but organic trash that would be crushed under your foot. That's not going to be the case anymore. You're going to care, you're going to see what you have done, and you will regret having ever laying a figure on Raf. You shouldn't have messed with humans and you especially should have not messed with my friend.

If you don't want to die from the rust come to the coordinates X"00'X0.x" alone and we will provide you a cure. Also don't even think about contacting the other Autobots or you can kiss that vaccine goodbye."

//End message

Megatron then would come to meet Miko and Bumblebee. They would talk/integrate Megatron about Raf. Then Miko would pull out the apex armor, activate it and fight Megatron with Bee. If all goes well they kill him (maybe torture him a bit before that) and drop his remains on Raf's grave.

When they do get a hit on the Nemesis location they slightly panic and rush to get things in order. When they are ready the ground bridge opens and as they are about to leave they hear Ratchet say,

"I should stop you shouldn't I?"

The old bot is standing behind them looking at the ground bridge location pinned in on the nemesis. Miko and Bumblebee don't know what to do for a second before Ratchet's words register in their minds.

Should? They think.

Ratchet monologues for a bit about how stupid, dangerous, this is and how he should stop them from doing it. But..... he opens his servo to look down at Raf's broken glasses. He just can't. Ratchet looks at them tears streaming down his face. The same look of pure hatred in his eyes and demands to be there to help kill Megatron. Miko and Bumblebee look at him, they both just simply nod.

Nobody had said a word about it but they all knew no matter what happens Megatron has to die. Even if that means destroying themselves in the process.

They enter the ground bridge together.

Wow that sorta mini fic came out of nowhere. I'll leave it up to your imaginations on what happens next. Thank you @lets-try-some-writing for the inspiration.

Follow me if you want to see the future stuff I write. ✌️ 

[itsmarsss]

Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 1 - The Prince

How the mighty do fall.

(Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn’t exactly considered classy, Stolas.)

pt 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | pt. 9 | 2nd bonus | pt. 10

Word count: 1,520

Warnings: I mean. depression. arranged marriage. this part doesn’t contain actual sex only mentions of it but others might idk, me taking myself way too seriously writing this, this has no dialogue but don’t give up on me im actually a pretty dialogue heavy person but this only works if this chapter has no dialogue

dividers by @cafekitsune <3

If you ever asked Stolas, he’d say he was never one to cause a scene.

If you asked anyone else, they’d say he’s lying.

Stolas had always been fond of a little drama and drawn to a bit of flair, akin to exaggeration and grandeur like no other. Be it in the way he speaks, acts or reacts to hell around him, be it how he expresses his emotions or his thoughts and even his feelings towards others.

Emotions, thoughts, feelings. Stolas was always full of those, ever since he was an ugly, pink, featherless little project of a bird. They have been all-consuming ever since he can remember. And he remembers.

Stolas can recall the confusion in his father’s voice whenever he cried as a kid, as if the action was strange and foreign, unfit for a demon like him.

And perhaps it was.

Stolas remembered many things, and yet he could not recall a single time he had seen his father cry- or show any sort of weakness, for the matter. Paimon was always stern and centered, and Stolas is sure the only thing close to weakness he’s ever expressed was his inability to be more than his status- to be an actual father. He doubted his father would consider that a weakness.

What was fatherhood next to being royal, anyway, right?

It was disconcerting to grow up certain that, between his father and all of his brothers, he was, without a doubt, the weakest. After all, how could he not be? He was scared, of a many things, most of the time. He felt things too deeply in his heart and he worried too much and too often about way too much. He was well aware of all of that.

But, as he grew up, Stolas decided he was fine with it, if it meant he got to genuinely feel things. Because Octavia had come to exist, and he could never in his heart find the willpower to act as cold to her as his own father did to him.

Yes, he decided he was fine with being weak, if that’s what being able to love unconditionally took. He was fine with being weak, if that’s what being loved took.

He may not have loved his father, or even liked him, for the matter. But he promised to himself he’d do anything it took for Octavia to love him.

And how it filled him with pure and utter joy to feel loved for the first time in his life.

He may not have loved Stella, either, but their union had brought him his daughter, and nothing in the entirety of the universe mattered more to him than her. And so he was grateful for their arrangement, after all, despite the bitterness of it all.

With Octavia’s teenage years came the flood, though. Stolas cried himself to sleep almost every single night for years to come as he was reminded of the fact that being grateful for what his marriage brought him was not enough to make him happy to be in the situation in which he found himself, unable to exist as he was inside of his own home without fearing the judgement of a wife who loved him just as much as he loved her - not even a tiny little bit- and unable to shield his daughter from the unhappy family he’d once feared she would have to endure.

Stella was never someone Stolas particularly liked. In fact, he quite disliked her, from the moment he laid eyes on her as his father told him they were betrothed to one another, at much too young of an age.

At first, it surely was purely the hatred for the fact that his fate was tied to her and there was nothing he could do to escape, and the sense of impending doom that came with every year that passed as he knew he grew closer to approaching the day there would be turning back, and watched the time pass as an expectator of his own life, as there was nothing he could really do but comply.

Royal life had its renounces.

When the day came for their marriage to be sealed, the moment finally materializing itself as real instead of bad news he’d try to push away and avoid dwelling into for too long, Stolas promised himself he’d try to get over those feelings and make an effort to know her better. If they would be tied to one another from this moment on, he could at least try to make it all not so miserable.

It was a task set to fail.

When Octavia was conceived, Stolas felt nothing but relief. After all, this entire situation was based purely on business, all-dependent on the birth of an heir. Which meant, in some way, they were a bit more free than before. However much that can be in the situation they found themselves in.

Relief came first, dread came second. At only 19 years old, what did Stolas know of parenting anyway? Logically, he knew this would be happening. Logically, he’d known that for almost a full decade. Logically, that should have been enough for him to be prepared.

But he felt anything but prepared. How was he, who felt lost at all times, who cried at the slightest things, who didn’t ask for all of this, supposed to be a father? What twisted parameters did he have, considering his own?

He only hoped time would ease those feelings.

Throughout the years, he learned those feelings never do leave you, and that parenthood is forever a state of worry. You never truly feel ready- there’s just not much more that you can do than try your best.

To be loved by Octavia was enough. Or… at least it should be, shouldn’t it? Was it selfish, or perhaps even inconsiderate, unfair to her that at times he found himself longing to be loved by someone whose existence wasn’t bound to him? Wishing to know if someone would ever care not because they were betrothed to him and not because they were his own blood, but simply because they liked who he was? Enjoyed his company? Felt genuine attraction towards him?

When thoughts of the sorts consumed him it was hard not to punish himself mentally for thinking such frivolous things, for having such superficial wishes. But it wasn’t hard to figure out where it all stemmed from. After all, when the only partner you have ever had in your entire life hadn’t any say in choosing you, it’s only natural to wonder what it would be like to be with someone who did choose him.

When you’ve had no say in choosing the only partner you’ve ever had in your life, in turn, it’s only ever natural, too, to wonder what it would be like with someone you would have chosen to be with. Someone who excited you, who made you feel things. Stolas didn’t even know what exactly those things were supposed to be, but spent his days longing to feel them nonetheless.

The day Blitzo, someone he hadn’t heard of in decades, was caught trying to sneak into his palace, during the most depressing party ever thrown in all seven rings, Stolas felt excitement for the first time in a long while. It’s almost like his brain had a reaction before he even processed it, like it was stuck repeating the same thing over and over and over: Friend. Friend. Friend.

Sure, Blitzo wasn’t his friend. They hadn’t been friends for, once again, literal decades. In fact, they had only ever been friends for about a day.

But Blitzo was his first ever friend. And you don’t just forget that. Stolas never would, at least.

And in that night they spent together, something in Stolas changed. That night, he felt wanted. For the first time in his life, he felt desired. For the first time in his life, sex wasn’t just business. It wasn’t just an obligation or a means to an end. For the first time in his life, sex was fun.

He knew it was supposed to be fun. He knew it was fun for most people. He had just stopped hoping it would ever be fun for him.

And, sure, he also knew what they did was wrong. But he couldn’t get himself to care as much as he probably should have, because, truth be told, Stella could pretend to have been hurt by it however much she wanted, but they both knew she never really was.

“That was the sound of a fucking divorce!”

A couple hours later, sitting on his bed in shock, he could still barely believe he had really just done what he did- what they should have done so long ago- and Stolas just started laughing to himself. The more he laughed, the harder it was to stop. He knew he just had to be like a maniac like that, but couldn’t possibly get himself to care, because, for only a split second did the thought of not being supposed to let his servants see him in that state pass through his mind, but it only made him laugh harder.

He’d just announced his divorce to the wife he’d been set to marry since birth, can’t get much more scandalous than that.

A/N: would you believe me if i said this started as an idea for what was supposed to be only a funny silly little oneshot with dick jokes and public embarrassment?

Requests for Blitzø and Blitzø x Stolas are open! I’m also SO hyperfixated on this show rn so if y’all wanna chat abt hcs or this series be my guest I’d be happy to talk and i don’t bite unless asked nicely luv y’all <3

[babyy-blossom]

I had all and then most of you

Jason Todd x fem!reader

Masterlist

📌Fuck it, let’s do this angst style. This might be shit, but this might be good. Torture, death, depression, swearing.

The Night We Met

I am not the only traveler

Jason was a man of few words and very few emotions, that he at least chose to show. He’d never known any love. He had thought Bruce cared for him. But after being tortured, ruined, and broken into a million shards of himself by the Joker without Batman insight he quickly learned that maybe being caring for was not enough for someone to love him.

Who has not repaid his debt

Being in the shadow of Richard Greyson was not an easy feat, and in the end it looked as though Jason did not conquer that feat. No one seemed to remember his face. Or they just didn’t want to.

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

When Jason rose from Lazarus Pit, he had no where to go. He didn’t want to go back to Wayne Manor. He didn’t have any money.

He was unwelcomed back by the city.

But he did remember you, the one who loved him.

Take me back to the night we met

Jason was first introduced to you by Alfred.

Alfred had schemed this meeting in hopes it would help Jason settle better into his new life.

You being a family friend and knowing the family secret, you were perfect to break Jason in.

You were the young girl behind the scenes of what happened in the bat cave. Whether it be advancing tech or keeping Dick out of trouble, Bruce could count on you and Alfred would dote on the little girl he grew to love as his own.

At first Jason thought you were spoiled. However he quickly learned you had got what you wanted because you worked and proved you were worthy enough of whatever it was you wanted now.

Your bright smile enlightened Jason when he’d come around you. Your hugs felt safe and warm. He’d seek comfort in you after being beaten on a harsher night of patrol.

“We are going to get married someday, I swear it.”

Alfred knew he made the right decision in sending you. He felt like a teacher putting two students together for a group project and watching them fall in love. New love, something pure, something not yet tainted by the black sharp edges of Gotham.

And then I can tell myself

What the hell I'm supposed to do

He argued with himself days after his resurrection if he should go to you or not. What if you didn’t fight for him? Did you still even love him? Would you love him after seeing what he’s become.

Jason could feel himself swell with anger for the Joker, for Gotham, for Batman. He would never be angry or feel any type of hatred towards you.

For you he felt himself in need of comfort. He needed your touch on his marred skin. He needed to feel a softer touch after the last touch he’d receive being so abrasive, so hateful, so deadly.

And then I can tell myself

Not to ride along with you

What if you didn’t fight for him? Did you still even love him? Would you love him after seeing what he’s become. Would you even want him in your presence?

He wants to go back to the moment he met Bruce and tell his younger self to run away, “you are better off being homeless so that way love is never ripped away from you and you never feel the pain of steel colliding into your skull.”

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Jason watched you from the window of your apartment.

His heart sank as you turned away.

Your eyes were no longer big and bright. They looked like a grey cloudy puddle of sorrow and regret. Your lips were dull and quivered.

He felt like he died again when his eyes scanned over your body just to stop at your left hand ring finger. The night before his life crumbled around him he had met you ontop of Wayne manor.

You were both so young, yet he loved you so deeply. He didn’t propose, no. But that night he held you in his arms, he could still feel it when he remembered hard enough, that night he promised he would marry you.

However, Jason didn’t give you a promise ring. He saved and saved to buy you an engagement ring at a ‘higher end’ pawnshop.

He also remembers how your face lit up like he just gave you the stars.

Seeing you still wear it after all these years was a feeling like no other. Not bad, but also not good. It felt as though someone had gut punched him knocking the air from his lungs. Jason felt as though his whole world had collapsed in on him. He kicked himself now for even thinking you had gotten over him.

Maybe he did still have you or maybe you were wearing it because it was pretty, or because you felt pity.

Take me back to the night we met

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Jason would be terrified of confronting you after his resurrection. Word would spread somehow, and soon. It was Gotham after all. Most people tried to be in everyone’s business.

He felted haunted every time you’d spare a glance at him from across the street, thinking you’d saw something just to look back and see no one. But he was there.

When the night was full of terrors

The night he was taken from you Alfred had broken the news.

And your eyes were filled with tears

You went on a tirade of hunting sprees, regardless of involvement or not, you had torn through any of Joker’s henchmen you could get your hands on.

At the end of the day you’d fall to your bedroom floor in complete shambles thinking about what Jason was enduring. Hands pulling at your clothes or skin in an attempt to ground yourself. After a year had passed you moved out of that bastard place. Bruce picked a new Robin, he had moved on. “Robin must endure,”- or some bullshit like that he told you.

You had fully fallen off the deep end.

When you had not touched me yet

There was one time when you were walking across the road when a gang of rowdy young men ran through the red lights of the intersection.

A tanned rough hand had grabbed your upper arm. That warmth felt so familiar. The man was no longer standing where he had grabbed you. In fact there was no one there at all.

Oh, take me back to the night we met

This might have actually been so bad. I swear it was better in my head.

[somberdragoon]

PatPaul lore!!

So, after writing Dance Yrself Clean and my other fics on Ao3, I've come up with my own backstories for Patrick and Paul. This post details their issues, upbringing, and how it's all relevant to Dance Yrself Clean. Enjoy this 2k text post lol CW for mentions of rape, SA, suicidal thoughts, abuse

Paul Allen: Paul was an insufferable jock in his highschool years and a fratbro in his college years. He's always generally been well-liked + the life of the party. Was always hooking up with girls because he had horrible committment issues. Has melllowed out significantly in his adulthood, far less of a dick for brains but still quite the hedonist. A little ignorant, will occasionally make insensitive comments but he genuinely doesn't have any hatred in his heart (think: well-meaning white guy). Not the best person to go to for mental health issues (Paul is pretty mentally ill himself, has clinical depression/suicidal thoughts + literally no dignity + will tout insensitive solutions to mental health problems)..... (more under the cut.)

Despite his jock childhood, he was always quite brilliant (got into Stuyvesant high school, to his parents' pride) and landed his position at P&P purely on merit (...and "sweet talking", but that doesn't count). 

Paul's childhood home was in Forest Hills, Queens! His family were middle class. He lived in a three bedroom house with his parents and three siblings growing up (two older brothers, one younger sister. Paul shared a room with his younger sister). Paul had tons of boy band posters/male underwear ad cutouts taped to his walls, but he was so masc when he was a teen that his parents didn't suspect anything (meanwhile, his siblings always knew Paul was queer). Paul's upbringing was pretty standard, he's close with his parents and siblings despite moving out. Paul's relationship with his parents wasn't perfect (he got beatings) but they'd reconcile as he got older.

Jewish, but mostly in culture rather than religion. Does not keep kosher (lol). Didn't really think much of his religion/upbringing until the guys at work kept making anti-semetic comments. 

Paul got into a can of worms at Yale. Started experimenting with his bisexuality, but was taken advantage of frequently (Paul was still kind of naive at this time), subjected to sexual hazing when joining his fraternity. Paul would also use sexual favors to get connections (part of how he landed P&P) but make sure this is portrayed as traumatic and imbalanced. This would form much of his relationship trauma. It gets to the extent that Paul becomes utterly desperate for someone to show him any sort of kindness -> turns to hypersexuality because he believes that this is the only way he could get anyone to care about him. Important note, Paul believes everything is his fault and doesn't think he's a victim.

Is obsessed with Patrick to the point that it's horribly pathetic. He's never had someone love him back to this extent/a relationship this meaningful, so Paul is desperate to keep Patrick his. Paul had thought Patrick was a loser when they were first dating, insisted to himself that he wouldn't fall for him, but Paul was completely wooed by Patrick's care for him. Paul knows that Patrick is insane, but tries his best to support him (Paul doesn't sound the most sympathetic, would probably call Patrick a schizo, use abrasive terms, but Paul means well). Paul doesn't think any of Patrick's murders are real, just a byproduct of a deeply sick mind (Paul loves him anyway). 

Before and during the events of Dance Yrself Clean, Paul is utterly miserable, hates his job and his coworkers and sort of wants to die but finds solace with Patrick. The two live in Patrick's apartment! Patrick brought him over when they started dating. Patrick refused to live in Paul's apartment because it was so much nicer than his own (Patrick does not say that this is the reason, makes up bullshit excuses) and was stubborn enough that Paul eventually just moved to Patrick's instead. Patrick absolutely loves their arrangement.

__

Canon divergence occurs when: Paul eagerly greets Patrick at Evelyn's Christmas party while trying to get away from a creepy guy. This is a major change, as Paul is actually "interested" in Patrick this time, actually tries to make sure their exchanges go well. Paul cuts the sleazebag act this time at their date at Texarkana, and instead rambles about how empty his life is (Patrick relates, and this stops him from killing Paul. Patrick feels seen by Paul at this moment). Paul thinks Patrick is funny, thinks it's hilarious how Patrick doesn't know how much of a loser he is. On the other hand, Patrick thinks Paul is genuinely into him and grows deeply infatuated with him as they become friends (Patrick really idolizes him). Patrick thinks Paul is deeply genuine, actually has meaningful conversations with him and starts feeling strange things (love!). Patrick frantically fights off these feelings at first, mostly because he's never felt anything like this for another person, acts really mean to him just as he starts falling because Patrick is terrified of feelings. This doesn't last long because Paul becomes noticeably distant and Patrick immediately stops because he doesn't want Paul to leave. KEY DETAIL: Patrick never once thinks of Paul as "girllike" (to add to the theme of Paul being Patrick's escape from a conformist society). He always perceives Paul as masculine, an archetype of the perfect man, but, and this is important, with a soul. 

They hook up. Patrick insists it's a brotherhood thing (???) to justify it, while Paul is just really horny. Patrick and Paul become friends with benefits, but it's pretty obvious Patrick wants more despite not wanting to admit it (Paul doesn't want more, he has committment issues and think this will end horribly). Patrick doesn't actually deal with a lot of internalized homophobia because he's more concerned about having feelings rather than having feelings for a man. Patrick's homophobia is actually mostly just performative (he tones it up/down depending on who he's with). The romantic tension eventually becomes too much to bear and Paul reluctantly confesses to Patrick (who eagerly agrees). Patrick breaks up with Evelyn without much thought, Paul and Meredith weren't really on the best terms anyway so he has no trouble ending things with her either (Meredith was always distant, Paul was a bastard, kept cheating on her.). Patrick and Paul's relationship is not the healthiest objectively speaking (Patrick cycles between periods of deep affection and neglect, their communication is horrible. Patrick is deeply mentally unstable. Paul constantly waits for the other shoe to drop and is on edge because of past relationship trauma, expects their relationship to fail eventually) but this is the healthiest relationship both men have been in. Patrick has absolutely no idea their relationship is unhealthy, sugarcoats everything and thinks their relationship is this perfect thing. Paul is a little aware that things are unhealthy, but doesn't really care because this is the best treatment he's ever had in a relationship. 

Dance Yrself Clean is the culmination of all of these insecurities and unaddressed problems. Patrick and Paul can no longer push all their issues under the rug, this fic is meant to show the fallout that occurs (is salvaging their relationship worth it?). At this point in their relationship, Patrick is just starting to open up to Paul because he knows Paul prefers him when he actually gives a shit (it's pretty difficult for him, he hates being vulnerable). Paul's insecurity/jealousy/trauma plays a large part here. Paul keeps thinking Patrick is out screwing someone else, but when he thinks he sees actual proof of the cheating he's unable to deal (Paul thought his worst fears were just that: fears. He's crushed when he realizes Patrick would actually betray him like everyone else has). There are indications of Paul's non-commital nature in the earlier chapters, but Paul's relationship with Patrick has made him unhealthily clingy around him (utter refusal to cut things off this time, a total 180 of his previous attitude). Paul holds out hope that things will return to normal and stays with Patrick purely for that reason, but Patrick's hysterical outbursts make it really hard for Paul to stay. 

Patrick spirals as Paul accuses him of cheating, it becomes evident that Patrick is way too dependent on Paul. Patrick also has slight themes of self-sabotage, idolizes Paul so much he feels as if he doesn't deserve him. His character progression devolves a little (Patrick went from opening up to Paul to saying horrible things to him when Paul confronts him). Not spoiling anything further, but the character arcs will be resolved in the last chapter.

Still ironing out what happens after Dance Yrself Clean, but they get married eventually :) Patrick is very close with Paul's parents because they're so sweet to him/remind him of Paul. Paul is half-convinced Patrick is only with him because he wants his parents. Paul's parents are very hospitable, treat Patrick as one of their own and admire his success. Things are FAR more stable and healthy as they age, date for longer, and eventually get married. 

__

Patrick Bateman:

Patrick wasn't a geek or outcast when he was younger, but he was certainly not well-liked (people could sense that there was something off with him and stayed far away). Patrick was a very quiet child, but was still able to worm his way into in-groups because of his rich dad. There were deep themes of loneliness and isolation throughout his life, Patrick could never truly connect with people (due to his pretention, mental illness, but also because the people in his social circle were all so very vapid). Patrick grew up with his brother, Sean, and his parents. His parents didn't really raise him, and enlisted the help of nannies and maids to do most of the housework/child-rearing. Sean and Patrick were closer in childhood, but had a falling out as they grew older. Patrick was a protective figure to Sean when they were younger (Patrick had been raped by his father around the age of 14, but he's repressed the memory so hard he doesn't recall it at all. Still, a protective urge/distaste of his father remained) The repressed memory would manifest into his adolescent and adult psychotic episodes in the form of imagined sexual violence against women (this is how I explain away Patrick canonically being a rapist.. he doesn't actually do these things in my fanon pls). Patrick and Sean fell out because Patrick was always his father's favorite while Sean was nothing more than a loser. They were both deeply attention/love-hungry, and Patrick constantly being preferred over Sean kind of broke something in Sean. Sean would lash out, causing Patrick to grow exhausted of him. Patrick still holds some (minimal) affection for Sean, while Sean loathes Patrick.

Patrick has ASPD, NPD, psychotic episodes... it's all a bit unclear because Patrick doesn't have actual diagnoses. Regardless, he always had violent tendencies and would torture/kill small animals when he was younger. Patrick has trouble with social cues. Patrick attended Phillips Exeter Academy for prep school, and grew up in a lavish Long Island estate. His parents were filthy rich, Patrick got his job at P&P/got into Harvard because of his father. Because of this, Patrick never really had to try. Patrick's childhood was horrible -- there was a lot of domestic violence at home, his parents were only staying with each other out of obligation. While Patrick's father was a violent, narcissistic man, Patrick's mother was deeply unstable/suicidal (Patrick would take more after his father, Sean to his mother).  Important to note, there was no "lesser evil" here. Both of Patrick's parents were responsible in creating this hostile household. 

Patrick and his family are Irish-American and catholic. No one but Patrick's mother remain religious.

Patrick is obsessed with Paul, views him as an escape from his yuppie hell. Paul is different -- middle class, crass, holds sympathy for others, a man that Patrick has very homosexual feelings for, but not too different. Paul is still conventionally attractive, intelligent, and incredibly charismatic, so Paul's differences don't completely scare Patrick off. Patrick is aware of Paul's suicidal thoughts and depressive episodes, and is concerned for him. Patrick is a horrible person to go to for mental health issues, but they comfort each other in their own way (sex, canoodling, dates). Patrick's fantasies of murdering Paul are manifestations of his own emotional constipation. Patrick has no idea how to handle being in love with someone this deeply, has previously filed all of his strong emotional responses under "intense bloodlust."

Before and during the events of Dance Yrself Clean, Patrick is starting to be more vulnerable with Paul, and so thinks that they're perfect (Patrick's father had never shown any emotional vulnerability). Patrick, surprisingly, has been thinking less about work and more about Paul. He's eager to come home to him every day, they've created somewhat of a domestic arrangement. Patrick is happy for the first time in his life.

[shallowseeker]

Once an angel, always an....???

Not for nothin, but the things Cas appreciates most about Jack are the HUMAN parts.

and Cas admires that Jack takes after kelly in that he’s a beautiful EMOTIONAL CREATURE and he LOVES MOVIES

13x12

EMOTIONAL. INTUITIVE.

///

And Cas is not without a smattering of PRIDE. "He looks like <me, not you> and his instinct is ME as his father" > "ON PURE INSTINCT HE REACHED OUT TO ME"

Jack called Cas father before anyone else; has maybe modeled himself after Cas

13x12, 13x01

And Cas is okay with that, but only up to a point, as we'll see when Jack starts to eat up his own soul...

//

but importantly, JUST AFTER ALL THIS experience with Lucifer:

UNDERCURRENT from script: cas gets depressed and horrified with HIMSELF because hanging out with lucifer is not that uncomfortable

13x14 via @spnscripthunt-inactive

bc there's some resonance with Lucifer's angel nature, awakening Cas's own angel instincts

and despite everything maybe even some battle exhilaration

they walk out like two predators on the hunt, smiling as the prey walks right into their trap

13x12 via @spnscripthunt-inactive

///

cas's not even that guilty about it when recounting it in 13x13:

okay, maybe a LITTLE nervous that Dean will be mad that Cas put himself in danger again to get the intel

Cas is like BUT I EXPECTED THAT

and as Lucifer pointed out, I myself have done the same thing before when I was taken prisoner and had to retake some grace...

...

///

BUT ANYWAY

On the nature of souls, I AM ALSO continually thinking about how Cas doesn't want Jack to be a purely celestial being

the thing is, jack isn't like soulless sam was, not completely. jack has GRACE.

(We see that in how, unlike soulless Sam, soulless Jack had a unique type of emotional volatility...)

//

but yeah

like mary doesn't want her boys to be hunters

cas in so many ways doesn't want jack to be an angel at least not ALL angel***

and jack gets that message early: BE AS STRONG AS THE ANGELS AND DO EVERYTHING THEY DO

and yet... when he's weak, he's not "quite himself"

///

be strong like them but don't be LIKE them

what an impossible task!!!!!

///

And later, even when Jack has no soul... there's still GRACE. His celestial essence was still strong:

///

What Cas isn't saying????

So do I.

///

SO yeah. When Jack loses his soul, Cas is affected too—but he doesn't say it. Because to admit it would be to admit what Meredith said in her script: that he's "not what he's pretending to be."

Or, worse—that maybe a soul isn't required to feel at all. Maybe they don't understand it the way they thought they did. Maybe all creatures great and small, grace or no grace, soul or no soul, have the capacity for "what we call humanity."

And if that's true, then all the self-hatred he’s buried—the angel side of him he’s never made peace with—rises to the surface.

But he won’t reckon with it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

[clockworkvampyre]

i genuinely think that enoch drebber’s character design is one of the most beautiful and interesting designs in the entire great ace attorney series. i could also even go to the extent of the entire aa series as a whole.

when i say “beautiful” i don’t particularly mean “he’s sexy/attractive” but in a sense that it reflects his inner own conflicts and tragedies and maybe even lack of humanity left in him. if you compare both of his designs (both past and present) the black/white symbolism is so obviously evident. i see both of these designs almost like an analogy of both yin and yang.

the black in the middle of the white represents the regret and sorrow, including the fraudulent actions he has committed in the past. he’s won a prestigious award and was likely praised for his knowledge in invention despite his poor status. but was he really a pure man?

the white in the middle of the black is almost like his regret and even remorse for his actions committed in the expedition. behind this facade he put on for years he genuinely did not think that albert was truly untalented and was only blinded by his own hatred and disdained morals.

if we look at him in the present, one of the most prominent aspects of his design is his paleness and rather grim choice of clothing. it makes him look almost like a ghost of what he used to be, with his dark hair and eyes having been turned into white. you do not often see anyone dress in all black in victorian london either, it feels like that he’s in grief of having been stripped of all of his aspirations and being anything greater. he reflects his own misfortune and misery. the darkness under his eyes symbolizes his own depression and mistakes.

after losing his own humanity and spiraling to his lowest point he could only use his own once highly regarded skill, the only thing he didn’t lose, for the worst and make these fake deadly machines as a way to reflect his own hatred towards the community of scotland yard. while we don’t know anything about his mechanical hand i feel as if it symbolizes this.

his animations are very unique and not like any tgaa character’s at all… i notice that the leather straps on his abdomen are so similar looking to circuits but also look so much like the rib cage of a human being. despite losing his sense of self and going mad over making these fake inventions out of hate there is still something human-like and organic in his appearance.

as a note, one thing i did find curious is his asymmetry, normally asymmetry in most designs are not executed well but in enoch’s design i feel as if it just… works.

in conclusion i really do feel that his physical appearance really does reflect his own inner turmoil and himself as a character. and this macabre symbolism is what makes me like him so much in general. it makes him stand out more than any other ace attorney character and i really, really resonate with it. this is what i meant by his design being so melancholically beautiful and symbolic.

i don’t know. thanks for reading. this is just coming from some goth guy that likes to think too much about things.

[oppitfs]

I saw a video these days about jujutsu and I saw something that I never realized that Megumi is not a good person because he is willing to do anything for his sister, which makes him selfish and that he only saves those who he "deems" to be a good person and who qualify as a good person for him. his morality is very black and white just like geto. There's a line from him that is very realistic, especially today in the manga, that sorcerers are not heroes, an example saturo gojo.

YES!!! Megumi's morality is something very well constructed in the series and it's something I really like about his character because it contrasts with Yuji's objective, which generates that discussion in the reform school.

One thing that catches my attention in Akutami-sensei's writing is that he is constantly distorting our vision of what is good and what is bad. Being selfish, for example, is typically seen as a bad thing. but it was Megumi's selfish way of thinking that made him save Yuji in the beginning, even though the "right" thing was to exorcise him because of Sukuna. the same way with Tsumiki. Megumi selfishly decided to stay with Gojo to protect her and then selfishly put her safety first when she started culling games.

selfishness is something very present in jjk's characters.

Nobara is selfish, Maki is selfish, Yuta is selfish, Gojo is and encourages selfishness. That's why they are not heroes, since heroes are driven by altruistic and pure interests, but Jujutsu sorcerers who are nothing more than Gears (yes, it was Megumi who presented what would later be Yuji's most depressing thought, but I will write separately about this later).

but being selfish is good! being selfish makes these characters save other people!

on the other hand, we have love which is treated as a curse in jjk. Because Gojo loved Geto he couldn't bury him body which made Kenjaku's plan easier, because Megumi loved Tsumiki he didn't see that she wasn't his real sister, because Yuji has an altruistic and empathetic love he feels responsible for things that are beyond its protective capacity.

I would have liked to have seen a more verbal confrontation of ideas between Yuta and Sukuna in this regard. they both have very different views on love, so it would have been cool to see them talking about it (I think the closest we came to this discussion was in Sukuna and Hajime's conversation).

Now regarding Geto/Megumi, I don't think their beliefs are very similar. At the beginning of the hidden inventory, Geto shows a thought more similar to Yuji's, about "protecting the weakest since I am the strongest" and as the story progresses we see his purpose being shattered due to an accumulation of events. Rika's death, depression, post-traumatic stress, Haibara's death. All of this causes him to accumulate a hatred for non-sorcerers, which is given carte blanche to flourish when Yuki talks to him.

a parallel that I draw a lot between Geto/Yuji is that they both reached the same conclusion after accepting their role: they need to wipe out a certain species for the world to be at peace. But I'll delve deeper into that later lol.

Well, in short, I don't think being selfish is a completely bad thing, any more than having a lot of empathy is a good thing. and Megumi needs to start thinking more selfishly, as Satoru taught him, in order to evolve as a sorcerer and a person. he's spent his life choosing to save other people above himself (something he and Yuji both share), so it's time to embrace selfishness (Yuji too)

[honeycreammilkshake]

Yuji should have had a last dialogue with sukuna in the last chapter. I never really cared about yuji and gojo relationship

yeah i always felt like nanami, choso, and the rest of the trio had a more meaningful relationship with yuuji than gojo ever did. which is why i'm frustrated that fans always act like gojo's death was supposed to drive yuuji into inescapable chronic depression or something. i think yuuji was happy that his teacher trusted them to be the change he wanted to see in the jujutsu world, so it was a happy end for both of them.

i wish we got more sukuna/yuuji interaction as well, since there's still so much i want to know: why did yuuji suddenly sympathize with sukuna and want them to live together? did he sense some of sukuna's loneliness? could sharing a body (and a soul) have put yuuji into a position where he could sense sukuna was empty without fulfillment? that sukuna was unsatisfied? maybe yuuji was just selfish and wanted to stay with the one person who was ever so close to him, even if it was just a closeness of the soul and not of the mind.

i also want to know how yuuji felt about sukuna being his family. how he feels knowing that sukuna understands that he has a second chance, a new path to walk down that he'd never taken before, all thanks to yuuji.

yuuji was the one to teach sukuna about love, not gojo, because yuuji understands it better than anyone. love for other people, his friends and even strangers, made him want to risk his life to protect others. love is what made him connect with choso, megumi, nobara, junpei, wasuke. everyone. he understands that sukuna tried to deaden himself to those kinds of feelings, that sukuna wanted to be nothing more than pure evil like a curse, but in the end it was yuuji who broke sukuna out of that mentality.

because yuuji can still empathize with the king of curses, the being born a natural disaster, if yuuji can open up with a person like that and still want sukuna to return to him even though he knows sukuna didn't accept his philosophy... because of all that, yuuji taught sukuna love. or at least, his reawakened that knowledge in sukuna again. even if it's not explicitly stated, it's still the truth. sukuna lost to yuuji, no one else, and therefore yuuji was the one to set sukuna down a different path. to break him out of the confines of the role sukuna put himself into.

and all that emotion, all those strange and twisted feelings, the mutual hatred and intimacy in all their interactions, makes for far more interesting a dynamic than gojo/yuuji or gojo/sukuna had.

but that's just my opinion! those who love the dynamic gojo had with either sukuna or yuuji still have valid reasons, too. but for me personally, the canon interactions sukuna and yuuji had were the most meaningful and fascinating in the entire series.

[ex1ledbrethren]

Its funny How much rage BBF has made me feel, considering there is much less violence in This text then in ALITW. I think its because of the betrayal. Toju is not being harassed by Just an stranger, its his entire family, specially his father. They permited It to happen and made sure that It happened. I'm not sure How Toju Will treat his family or Sabel after he gets mated, i'm only starting the story now, but i wish he makes Sabel's life as miserably as he is feeling, and that he disown his family, never wanting to see any of them again. There is no forgivines to This. I don't think visiting his family after mateship would do any good for him, seen once a week the people who denied his freedom, and that before that, were all he ever knew and his life. Also, post-partum depression is going to hit Toju like a wall of bricks If he ever gets pregnant.

Ironically, i think Max acknowledge Gleen individuality and desires more then Toju's father. Ok, maybe i'm exagerating, but is dificult to put into words why i see Max evil less cruel than Toju's father ( i refulse to write his name). Sabel is Just an asshole who sees Toju's rejection and disgust of mateship like a game of domination, not seen the very real person who is just saying no to him. Its undefensible, but more justifiable than having your own father not see that, punishing you for being who you are and having feelings instead of being an ideal sex-toy for a stranger. He quiet literally cares more for the opinions and feelings of a Guy who harassed his underage son than the son in question, "for his own good".

I don't know why, but Reading about Max torturing Gleen was more tolerable than Reading This asshole (Toju's father) work to make his son life miserable and his family torn apart. Hope This bitch dies alone covered by luxury but without any of his sons there for him, unless Sabel wants to make company to This motherfucker. Then the two of them can stay in awkward silence and Wonder when things started to Go wrong, as a single tear rolls slowly from theirs cheeks. I can handel a bad ending in ALITW, i cannot in BBF. I want each and every single of them to pay. The number of times i had to pause Reading, and the length of Those pauses, Just so i didnt throw my cellphone in the wall... I'm never going to finish reading This story.

Anyways, you are a wonderfull writers. Yours stories always makes me feel vived. Just a question, are you open to criticism of your writing? I like BBF, but there were some stuff you tried to do that didnt Go quiet well. I suppose its because they were not inside your confort zone. Sorry for the wall of text lol.

thank you thank you, your dissection of my work is much appreciated and delicious <3 :)

ishra is in fact a giant piece of shit and i love the most how thats a slow burn realisation for you guys into pure hatred for him because he is actually the absolute worst, i think his real peak was considering mating toju himself, really outdid himself with that one, but i dont know if you're at that part yet so i'll refrain from spoiling anything further. as of now in the story, the only family toju would want to see would be corvus and the rest can rot as far as he's concerned, so you're not wrong.

anyway, thank you for your long and thoughtful comment on my works, and i am definitely open to criticism, these pieces i post for free aren't the final product ofc and i'll take whatever thoughts into consideration

[tmnttracks]

Loss of Innocence - TMNT (2024 -) Issue #2

**Spoilers Ahead**

Just finished reading the second issue of Volume 2 of the IDW comic and I am going to say, it was really good. The first issue about Raphael was amazing and the writer really knew his personality and what makes him more than just a bruiser/wolverine clone. Exploring his inner thoughts really rounded out his character. However, Issue 2 was about Mikey and in this soft relaunch, I am going to state right now it was quite emotional.

Towards the end of Volume 1, I was already feeling truly relatable to Mikey and how quickly he had to grow up. No longer being able to have fun with his depression and anxiety eating at him constantly. This issue just confirms how much of his innocence was lost over the past year since he and his brothers went their separate ways. This opening scene and the metaphor used couldn't be more perfect. How many of us are guilty of beating ourselves up on the inside, only to display fake confidence on the outside?

TMNT (2024 -) Issue #2

Every version always has him being the fun loving party dude, but really he has always been putting on an act. He is always known to be the heart of the family, the one to keep everyone together and help ease animosity, but it always came at a cost: having to push his own worries and concerns to the side so he can instead be there for his older brothers.

He isn't able to throw a tantrum and storm out like Raphael. He doesn’t have the burden of being a leader like Leonardo who has to deal with his brothers always arguing with him. He doesn’t have the luxury of just shutting off his emotions and hiding away in a lab like Donatello. 

He always had to be the strong one, the comic relief when really he was always full of self doubt, depression and struggling with his own issues. After all, someone had to be the sun to bring his brothers out of darkness, and it fell to him being the youngest. Master Splinter described Mikey's personality best to Raphael.

This is why I liked/hated the emotional hell the writers put Mikey through for the last half of Volume 1 in the IDW comics. He may not have come close to death like Donatello where Donatello’s soul had to be transferred to an AI robot till Dr Honeycutt could create a new carapace for him. He may not have been corrupted to the dark side like Leonardo, fighting against his brothers as he joined Shredder and the Foot Clan. Lastly, he didn't have to deal with the fallout for unknowingly helping Hobb set off the mutant bomb that mutated hundreds of humans like Raphael did. No, the traumatic event was watching his family fall apart, everyone he ever loved leaving him and being helpless to stop it.

TMNT #101

Watching them fight amongst each other and acting like children instead of talking it out. 

TMNT #142

TMNT #142

Watching his father take control of the Foot Clan and no longer following the code of honor he instilled upon him and his brothers. 

TMNT Macro Series #2

His family was falling further and further apart and no matter what he did, he was never able to fix it to where they all eventually went their separate ways after the Armageddon Game. 

So upon reading this issue, it was emotional and heartbreaking seeing just how much of a toll all that took on him. I love how both the writer and the artists personified Mikey’s self hatred doubts into the forms of his brothers. It really ties in his anger towards his brothers and anger at himself.

His anger is so pure, so raw and completely justified. His brothers always told him he had to grow up and he did. He tried to reason with his brothers, compromise but they were the ones who acted like children, not Mikey to where Mikey feels like they abandoned him during his time of need.

Another part of Mikey that they explored more in depth was who Mikey truly is underneath the mask that he wears. A kid full of self doubt, anxiety, loneliness and most of all exhausted from having to keep it all inside that has manifested into anger after so many years of filing his true emotions away.

The writer I swear was in my head as he wrote Mikey’s inner thoughts, and it also made me think of everyone else I know, including myself who feels like they have to pretend to be someone they aren't because that is what people expect them to be. To act differently throws everyone off. 

At the end of the issue, he is so angry, so alone and dealing with so many negative emotions that no one showed him how to handle, he could only blame his brothers for everything he went through. That he didn't have a part in the fracture, that he is the victim and is blinded to the fact that he also needs to take responsibility for his own actions. All four of them had a hand in the family fallout whether they wanted to acknowledge it or not.

Mikey's part that he played was not expressing his feelings to his brothers, but instead keeping it all inside. Deep down he knows that if he actually voiced his concerns, his brothers would have tried harder to keep their family together.

Of course it ended in a cliffhanger, however I think the writer did a great job having it be Rapahel whom Mikey fights. Raphael knows what it is like to be alone, to have self doubts and be full of so much anger that it blinds you. Raphael will not hold back either as they fight, being one who hits first and talks later. I have a hunch in the next issue, it will be Raphael who is able to help Mikey fight through his issues. 

It almost seems like each issue is a character study of the four brothers, and how they are dealing with the fall out of their family falling apart. To be honest, I am here for it because it truly does flesh them out and makes them more grounded in reality for fans to relate too.

Next month is focused on Leonardo and I am anxiously waiting to see how the master of the Hamato Clan and eldest brother has been dealing with the fallout.

On a lighter note, can I just say how freaking awesome these few panels are? Mikey the party dude got a major upgrade and you know those diamond encrusted nunchucks pack way more of a punch than the wooden ones he used to use.

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Please leave comments on your thoughts and try to keep them positive and constructive. If you enjoyed this review and want to see more, please follow.

[passports-pls]

I was very disappointed in the lack of quality Mine playlists so I made my own 🤞

Listen here

you COULD listen to it in your own free time OR you could listen to it alongside my mentally insane directors commentary 😌

(under the cut)

for the sake of this post not getting too long I am grouping all the important songs into different categories pertaining to the different eras of mine tm

Pre-Daigo Misery (Nobody - The Other Woman)

This section is mostly abt Mine being a lonely little weirdo (characterised mostly by the smiths unsurprisingly) and because this era lacks a lot of actual content my notes are less specific between songs

There are actually so many male manipulator songs that fit too perfectly with Mine in this part of his life that I couldn't resist like I'm sorry but creep by radiohead is LITERALLY about him i don't make the rules

Okay but I do find 'Heaven Knowns Im Miserable Now' so funny in this context because I'm sure Mine was forcing himself into the yakuza expecting it to be so much easier to have close connections with these other men compared to his previous 9-5, only to find its almost exactly like his 9-5 just with more crime

'Salvatore' and 'Therefore I Am' are specifically the songs I attach to his bateman-esque grindset and his bubbling hatred for most of the people he works with dsfgf

okay but THE OTHER WOMAN ASWELL. It's literally mine you wouldn't understand. He dedicates so much time to taking care of himself and setting himself up to be an actual catch of a man and yet,, no one gives a shit about him despite all the effort he puts into his lifestyle to appeal to the ppl around him

LIKE??? Kicking and screaming he's so lana del ray coded

Just the sheer depression of this era i feel so bad for him

Yandere-mode activated (Can't Get You Out of My Head - The Killing Moon)

Self explanatory however actually finding songs that pertain to his specific brand of obsession was surprisingly difficult sfdsf

Although I will say that I cope and seethe at the fact that I had to sift through Killing Stalking playlists to settle on most of these songs gfdgsf

Theres such a delicate balance between the right amount of fluff and insanity that very few songs capture without being about literal stalking

like no in this case the stalker fucking won

that and vibes of idolizing Daigo like a god, I think 'Out of Touch' and 'Stolen Dance' do this the best

And freak because I can only imagine in all of Mine's relationships it's always been purely transactional and no ones ever put in the effort to actually talk and get to know Mine in any intimate form.

my poor touch starved blorbo

FEELINGS TM (Romantic Homicide - How to Dissapear)

THIS SECTION I FEEL GREATLY ABOUT

These songs to me are all about how Mine copes with Daigo's hospitalisation and when he wakes up. His whole internal battle surrounding his premature grief and his loss of connection with Daigo because could no longer see him as a truly living thing anymore

'Change' specifically hits when you think about it in this context. Because it's not so much about any real change in Daigo himself it's all about Mine's mental image of him now (because let's be real, Mine was way more in love with the idealised version he had of Daigo more than anything tangible about him)

IFHY is a little more of any iffy choice but I think it still convey's a lot about how conflicted Mine likely felt as well as just continuing his Yandere behaviour just in a much more sinister flavour

Okay but here's where my favourite song of the entire list is

WHITE FLAG BABY

admittedly it's completely self indulgent and ties into the mine-lives theory. But just the guilt and shame Mine felt when he see's that Daigo was indeed alive and that he was going to have to explain the past few weeks to him

yeah i would've thrown myself off that roof as well

also the lyric "I will go down with this ship" paralleling his "everyone abandons ship eventually" line just tickles my brain in the best way

'Door' and 'I Guess' are also just Mine guilt tm as well

'I guess' even more specifically because he's literally attached himself to daigo like a parasite and now he's thinking daigo's gonna break up with him I just AUGH

He KNOWS he's completely fucked up but I don't think he realises how much of a pushover Daigo is just yet and that he would have forgiven him eventually gjfdg

I'll probably update this with more notes as I remember them but for now I hope y'all enjoy the playlist!

[quietbooklion]

Thoughts on: Kuro

Kuro may be the pure definition of a ball of sunshine because this guy really does know how to brighten up any place with his upbeat attitude and wanting to cheer others up. He's a pretty good guy with an interesting and somewhat depressing backstory. Which is kind of hard to imagine given how upbeat he is but damn, was his backstory a good one.

*This review will contain spoilers, you have been warned*

Kuro is the type of guy I see as being a good friend to you. Always there when you need to talk to someone and he'll do his absolute best to put a smile on your face or at the very least give you a good pep talk. He offers his companionship and I think that's where he shines the best whether he's the main focus of a story or if he's a side-character. He's a very genuine guy and probably on par with Koga as being a kind of pillar to the group.

Of course, his backstory does come into play and I think it's an interesting take on self-hatred and not wanting to scare others. It's revealed in the common story of the Twilight faction that he's a Nue, a type of chimera. And he's had a lot to deal with not only people fearing him to the point of calling him a monster, but also dealing with so much internalized hate on his part. It may sound like an afterschool special where he learns to accept himself, and while it kind of does, I think this kind of storytelling is unique to Kuro who is a supernatural creature. In the end, him coming to terms and accepting who he is was done great and felt authentic.

Whereas his character growth was done great, I can't say the same for the romance and the ending.

For the romance part, I'm going to be real: I do not see Kuro as being a romantic interest for Futaba, or any person. At all. This sounds strange but bare with me. I can't see Kuro being the type of guy to be so romantic or straightforward with his flirtations. And I've played otome games where there's that one cute guy but they somehow make the romance work all while being cute AF. Kuro, on the other hand, I see more as a friend for Futaba rather than a boyfriend. As mentioned earlier, I think Kuro works best when he's the supportive friend.

As for the ending, I think this is probably the worst example of having the conflict resolved off-screen. The whole plot with Kuro's story is that the Senkita, or rather Hisui, released a Raiju to cause havoc on the Capital and Kuro wants to find a way to convince the Raiju to leave. And then there's the subplot of Kuro's former friend still hating him after he revealed his true form. And you want to know how it ends? Well, everything is resolved off-screen. Let me tell you, I had completely forgotten most of Kuro's plot and after re-reading the ending, I see why. This was just bad. You're telling me all of the issues with the Raiju and Kuro's friend happened off-screen? That's just very bad storytelling. I wanted a better resolution to the story. Not this sorry excuse of a resolution. I would've given this a very low score had it not been for the amazing character growth Kuro went through.

Kuro is a sweet guy who is a great companion. He works better as a friend than a love interest and while the ending was just done terribly, I still think that it's worth reading his story to understand his self-hatred and see him grow to love himself.

3/5 stars.