#You have to physically cry but forcing yourself to not breakdown

[cosmo-abyss]

“I’m not allowed to cry, but it hurts too much to stop”

[barcaatthemoon]

kisses || leah williamson x reader ||

three different kisses you share with leah.

you hadn't been able to stop crying since you left the doctor's office. leah sat next to you, unsure of how to help. she had been with you every step of your recovery, and you had done everything the doctor said to. your leg should have healed, but now you were being forced into an early retirement.

"(y/n), darling, is there anything that i can do for you?" leah asked gingerly. you deflated a little as you saw the scared look in her eyes. you had never ever wanted to make leah afraid to talk to you. the days leading up to this appointment had been a whirlwind, and while leah had been adamant that you'd been fine, she was also wrong.

"no, there's nothing that anybody can do for me right now. just, stay with me, please." you were quite pleading with her, but you were close to it. she would never leave you all alone when you were upset like this, but your biggest fear was being alone with yourself.

"of course," leah said. she moved to sit next to you on the couch. she kept her distance until she saw you begin to move for her. leah closed the bit of distance between the two of you on the couch and took you into her arms.

leah's arms were your favorite place to be. that was your refuge from the shit hand that life had been dealing you. you had always sought out physical comfort, and on the nights when you were scared leah was sick of taking care of you, it was a good hug and kiss that quelled the nerves that bubbled up. today, it seemed that nothing had really changed from when you were injured. all of your work to come back mentally and physically meant nothing, you didn't feel any stronger than you had been when you got hurt.

"i know that this is the last thing you wanted to hear today, and i'm sorry. when you're ready, we can start looking for someone to talk to," leah said. you dreaded the idea of therapy, but you were relieved that she had suggested finding one. you liked the team one, wendy, but you needed perspective from someone new. you needed a clean slate to figure out where you'd go next.

"leah, i'm so scared," you told her. she cupped your cheeks in her hands and wiped away the few tears that fell down your face. leah looked contemplative, as if she wasn't sure what the right move was. leah knew how much you had physically leaned on her, but she always felt scummy initiating a kiss whenever you were crying.

"it'll be okay, i've got you," leah reassured you. she relaxed a little and let you make the first move. if you just wanted to be held, leah knew that you'd rest your head against her chest or shoulder. if you wanted something else, you'd go in for a kiss. the movements were similar until you got close enough, and when your head didn't dip down, leah knew to close the distance and meet you halfway.

the gentle press of leah's lips against yours opened up the floodgates. you could barely breathe for a moment, and then leah leaned back. you buried your head in her chest as you began to openly sob. it was not the reaction that leah wanted, but she knew that it was more important than that. you needed to get all of this out, as it had been festering for the entirety of your injury time.

"it's okay darling, i've got you. don't worry about a thing," leah whispered as she held you in her arms. you could barely focus on anything with how hard you were crying, but you could feel something touch the top of your head. as you began to calm down, you recognized the feeling of leah's lips pressing hundreds of kisses to the top of your head. you wanted to tilt your head up and capture her lips in a kiss, but you were too exhausted from your breakdown to move an inch.

…

"leah, stop staring. i'm not doing it," you told her. still, leah didn't seem to deflate one bit. she had been staring at you for the better part of an hour while you got ready for your first interview with bbc. your retirement announcement had brought in more job offers than you could have imagined.

coaching was always in the back of your mind, but you felt like it was too early for that. instead of going straight to that, you were trying to be a pundit. you had a deep understanding of the game from playing for a decade, and now, you wanted to try your hand at commentary. your former teammates did like to joke that you didn't know how to shut up.

"one kiss?" leah asked you. the absolute worst thing you could have done in that moment was turn around to look at her, and of course, you did. leah looked absolutely adorable as she laid in bed with a pout on her face. the bits of sleepiness that leah had yet to give up still clung to the features of her face. "just one."

"fine, but only because i have to get out the door in three minutes," you told her. leah's face lit up. she definitely assumed that all three of those minutes were for you. you gave leah a quick peck on the lips and that was it. leah looked confused when you pulled away and turned to put your heels on.

"excuse me, but what was that?" leah asked you.

"a kiss, the one that i promised you," you answered. leah gave you an unimpressed look, like she couldn't believe you would pull one over on her. you just gave her a shrug of your shoulders as you made your way out of the apartment.

you hadn't known what to expect when you got back from your interview. a part of you knew that leah knew when you were supposed to be back, and maybe you had curbed her calls and texts when you noticed them start to pile up. alex had taken you out to lunch, so you turned your phone off about 10 minutes in when leah started in on you. it wasn't anything bad, but you wanted to celebrate getting the job alongside one of your former mentors.

"would it kill you to text a woman back!" leah was shouting and on her feet from the moment you walked into the apartment. you were in the wrong, and fully intended to apologize, but not when leah started in on you like that.

"my phone was off," you told her. leah's face momentarily faltered, but then she was right back to where she had started. "leah, i'm exhausted. can we please not fight right now?"

"i was worried sick about you. that interview was supposed to end hours ago, and do i smell alcohol on your breath woman?" leah threw her hands up in the air as she turned away from you.

"don't 'woman' me, leah. you know that i hate it," you told her sternly. leah huffed as she flopped back on the couch. "if you must know, i went out with alex for lunch and things went over a bit. maybe i had a drink, yes, but it's not like when i got hurt. this one was celebratory, which you would know if you let me get a goddamn word in!"

"you got the job?" leah's eyes lit up as she turned around to face you. you nodded, and leah was moving to pull you over the back of the couch before you could finish.

"leah!" you shrieked. leah began to pepper your lips in kisses, occasionally missing just a little. you smiled and laughed as she did so. eventually, you managed to kiss her back, which surprisingly didn't change the playfulness in her kisses.

"i'm so proud of you. best goddamn reporter there ever was, trust me. they'll name an award after you or something. can't believe my girl is gonna be on the telly now," leah said. she sounded so excited, and you didn't have the heart to tell her that they were starting you on radio. she'd find out eventually, most likely when alex excitedly made the post about your radio show on her instagram.

…

"mmm, leah," you moaned as her lips pressed kisses against the inside of your thighs. you weren't sure exactly what had led to this, but you weren't complaining. neither you nor leah had been overly invested in the movie that leah had put on to sleep to.

"do you like when i kiss you like this? do my lips feel good on your skin, hmm?" leah asked you. she trailed kisses up your body from your thighs. her lips ghosted across your hips and up your stomach. leah knew exactly what she was doing, how each press of her lips pushed you further away from the tiredness you had felt earlier.

"leah, just kiss me, please." you pouted down at leah, who was resting her chin against your chest.

"i don't know, i think you might need more loving. you did say some pretty upsetting things this morning," leah told you. it was her way of easing into a serious conversation.

you could remember your words that morning, just a few comments about how unhappy you were with your body post-retirement. you knew that part of it was due to having come off of an injury like yours, but it was still hard to look at yourself and not see the same body you had been used to for years. you didn't have a high end facility or team of trainers to keep you in line, it was all your own discipline.

"leah, please. what better way is there to show me that you love me than kissing me?" it wasn't going to work, but leah still liked your attempt. she sat up and placed her hands on your hips. she pushed up your shirt a little, tickling your sides as she did. "leah, this isn't what i want right now."

"it's been weeks, and i'm aching for you, but okay. i just, i don't want you to get in your head, okay? i'm gonna love you no matter what you look like," leah told you. she gave you a kiss, full of all of the love and adoration you had been depriving yourself of. "i love you."

"i love you too," you said as you pecked leah's lips one more time.

[izaneko]

bonten manjiro x fem reader

warnings: smut. cursing. physical stuff. finishing inside. fluff. angst. timeskip - bonten mikey.

an: after finally forever i am finished w the bonten mikey fic that was request from way back and now it is here in existence - hope you enjoy / are pleased with it love! 💙

~

bonten mikey never took it easy on your body. especially after not seeing you. tonight was possibly the worst of all. after accidentally and absent-minded you forgot to turn on your ringtone when he tried calling you suddenly after one of his bonten discussions to check in on you. bad mistake. he had busted through your front entrance with beyond intense rage when you flew out the shower -quickly covering yourself with a white linen fast when you darted through the door to see him standing in front of you in what almost resembled madman. ' manjiro- w ..wha - ' he cut you off instantly with his sweaty rough palm against your trembling face in fear unknowing of what would happen. 'what.. the fck !.. - is wrong with you?! ' he screamed as he slammed his free hand balled furiously against the wall adjacent to your body making you boil in panic. 'manjiro. please. calm down, it is ok .. - ' speaking quitely to him you tried to attempt to cradle his shaking cheeks in your hands. you knew what this was. he was scared. manjiro acted usually so calm and composed but there were few moments when you witnessed his complete and total breakdowns - his times where he just let out everything and let the anxiety win strongly against his full will. you knew damn well he was in a panic over you and couldn't be angry for his actions in that moment even if would mean having to plaster the wall the next morning. 'babe- its alright. i'm here.. i did not mean - to not to answer your calls ..i just was in the shower- nn ! -' before you knew it he was kissing your lips with love filled hypnotic passion. you were here. nothing could go wrong - not with him around. he hated leaving you sometimes even for multiple days on end when he'd have to leave the country for bonten work and other such things and the thought alone sickened his stomach. sure - he always had sanzu always posted outside your apt whenever he was out if town, much to his pink haired partners dismay- there was never a moment that he wasn't thinking about what could be going wrong whenever he stepped foot away from your presence and -at least in this moment .. right now there was not a damn thing that could take him away - from being with you -

~~

manjiro fucking your body like like he's possessed. i mean - he is insane. he forced your hands back pinning them above your head obviously avoiding your whines and whimpers for him and pushing himself in your wet cunt before any words could form in your mind he went feral when heard you moaning from him ' unh .. babee-! 'making his way much further inside you than he should be doing making you cry out his name loudly. ' fck- me manjiro - ah! .' nothing would hold this man from bringing the devil out when he was forcing his cock over and over again until the warmth of that place he needed took over and stole him from reality. it was an abyss one you only could deliver him into - manjiro wanted it all. making you only his was the best decision he could have had ever made in his life. grabbing onto your waist he placed his mouth over your neck biting down almost as if he was in need of your sweet nectare pushing himself further into his abyss making you cum so dmn fast you swore it was the first time. ' - babe! - ah ! ' swelling around him your vagina drenched his belly and was dripping all down your own legs from whatever magic he was working your pussy into and you pleaded with him so hard not to stop - 'babyy ..! ah! .. manjiro! - ' mikey cut you off with his tender lips in a sharp embrace to your moaning mouth. 'nnngh .. unh-nghh ..' you heard him groan wildly as he began fucking you harder and harder sighing into you with his sexy voice - all the way pressed in your hair from how close he was about to orgasm and the motions rocking the bed of how he was pleasuring himself with you with such force and strength from his biceps and toned build so chaoticly when you felt yourself starting to cum all over again before the feeling of the wood snapping beneath you giving out completely with the mattress folded in half against the floor as he went on relentlessly aggressively pounding his hard cock in you in a murderous fixation, thrashing your throbbing cumming core with such fine work you did not give no cares .. at all. 'manjiro- .. ah!- fck .. yess! - ' your voice sounded so beautiful and pleasing to him and he could not stand to pull himself out when in some dream like state he gave out to your serene voice against him like a melody to his body. the sweat from your panting chest against his skin mixing into his felt like a drug and he grabbed your chin into a hungry lip lock- manjiro needed you. every last part of you. your body. your lips. your voice. your smile. your comfort. your embrace. you were his life - the perfect person for him that he could have imagined in a partner and to his surpise you offered it happily he had thought to a piece of shit like him - without question. he had to do better for you. for your future. and maybe even his own.

©izaneko - all rights reserved.

please do not copy / reupload or modify my writing.

[lancermylove]

MC is a What!? (HC)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: DB with gn!Reader

Warning: None

Requested by: @smut-simp

Prompt: Guess What? I'm back. Ok, so i love mythical creatures (and you). But i wanted to ask for MC who is like a secret god/goddess. Lemme give you a description. MC had a terrible, no-good, very bad day. And they were in their room crying, so now they have a headache and its even worse bc the horns are hidden and straining against their head. so MC lets them out along with the wings bc their back hurts from being curled up for so many hours in a corner.) NOTE: Sorry if this is a long ask, i'm just so freaking eager. *Cries in simp* Also, i have like 3 more suggestions that i'm still thinking about, soooooo yeah I Love You SM <3 Hope You Have The Best Day Ever! :)

A/N: Soooo this was supposed to be a quick ask, and it turned into an HC. 😋 Awww thank you! 💖 I love mythical creatures too! I added the description you gave for the god/goddess appearance in the prologue. :3 Thank you! I hope you have a great day and HNY! I hope 2024 is the BESTEST year ever for you. 🤗

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Prologue:

This was your worst day in Devildom, and your breakdown was taking a toll on your mental health as well as your physical form. Not the form you showed others, but your true form - that of a god/goddess. You never told anyone this secret as you feared being seen as a fish out of water in Devildom.

When others looked at you, they saw a 'normal' human, but what exactly did you see when you looked at yourself in the mirror? Four large white wings with golden outlines; slightly glowing eyes the color of gold; two golden horns that curved from just above your ears and stood six inches above your head; a shiny white and gold striped halo balancing atop the horns; a third eye on your forehead with massive, long eyelashes that was white and glowed; a huge deep gold tattoo on your stomach in the shape of a person sitting crisscrossed, using magic, and the three realms.

You were able to hide all of this from the others, but the bad day had drawn tears to your eyes. In turn, you had a headache, which kept getting worse due to the strain of the horns on your head. However, the amount of magic it was taking you to hide your form took the highest toll on you. For a while, you stared at your tears that were made of gold (literally). Was it worth it to continue tormenting yourself to hide your true form? Shaking your head, you shattered the magic around you, and instantly, your deity form was on display.

Unfortunately for you, he had learned you were having a bad day and entered your room. He generally knocked, but today, he assumed you would tell him to leave you alone.

----

Lucifer froze. The amount of divine energy flowing from you made it difficult for him to breathe.

A while back, he had suspected that you were hiding something from them but wasn't expecting you to be a god/goddess. Regardless, Lucifer remained unfazed by your appearance and was more concerned with your sadness.

He forced himself to come closer to you, even though his body told him not to. Wordlessly, the first brother sat on the edge of your bed and gently stroked your head, avoiding touching your horns.

"It hurts. My horns hurt!"

Lucifer knew from personal experience how annoying horns could be and how heavy wings could feel at times. The Avatar of Pride didn't ask you questions, nor was in interested in learning anything about you at that moment. His energy was forced on trying to calm you down and provide you with a soothing touch.

However, one question nagged Lucifer's mind: why was a deity in Devildom? If Lucifer didn't trust you, he would have thought you were there on a mission to study the demons as the heavens were planning a war against Devildom.

His jaw dropped. Where was (y/n), and who was this creature? Why was there such a strong divine aura flowing from it? Wait, was that creature you? You were a god/goddess?

Mammon's head spun, but hearing your anguished sobs tore at his heart. He wanted to bombard you with questions but knew this was not the right time.

It took him a little struggle to get closer to you as your divinity was too dizzying for him. However, Mammon wanted nothing more than to help you calm down.

When he saw your gold tears, the Avatar of Greed's eyes widened. He had a moment of weakness where he considered taking your tears and selling them to make A LOT of dough but had to remind himself that this was neither the place nor the time to think about money. That didn't mean he wasn't planning to take your 'tears' afterward with your permission, of course.

Mammon sat by your side and held onto your hand as he gently patted your shoulders. His eyes wandered around to take in your majestic form.

Maybe you had your reasons to hide the truth from them. However, he hoped you would tell him the truth once you calmed down.

Eh? EHHHH? You were a god/goddess all along? Why didn't you tell them? He thought you were a normie human all along. If he knew you were a deity that looked like they were straight out of an anime, Levi wouldn't have given you such a hard time.

He was lost in thoughts until he heard your whimpers. His shoulders slumped. Though, he was a little uncomfortable as he didn't know how to make you feel better. Regardless, Levi still pushed past the invisible barrier around you that attempted to push him away.

Levi hesitated to touch you because he didn't know if your light would have a negative effect on him. After a while of thinking, he sighed and gently stroked your cheeks. That was when he saw your gold tears. Talk about your tears being priceless.

Since he didn't know what to say, Levi stayed silent, gently stroking your cheek, head, and arm and even taking a chance at caressing your wings. They were even softer than Lucifer's wings in the Celestial Realm.

Unlike some of his brothers, Levi didn't consider you would be there to spy on them or have any ill-intention toward them. You were still (y/n) to him - a friend, crush, and sweet normie, not a force of divinity.

Satan wondered if he was in the presence of a god/goddess and took a moment to analyze your aura. Once he confirmed, the Avatar of Wrath felt breathless. He knew being around your divine form for a prolonged period would have a negative effect on him. However, he couldn't bring himself to walk away and leave you in tears.

The Avatar of Wrath took a deep breath and forced himself to get closer to you. His eyes scanned each and every detail on your body, but he was most fascinated with the tattoos of the three realms. Why would a deity have a tattoo of all three realms? Did you have a special power, or were you an overseer of all three realms? Someone who transgressed ordinary gods/goddesses.

He had to force himself to swallow his curiosity as your well-being and happiness came before. So, Satan made a mental note of all his questions and sat down beside you. His touch was gentle but still hesitant.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Those were the only words he said. If you chose to tell him, Satan paid close attention to your words; if you chose to remain silent, he didn't force you to say anything.

Once you were in a better state of mind, Satan planned to get answers to his questions and hoped you would tell him the entire truth.

As someone who admired beauty above all, Asmo was speechless. He never thought he would see a being more beautiful than him, but you proved him wrong.

Asmo was so enamored by your appearance that, for a while, he zoned out and didn't hear your sobs or see your tears. His only focus was on taking in every inch of your beautiful appearance. He only snapped out when you let out a small cry of pain.

At first, he didn't want to come closer, knowing his dark aura would not mix well with your light one, but he couldn't bear to see you in pain.

Little by little, he eventually came closer to you and tried to talk to you. Asmo wanted to know why you were in pain and crying, among many other things. The Avatar of Lust knew he couldn't stay in your presence for long without being affected, so he tried his best to learn the reason for your sadness and find a solution.

Seeing your appearance brought back memories of the Celestial Realm, which made him realize something. How had he not heard about a being like you before? Had Michael and, maybe, Lucifer known of your existence and hid it from others, or did they not know about you?

Beel was surprised by your appearance, but unlike his brothers, he didn't think about who you were or why you hid your appearance or divine aura.

His focus was only on your tears. Why were you crying, and what could he do to make you feel better? Beel tanked his way closer to you without worrying about the effects of your divinity on his body or mind.

"What's wrong, (y/n)? Did someone do something to hurt you?" He patiently waited for your answer. His eyes wandered to your wings, and had you not been sad, Beel would have smiled slightly. Your wings slightly reminded him of Lilith and her wish to have beautiful wings. He couldn't help but think that if she was alive, she would have loved this form of yours.

Once you gathered enough strength to tell Beel you were having a bad day, he tried his best to help you by talking to you, giving you hugs, and sharing his food. If you tell him someone caused that sadness, Beel will 'take care' of the person for you right in front of you so that you can smile. Whatever it takes, he will do.

Belphie had to force himself to stay grounded as his first instinct was to run out of your room. Compared to his brothers, your aura had a crushing effect on him. He wanted to walk away, but seeing the way you looked at him, tugged at his heart.

The Avatar of Sloth wondered just how much magic you had to be able to constantly conceal your presence from everyone. He understood you were a god/goddess, but even deities have limits. Belphie slowly got closer to you but didn't dare to touch you. Once you concealed your divinity, he planned to make it up to you by hugging you and not letting go.

"What's wrong, (y/n)?" It was evident he was concerned about you.

"Bad day...my wings...and horns feel...heavy..."

He could completely understand your problem, as his horns were the heaviest out of his brothers. At times, he purposely avoided his demon form just so he didn't have to deal with the burdens of the heavy horns.

Knowing he couldn't help you much, Belphie considered calling Solomon over to try to alleviate your pain. But would the sorcerer be able to help? Moreover, would he attempt to use you for his own benefit or to help humanity?

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➣ Obey Me Masterlist: [1][2][3] ➣ Main Masterlist

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi? ➣ Commission: Open ➣ HC/Scenario Requests: Closed || Quick Ask Requests: Closed || GIF Requests: Closed

[inconsistent-kuroshitsuji-blog]

Can I request Sebastian with a gender neutral s/o (or master) who had a mental breakdown bcs of math and acted like nothing happened infront of him? (I'm gonna lose my mind over math)

My dearie, of course. I know, it has been a while, but now I am here. (That sounded like I'm some sort god-figure.) I'm about 90% sure that I have completely lost my mind over math and have no way of getting it back.

Sebastian comforting you after you lose your mind over your math homework

When the fuck did math get letters? Why does math need letters? Why must it make a problem out of everything? Who cares at what degree a certain angle of a roof of a weird art exhibition is. Why should you care at what height a discoball is located if a laser hits it at a certain angle? And who even thinks of such ridiculous problems?

Advanced education? More like an advanced headache. You've sat here at your desk for about three hours, longer than you planned to. You were just trying to do your homework, but nothing was working out. The numbers didn't add up, you don't even know where to start at. It is all too much, too much at once, you just can't handle it anymore.

Throwing away your pencil, you start sobbing over that darned piece of paper. What is this supposed to teach you? Well, nothing that matters to you, of course, yet you're still forced to keep up with algebra and geometry and analysis, totally useless in your daily life. If only these problems were solvable with tears. The only thing they do for you right now is smudge your already hastily written tasks and solutions. Oh, how you hate this. You can only hate this. How could you ever do anything else-?

Your door opens. What now? Who has come to bother you at your lowest point of the day?

"Is everything alright, my dear?", you hear, yet you don't look up. You don't have to do so to know who is there. You'd recognise his gentle voice in a crowded room full of people who don't know how to properly adjust their voice volume. You also want to save yourself from the embarrassment of him seeing your puffy red eyes. So you only mumble something into your arm, something along the lines of "Maybe, I don't know, leave me alone.".

But he didn't. Of course he didn't leave, he never really does what you tell him to. Just like his beloved cats, Sebastian does what he feels like doing at any given point. So if he wants to physically see your tears for his amusement, he will watch them slowly run down your cheeks. You hear how he places something infront of you.

"If everything truly was alright, you'd show me your beautifull face. So, look up for me.". That snarky bastard. You'd hate him for that if you didn't love him more. So you slowly look up to him, eyes all puffy and swollen. "See? I'm fine.". You finally realised he placed a batch of biscuits infront of you, freshly made of course. Sebastian looks down at you with that smirk he always seems to have on his face. "Well, I don't believe you. You're a bad liar, kitten. What is troubling you?". He doesn't even wait for your answer, he just looks down and responds with a little "Ah.". He saw everything he needed to see.

"Is your scholarship too hard on you again? Or is it you being too hard on yourself?", he asked while sitting down next to you. He seemingly tries to make out what you wrote, but it is simply incomprehensible thanks to your tears. "I told you already, it's nothing. Just some stupid problems. As if I would've brought them to class anyway..."

"Frustrated, are we?". "Shut it...", you deliberately look away, yet he pulls you into his arms and starts to stroke your head. "Now, no need to cry over silly made up numbers and problems. Rest your head for now.". Sebastian slightly nudges your head onto his chest. Maybe he's right. You should take a little break, just for now.

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Phew, finally something fresh on my paige. As you can guess, I'm well and alive, more alive than well but alive nonetheless. I'll see how I can get back on track. But until then, I will fulfill the meaning of my name by disappearing suddenly and reappearing again. Like a little ghost.

Until then~

Your Inconsistent Kuroshitsuji Blog~

[konigsblog]

now we need kidnapper!König headcanons👀

(( well thank god you asked, here's some headcannons that i think resonate with kidnapper!könig !!! ))

kidnapper/yandere!könig headcannons. angst, smut, fluff

warnings: yandere, smut, mentions of murder, lovebombing, somnophillia. (tell me if i missed anything!!)

(...)

kidnapper!könig who never feels anger or fury towards you. of course, he feels frustration some days; the times were you slap and growl at him, snarling at him for laying a hand on you, for taking you away from your loving family.

but he'd never want you to feel unworthy or insecure, that's something he felt as a kid, nothing he wants his love to feel. adding onto that, pain; he never wants you to feel pain, physically and mentally, hated when you've been hurt or cut, immediately presses tender kisses all over your face after cleaning your wound.

kidnapper!könig who can't keep his eyes off you. you're his desire, what he looked for truly. he'll call you over to sit on his lap, or kiss him, or hug him, and you don't have a choice.

kidnapper!könig who has a size kink, it only grew after meeting you. he'll of course prepare you, even months in advance before you're comfortable enough with him. telling you to use the dildo that looks like his cock, taking it even further each day until you take it fully.

he's so impressed, telling you what a good girl you are for using the dildo, that you're being so sweet to him, how much he loves you. he watches as you ride his throbbing size, bouncing up and down on his size, grasping at his chest in an attempt to get him to praise you for taking him so well.

kidnapper!könig who loves bondage and ropes. seeing you all tied up and bound, fucking into you again and again until his cum oozes from you, dripping from your hole, developing a breeding kink.

following onto that last statement, he'd become obsessed with the idea of getting you swollen, or just to watch you coveted in his cum. adores the suprised and shocked look on your face as he slams into your wetness. “hah-.. that's it, good girl, maus.. taking me so well, aren't you just a sweet little thing?” he'd coo.

kidnapper!könig who hates punishing you, despises it. he grits his teeth whenever he has to, you've done something unacceptable and now you have to face the consequences. he absolutely hates the way you cry, the pain in your voice destroys him.

kidnapper!könig who chains you to him as you sleep. you'd worked yourself up from the basement to the bedroom, finally able to sleep on something that didn't feel like concrete. he can't help but chuckle when you pass out immediately, handcuffing you to him before cuddling into you.

kidnapper!könig who doesn't hesitate to kill your family. he will ruin then and leave them gutted, literally. buried into the ground, dirt covering their bodies, never telling you the truth.

if you have a comfort for something like music, he'll make you work for it. a user called yandere-sins talked about how different yanderes would react to their darling needing music for comfort, and i view könig as an obsessive and protective, he'd probably let you do whatever, still monitoring the time you're listening to it, a bit worried but getting you to sit on his lap while you listen.

kidnapper!könig who will slam into you relentlessly after a failed mission. you can feel him in your cervix, kissing it while his grip tightens, you're too overwhelmed and dizzy to focus on anything other than the lengthy meaty dick pounding into you !!

kidnapper!könig who's toxic, and you don't even realise it. you don't notice how he'll manipulate and gaslight you into forgiving him, you barely realise how addicted you are to his touch, resulting in a huge breakdown when you finally come to the realisation.

he'll hold you, cradle you like a baby. you're refusing to eat anything, your bones starting to weaken. and he will treat you like a baby if he has to. bundling you in a wooly blanket, a bottle of milk forced into your mouth while he scolds you for refusing it. “schatz, drink it, please. you haven't ate since friday, it's sunday. drink it, you need it for your bones.”

kidnapper!könig who has you on his hip at all time. holding you like a koala. helping you whenever you wake up sobbing, still terrified that you've started loving this man beside you. he'll make you some soup his oma taught him, letting you eat it on the coffee table, sitting on a pillow while he sits back on the couch, pressing play to a series you'd become invested in, worried and anxious for your mental health.

then afterwards he'll play and braid your hair til you fall asleep, head rested on his big lap, running his fingertips down your cheeks before cuddling into you, waking up on the couch.

kidnapper!könig who cries into your shoulder when he has to go on deployment. you both weep onto eachother, finally letting him pull his mask down after you've kissed him, hugging him one last time before he leaves.

kidnapper!könig who facetimes you everynight. whether thats for a goodnight, or to see you all wet and sticky with cum running down your thighs. you can hear his grunts, watching as he fists his meaty dripping cock, the both of you coming all over the place.

kidnapper!könig who bathes you everynight he can. he washes your hair, you're sat in the bath, letting him lather shampoo onto your hair and let water run down your head. your body all soapy and wet with water, kissing your forehead every now and then. wrapping you in a towel and kissing your body, down to your cunt before he eats you out, getting you all sensitive and stimulated.

kidnapper!könig who will wake you up with sex, kissing your tits and sucking on your hardened nips. his thick dick easing into your pussy, waking up with a couple whimpers and whines, slick coating his shaft.

you and könig will giggle every night, playing videos or games, making fun of eachother playfully, letting him ruffle your hair.

in the first weeks of you being with him, he'd not let you use social media. even after months, you wouldn't be allowed. but he'd let you play board games or make puzzles, watching over you and asking questions to get you to open up.

yandere!könig who comes home all bloodied, watching your panic and terror, reassuring you to come give him a hug. getting you covered in crimson liquid, blood dripping onto your shirt, getting in your hair. he'd just murdered your parent(s), but you wouldn't know that.

who would wash your hair and body, everything silent and quiet. his hands roaming over your body and cleaning you, removing the blood from you while telling you that you'd be alright, that you shouldn't be scared of him. letting you warm up into his shoulder, trying to process what happened to your family, actually, not the lies you'd been fed. what has he really done?

[animelovelover123]

Devil May Cry Boys Dealing With Your Violent, Emotional Breakdown

Parings: Dante, Reboot Dante, Reboot Vergil, Nero, V x Reader (reader is gender neutral but there are some comments that may seem to veer one way or the other)

This is a weirdly specific idea but it came to mind while trying to calm myself down from an emotional dysregulated episode. I’ve never gotten violent with people but I have trashed some things in my blind panic and rage, so the physical attacking aspect might not be too realistic. I tried.

Disclaimer: This story shouldn’t be taken as a serious representation of mental troubles or as a guide on how to deal with someone who is having an episode.

Trigger Warnings: Forceful confinement. Attacking others and (in one case) being attacked. Mentions of wanting to hurt others and yourself.

Dante

“Welcome home.” Dante greeted, fully expecting the glare you shot him considering he could hear your stomping and cursing from across the street.

Something on your mission had clearly ticked you off and Dante intended to stay out of it.

However, things change when he gets up from his desk and starts towards your shared bedroom, hoping to take refuge there while the storm passed.

You start accusing him of abandoning you and not caring about you.

“Hey now, you know that’s not what this is about.” He keeps up his joking tone, hiding the honest offense he took at your claims.

He knows that once this episode passes, you’ll apologize and tell him not to take the things you say in this state seriously.

But he also knew that right now, in this manic state, you do believe everything you're saying. He has seen it and, once upon a time, felt it himself, the overwhelming feeling that the world and every creature in it are against you.

So he stayed, still intending to let you thrash around to your heart’s content. That is until you yank a Devil Arm from the wall.

“Whoa there cowboy, no need for that.” Even in the hands of someone who couldn’t call upon the demonic power within it, a Devil Arm could still cause some serious damage. Dante may be able to handle quite a bit of abuse and any furniture crushed in your rampage could be replaced, but god forbid you hurt yourself.

He grabs hold of the hand guard and tries to pluck it from your grip but you hang on like your life depended on it, screaming, pulling, swearing, kicking, and clawing at Dante in an attempt to make him let go.

His quips and prods come naturally. He teasingly says things like “Feeling feisty today aren’t we kitten?” and “I didn’t know my sweet little kitten had claws” as the only damage you are able to do to him is giving him a few nicks with a jagged nail you had broken in your rage.

Eventually, he lifts the Devil Arm up and out of your reach.

Instead of hanging there you give up on that one. You let go and make a dash for another weapon lodged in the shop’s walls.

“Alright, playtimes over.” Dante drops the Devil Arm he had confiscated on his desk and wraps his thick, strong arms around your waist, pinning your arms down at your sides. “I’m gonna have to put you in time out.”

He lifts you off the ground with ease and carries you to the couch.

You can kick, scream, and struggle around all you want but there isn’t much you can do while in his lap, your back to him.

He holds you tight, only loosening his grip a bit if you start to wheeze, cough, hyperventilate, or any other action that suggested you weren’t getting enough air.

“That’s it kitten, let it all out.” He coos between your incoherent shouts.

When you aren’t thrashing your head around, he places gentle kisses along your shoulders and up the back of your neck.

As you settle, his iron grip transitions into soothing rubbing, messaging your arms and thighs.

When you finally relax into him and start muttering apologies for your actions and what you said his jokes soon come back in full force.

Not quite immediately though as he first assures you that “It’s alright, your fine. I’m not going anywhere.”

I briefly considered writing separate entries for different stages in Dante’s life, but I felt that the only thing that would really change was how moody he got in response. So instead, I made this general scenario and slipped in some angst. Also, I had no intention of having ‘kitten’ be your go-to nickname but the quips I came up with just fit the name so well so I kept using it ^^;.

Reboot Dante

Mocking each other, playfully arguing, and coming up with creative insults were just a part of your guys’ relationship. Being able to take smack talk and throw it right back was something Dante loved about you. And from your two’s bubbling anger came rougher kisses and better sex so it was usually a win-win.

This, along with having anger issues himself and being a generally confrontational guy, resulted in Dante not realizing that your mood was more severe than any other time you got pissy. If anything, he takes this opportunity to toy with you, having fun lighting your short fuse as you worked on a mission together.

“Aww, you didn’t get that? You know, I’d spell it out for you, but that’s assuming you know your ABC’s.”

“Oh ya, you’re totally glowing babe. But I think it’s from the radiation coming off your toxic ass.”

“You're worth every penny babe. That being said, let me show you to the discount section because I found a spot for you.”

It was all fun and games for Dante until you started making crazy claims with an all-too-serious voice.

You screamed about how much you hated the world, the people in it, and yourself. That was all relatively fine. He agreed with a lot of what you said about the assholes in the world, though not about yourself. But then you started hinting at wanting to hurt yourself.

He tells you to chill out in what may seem like his usually cocky tone but anyone who knew him well enough would have caught the twinge of uncertainty and fear that crept out.

Dante turns away from you, whips out a cigarette, and lights it. “Let’s just get this shit over with.”

Once the two of you were done with this mission and out of limbo then he could get you both something to drink to calm down. Or maybe he would hand you off to Kat.

Out of all the moments for Kat to split off to do something else, why did it have to be the time Dante needed her help the most?

He can hear you stomp after him screaming your lungs out but he isn’t in the mood to yell back anymore.

Dante keeps his glaring eyes straight ahead, his shoulders tense up, and the pinch hold on his cigarette grows stronger, denting the filter.

Then, everything escalates all too suddenly.

His shoulder is grabbed. He is spun around. His cigarette snaps and tumbles into his hand where it quickly burns a hole through his glove and skin. You’re screaming in his face, asking if this is what he wants. Theirs a gun between you two. Dante’s fight or flight reflexes kick in and his instincts choose what it always did.

He slams his clenched fist up into your gut, knocking the air out of your lungs. You drop your gun and crumble to the floor, hands wrapping around your stomach as your desperate attempts for air turn into violent coughing.

“Shit! Fuck! I’m sorry I-” Dante reaches down to you but when you, whether intentionally or not, jerk away from his shaking hand his heart drops into his churning stomach.

“Kaaaaat!” Dante turns and takes a few steps away from you. “Kat! Where the hell are you?”

“I’m here Dante.” Kat's white lucid form comes sprinting around a corner at the rare sound of panic in Dante’s voice. “What happened? Are you guys okay?” She quickly notices you curled up on the ground fighting for breath and rushes over.

“Get them out of limbo.” He orders, unable to look at your now crying face out of shame.

“What about you?”

“I’ll stay here and finish the mission. Just get them somewhere safe. Help them.” Because God knows Dante can’t. He’ll just fuck up more than he already has.

I believe that reboot Dante would, by far, be the worst at handling violent emotional breakdowns. This man can’t keep himself in check when walking down the street half the time. There is no way he can navigate someone else’s emotions. But now that he has you, Kat, and Vergil (people that he wants to protect and keep a positive relationship with) he is trying to reign in his anger around them. Bad habits die hard though. That was my thought process.

Reboot Vergil

It started with you and Vergil worrying over something having gone wrong on your recent mission. This includes your own failings, which he will point out and calmly instruct you on how you could have done better.

When he notices that you are getting far more riled up about this than usual his own negative comments lessen and eventually stop when you take on a doomful mindset.

At first, he stays calm, telling you that “things will be dealt with”, “everything would be fine”, and “no need to get so worked up”.

But as you kept yelling and start stomping around, he grows impatient, telling you to go cool off somewhere else as he tries to gently lead you out of the room.

Not taking this well you fight back, getting up in his face and screaming at him.

He doesn’t back down though, standing up straight and glaring down at you. He shouts your name at you like an angry parent trying to assert dominance and instill slight threat.

When you suddenly start physically attacking you catch him off guard and get a single good hit on him, a punch to the jaw. Any attempt after that though he easily blocks or evades single-handedly, his other hand holding his sore jaw.

He doesn’t try to grab or restrain you though, not until you turn your violence onto the objects around you two.

Ungodly amounts of irreplaceable documents were spread around the room. Terabytes of data on encrypted memory sticks. Stacks of incriminating papers. Ancient and fragile books. All were so easily destroyable and it was all the same to you in your blind rage.

So, begrudgingly, Vergil retrieves one of the pairs of handcuffs used by The Order from a draw and wrestles you into a sitting position. He cuffs your hands behind your back and around an unpowered radiator mounted to the wall.

As you thrash and scream Vergil tries to do something to distract himself, some work or making a drink. All the while one of his hands rubs his already-healed jaw as if it could soothe his non-physical pain.

Once your adrenalin runs dry and you are left sitting slack against the wall, Vergil approaches you. He goes down on one knee in front of you, making himself less threatening, though still above your slouched form.

“I’m going to take the cuff off now alright?” He doesn’t proceed until you respond with a quiet affirmation.

He unlatches each cuff separately, taking the time to gently slide each of your hands free, delicately holding your soar wrists which were red and limp from the struggle.

“Would you like something to drink?” He offers as he stands up, still gently holding your wrists, urging you to stand. When you don’t move, he places your hands on your lap.

“I’ll be right back.” He promises, stepping out of the room momentarily. He returns with a mug of water, an orange, and an ice pack.

He lays them in front of you like an offering to a goddess. He doesn’t ask for an explanation or an apology. He doesn’t ask you to leave nor does he leave you. He’ll let you reflect in silence for as long as you need while he works close by.

“If you want to talk, I’ll be here to listen, always.”

This is the first of the set I wrote (though not the first one I thought up) so it is a bit different from the others as I was still trying to settle on a style. He is also the only one in this group that would probably have actual restraining equipment on hand to use on you and would know how to do it. The order does some shady shit so you’re not the first person he has had to tie up. Though you are the only one to get such nice treatment after ;).

Nero

Despite the fact that Nero is guilty of violently lashing out at people and things, he is wholly unprepared for your breakdown.

To him, it started like any other argument you two had. Your voices grew louder, your brows knit together in glares, and baseless claims, threats, and swearing spilled from each of your mouths recklessly. Kyrie was fussing in the background, trying her best to calm the situation with her words.

But then you started to hit things. You punch a wall, breaking through the drywall and knocking things off it. You kicked at tables and shelves, rattling the things on them into falling over or to the floor.

“The hell is your problem?!” He more so accused than asked.

He doesn’t approach you though, yelling back at you from a distance as he felt his right arm flex as the adrenalin in his body was making his arm crave violence, but he wasn’t going to lay a hand on you.

That was his intention, but then you started throwing things. In your blind rage you were just flinging things around randomly, but then you threw a cup in Nero’s direction.

He easily doges with a lean and it sores past him. It shatters against the wall… right beside Kyrie.

She lets out a surprised shriek, jumping back as the broken shards graze her dress though do not cause any damage.

Nero snaps, his protective brother instincts kicking in as he storms over to you.

“Nero, wait.” Kyrie pleads, reaching for his arm but he brushes it away.

“Stay back Kyrie, I’ve got this.” Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do but he had to stop you.

“Please don’t hurt them.” Kyrie cries though she heeds Nero’s demand and backs out of the room, knowing that she would just be in the way.

Of course Nero wasn’t going to hurt you. He could never. And that’s the problem. He doesn’t know how to stop someone’s violence without resorting to it himself.

As he watches you scream and throw things, which he makes sure to catch and drop on the floor, while also crying and shaking he is reminded of an angry and frightened child lashing out. You remind Nero of his childhood self.

As a child… what did people do to stop him?

A distant memory of himself and Credo flashes in Nero’s mind.

Now within arms reach you take a wild swing at him. Nero uses your momentum against you, spinning around you and pushing you forward while tripping you so you fall to the wood floor.

You hear the stomp of boots on either side of you. As you prepare to lift up onto your hands and knees, a massive weight lands on your lower back, forcing you back down.

Nero was sitting on you, pinning you to the ground.

Though not totally understanding what had you acting like this, Nero could tell that you weren’t in your right mind and you weren’t able to communicate coherently until you calmed down. So he kept you under control until you two were able to work things out together.

Though he is unable to use his legs, as they were straddling your hips, his hands are free. He doesn’t want to use them though, worrying about hurting you with his overpowered right arm. However, he will stop you from hurting yourself by tossing any sharp object out of your reach and holding your head steady if you start slamming it against the floor.

He also responds to a lot of your accusations once realizing that many of them were, whether directly or indirectly, self-deprecating.

“Broken? What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re not a failure.”

“You just need to calm down, you’re fine.”

“Of course I love you.”

Like Reboot Dante, Nero has an attitude problem and is prone to starting/egging people into fights. However, Nero has enough self-control to not hit things he knows he shouldn’t. Like, no matter how pissed off he got at Kyrie (unlikely considering she is a saint) he would NEVER lay a hand on her. I wanted to implant that feeling here.

His solution to this is childish (fun fact I got this idea from a past experience where a family member did this to child me when I was having a tantrum) but he grew up having his anger funneled into combat training for The Order of the Sword so he doesn’t really have many experiences dealing with anger any other way.

V

You leave a scratch on the side of Nico’s van by how forcefully you slammed the door open.

“So you’re gonna bust up my van now dickhead?” She screamed, trying to follow you to continue your guys’ argument but Nero wrapped her in a Nelson hold to stop her before she started a fistfight she wouldn’t win. “How about you shove a tampon in before coming back!”

As Nico thrashed, shouting stranger and stranger insults, and Nero attempted to get her to chill out, V silently slid out of the van.

He had stayed silent through the argument, observing the situation unfold but not feeling the need or right to intervene. This decision had been solidified when Nero tried to interject and had only made things worse.

His lack of action, however, did not equate to a lack of concern for your well-being.

“Are they done yet?” Griffon said wearily as he was summoned, having evaporated to safety the moment his mocking comments had gotten him grabbed by the leg and tossed into the front windshield of the van.

In his defense, according to himself, that attack wouldn’t have worked on him if his master didn’t ban him from hurting you.

“Scout ahead for demons,” V instructed while calling Shadow out from the floor. His eyes stayed glued to your form as you stomped down a dirt path leading away from the city and into a lightly forested area. Though with it being the fall season many of the trees were close to bald of any foliage. “and lead them away from any danger.” V added with a stroke to the top of Shadow’s head.

Shadow darted back into the ground and slid after you.

“Alright lover boy,” Griffon took off from V’s outstretched arm. “but I’m gonna keep high. I don’t feel like becoming Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Oh,” V called Griffon’s attention again who had already risen higher than the sparse trees. “and keep an eye out for anything… derelict.”

“Oh-ho! Now we’re talking.”

And so, you were tracked and led through the woods. Griffon zoomed around overhead, signaling to Shadow whenever your path would lead to a pack of demons while looking for an abandoned structure you could ‘play’ with. Shadow didn’t so much push you into any direction, but more so shepherd you through acts like blocking your current path and making attention-grabbing sounds and/or movements along safer roads. And V studied you from a distance, keeping you in earshot while casually avoiding your line of sight.

Though he was following you out of a desire to watch over you while allowing you the space to vent your frustrations, he also found a sort of fascination in your outrage.

The lover of art in him was attracted to pure, intense, unfiltered emotions. As if he was watching an interpretive dance or a slam poetry performance, V studied your movements, your posture, the words you spoke and how you said them, trying to decipher them to understand the underlying feelings from which they originated from.

By the time you finished tearing apart the remains of what was once a cabin, he had a firm grasp on what had truly set your heart ablaze.

He doesn’t approach you until you slump to the floor in exhaustion. Your head lolls back as your tired muscles surrender to your weight. You start to fall back but are quickly caught by V’s arm sliding around your shoulders and supporting your neck.

He flouts down to one knee as he lowers you onto the awaiting Shadow, the feline’s warmth and silky coat cradling around you as your new support in this almost laying position.

As your body and consciousness fight over whether or not to sleep here and now, you feel a soothing warmth glide up your cheek.

“Rest now love.” V’s fingers glide up the side of your face and into your hair. He could discuss his theories on what feelings deep in your heart had caused you this pain after you had recovered your strength, even if that meant sleeping under the fall sunset somewhere deep in the woods. “I’ll be here to watch over you.”

This was the last one I wrote since I am still getting a grasp on V’s, and his familiar’s, mannerisms. I think I did okay. This one ended up the longest and I blame this on integrating Griffon and Shadow, which I also think I did okay writing.

Also, I debated whether to have Griffon present as you fell asleep, maybe cuddling up on you for warmth, but I feel like he would talk your ear off and not let you rest so I left him out.

[itsasainz]

the poison drips through | Roman Roy x Reader

Summary: grief is a natural instigator of reflection; Logan’s funeral forces you to look back on your own grief, and your relationship with Roman.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings/tags: death of a parent (Logan Roy, reader’s mother), discussions of abuse (physical, emotional), grief and breakdown, mentions of addiction, depression and associated mental health struggles in a parent and in reader, implications of suicide, toxic and/or abusive familial relationships.

a/n: roman roy has a special place in my my heart. he’s awful, he’s product of his environment, I can’t justify his actions, I love him, it’s confusing, I don’t know. I binge watched all of succession in seven (7) days.

masterlist!

You’re not sure how old you were when you first met the Roys, but you find it strange to think of time pre-Roman, pre-Roy, when you were free of proxy-politics, hidden slights and subtle digs. You must have been a preteen, maybe twelve. It would make sense—the second summer after your father moved to New York, when he bought the house in the Hamptons. Your mother had stayed in London that summer, leaving you and your siblings to battle the sweltering Long Island heat alone with your father, who worked most of the summer anyway. Had it been the Sailing Club or the Golf Club where you’d first met Siobhan Roy? You aren’t sure, but you remember the bathroom where you’d run into her, and how a five minute conversation had turned into five weeks of friendship. It had gone beyond that five weeks—even when you got back to the UK, you’d found ways to keep in touch, and spent holidays together when you were in the same place; you’d grown accustomed to Kendall’s strange attempts at seeming “hip” and cool, and Roman’s whining and jokes.

Shiv had been, and is your friend—in many ways, your best friend—but you’d always had a sweet spot for Roman. It wasn’t until you moved to New York more permanently, right after you graduated, that you actually befriended him, your work at his father’s company at first forcing you into the odd work dinner or late night at the office, but routines were formed, at some point. Thursday lunches together, Monday morning coffees. At some point, he’d stopped seeming like Shiv’s whiney older brother, and become funny—most of the time. Roman, you had, at some point understood, took time. But most of your relationship with him came after Greece.

The first time you went on holiday with them—beyond the Hamptons or British countryside—you were twenty-three, and had found yourself on a ten-day trip through the Greek islands on Logan’s oversized yacht. It was that ten days that you realised that you were in, not particularly intentionally, but in nonetheless. You remembered everything about that trip; the private jet that took you to Thessaloniki, the starting point of the trip—you’d fly back to New York from Heraklion, with the entire family, who were coming from various outposts across the globe. To start with, though, it was just the two of you, walking on the scorched tarmac of Thessaloniki’s international airport, leaving the gleaming private jet behind, already feeling slick with set in the hot, midsummer air. You had appreciated the perks of a private jet that day—no queues, no crying babies or seats reclined into your knees—and didn’t have to think twice about where your luggage was, because everything had been taken care of by a team of people you barely saw, working like ants under the foliage. A refreshingly air conditioned car had brought you smoothly to the port, where a smaller boat, already stacked with your luggage, had taken you quickly to the gleaming palace on water that was the Roys’ yacht. The boat was like a small, disturbingly empty, city; an almost utopian place, gleaming and shimmering under the Mediterranean sun, a labyrinthe of rooms and decks and corridors. Despite the surplus of space, it was split between a select few; Logan Roy, of course, his four siblings and their own guests, a selection of board members and his third wife, who you’d met only once or twice before, Marcia. That day was languid, a steady flow of arrivals as the hours passed and the yacht sat just outside of the port, watched by the locals and tourists alike, most likely speculating about the owners of such a gratuitous yacht, carelessly waiting for all the world to see.

You and Shiv had been greeted by Connor, in his pre-Willa days, already in his forties though; Kendall had appeared at first without your notice, but the sound of his children, still babies then, had alerted you of his arrival, alongside his then-wife, Rava, who you still respected wholeheartedly. Roman had been next, harder to miss, making sure to “jokingly” insult everyone aboard within five minutes. You weren’t sure whether to feel flattered when it took him a minute or so to come up with an insult for you, but that train of thought was quickly lost to the arrival of the man himself; Logan Roy came with a fleet of people. He spoke about three words to you directly on that first day, but you supposed that wasn’t so bad—you were hardly novel to him anymore, given how your recent promotions had drastically increased your time spent with him and Kendall. Roman, however, was a different matter entirely.

You’d seen him around an awful lot, and spoken to him maybe twice, never for longer than a passing comment or introduction, though he knew of your friendship with his sister. And yet, here you were, on holiday with his family, and he was suddenly fascinated. Over those ten days, between your hours spent gossiping with Rava and his hours spent talking business with his brother and father, you somehow found time to get attached to the youngest son of the Roy dynasty.

Roman was a piece of a work, there was no denying it. He was insulting, defensive, childish, et cetera, et cetera, but he was often funny, too, and within days you had understood him well—he, like Kendall, Shiv and Connor, was driven by his father’s approval, but as is the way in any family, each of the siblings had manifested the same fears and motivations in different ways. Shiv’s fear of intimacy made for relationships with people who depended on her—for money or status—but who she could keep at an arm's length, and cast aside if they got too attached. Roman more openly craved connection, but his fears and traumas came to light in a more physical expression. The jokes at his expense had swiftly enlightened you to his troubled relationship with sex and affection, while, even this early on, Kendall’s addictions were beginning to form cracks in his determinedly “hip” façade. Most of these things you had already understood, but an extended amount of time on a vehicle that you can’t exactly leave had opened it all up to you—unlike the Hamptons, you couldn’t piss off to the other side of the island or back to the city, but only to the other side of the yacht, and even for a big yacht, it never allowed you to genuinely leave. The thoughts that would later become a strange, fucked up mantra began to formulate on that holiday; before you’d put it into words, or understood what you were asking yourself, the statement was swirling around your consciousness; the poison drips through.

Each of the Roy siblings was broken and damaged in a way you’d never seen before, but your long standing practice of people-reading and your love of untangling the dynamics within groups made the holiday a sort of project—by the end, you’d created a map in your head of the different events and people that made up the complex web of Roy troubles, built off the foundations laid by your friendship with Shiv and many brief interactions with her extensive family over the decade. It was an incomplete map—there would be things you didn’t discover until his death, a decade later, and things you would never know, but that initial map, fraction of what it would become, was the starting point for your relationship with Roman.

Your morbid fascination with the family, and apparent loyalty (though you only realised it years later) met with his intrigue with you. Shiv never brought friends on holiday, he disclosed on the third or fourth day—as such, everyone was trying to work you out, your game, your presence, beyond the limited stuff they already knew. But at the end of the trip, it wasn’t Shiv who you’d spent the most time with, but Roman.

You’d thought of it as a ten-day deep-dive into the family, one that wouldn’t be repeated and that would have few repercussions—for you, anyway, but something had been pushed into being on that yacht that would change the trajectory of your life.

Upon your return to the company, tanned and rested from your break, you found that your routine at work changed a little at first, and then a little more, and then completely. A week after the end of the holiday, Roman had barged into your office at around lunchtime, insulted a photo on your desk and dragged you out for an overpriced lunch to discuss work stuff—a legitimate offer, you later found out from Gerri, about an actual deal that he genuinely wanted to pick your brains about. The work-related talk had lasted maybe fifteen minutes before the two of you were side-tracked by something entirely inconsequential and spent the rest of the hour essentially gossiping. His coarseness surprised you a little, though it shouldn’t have, and you remember your initial reservations about his overt slights and hyperactivity—though nowadays you’ve grown to love both. The deal—the one he’d wanted to pick your brains about—had gone better than anticipated, partially, it was said, due to your counsel. So it became more regular—Thursday lunchtimes became your lunches with Roman, and he would stop by your office for discussions almost every day, uncharacteristically invested in his work, according to his siblings. You started to move up through the company too, taking on more responsibility, spending more time with the family, getting closer to the top.

At some point, you and Roman had become friends. You gravitated towards each other at galas and occasionally went for drinks after work on a Friday night. But, despite your time together, there was something odd about the dynamic—neither of you particularly spoke about your pasts, your childhoods. There was a certain shame you had about your upbringing—you knew it was entirely unfounded, that you’d been better off than the vast, vast majority, but then again, you spent most of your time with multibillionaires these days. Generally, you avoided discussions about family wealth, and guarded the inner-workings of your family, and all its troubles, in a way that is far more impossible for a family of the Roys’ calibre—you had your own secrets, a great many things you refused to discuss, and he knew that. In turn, Roman didn’t seem to want to delve into what it was like to grow up with the mighty Logan Roy as a father; so neither of you pushed it, and the subject of who you were pre-Roman began to fade; it would take a couple of years for it all to be disclosed, and even then, most of your big revelations about your relationship with him seemed to come in times of crisis.

You were friends. Work friends, really, but edging into the ground of the simpler terms; you were friends. You were, perhaps, his only one, or one of very few, and he was one of a fair few on your part, though he and Shiv were almost entirely separate from the company you kept outside of Waystar; you’d sometimes wondered what they’d think of the people you spent your Saturday nights with, or the clubs you frequented. But for years, he was your friend, and only your friend.

You’re not entirely sure when things began to get muddled, and lines began to blur. After one crisis or another, he had turned up at your door, late into the night, too tired and too upset to take the piss out of your apartment—a sure sign something was wrong—and ended up in your bed. You hadn’t slept together, but had spent the night beside one another, in hushed conversation or drifting into restless slumber. You’d woken up with his back to you, and it hadn’t been brought up again, not even when he turned up at your door a week later. Sleeping in the same bed as Roman became more common, though it was never sexual—it eased slowly from the simple need for company to admissions of wanting some form of affection—you would sometimes wake up to find that you had curled into one another, that in your unconscious states you had found an intimacy that was impossible in your waking lives.

And then, at some point, something had changed. You’d created a setting in which Roman could actually communicate—not without difficulty, but a space where he could say what he thought and attempt to move away from what he felt he should think. The emotional stuff took longer, but with those changes came a definite change in the nature of your relationship—namely, there was a newfound romance to it.

You’d held off the idea of a relationship with Roman for a long time—through all his joking, overly casual proposals, which you suspected were a way of him affirming some need for rejection, assuring himself that he was unlovable by presenting the ridiculous to have it shot down, as expected. But that had changed as he had, gradually, changed. As he became more open, more honest in that mesocosm of your apartment, developing a unique ecosystem of trust and loyalty and, you supposed, love, allowed him to become accessible to you in new ways.

Sex had taken longer. You were, to all intensive purposes, his girlfriend for a long while before you actually had sex. It was tentative, a slow process of breaking down barriers and rebuilding his relationship with a lot of things, in order to create a version of him that was capable of vulnerability. It’s still a work in progress. At some point (a nonchalant way of putting it—your milestones with him may have been muddled, but they were still deeply significant to you), the relationship had been opened for scrutiny at the hands of his family. You had, in some senses, created a healing process that they couldn’t comprehend, and you think that for that they will always resent you, but for the most part his siblings saw someone who made their brother a little happier and a little less skittish, and his father saw someone who could talk business and keep his son in check.

You didn’t know if there would ever be a wedding to commemorate it, and you doubted there would be children, but your ever-evolving relationship with him made you happy, and you knew it made him happy. Sometimes, you just wished that all that progress you’d made with him would translate to other aspects of his life, but such hopes never came to fruition—at the end of the day, he was still the young boy desperate for the approval of his hard-headed, abusive father.

It was that relationship with his father that made his relationship with his siblings so twisted. You and Shiv weren’t so close these days, but there was still amiable respect and remnants of that original loving friendship, but circumstance had torn rifts in the friendship of your teen- and twenty-something selves. In your thirties, that love had been somewhat lost, or changed—you’d probably always feel that friendly love for Shiv, the one responsible for this entire trajectory of your life.

Now, however, feels simultaneously like the best and worst time for a reflection on the ins and outs of your relationship with Roman Roy. Your bed is a mess, sheets tangled from Roman’s tossing and turning, his frame tense as he paces back and forth, pink flashcards clutched in his grasp. You’d helped him write them over the last few days, through the frustrations that he couldn’t get the words right or couldn’t express his true feelings.

It is only natural that on the morning of a funeral, you think of the funerals you have been to before. The one that stands out, the paradox, is the funeral that exposed your true upbringing to him; it wasn’t the wealth—Roman had hardly expected anything quite so extreme as his own family, but rather the people, your people, and how different they were from his.

You’d received the call late at night—UK and US time differences had gotten confused, your uncle thought you were five hours ahead, not behind—and had tried to gloss over the reason you were suddenly going back home for a week. Of course, in registering your time off with work—paid compassionate leave—he had discovered the truth, and insisted he accompany you. So Roman had met your family at a wake—not ideal, but it made sense. Your family, for all their flaws, had an open, friendly attitude; anyone was welcome in your home, and help was always offered where it could be, a notion so foreign to him that he’d never quite managed to grasp it.

Your family had been confused but welcoming of him; the context of your mother’s death was a strange setting to first impressions, but they liked him nevertheless. Your brother found his jokes more than a little amusing, and your little cousin seemed to think he’d hung the moon, which had more than baffled him—he’d never liked kids, even when they looked like you might have when you were little, even (perhaps especially) when they made him wonder about having children with you. That funeral had been a modest affair with a large turnout—most of the neighbourhood seemed to be there, but there was no fancy coffin or grand church; it was a small funeral, as your mother had wished, and as fitted the circumstances.

You remember a conversation with your sister a day or two later; sat in the garden, smoking, she had turned to you, posed that fatal question; What if the poison drips through? You had dismissed it initially, but at some point, probably after another depressive episode after, you had understood it. The poison drips through. But that was then, and this is now. This is not a modest funeral in your mother’s hometown, but a lavish one, in New York City.

No, this funeral is different.

Logan Roy’s funeral is not a neighbourhood affair, but an international one, and your Roman is doing the eulogy—hence the pacing and the flashcards. He is already dressed, and you are still in your pyjamas, but that is hardly the consideration—in this moment, you are simply concerned over whether or not Roman will make it through the eulogy; with every hour that passes, you become less convinced by his claim that he has “pre-grieved” his father’s death. If Roman breaks, the whole world will see it, abuse it, manipulate it; but everyone, Roy or not, should be able to grieve their parent’s death—no matter how awful they were—without judgement or manipulation.

He looks up from his cards— “You’re not dressed yet.”

“We have time.” you chide, but slip out of the tangle of bedsheets and turn the shower on. “Getting there on time is not going to be an issue.”

He dismisses you again, announcing the lines from his flashcards to himself as you shower, still going as you do your make up and dress, eat a little food—as much as you can stomach on a day like this, and make sure everything in terms of logistics will run smoothly, send a quick text to Shiv to make sure she’s coping—you’re sure none of them are—and eventually let Roman know it’s just about time to go.

His composure is already cracking by the time you get to the car. There is a sense of foreboding, and though you can’t bring yourself to iterate the thought, you have a distinct premonition that Roman’s eulogy will not happen as planned. You’re even wondering if he’ll sneak out before it’s his turn to speak, but you push the thought away. Roman would be okay, he always managed to scrape himself out of trouble, somehow.

The funeral is sombre, to no one’s surprise. You end up on the front pew, between Roman and Kendall, though you’re not entirely sure how. The service is long, as Roman Catholic funerals usually are, in your experience, and Roman will have to sit through the rest of it after his eulogy—whether it’s good that he’ll get it over with, or bad that he’ll have to sit with it for ages after is something you can’t decide on. You suppose that regardless of which point in the service he did the eulogy, he will always have to sit with his words.

And then it’s his part, and he doesn’t even manage the first sentence. You realise, the moment that he looks over to the coffin, that it’s over. You’re the first to get to him at the front, pulling the cards from his hands and letting him collapse into you, the cards getting taken by Kendall, the Roys all there to offer some form of support to their faltering sibling. His questions, his grief, are concerned with Logan’s body, lying and waiting in that coffin. It does, admittedly, seem unnatural that such a force could be contained in such a simple box. You feel almost like you are carrying him back to the pew, tucked under your arm, and welcoming him into your side, his body pressed into yours as though you are the only thing keeping him on earth, as if he would be gone without you. You let him cling, you make it to the end of the service without a further disruption, and then tell Shiv you’ll walk him back to the reception yourself, make sure he’s in a better state before you present him to the world once more. You sneak him out somehow, find a long route back that is not impacted by protests or by paparazzi.

The walk is slow, and he comes to himself little by little by the simple process of walking. He calms his breathing, starts to look about, register his surroundings and the events of the last few hours.

“Why’d you take us this route?” he asks. It’s not the quickest route, and it’s too strange a route to simply be about avoiding photos or crowds. He’s frowning, but you don’t seem embarrassed or confused by his line of questioning.

“My grandparents used to say that you should leave a funeral in small groups, and never all take the same route. It was some superstitious thing—like, if you all took the same route back then the soul of the dead would be able to follow you home, and they’d never leave.” You don’t say that you would hate for Logan’s soul to remain here, to follow him for the rest of his life.

He frowns at you. “I don’t think there’s much we can do to stop him from staying.”

You sigh. “You’re probably right.”

“I’ll never escape him, will I?”

“Roman, for the first time in your life you can step out of this sphere. You can look at the world without the oversight of that bastard, and you can pick a direction. You have the choice, the ability to choose for yourself without his consequence. If you want so badly to escape him, then you can. It’s in your grasp.”

He doesn’t respond, meandering toward your destination. Eventually, he formulates a response. “He’s gone, but the rest of them aren’t.”

You don’t push it—it’s for another day. Instead, you hold his hands in the street, and the pair of you head towards the reception.

He’s beside you for the majority of the evening, until you go to get a drink so that kendall can have a word—a bad idea, in retrospect—and you return to find him gone. Kendall shrugs you off, and no one else knows or cares where he’s gone. You call him a few times, wonder if he just needs some quiet, and then feel your instincts correct you; Roman has not gone for a moment of quiet, you know him better than that, and there is no guarantee he is safe or calm or well.

So you leave, try his phone a few more times, and some morbid curiosity leads you toward the sounds of the protestors. Perhaps it’s your gut, perhaps there is something that viscerally understands his masochism and self destruction. You know you’ll find him in that mob, at the mercy of the only people who will show him violence like his father used to. You feel sick with the thought, nauseous with the understanding of what he is doing to himself.

Sure enough, by the time you find him he has been beaten to a pulp, he is black and blue and bloody, damn near smiling with the pain despite being barely able to stand or walk, destroyed by a sadistic crowd. They do not know this man, you think, as you bundle him into a car, they do not understand grief if they can do this to a man who had freshly lost his father.

At your apartment, you sit him against the bathroom wall, on the floor, splatters of blood on his clothes, tainting the white tiles. He’s incoherent as you sort the first aid kit, and find a cloth to clean him up with. You work methodically, sure to keep him conscious in case of a concussion, as you clean and dress every part of broken skin, and treat his bruises with an ointment you find in the bottom of the kit, and strip him of his stained clothes, providing him with a change. You do not leave him alone, for fear of what might happen, and help him into some new clothes, sweaters and top, too casual for him to ever actually wear—you’d bought the joggers over a year ago and seen him wear them twice—before settling him into bed. You know enough about concussions to know you should wake him up frequently to check on him, but for now you let the tears come in waves. You’ve cleaned the physical wounds, and you hope that with every round of tears comes a cleanse, one that will make the wounds of his broken life easier to heal come the morning, as though the tears themselves will act to wash the grit from the graze, or to pick the shrapnel out from the marred flesh of this open wound.

You look around your apartment, out the window at the city below, and an idea strikes you—almost certainly a bad one, but you’re beyond the point of caring. “Rome,” you say, “You wanna go to Barbados?”

-

Caroline’s place in Barbados is lovely, if a little mosquito-ridden, and it feels oddly bonding to care for Roman together with his distant, almost neglectful mother. She loves him, that much is true, but it’s never enough.

You have thought more about your own mother in the last two weeks than in the last few years—not because you’d wanted to forget her, you saw her in everything—these thoughts were more active, like you were searching for the memories that might guide you in how to deal with this, or help Roman to cope. Your mother had been a different kind of a parent to Logan, and her issues had never been sought out—it was like no matter what she did, she would always have been claimed the same way, her life would always have made yours worse, despite anyone’s efforts to change that.

The poison drips through. That had been your sister’s line, and now Kendall’s. You’d experienced some of what your mother had first-hand, and it always made you wonder if everyone is destined to become their parents, to mirror their lives no matter how consciously they tried to avoid it; whether they resign themselves to it, or try so hard to avoid it that they do a full circle, returning to the likeness of their parents, everyone you’ve ever known is the product of their parents; it is biological, cultural, psychological.

It’s no surprise when Shiv arrives, ready to turn Roman to her side of the discussion about the board meeting. It’s late afternoon when you and Shiv find a moment—Roman has disappeared, and you sit on the paved surrounding to the pool, legs soaked up to your knees, weight leant back on your arms. The youngest Roy is somewhere behind you, to the right, probably on a deck chair.

“Do you think—and tell me to fuck off if you like—that maybe this whole deal is a good thing?”

You hear her sit up, and turn to look at her. She’s frowning at you, “How so?”

“I don’t know, ‘cause, like, you guys—all of you—have just been trapped in this sphere of Waystar and ATN and your dad, and all of you are just fucking miserable. What if you—what would be so bad about just getting out? You could free yourselves from all this bullshit, and there’s no Logan to pull you back in, so you could just… be. Just, y’know, learn a bit more about who you are outside of your father’s sphere of influence. Plus, like, Kendall’s gonna break, Roman already has, and you—all of you—are, frankly, pretty fucking fragile at the minute.”

She moves to come and sit next to you, slipping her feet into the pool beside yours. “You don’t understand.”

You shrug. “I’m sure I don’t.”

“We’re never, really, going to be free of it. Any of it.”

She shifts, her head resting on the bare skin of your shoulder, hair ticklish on your neck. You rest the side of your face on the crown of her head. “Maybe, maybe that’s true. But for the first time in your lives, the door’s open.”

The silence stretches out over the pool, filling the air, making you wonder what’s going on in her head. You sit like that for a while and at some point you realise she’s crying— not sobbing, not shaking with the force of it, but just sitting there, letting the tears stream; you don’t think she’s even really blinking, but the stillness remains, you don’t move. She needs this. You know about the scheduled meeting rooms for crying—Roman mentioned it—but this doesn’t feel like mourning. Not for her father, at least.

“Hey, fucknuts,” Roman calls, appearing at the edge of the courtyard, still barefoot in the shorts and top Caroline had gotten him when you first arrived. Shiv swiftly brushes the tears away, smiling up at him. He looks between you. “Ah, fuck—what… nevermind.”

Suddenly, you are plunging through the chlorinated water, lungs straining at the shock, hands splaying out through the cyan waters, in some momentarily suspended, bubbly universe, the tiled walls of the pool reflecting its pale, eggshell blue translucence onto your skin. You burst upward, drawing in a deep breath and flicking your hair from your face as your toes find the floor of the pool. “Argh, fuck you!”

Roman is laughing, Shiv in a similar state to you, and the moment feels distinctly child-like. You wade through the neck-deep water to the edge, and reach up to him to help you out, but he shakes his head. “Fuck that,” he chides, “I’m not that stupid.”

Shiv is laughing now, and you realise that you’re smiling despite yourself. “Rome, come on, at least help the pregnant lady.”

“Yeah, Rome, help the pregnant lady!” Shiv echoes, joining you at the edge and reaching for him. He knows what’s about to happen and submits himself to it regardless, letting her get a grip of his hands and be practically thrown over your heads, crashing sidelong into water. The splash and waves lap at your chin but you and Shiv are too busy laughing to notice; he struggles upright and rolls his eyes through his smile.

“Cunts.” he groans.

Shiv splashes him in the face with some water, and he swears again, splashing her back and catching you in the process. The ensuing water fight is short and chaotic, halted by Caroline’s arrival to tell you all to be quiet. Roman is laughing, the three of you paddling to the shallow end through some half-hearted apologies. Clambering out and grabbing some towels, you meander down to the seats and drinks table overlooking the seas, drying out your hair and letting conversation turn to business. This is where Kendall finds you, twenty minutes later, in a serious discussion about the board meeting.

The next few hours are a rollercoaster. Calls, discussions, debates, the classic Roy egoistical outlook on why each of them are better suited to the CEO position and why they have been groomed for it. Privately, as you meander in and out of their discussions, conscious that you’re not really involved in their family stuff at all, you settle on the idea that perhaps none of them are. Your feelings about the deal are one thing, meant to be separate from your feelings about them, but they intertwine now—the future of the company lies with them, and their capabilities, and their decisions. That’s not particularly your concern, you’ve been starting to manoeuvre your way out of your current position of influence, toying with the idea of leaving completely, selling your shares and heading elsewhere, but the idea of leaving them behind, leaving Roman behind, is too difficult to consider. What if you didn’t have to factor that in? What if you could walk away knowing it wasn’t them you were walking away from?

It’s this spiralling thought process that subdues you during dinner, ignoring Peter’s friend—James? John?—and knocking back continuous cocktails. Shiv frowns at you, “Trying to get hungover before the board meeting?”

You let out a half laugh. “If I drink a bit more tomorrow I won’t get the hangover.”

Kendall watches you for a second. “Clear minds tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes. Caroline glares at you all for ignoring the pitch you’re currently being presented with and you glance at Roman beside you. He’s anxious, he has been since the morning of the funeral, and you get the sense that he—body, mind and soul—is consuming himself, like he’s just destroying the fabric of himself from the inside out, so destroyed by his father’s death. The whole structure of his life, its fabric and its character, has been defined by his father’s presence and absence, and the man’s ability to maintain his presence even through his absence, but that presence, that famed presence, their “dear, dear world of a father” diminishes with every passing second.

Roman’s hand finds yours under the table, slightly clammy, taking you by surprise. His initiation is uncharacteristic. You give his hand a slight squeeze, and in response he laces his fingers into yours, a more substantial hold. Be here, he seems to ask. The world goes quiet—it’s just you, Roman, and your palms against one another under the table.

Like all things, the moment passes, the chaos returns. More phone calls, an equivocal end to the dinner, and you end up at the house, the Roys down at the beach. You lie at the end of Roman’s bed, feet still on the floor, staring at the ceiling fan; there could be any manner of discussions going on between the siblings at the sea, you could wake up to find they’ve drowned one another or something. Knocked each other out with a coconut or some shit. Roman, your Roman, and his grief, his deep felt love and guilt and terror, lost in the storm of this entire shitshow. You think of that day at Connor’s ranch when you saw the scars on Logan’s back, Ewan’s eulogy about his polio and self-blame, the mirror he made his children look in when they cried. Broken people make broken people. It’s easy to think of time as linear—past, present, future—but it’s more of a circle, you think. Infinite, never-ending, always repeating the same old mistakes. Kendall’s distant fathering, Logan’s abusive fathering—were they really so different?

The poison drips through.

It’s difficult to compare your childhood with the Roys’, but you remember those same thoughts, of a different nature—you’d been lucky enough to live in a world where things were talked about, and you had been able to process things as they happened, rather than let them bubble under the surface, but there had always been that idea. Your family history, the mental health troubles, ECT treatments and various crises in your family history, long before your time, and the effects that you had grown up with. You remember the first time you understood that your mother wasn’t quite right. You remember trying to get her out of bed to walk you to school and the realisation that she wasn’t really there, not in her mind, anyway. And in your teenage years, when you felt that yourself for the first time, you remember the terror of becoming her, of losing all feeling until you couldn’t get out of bed for days at a time.

When you took Roman to her funeral, you hadn’t told him how she’d died, too scared it would be weird or uncomfortable. He’d worked it out, and confronted you in the bathroom at the wake. Sat on the bath met, you had unleashed it all on him, and it had been one of the few genuine conversations you’d had with him in those first years. It had been a different kind of a struggle to his—it wasn’t actively inflicted by your parents, it wasn’t an intentional abuse like the kind he had experienced, but an enforced bystander effect—instead, you had had to stand at the sidelines as your mother collapsed in on herself, decaying before your eyes until you gave up and left. Half the world away, you had learned to understand those things, but now Roman had hints of it in him—he was barely even a bystander in his father’s death, but the grief and guilt were parallel.

This deal was his version of moving to NYC. An escape, an out.

You must drift off, because you open your eyes to the muffled chant; a meal fit for a king. Downstairs, you find them, concocting some awful smoothie, cackling like maniacs. As teenagers, it had been one of those games you’d played when their parents were away, seeing who could stomach the most awful of concoctions for trivial prizes and rewards—apparently this is similar, an initiation to a proper CEO position, on Kendall’s part. You make yourself known by handing Shiv a bottle of Tabasco, Kendall groaning and the other two cheering.

Caroline’s interruption only spurs it on, and by the time you’re heading back to bed, the smoothie having been dumped on Kendall’s head, a crown, you can barely stand you’re so tired.

Still vaguely unfamiliar, you wake up with Roman’s face pressed into your neck, his breath warm and ticklish on your skin, arm thrown over your waist and legs tangled together, a position that makes you think he really is comfortable with you, even if it’s taken a ridiculously long time to get here. You wonder if he can hear the air in your lungs or the blood in your arteries, or whether he notices the patter of your heart as you recognise this display of unconscious affection. Eventually, the rest of the building comes to life, and Roman wakes, moves from you with a sort of embarrassment, changing from his Walmart shirt into business attire. You wear the pantsuit you’d gotten with this board meeting in mind a while back, your office fashion being a slight point of pride—you weren’t the biggest fan of the drab stuff people usually wore, and liked to use interesting cuts and shapes to create range in the endless blouses and blazers and skirts and trousers of your work clothes. Subtle, but not boring.

Back in NYC, after a morning of calls and diplomacy and last minute bids for votes, you are greeted with a room full of people in expensive suits waiting and chattering anxiously as board members start to file in. You still don’t know how to vote, whether you’ll side with the siblings or not. Instead of stressing, you wrangle some gossip out of Stewy and do a shot in the bathroom. Zero hour.

With a pencil, you tally up each vote on a Post-It note stuck to the page of your notebook where you were planning to take notes, both Shiv, to your right, and Roman, to your left, glance at the tally every few seconds. You will be the last three votes.

When it reaches Roman’s turn, it is 6-4 toward the deal, he votes against and you are faced with a choice. If you vote for the deal, Shiv’s vote is purely nominal, and the deal will go through whether she likes it or not—you will be the decider; if you vote against, then it is an even 6-6 and she will cast the deciding vote. You look at the faces of each of the Roys, the children who have grown up to get to this moment. It feels ridiculous that it might be your choice. In the end, that is what makes you vote how you do—this is their livelihood more than it is yours, and you want Shiv to have the options in front of her—you can cope either way. So you vote against the deal—not for any loyalty to Kendall, but for one of your oldest friends, to give her some ounce of autonomy when you know that’s something that has been scarce in her life. Perhaps it's cruel to give her the choice between her brother and her husband, but, selfishly, you don’t want Roman to hate you.

“No, I vote against.” you eventually utter out, earning a triumphant nod from Kendall. Shiv glances at your tally, confirming the equal scores, confirming that it is her choice that makes or breaks the deal—literally.

And she breaks.

You see them, the Roy children, through the glass walls that separate the various conference rooms. You see the pain, the anger, the fear; it comes to a head, and all of the raw emotion of the last days is borne into the world, witnessed through the glass. You listen to Kendall’s rage, and for a minute you are a teenager, listening to one of Logan’s tantrums after one of Roman’s misdemeanours. For a minute, you realise how quickly Kendall turns into his father. For a minute, you feel your heart break on their behalf—at the end of the day, they are children, mourning for a father whose love was confusing and hateful.

The poison drips through.

You are your mother’s daughter, and he is his father’s son.

Afterwards, as you stand beside Shiv in a commemorative photograph, it is understood that there is no singular reason behind this. The freedom of her siblings; the power as the wife of a CEO, not the sister; the wishes of her late father; Kendall’s rage; Roman’s breakdown; the inevitable becoming of one’s own mother. When you and Roman leave, despite the knowledge that Roman is emotional and angry and probably confused by a sense of relief, you resolve that you will call her in the morning. You’ll make your exit as quietly as you can, but you will try to book Saturday morning brunches with her like you used to when you were in your early twenties. You’ll text Rava a little more, and try to create some positive influences in the next generations of Roy children.

You think of your parents. Of Logan, of Caroline, of your own siblings and your own childhood. The poison drips through. What if it doesn’t have to?

[gatitties]

oo i'm glad that you do ! Then may i request him, Chifu, Baji ( seperated i guess ) with the Autistic ADHD reader thing ? Like reader is the Toman first division friend and also. Thank you

Secondly may i ask if requesting a similiar requests bothers you ?

─Ryusei, Chifuyu & Baji (separately) x autistic/adhd!reader

─Summary: your day to day with three big idiots and your little condition

─Warnings: none

Of course I don't mind, request whatever you want! ;)

Ryusei Satou

─ He probably met you while you were beating up some idiots who were bothering you.

─ You had many relaxation methods when your mind was overwhelmed in some situations, but that day you found your fists useful.

─ It's probably his fault that you're now in the first division of Toman, even if you don't like getting involved in physical fights at such a level, at least you had Ryusei covering your back.

─ He's not worried about your condition, they are just more reasons to play little jokes or make fun of you, if you have a habit of arranging objects in a certain position he will move them from one place just to annoy you.

─ Even though he brings you back to the real world when you start staying silent for too long, he knows it's not good to spend so much time lost in your mind.

─ Whenever he can, he makes jokes about your poor concentration.

─ He has one of these small sensory pieces on his key chain to lend you in case you feel too anxious or overloaded with the atmosphere of the place.

─ He likes to make fun of you because he's your friend, but if some other idiot with intent to offend you does it he'll beat them up before you know it.

─ He is the typical friend who will never show his feelings directly but who will always be there for whatever you need, instead of greeting you with a handshake or a hug, he hits you on the shoulder.

─ He will definitely laugh at you if you stumble on the street while your mind was wandering on different topics, also rest assured that he will have a folder full of videos of you saying a lot of nonsense in your moments of lucidity that make him cry with laughter.

Chifuyu Matsuno

─ You met him during classes, in his bully days, with his great pompadour.

─ He got mad at you because you simply commented out loud that his hair looked ugly like that, just your mouth ignoring your mind and letting your thoughts escape once more...

─ They punished you two for arguing in class and from there a beautiful friendship arose, he began to be your personal bully for those people who made fun of you for your condition, although he discovered that you didn't need anyone and offered you to join Toman with him.

─ He brings you back to your senses when you dissociate too much, he helps you most of the time with your concentration problems, he respects your little hobbies or routines a lot.

─ As if you needed to tidy up your desk a certain way and some idiot would mess it up to bother you (probably Ryusei) and he would rearrange it so you wouldn't be bothered by 'clutter'.

─ If you call at three in the morning because you just had a nervous breakdown or started to overthink a lot, Chifuyu will be there just five minutes later without hanging up the call.

─ If necessary he will call the reinforcements, that is, Peke J, to help you relax.

─ He will be patient when you can't express yourself correctly with words, don't stress about it, he can always find another way to understand you.

─ Which leads you both to create a small sign language that only both of you understand, can understand you with just a look, that and he began to notice your manias when you felt anxious or uncomfortable to get you out of the situation.

─ Type of friend you can count on for everything, good or bad, and with whom you spend more time in his house just for his pet.

Baji Keisuke

─ You were neighbors, at first he didn't like you because you seemed weird, but his mother forced him to hang out with you.

─ At first he was very hard on you, but as time went by the jokes or offensive comments decreased, he did a lot of research on your ADHD and how to deal with it, after all he had become fond of you.

─ He apologized for being an idiot, you forgave him because you were just children, although he continues to make fun of you, it's much more different.

─ Surely it was he who dragged you to be part of Toman, whether you like to fight or not, you were part of the first division next to him, you were also friends with Mikey so there was no discussion.

─ He'll definitely hit you with his rubber band when you start to disassociate, he'll slingshot it straight in your face, never misses.

─ You don't have enough with your intrusive thoughts and this idiot will drag you down the worst path to do all kinds of stupid things that float through your mind, he's like the devil on your shoulder.

─ He doesn't mind listening to how you ramble on different topics that you exchange from one minute to the next, twisting the conversation into a thousand other things.

─ Baji may not know how to write, but he is very astute when it comes to noticing things, he will get ofensive around other people if he notices your discomfort with them.

─ He will turn your house into a second 'sanctuary' for stray cats, you can't complain either because many times having kittens running around your room makes you relax, empty mind, only cute animals.

─ The typical friend who doesn't stop calling you 'bro' and makes you remember a specific greeting to greet you, although he won't say anything if you forget or change something in that handshake.

[littlemisspascal]

Bitter Ends Turn Sweet in Time

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Word Count: 7k+

Summary: There’s not a single day in a whole year that isn’t bookmarked by a memory of him. And you, you remember all of them.

Rating: T

Warnings: Pokémon au (but not 100% true to canon, just elements + some characters), time skips in non-linear manner, fluff, angst, bittersweet ending, storms, language, Reader and Frankie are same age + grow up together, high school au ish(?), inspired by 500 Days of Summer + Song of Achilles' 'name one hero who was happy' scene + this quote by photographer David Alan Harvey:

"Don't shoot what it looks like. Shoot what it feels like."

- Reader has no official name and no physical traits described in detail. However, she is mentioned to have hair, a career, wear a dress (no description), and eat sandwiches

Author Note: I've been wanting to write a Pokémon au for a long, long, long time and I've also been wanting to write a non-linear fic for a long, long, long time as well so this is the result of both those wants combining forces *awkwardly throws it into the universe* It is what it is.

-- all moodboard photos found on pinterest

-- shinx, luxio, luxray // pikachu photo references

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me through my breakdowns 💜

Day 1,695

Luxray’s a silent wall of black and blue fur for your body to brace against as the sky bleeds a deep shade of orange, and you know he knows. Doesn’t even have to use his x-ray vision to confirm what’s etched into every line of your expression. Anguish—when it’s real and unbearable and deeply-rooted—is impossible to hide. Everyone who looks at you will know. 

Everyone except the one pair of brown eyes that’ll never look your way again.

“I’m such an idiot,” you say quietly, and it’s embarrassing how thick the lump of emotion is lodged in your throat. You wipe at your nose with your sleeve. “So damn stupid.”

Luxray lets out a low growl, chiding in nature, as if to say don’t talk shit about yourself. 

“He was never going to stay,” you continue, ignoring the vibration rattling your bones. “But I got my hopes up anyways. What we’ve accomplished these last few weeks together, I thought there was a chance…a slim one, you know? That maybe–maybe we could actually stick together this time.”

And you don’t realize you’re crying until Luxray’s twisting his head to nuzzle against your temple, encouraging you to bury your face into the thick fur along his chest and shoulders. With your eyes squeezed shut, you can almost block out the all-encompassing numbness emanating from the cavity your heart used to reside in.

“He’s gone…” you choke out through sobs, grabbing fistfuls of Luxray’s inky black mane. “And I think it’s permanent this time.”

Day 1

The first day of classes at Uva Academy is a whirlwind of meeting teachers, racing from one floor to the next against the clock, and making sure you never lose track of Shinx in the chaos of it all, but when the last bell finally rings, you feel no sting of regret about coming here. 

You split a sandwich with Shinx underneath a tree in the school courtyard, brain buzzing with the overload of information absorbed throughout the day. Maybe signing up for a full schedule of classes was a bit excessive, but unlike most of your fellow students who have some semblance of a plan for their futures your next steps are plagued with uncertainty. There are so many paths one can take with their Pokémon—the course of a Trainer, a Coordinator, a Professor, a Ranger, the list goes on and on—you don’t know which direction to take.

When you lock eyes with a boy with brown eyes across the yard, there’s nothing special about the moment. No sparks, no forgetting how to breathe. He’s just a boy with a Pikachu on his shoulder and a dimpled grin on his face.

“I saw you in Mr. Jacq’s class,” he says in lieu of a greeting when he draws closer, purple Academy tie loose and crooked around his neck. Recognition stirs in the back of your mind, a flash of dark brown curls towards the back of the room spotted before taking your seat at the front. 

Actually, now that you think about it…

“Weren’t you in Ms. Dendra’s class too?” you wonder, passing the last bite of sandwich to Shinx, his little body wiggling eagerly. “And Ms. Raifort’s…?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I don’t really know what I want to do yet.” He scuffs at the ground with his shoe, grin turning a bit crooked at the corner, strangely endearing in its awkwardness. “I figure life’s short, you know? Why not try as many things as you can when you have the chance?”

“Right,” you agree, finding yourself smiling back. “Nothing wrong with making memories.”

"I'm Frankie, by the way."

“Nice to meet you Frankie,” you say, shaking his hand. It’s warm in your grip, firm and secure, thumb grazing over your knuckles. “Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

And so it starts after that—the counting of days. Days when you see him in class, when he smiles at you, when he does homework with you in the library, when he and Pikachu have a battle against you and Shinx–winner buys lunch. It’s a subconscious quirk you keep to yourself. Even after he’s gone, chasing after legends to the far corners of the earth, you still continue counting days.

Days when he crosses your mind. Days when you leave the door unlocked in case he stops by. Days when you swear you catch a whiff of his citrus shampoo on the pillowcase despite the impossibility of it.

There’s not a single day in a whole year that isn’t bookmarked by a memory of him. And you, you remember all of them.

Day 183

“I want my name in one of these books,” he tells you, Ms. Raifort’s assigned reading on the lost explorers of Area Zero spread out in front of him.

You look up from the text, fatalities and disaster and other sharp words with teeth still swimming in your head. “It won’t be easy.”

You’ve only known him six months—long enough to be certain you’ll never meet anyone else like him, but too short to realize the hidden depths of his stubborn ambition.

“No,” he agrees, mouth curling up at the corner, “but it’ll be one hell of a story.”

Day 8

The air is heavy with the sharp, pungent scent of ozone as thunder rumbles overhead. You take in the ominous black clouds, adjusting the hood of your yellow coat to better defend your hair against the pattering raindrops. Doesn’t do much to ward off the chill of the wind though.

Shinx is darting about the meadow in zigzagging lines, wet to the bone and having a blast. Pikachu follows at his heels, electricity sparking from the red circles of her cheeks before fizzling out harmlessly. If there’s any rules to this game they’re playing, you haven’t a clue. Still, their obvious excitement over the weather has you smiling despite the numbness of your toes in soggy shoes.

To your left, Frankie watches the pair of Pokémon nimbly leap over a puddle, studying their graceful movements. His dark hair is flattened against his head, curls beaten into submission, but there’s something in his eyes, a sort of wistfulness that snags your attention like a moth to a flame. 

A bolt of lightning burns a gleaming white strip across the gloomy sky, halting Shinx and Pikachu’s play as they elicit squeaks of awe, but you can’t stop looking at Frankie. He’s grinning now, a wide and ecstatic thing with his head tipped back, rain streaming down his face.

“Amazing, isn’t it? Seeing one of nature’s tantrums,” he says, voice low and wonderstruck. “My mother always said it takes someone extra special to train those who can summon such raw, uncontrollable power on cue.”

You’ve never thought of yourself as someone unusual or remarkable. Looking at him though, soaked and shivering and absolutely beaming, you think if anyone’s extra special in this world it’s him.

Day 1,987

It’s a long time before you can look through photos of him without a wound violently tearing open in your chest. Longer still before you can hear his voice on the phone. He calls more often these days, mostly because you’re knee-deep in another mystery and only a little because he misses you, and that’s okay. You can smile at his jokes and it feels real. You can love him and know better than to be in love with him.

You stay busy. You photograph every inch of the nature park on Florio, even convince Professor Mirror to let you take the NEO-ONE to some of Lental’s other islands for further research. You spend hours clicking through photos on your computer, frowning at blurry ones, printing some out for the Professor to take a closer look at as well as a few for your own personal collection of albums. 

Your coworker isn’t an intimidating figure by any means, but something about watching him study and scrutinize your pictures never fails to make your hands shake and feet shuffle. Even after all these months, practically living inside each other’s pockets at the Laboratory of Ecology and Natural Sciences (or L.E.N.S. as the Professor affectionately calls it), studying the Illumina phenomenon and all its effects, there’s a part of you still terrified it could all come crashing down.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Professor Mirror tells you, glaring disapprovingly over the frames of his glasses. It’s not the first time you’ve heard that remark and it won’t be the last either. 

“More analyzing the photos and less analyzing me please,” you reply, nodding your head at the small stack in his hands.

He grumbles under his breath, but resumes evaluating the latest shots of your walk along Blushing Beach. There are Wingulls performing loops in the air, an Exeggutor snoozing beneath a palm tree, the splashings of a pair of Corsola playing in the waves. Luxray looking at the contents of a tide pool. A Pikachu eating a fluffruit after you’d scared her by your loud gasp, mistaking her for another of her kind. You don’t mention that tidbit to your coworker though.

That should be the last one, except then Professor Mirror’s letting out a surprised little hum, holding up a photo you never intended anyone else to ever see. Not even the subject. Especially not the subject.

It’s from your sophomore year at Uva Academy. You would call the picture ugly, edges a bit hazy due to your unsteady hands, still learning the tips and tricks of photography, except it’s Frankie. And he’s looking at you behind the lens with a fondness so sweet it makes your teeth hurt, holding a newly evolved Luxio to his chest, with windswept curls your fingers will always long to tame. 

You should’ve thrown it out a long time ago. The man in the photo isn’t the same man who will call you later tonight from half a world away just to ask how your day went and if you’re willing to admit you need his help with the Illumina project. But you’ve always been too sentimental for your own good, holding onto things until there are only scraps left, slipping through the gaps of your fingers. 

At the very least, you shouldn’t have reorganized your albums so close to your work station.

After what feels like the longest stretch of silence of your life, Professor Mirror finally says, carefully neutral as if wary of provoking a negative reaction, “Someone special, I presume?”

“It’s complicated,” is all you offer in response, snatching the picture back and telling yourself the ache behind your ribcage is a side effect of a papercut.

Day 389

Uva Academy teaches you battle strategies, the effects of Berries and how to better understand your Pokémon amongst other vital lessons to prepare students for a career outside the ancient brick walls and dorm rooms. 

It’s Frankie who teaches you how to find beauty in thunderstorms, how to enjoy each day like it’s your last, how to dream a little bit bigger, a little bit bolder—or maybe that’s something you teach each other. 

On the weekends you head into the city center together, trying different eateries and watching fellow students challenge each other on the plaza battle court. Afterwards you’ll walk along the cobblestone streets side by side, sometimes discussing classwork or pointing out items in shop windows, but usually the time is spent in companionable silence. Just sharing the same space.

You buy your first camera acting on pure impulse, drawn to it inexplicably and handing over money to the salesman in a matter of minutes. It fits in the palm of your hand, heavy and solid, buttons and knobs staring back at you, waiting to be pressed and manipulated. For the first ten or so minutes of ownership, you simply hold onto the device, studying its shape, its lens, fingertips running over the bumps and grooves.

“Well?” Frankie prompts, gentle voice breaking the silence, brown eyes flicking between your face and the camera. Pikachu echoes the question with a tiny pika?, sensing the fragility of the moment. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you answer, shoulders curling with self-consciousness. At your feet, Shinx sits on your shoe and rubs his cheek against your leg comfortingly.

“Well,” he hums, a teasing smile growing on his lips as he presses a button. “Maybe start with turning it on first.”

“Shut up.” You swat at him, but there’s no real heat. “I meant, I don’t know what to take a photo of.”

“It doesn’t matter what the sight is,” Frankie tells you, grabbing hold of your hands and raising them up until the camera’s in front of your face. He steps back and you peek at him through the viewfinder, watching as he spreads his arms out wide with Pikachu still happily perched on his shoulder. “What’s important is how it makes you feel.”

You take a breath, taking a moment to hold the shutter button until it focuses, and then take the photo. No count down, no say cheese!—you simply heed his advice, focusing on how it makes you feel.

The preview screen asks if you’d like to keep the picture or delete it. Your thumb hovers over the buttons.

Focused on the way Frankie’s hair has a golden aura in the light, how Pikachu’s nose scrunches when she’s grinning, you nearly jump out of your skin when he’s suddenly at your side again, wondering, “What do I make you feel, shutterbug?”

Like I’m falling and flying at the same time, you think, quick and startling. A bolt of lightning amongst storm clouds.

You press save.

“Like spending a hundred bucks wasn’t a total mistake.”

Day 448

You take a seat in the cafeteria across from Yovanna and her Sylveon. You’re lucky she shares the same lunch hour as you. Even more lucky she likes you enough to also share her space. Her knack for securing a table each day despite the scrambling rush of hungry students is a gift from the gods. Or maybe it’s a perk of being the president of the Academy’s student council.

“You haven’t stopped smiling for days.” She points with her fork at your grin, a giddy, bubbly thing not even Ms. Tyme’s pop quiz last period could stifle. “Spill it. Who’re you crushing on? Is he a student here? You got a picture?”

“Not with me.” It’s a lie, ever since you bought your camera it’s been glued to your person and there’s always at least one picture of him stored within the device’s gallery of Luxio shots and library aesthetic and other things that make you happy. “He is a student here though.”

Yovanna drops her fork onto her plate, jostling the pieces of fruit waiting to be eaten. Sylveon catches a flying strawberry midair by jumping in her seat and landing neatly on four paws like it’s a regular trick to perform. “Shut up. It’s him, isn’t it?”

You feed Luxio a pickle off your sandwich, neither confirming nor denying.

But your grin does get a little bit impossibly wider.

“Aw man, I owe Santi twenty bucks now.”

Your eyes narrow shrewdly. “Did you seriously make a bet?”

“You two are joined at the hip, of course I did.” Yovanna leans back in her chair, arms behind her head, not a single hint of shame for her actions. “Santi said you’d realize you had feelings for him before winter break. I thought it’d take you until the end of the semester ‘cause you’ve got the self-awareness of a piece of concrete most days.”

“Rude.” She dodges the crumpled napkin you toss at her with a laugh.

“Hey, this is a good development. Now you just gotta keep the momentum going and tell him how you feel. You’re perfect for each other.”

Tucking back into her meal, she misses the brief slip in your smile.

“Yeah.”

Day 8

Ms. Dendra is the only teacher without a classroom, preferring to use the battlefield in the middle of the courtyard for her lessons rather than a whiteboard. She weaves along the line of students with her Medicham, offering suggestions and correcting forms to make the most out of their Pokémons’ moves. You keep one eye on her drawing steadily closer and one on Shinx pawing at the ground, charging up electricity in his forelegs. He still hasn’t mastered thunder shock yet, maybe Ms. Dendra can–

“Storm’s coming tonight,” a voice drawls behind you, a curious blend of casual and enthusiastic.

You turn around, finding Frankie standing there looking up at the sky. The dark gray clouds do seem indicative of bad weather, now that he’s mentioned it. Rain is definitely on its way. 

And then he asks, a little sudden, “You ever seen one up close?”

A strange question. Still, you think about it, searching your childhood. All you remember are memories of cowering under the blankets in your bed and playing in puddles the next morning when the monstrous rumbling and harsh flashes had long passed. You’ve seen rain up close, felt the drops on your skin, inhaled the scent of petrichor deep into your lungs. But storms? 

“No,” you shake your head, shivering as the temperature seems to drop. “Never.”

He hums, a bland note that could mean anything. At your feet, Shinx and Pikachu sit and stare at each other, little sparks of blue and yellow static crackling in the air between them like morse code. 

“No wonder you’re having trouble with your partner. Can’t teach him about electricity when you’ve never seen it in action.”

“That’s not how training works,” you retort defensively. “Also storms aren’t exactly harmless, in case you forgot. They’re loud and dangerous and—”

“Beautiful,” Frankie cuts in with such firm conviction you reel back in surprise. “Absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful.” A pause follows, and you hate the smirk that grows on his face, how it taunts you, how it makes his eyes glitter with mischief. “Or maybe not. I could be lying. Only one way to find out for sure.” 

A raindrop lands on your cheek. Then another on your arm. And another on your nose. It’s pouring now. Students are complaining about their lesson being interrupted and Ms. Dendra’s shouting for everyone to head back inside. Through it all your eyes remain locked in an intense staring match, neither one willing to surrender.

“Fine,” you reply with a sharp jerk of your chin. “Show me.”

Day 1,448

Your internship with Professor Oak is—good. It’s the start of a brand new chapter in your life, except the last chapter ended on a terrible note and the upcoming pages are terrifyingly blank if you fail to impress your new boss, so. Yeah.

You get along with the Professor’s other intern, a local boy named Will. He teaches you how to drive the ZERO-ONE around the sanctuary. You spend hours out on the trails, memorizing everything about the wild Pokémon who call the island home. You enjoy the assignments Professor Oak gives you, staying busy, filling up albums with photos and journals with research notes. 

But when it’s quiet, when you’re staring up at the ceiling waiting for sleep to come…you’ve never felt more lonely in your life. Even with Luxray within reach, loyal and constant, there’s a persistent ache you can’t shake. A loose thread dangling in your mind, tormenting you, and you know if you were to tug on it exactly where it would lead.

Everything leads back to him.

Frankie hasn’t tried to call you. Hasn’t had any contact with you since graduation. Not even a postcard from whatever corner of the world he’s trying to accomplish his dreams. 

You haven’t tried to call him either. And yes, it’s true communication is a two-way street, but he’s the one who left and took your heart with him. Why should you give him more of yourself? You hate yourself for even contemplating picking up the phone.

You hate yourself even more for wondering what your relationship would’ve been like if you’d gone with him. If it’d hurt less to just have stayed friends. If you’d been better off never knowing him at all. If, if, if…

Day 485

The problem is, you think your feelings for Frankie are just a little bit stronger than a crush. You’re pretty sure you’re in love with him. Or at least halfway there. 

As much as you hate to admit it, Yovanna wasn’t wrong saying you have the self-awareness of a piece of cement. You don’t know for certain if the fluttery Butterfree sensation in your stomach or galloping heartbeat whenever Frankie smiles at you is love. But you are certain he’s gotten under your skin, triggering as many irritations as he is encouraging new ways of growth. You’re a better person, you think, simply by knowing him.

You also think it’s actually kind of scary to imagine something so strong and life-transforming could be anything else but love. Regardless, you hope it stays with you forever. This precious, nameless thing.

It won’t be until many days later—until you know what it’s like to kiss him, and hold his face between your palms, the heat of his breath tingling against your skin; until he’s fluent in myths and legends and fables, swearing he’ll be the one to make them truths and facts and verities; until you can’t picture a future without him in it, not a happy one, at least—you’ll realize you do love him. And he loves you, too, as it turns out.

But nothing lasts forever. Someone’s always got to be the first to let go. 

Day 1,375

You receive an offer for an internship with Professor Oak in Pallet Town to help him complete his Pokémon Report by taking photos on a nearby island sanctuary. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime to work with such an esteemed researcher, but thinking about graduation creeping up, about leaving behind this realm of familiarity now that you’ve learned everything Uva Academy has to teach, it’s—moving forward is harder than you anticipate.

It doesn’t help that Frankie's becoming more and more restless, unable to stand still as if it physically pains him to do so. No matter how many walks around the city, how many storms chased after, he’s always looking out towards the horizon, aura so thick with discontentment it’s as if he’s physically cloaked in it. 

Lately the only moments he seems to settle within his own skin are when he’s talking with Ms. Raifort, discussing ancient prophecies and ruins scattered around the globe. You don’t understand it, his passionate fascination–no, obsession with mythology. Why not let sleeping dogs lie? 

Frankie won’t talk to you about the future, evading the topic like a cunning Nickit. Still you cling to his hand, to hope, to the belief love conquers all, until the morning of graduation he comes to your dorm room and stares over your shoulder rather than meet your gaze. Even Pikachu hides her face in his curls, ears lowered despondently.

You let him in, the beginnings of dread stirring in your stomach, sensing whatever he’s got to say will have irreparable consequences.

“Did you have breakfast yet?” You gesture towards the kitchen, an unspoken can this wait? laced within the question.

“Not feeling very hungry today,” he answers, glancing about the room aimlessly. No, it can’t.

“That’s a first.” You take a seat on the sofa next to Luxray, grounding yourself by stroking a hand along his back. “You gonna tell me what’s on your mind or are you gonna make me guess?”

At that, Frankie finally turns to you, and his torn expression fractures something delicate inside of you, coldness flooding your lungs.

“I’ve been thinking. About us.”

“What about us?”

“I love you.” There’s no sweetness to the words. No tenderness. They are words of blood, of pain, scraping against his throat on their way out. “I’ve loved you from day one and I’ll love you ten thousand more. But what I want, what you want—it’s not the same thing. And it’s only going to hurt the longer we keep pretending otherwise.”

“Stop, please don’t—” your voice cracks, the cold gripping your heart now. Please don’t say it. Please don’t do this. “We’re—we’re good together. You know we are.”

“We were,” he amends, voice so unbearably gentle it’s a jagged blade against your soul. “We were so good. But we’re not ready for what comes next. We’ve become thunder and lightning, one ahead of the other. Our timing is off, shutterbug.”

Day 765

It’s drizzling a little when you return to campus. You shiver in your wet dress, grimacing as you accidentally step in a puddle, thoroughly soaking your flats and bare feet. Hopefully you won’t slip on the stairs and break your neck. That’d be the cherry on top of this disappointing evening.

You just want to shower, put on your comfiest pajamas, and fall asleep as fast as possible. 

Except when you reach your floor there’s a figure curled up on the floor outside your door, fast asleep with a snoring Pikachu curled on his chest.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” You nudge at Frankie’s knee with your wet shoe, raising an eyebrow at him as he jerks awake, blinking rapidly. “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, you’re back,” he says through a yawn, stretching his arms over his head. Pikachu grunts, displeased at the movement and sounds, and stubbornly curls into a tighter ball, forcing him to cradle her in the nook of his arm as he stands up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just–I wanted to make sure you got back from your date okay. How did it go?”

Your date, Tom, is in Mr. Hassel’s art class with you. He invited you to see a new photography exhibit at the city’s museum. He was nice, if a little overzealous, and seeing lovely displays of art  seemed like a better way to spend the evening instead of once again hopelessly pining over your best friend. So, you’d said yes, changed into a nice dress, and swore off any and all yearning.

Except that’s exactly what you ended up doing anyways. 

Every time a photo left you breathless, you’d instinctively turn to look for brown eyes that weren’t there. Every joke Tom made you’d compare it to one of Frankie’s. Throughout the entire evening, you couldn’t stop your thoughts drifting back towards the Academy, wondering what he was doing.

You weren’t surprised Tom cut the date short, correctly sensing your heart just wasn’t into it. Still stung a bit though watching him leave you behind to join up with some other classmates hanging out in the plaza.

“Poorly,” you answer with a slight grimace.

“Oh.” Frankie blinks, looking at a loss for additional words. He’s wearing the hoodie he got from his trip to Montenevera over the holiday break and sweatpants, warm and rumpled and cozy, a complete contrast to your entire wardrobe. “Did he–did he hurt you? Because if he did anything inappropriate, I swear–”

“What? No, no, nothing like that happened.” You shake your head, ignoring the flutter of your heartbeat, touched at his protectiveness. He’s still staring at you, and you know he’s not going to let this slide under the rug. “Relax, tough guy. Tom was fine. I was the problem.”

“Tauros shit,” he immediately rejects the notion. “You could never be a problem.”

The hallway feels too hot all of the sudden despite the icy raindrops still clinging to your skin. “That’s sweet,” you say, trying to flash a grin except the muscles in your face refuse to cooperate. It feels stiff. Forced. “You say that to all the girls?”

His mouth tugs upwards into a smile, dimpled and boyish. “Once or twice,” he says, “but I only mean it with you.”

It’s dangerous and stupid to get your hopes up, but there’s something about the quietness, something about his brown eyes and his nearness, that makes you take a leap of faith. Makes you think screw it and reach for his free hand, lacing your fingers together.

“I was the problem,” you tell him softly, watching his expression sober, “because I kept looking for you.”

Silence follows, interrupted by a quiet snore from Pikachu. 

Then, just as softly, Frankie says for a second time, “Oh.”

You swallow, feeling like you can’t breathe. “Yeah.”

“Silly girl, you didn’t need to look.” He squeezes your hand, leans in just enough to bump his nose against yours. “I’ve always been here.”

Day 1,375

Later, you won’t remember the particulars of how the rest of the conversation played out. There are words, so many words. Angry and inconsolable, spat out through clenched teeth and pleaded with numb lips. Tears, too. So many damn tears it’s a wonder you don’t drown yourself.

You will remember how he looks at you though. Brown eyes deep and golden, reflecting the morning light streaming through the window. He’s beautiful, and you think that’s the final straw of it all, the definitive proof that even as he’s ripping out your heart you will never feel anything less for him than love. 

No passage of time or miles of distance will ever change that. You know this like you know the sun will rise tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after that. 

Still, this certainty doesn’t stitch up the gaping, bleeding hole in your sternum.

No, that self-healing won’t begin until many, many days later.

Day 610 

In another life, if you hadn’t discovered your love of photography, you think you would have been a great astronomer. You know each of the constellations’ names, the best times during the year to spot them, even the tales assigned to them.

Tonight, the night sky is full of stars in every direction you look, not even the distant city lights strong enough to overpower their shine. You lie on your back in the soft meadow grass, hands resting on your stomach, the scent of wildflowers as thick in the air as the fireflies Luxio and Pikachu chase after. To your left, he mimics your pose, except he’s got an arm pillowed under his head, silent except for his breathing.

“There’s Kingler, cursed to hold up his heavy claw for eternity,” you say eventually, raising a hand to trace the starry outline with your fingertip. “Cubone’s next to him, forever mourning his mother.”

He remains silent. You turn your head to look at him, discovering he is deeply absorbed in his thoughts. Physically, you could easily reach out for his hand, but the blankness in his eyes suggests internally he’s half a world away. Somewhere you can’t follow. An irrational spark of jealousy burns hot in your veins, upset your presence isn’t enough of an anchor to keep him locked in the present moment.

You emit a quiet sigh, mentally rolling your eyes at your own childishness, and start to turn back to the sky when his voice catches you off guard, asking, “You ever notice they’re all tragedies?”

“Huh?”

“The myths behind the constellations.” He looks at you then, eyes dim with an emotion you can’t recognize. “Can you name one with a happy ending?”

You think about Pinsir, exiled due to his uncontrollable rage; Koffing, releasing toxic gases as he dies; Dugtrio, punished by an angry Groudon for gouging too many holes in the earth. The list grows longer, the tales grow sadder.

“No,” you say at last. “I guess not.”

He shrugs a shoulder, like it’s nothing, like his next words aren’t going to hurt something fierce. “That’s because happy endings are the biggest myth of all.”

Day 1,375

He kisses you. It is perfect and excruciating all at once. His hand is cupping your cheek, and his touch is so tender and intimately familiar you can’t stop yourself from indulging and it’s cruel of him to leave you like this. Shattered and wanting. Falling and flying.

But when Frankie’s right, he’s right.

This split in your paths has been a long time coming. You’d just refused to read the writing on the wall, content to keep counting the days, pretending the number would stretch on into infinity.

Infinity is just another word for forever though.

And there’s truth in that old saying: when you love someone—

“I love you,” he says again at the door. His eyes drift over your face, as if memorizing every detail. “And I’m proud of you. Remember that.” There’s the briefest of glimpses of tears in his eyes before he’s wrapping you in a hug, so tight your ribs painfully protest. You savor every second of it. “This isn’t the last of us. We’ll meet again, I swear it. One day, shutterbug.”

—you let them go.

Day 1,669

You’ve been dreading his arrival, dreading how he might look at you. What might be different. What, if anything, might be the same. 

All communication thus far has been directly with Professor Oak. You haven’t heard a single peep even though your number’s stayed the same. Even though you know he knows you’re here. 

Luxray stays close as the hour draws closer, trying to soothe your nervous energy. You stroke his mane, eyes flicking between your computer, the window, and then back again. The cursor blinks on the screen, waiting for you to finish adding the last details to the report you’ve been developing on the Pokémon signs you and Will discovered. Bizarre occurrences where the environment manifests the likeness of specific Pokémon—always the same ones in the same places. But why they existed and what they meant remained unsolved mysteries robbing you of sleep.

It had been the Professor's idea to invite another set of eyes to examine the clues after months of no solid progress. For every one step made forward it felt like the universe would shove you five steps backwards, the hidden connection remaining just out of your reach.

If you had known Professor Oak and Ms. Raifort were old friends, that she would’ve recommended her favorite pupil…well, you’re not sure if anything would’ve really changed. What fate wants, fate gets one way or another.

Frankie arrives at eventide, bringing the warmth of the fading sun into the lab with him. He looks…unchanged. Maybe a little broader, thicker with muscle from his journeys. But still familiar in all the ways that matter. You wonder if the same can be said for yourself. 

He’s looking at you, and it’s—it’s less painful than you expected. No tight band wrapped around your middle, no spontaneous bursting of tears. He’s just a man with a Pikachu on his shoulder and a dimpled grin on his face.

“Hey shutterbug,” he says, and it feels abruptly like slow motion, like you’re watching through someone else’s eyes as he comes closer, closer, closer and pulls you into a tight embrace. His arms are just as strong as you remember them, memories of graduation screaming in the back of your mind and you’re in your dorm room again watching him walk out of your life with your heart in tow.

You want to…

(kiss him, hit him, hold him, scream at him)

You want too many things.

“Hey,” you echo lamely as he pulls back. If Frankie hears the faintest of quivers in your voice, he thankfully doesn’t show a sign of it. You shoot a small grin at Pikachu, mouth stretching wider when she returns it with a cheerful pika pi, waving her paw. “Ready to help solve a mystery?”

“I always wanted to make history.” He’s smirking that same damn smirk, an intense pang of nostalgia striking you. Your fingers twitch, wishing you had your camera. “But I think it’s better this way, yeah?”

“What way?”

Distantly, you’re aware of Professor Oak and Will watching the conversation ping-ponging back and forth, both smart enough to pick up on the unspoken something between you and Frankie. 

“Making history together,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “We make a good team, you and I.”

The words bounce around inside your head for a moment. A good team. Is that all we are? is what you want to ask, but the answer’s a double-edged sword shoved between your ribs no matter how he phrases it. 

So you swallow the question down and bury it. 

“C’mon,” you gesture towards your computer, “I’ll show you what we’ve got so far.”

Day 128

Winter sweeps in, all frigid winds and frosted windows. Together you stay at the Academy during the holiday break. It’s days of no homework, snowball fights, and parka coats. Nights spent by the fireplace, hot chocolates topped with whipped cream, wishing you could bottle these memories in a jar and keep them on a shelf.

If Frankie knew about it, he would say Jirachi heard your wish, but it’s your opinion that fate’s just got a funny sense of humor. Either way, a few years down the line you’ll have the collection of memories you desired, almost all of them starring him. They won’t be kept in fragile jars, but in captured photographs unaffected by the withering flow of time. Little glimpses of a happy life, and how much you've lost.

Day 2,000 

You kiss Frankie on the front deck of the L.E.N.S. the night before he’s scheduled to leave. It’s stupid and impulsive, but he’s just right there in front of you, bathed in starlight and high off the elation that comes with solving another Pokémon mystery, further securing his place amongst the pages of historic exploration, a legend in his own lifetime, and there’s no thoughts in your head so—you kiss him. 

It isn’t your first kiss, but it feels like something new. He’s got stubble now, you’re wearing a lab coat—little details of proof you’re far from the kids you used to be. He smells the same though, like coffee and evergreens and fresh rain. The quiet, awed exhale of your name, like you’re something wonderful, something mythical come true, is the same too. 

And for the briefest of moments, you can almost imagine you’re together again.

But in the end it’s just a kiss, not a time machine. 

Day 1,762

“For someone with a new career, you don’t look very excited,” Will says, knocking his shoulder against yours good-naturedly. You try to summon up a smile, but it isn’t fooling anyone.

Professor Oak’s treating you both to a fancy dinner at a restaurant you can’t pronounce the name of, celebrating the news of your new job as an official field research photographer working alongside Professor Mirror in Florio. It’s an amazing step forward, resulting from the success of the Rainbow Cloud discovery with Frankie, certain to give your name another added boost of recognition in the photography community. 

“I am,” you say, remembering how you’d nearly passed out when you received the offer. Another attempt at a grin yields better results. “It’s gonna be great.”

Will tilts his head, a knowing look in his eyes. “You’re thinking about him. Again.”

“Not intentionally.” Your lips curl into a rueful grimace, fingers twisting together in your lap. “He just…never leaves my thoughts.”

Frankie told you before he left he didn’t have a home, not anymore, too much of a restless spirit to stay in one place. You wonder if his answer would be different, if he knew it’s been 1,762 days and every one of them he’s spent occupying your head.

“Even when he’s gone and left you behind?” From anyone else, the question would’ve been harsh, but your friend’s eyes are kind, full of empathy. 

There’s a second where you contemplate lying, but you can’t. Not to him, and not to yourself.

“Especially then.”

Day 2,000

“Sorry.” It comes out of your mouth stilted—not because you don’t mean it, but because your heart’s beating like a thunderstorm. A wildness you haven’t felt in years.

“I’ve never needed an apology from you.” Frankie looks at you softly, the brown of his eyes getting lost in the dark. “Two thousand. Can you believe it? Seems like just yesterday I watched you walk into class.”

You forget sometimes that he’s the sentimental type too when it comes to those he cares about. It’s why he doesn’t give Pikachu a Thunderstone, and why he only knows how to play one song on a guitar, his mother’s favorite. How sweet it is, to learn he must care about you to keep count, maybe even love you a little bit still.

“Frankie,” you start, dropping your forehead onto his shoulder. His nearness is a comfort as much as it is a distraction, but this conversation is long overdue by hundreds of days. “What are we?”

“You tell me.” A hand comes to rest on your waist, a searing brand through the fabric of your clothes. “What do you want us to be?”

You think about the question for a long moment, wondering what words pack enough meaning to give the answer it deserves.

What you want is another storm to chase, another constellation to trace. What you want is for your hands to brush during walks, never having to hear his voice on the end of a phone again because he’s right there by your side. What you want is everything that once was to align in perfect harmony with the immediate now.

“I want us to be together.”

“We are.”

“No, we’re not,” you murmur, staring down at the mud stains on his boots. 

“Listen, shutterbug,” his hands move to your head, one tilting up your chin and the other gently palming your neck, forcing you to meet his gaze, “a lot can happen in two thousand days–”

“I know, I know.”

His fingers spasm, like he’s resisting the urge to tug on your hair, eyes sharpening at the interruption. “A lot can happen in two thousand days,” he repeats, and you hear it this time, the heavy weight in his tone. Rarely is he this serious. “We’ve changed, we’ve grown, we’ve been on opposite ends of the earth from each other. But tonight, of all places, I’m here and you’re here.”

And maybe it really is that simple. People say lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, but twice now you’ve watched him go and twice he’s been brought back to you. 

You reach up, wrapping your hands around his wrists, holding him there. “Do you think we’ll ever be what we were?”

“No.” He steps impossibly closer, lips brushing against your forehead. ��I think one day we’ll be better.”

Better, you mouth the word. It feels like a promise, like a turning point. 

“Yeah, one day,” you agree, heartbeat steadying, matching the rhythm of his beneath your fingertips. “It’ll be worth the wait.”

[salted-caramel-tea]

Are you fully removing yourself from dtblr now?

i’ve made a post with a brief summary of my thoughts and feelings right now but ur not the only person to ask so ill make another . the short answer is not really . long answer under the cut. we’re actually getting into my whole mental breakdown as well so tw for graphic desc of sa

i just need some time to figure things out . i know i sound like a broken record saying it but sa is not an easy topic to deal with for me personally . im aware that the situation was somewhat blown out of proportion and it doesn’t actually compare to the genuine coercion and force i experienced but the past few days have been heavy .

a lot of it is because of the frequency, i am so happy that people have been comfort so enough to come forward about their experiences but there has been a complete lack of nuance regarding all of these situations it’s been very reactionary and coming online seeing never ending untagged borderline graphic descriptions of sexual assault or rape affects me physically . it’s been 3 years and i still experience physical symptoms after being triggered . my ears start ringing, i get dizzy and out of breath and nauseous and i cry . bc i remember how terrible i felt . and nuts something that still affects my relationships to this day.

one thing about it is that i can really sympathise with caiti . our cases are different, i verbally and physically refused physical advances from my abuser but after it happened i found myself trying to justify it because I invited him to watch a movie with me I didn’t push him away enough and someone was interested in me!! at least someone was interested in me . and it’s why i have a hard time regarding the ‘regret’ comments . because i don’t know that if people knew my story they’d say i was just regretting being intimate with him and stating that because i now felt violated after regretting the experience it didn’t mean i was violated on the night . i don’t think my abuser knows what he did to me . but it doesn’t change the fact that he forced me into that situation . i also want to say i don’t really consider touching someone’s waist sexual assault . it can be a form of unwanted physical contact that makes you uncomfortable but the act unfollowed by any sexual contact is not sexual assault . i do believe her feelings are real however and i can sympathise with that delayed fear and discomfort .

this is not an isolated incident as i’m sure we are all aware . for as long as dtblr has been around there have been controversies of sex crime. a lot of them have been faked, we all remember the period of 2021-22 where there was a new burner account every week accusing a member of the dteam of sa until bbh threatened legal action against one of them . and then there was the drituation . although these were faked, they contained extremely triggering details of grooming and assault. i needed time away then too . i’ve said this through every drummy ache but nothing is worth our physical and mental suffering. there is no creator no person that i would allow myself to suffer for .

the internet is reactionary. people will say things and blow things out of proportion to further their moral activity even if it means deliberately spreading triggering misinformation as a punch in the gut to make people agree . i’m not talking about the victims right now but rather the reactions from fans . over the past few weeks we’ve seen allegations of varying degrees aligned in badness with one another when that simply isn’t the case . sensationalising trauma is the new in thing and it prevents private conversations where there should be some and it’s encouraged by fans online so they can get a fix of their daily drama .and i understand it’s because it’s involving large creators and people want to spread awareness of their behaviour but the line has to be drawn somewhere between what should be public and private matters and there has been a mix of both in the past few weeks .

this need to ‘take down’ someone as opposed to discussing matters in a private setting to come to an understanding of the events without the influence of the public has created a spectacle of sexual assault. anything that is mildly uncomfortable or inappropriate is being labelled as on par with sexual abuse or rape which is not the case at all and it’s creating environments that are actively harmful to survivors by having their traumas brought up where it isn’t necessary or equating people who have made mistakes or bad decisions to their abusers .

this is something that has been ongoing since 2020 and will continue to happen with varying degrees of validity behind these comments and its up to us as viewers to decide what’s real and fake depending on the evidence before us but we don’t know what’s been taken out of context what’s been fabricated what’s straight up slander vs what is real admissions of harmful behaviour and its exhausting to wade through . it might seem selfish that i’m kind of saying i don’t want to know about other peoples sa experiences but i dont . i don’t want to have to wade through pages upon pages of details or hours upon hours of proof to accuse or debunk someone of a topic that physically affects me .

i’ve already said i’m not becoming an anti i hold no serious denouncement of the dteam at all but i need to consider fandom dynamics and if i am willing to deal with these accusations over and over again because we all know it’s not going away . dream had people ADMIT they faked his grooming allegations and it’s still held against him . george did make someone uncomfortable and it’s not up to me to dictate caitis feelings on that but george’s perspective does put into play a perspective of body language that is being weaponised to jump to sa rather than bad communication and awareness of the situation . it’s a lot . and i need time to get myself into a better headspace and figure out if im willing to be involve in further reference of these events .

and also fuck quackity bc ppl are using the past few days to say oh quackity is the only good one left as if he’s not literally being monitored by international labour unions

::

im adding on a few things . i am uncomfortable with the way some people have been making light of the whole situations here . there’s borderline (fully) misogynistic posts flying around that are being shared as jokes and memes but it really diminishes the weight of some of the situations at hand and as well as the very real women discussing their situations . im not calling anyone out bc this is has been shared all over my dash so its clear that this is just a preference of mine that i personally find discomforting but i hate the way it makes me feel seeing posts relating abuse of women to homosexuality even though it is in a joking manner it just made me really uncomfortable .

im also tired of the words abuse and assault being thrown around without grounded evidence. there has been no sexual situations as far as we are aware . there has been no sexual contact as far as we are aware . there needs to be distinctions between what is discomfort or creepy and what is exploitation or abuse . i’ve been around lots of creepy guys but only one has sexually assaulted me . throwing words around without any substance behind them diminishes the value of the word until people see it as just another insult . by insinuating touching someone’s waist, although uncomfortable to caiti where she was unsure how to address she did not want that to happen, is a form of sexual assault it creates a form of radicalism of sexual abuse where it becomes is every uncomfortable touch a sex crime? no it’s not. it’s going to trivialise what it means to have been assaulted and being invalidation to victims from wider audiences with lines like ‘let me guess a guy touched your shoulder and you screamed assault’ . we are already blamed for what happened to us and to further trivialise it by mislabelling your discomfort and bad experiences as abusive or exploitative it’s providing a potential fan to those flames . and that’s why i say although i believe caiti is valid in the way she feels that her discomfort and delayed trauma is valid i do not believe she was a victim of a sex crime but rather she was in a position where she was made uncomfortable by a creepy older guy .

im also just so fucking tired to logging on to sex scandals of the dream team where everyone was 18+ and no sex occurred because at that point it’s just digging up anything you can to prove someone else’s hypothesis to be semi reality .

george did fuck up . he made a very young woman uncomfortable and should have prioritised reaching out to her to apologise for her discomfort and subsequent emotional weight instead of an extremely defensive take that, yes, can provide further situation but ultimately comes off as a take disregarding of the very real feelings that caiti was experiencing in order to prove people wrong . he is allowed to defend himself but the emotional impact on caiti should have been a lot better acknowledged . i just wanted to make sure that people were aware that despite the fact i do not think george is a sexual predator and that it is a phrase being extremely abused by the internet, i do believe he did something wrong in this situation .

this whole thing is messy and complicated and exhausting and punz needs to shut the fuck up nobody cares

[erii-ya]

The Huntress’s Prey pt2

Killer x FemReader

One Piece FanFic

A/N: I originally had a different scenario in my head but it ended up like this. Enjoy! Also, if you haven't, here's Part 1.

*Triggering words/scenarios ahead* *spoilers*

**Remember that One Piece is the beautiful original story of Eiichiro Oda-sensei. Scenarios, places, and events are all fictional.**

WC: 2.4k

🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹

Time passed for God knows how long, and you're still in that fetal position Kid left you in. Not daring to move. Your tears have long dried up, and your body's numb from all the pain.

‘How pathetic.’

‘Can’t find my crew. Couldn't help Luffy. Can't be by his side.’

“Now I'm stuck with a dim-wit and was forced to join his crew. Haaaa. What kind of a wretched person did you ask to join your crew, Luffy? Can’t even do a fucking thing!” talking to yourself, gritting your teeth. 

Tears start to form again, and you can't help but feel sorry for yourself. Thoughts begin to run rampant inside your head. Remembering Ace’s death brought you back to a past you had long buried. Whatever Luffy's going through right now wasn't foreign to you. You know how it is to lose a family, to lose someone too dear to you. It’s like being stabbed in the heart by thousands and thousands of needles every. freaking. day. And whatever you do, wherever you are, the pain is still there. It doesn't go away. You just learn how to live with it.

You're too depressed to notice someone entering the kitchen. Killer returned to start dinner and didn't expect to see you still there. He knows how rough Kid can get, especially since he's not the most patient person alive.

He didn't interrupt you and proceeded to start with dinner. Making sure he moves as quietly as possible, although he doesn't have to; he thought you needed this moment.

You tried to move and stand up a little while later, but your body was so sore it was almost impossible. Killer, seeing you struggling, was quick to his feet. He scooped you up, bridal style, as carefully as he could, and he did it so smoothly, like you're weighing nothing. Surprised, you unconsciously hook both of your hands on his neck so that you won’t fall.

“Relax. I won’t throw you out,” he assured. 

“How long have you been here?” you asked, wide-eyed. You turn pale at the thought that Killer heard your self-pitying rantings. 

“Long enough to entertain me,” he answered. 

‘Fuuucck. These tears won’t stop!’ you scold yourself. 

Today has been exhausting for you. Physically, emotionally, and mentally. The last thing you want is for him to see you in this state. Watching you getting beaten to death by Kid was already too much.

Then you laughed. Pathetically. “Was it fun to watch my emotional breakdown? Ha! I guess it is since it entertained you.”

Killer didn’t answer and just continued walking through the ship’s corridors. You covered your face with your arm and let the new set of tears flow freely down your face, silently whimpering. You don’t care anymore. All you want to do is empty these tears so you can cry no more.

You feel yourself shift in Killer’s arms and a door opening. Then, you were laid in a firm bed. You took a peek behind your arms and saw Killer closing the door and then locking it. 

“Hey, this isn’t the stock room.” you quickly said. Killer ignored you. He was looking around, trying to find something. “I said. This is NOT my room.” trying to get his attention.

Again, silence. When he found what he was looking for, Killer took the chair by the table and placed it in front of you to sit down. What he got with him was some bandages, needles, thread, and a bottle of liquor. Without a second thought, he ripped your shirt.

Dumbfounded, you have forced yourself to sit down on reflex, causing you to writhe in pain. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuccck!” you cursed.

“This won’t do.” he stood up and went to open another door inside the room, which turned out to be a bathroom. You heard him opening the faucet and, after a while, went back to scoop you up again, bring you inside the bath, and place you inside a tub softly. Everything happened so fast that you couldn’t even react properly.

The bath water was warm and soothing. Killer continued ripping your clothes, tossing them at a corner. Rip. Toss. Rip. Toss. Until you’re completely bare. You didn’t cover yourself because you can’t.

“Can you at least move your hands?” he asked. You shake your head. “Right. With those injuries, it’ll probably take a week or so for you to recover fully,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What’s your deal?” confused with what he’s trying to do. “Is this your way to kiss and make up out of guilt? You’re not even the one who did this to me.” 

You can feel him staring back at you. “I’m cleaning you up. I can’t patch you properly with all that dried blood. Your wounds might get infected also.” 

“Ha, so your captain breaks, and then you’d clean up after his mess? Are you sure you’re supposed to be here? Why don’t you go to your ‘Kid’ and tuck him in bed while singing some lullabies? Kid-sitter.” you snickered. 

Killer answered by grabbing your neck, pushing you into the water, keeping you under for 5 minutes. When you rose, you choked on all that water you inhaled and swallowed. Breathing was almost painful, and you coughed out all the excess.

“Even though he’s not here, I won’t let you disrespect my captain.” you can’t see the expression he's making, but it gives you chills. “Don’t try me, little babe. I know perfectly how to shut a brat like you.” Although threatening, his words didn’t scare you; instead, they turned you on. ‘Did I just discover my kink?’ 

You failed to hide it, but Killer saw how you blushed at his words, making the atmosphere awkward around him. He was trying to scare you and not the other way around. Killer sighed in defeat. “You’re driving me insane.” was the only thing he could say.

There was no answer from you. He thought you malfunctioned. So, to get things done quickly, Killer begins to wash you up, and you don’t even protest. Your head still on cloud nine.

Same thing as how he got you there; he scooped you up, still naked, and set you in bed. He put you on one of his shirts, which looked like a dress on you, and boxer shorts. After looking around, it was only then that you realized you were in his room. It seems small for him but spacious for you. Clean and smells manly; however you describe manly. You didn’t expect it to be clean and organized, as well as the bathroom. Quite opposite to the man’s quarters in the Sunny where it reeks of sweat.

He continued tending to your wounds and patched you up nicely. Not a pro, but decent enough to stop the bleeding. You stood up slowly. It’s still painful for you to move, but it’s more tolerable now. Killer stopped you, “Where the hell are you going?”

“I’m going back to the stock room,” you answered, confused. You stayed in the stock room you found yourself in after gaining consciousness. It is dark, and you’re all alone, but it gives you peace of mind.

“You’re not going back there. You’ll stay here.”

“This again? Why the hell do you people decide everything for me?!” you fumed and continued to the door… slowly.

Killer blocked the way and stood before you, arms crossed on his chest. The height difference is so overwhelming that you need to look up to meet his eyes. “I’m not going to sleep with you,” you utter.

You hear him chuckle, then tilt his head in amusement. “Getting shy now, are we? I practically just saw your all a second ago, yeah?” That made your face turn into a tomato, and it feels like he’s enjoying teasing you.

Avoiding his gaze, you whispered, “Not all of it, though.” primarily to yourself, but he still heard it. Killer uncrossed his arms and started to walk toward you, “Oh, so you want me to examine you a little more?” closing the gap between the both of you, “check every inch of you?” he continued to tease.

You try to back away further from him, but your legs bump the edge of the bed, making you lose your balance and accidentally lie down on the mattress. Giving Killer a chance to get on top of you, his hands situated on both sides of your head, locking you in place under him. One of his thighs in between your legs.

With a flushed face and a terrible heartbeat, you feel like you’ll soon be having a heart attack. ‘Too much emotions in one day.’ You prop your hands on his chest in an attempt to push him away, but he’s too strong. 

Or rather, you're getting feeble due to him being Killer, and whatever he’s trying to do to you doesn’t help your mental state at the moment…

“A-are y-you for real? You tried to c-choke me to death earlier, and now you’re going to take a-advantage of me?” flustered but striving to compose yourself.

“Would you like me to choke you a different way then?” ‘Stop saying that in a low voice!’ If you’re somebody else, you probably short-circuited already. You can’t even think of a good comeback because you’re struck dumb. Instantly forgetting about the day’s drama and everything you went through. Dirty thoughts are invading your brain. ‘Killer…choking me…’ you gulped on all the different scenarios you see yourself in.

His amused laugh brought you back from your fantasies. “Told you I can shut you up.” he was proud. He moved away from you and got up, which disappointed you. You’re lying if you say you didn’t hope for it to escalate.

“Don’t worry. I’m maybe a pirate, but I still have a bit of decency,” he says while walking out the door. “Stay here until you recover. I’ll sleep elsewhere.” you just listened while staring at the ceiling. Still in the same position he left you.

“Don’t think about the clean up. Kid won’t force you to work sporting those injuries. You’re part of us now, so you can rest easy.” before he could fully exit, you finally said, “I’m not one of you. I am and will always be a Strawhat.”

You heard him sigh, “I, too, don’t like the idea of forcing someone to join our crew, especially since you came from a rival, only because I don’t want them ending up betraying Kid.” he said without looking back. “But he’s right. It’ll be a waste to kill you. However, I’ll be watching you. One wrong move, and I’ll cut that pretty neck of yours.” and with that, he’s gone.

With an annoyed groan, you cover your face with your hands because of the lingering embarrassment. Mentally smacking your head. The only thing that registered in your brain on what Killer said was ‘that pretty neck of yours.’ and your heart is fluttering.

“Y/N, you hussy. He’s an enemy…” criticizing yourself, “but he’s too fuckin’ hooooot.” you squealed. Being in his room, lying on his bed, and smelling him on every corner doesn’t give you the peace of mind you sought. Despite that, the physical and emotional exhaustion pulled you to sleep.

Meanwhile…

Killer went back to the kitchen to carry on with dinner. He saw Kid inside, holding a jug of beer. “Where’s the runt?” Kid asked.

“In my room.” Killer answered unconcerned. 

Kid’s eye twitched. “I thought I told everyone to leave her alone.” slamming his jug on the table.

“You did, and I heard you.” Killer, still unfazed, cooking pasta. “Are you seriously considering letting her join the crew?” changing the topic.

Kid’s expression changed to smug. “Why not? She has some balls. Why let her stay in a goodie ol’ crew when she can go unrestrained with us? Saw that unwavering look in her eyes? Gave me chills.” he grinned, chugging down his beer.

“Are we now snatching potential people from another pirate’s crew? Not that I’m complaining.”

“We’re not snatching her. They're practically disbanded now. I don’t know why that warlord sent her here if whatever she said was true, but I’m not letting go of that potential of hers.” Kid explained. “Also, she can’t just barge in and leave like nothing.”

Kid has a point, Killer thought. You didn't lose your spunk the whole time he was with you. Killer did see your depressed state, but regardless, you still bite back. The only time you lost your cool was when he was teasing you.

Your face pops out of his head. The flustered look and your bare skin. He remembered noticing some scars around your stomach area, sides, and back, the most prominent one being on your chest.

Your chest. For some reason, his thoughts trailed down on how your breast fits perfectly in his hands. Not that he was able to hold or touch it, but he knew when he saw them. They’re not overly big and not that small, either, but he knows his hands can fully cover them.

Killer was lost in thought when Kid spoke, “Are you trying to burn our dinner?” which brought him back to his senses. His pasta almost burnt.

“What’s up with you, buddy?” Kid asked with genuine concern, although his facial expression was serious.

“Just tired.” He can’t obviously say he was lusting over you since he’s one of those opposed to you joining them.

“I can take over if you wan-...” Kid wasn’t even finished when Killer snapped back at him.

“Hell no! Abso-fucking-lutely no! The last time you did, we almost died of dehydration because of diarrhea.”

Kid’s face turned red in embarrassment. “Be thankful I offered help!” he shouted.

“No, thank you, and just stay back! I’ll handle it.” pointing at Kid to sit down. Kid didn’t answer but sat down, still protesting though.

Killer shook his head, stressed. Thinking of you gives him trouble, so he decides to ignore you the next time. He wasn’t even sure why he helped you. He indeed cleans up after Kid’s mess most of the time, but he never shows sympathy to the people Kid lashes out at. For him, Kid’s action is appropriate for a captain and will follow him until the end of his captain’s dream, for better and for worse.

A sudden idea comes up to him and it explains why. Your loyalty to your captain was the same as his, so perhaps he helped you because he saw himself in you. Then he lusted on you because he’s a man and you’re a woman. A normal reaction. Nothing special. 

Killer was satisfied with that conclusion. Starting tomorrow, he’ll act the same way he is. He doesn’t need to be bothered by you. You’ll be part of the crew, and he's your vice-captain, that’s it.

Well, at least he hoped that was it.

Part Three...

[pixelatedraindrops]

Why Yuma Kokohead is my main whump candidate🌡️ An Analysis:

(contains raincode spoilers)

So, some of you people are probably asking yourself; Why do I keep making these sickly edits of Yuma?

Okay. Allow me to present my evidence and reasoning behind this weird little obsession of mine in 3 parts. (prepare for a small essay with some spoilers)

First off; I've noticed that Yuma always holds his head like this whenever he's distressed.

I know its probably just a nod to his memory loss, but he does it

EVERY

SINGLE

TIME

Through the whole game.

Like his model is just programed to do it whenever he makes these two expressions in the sprite art.

He always looks so pale and tired... sick even.

Which is why I edited these sprites first

The model of him that’s used in an Ace Attorney fan made crossover project does this exact same gesture too.

Only he actually looks like he's in even MORE pain here.

source

And Reminder; he canonically felt sick in the first chapter of the game. Idc what the reason was, the point is it happened.

All of this might confirm that he has potential to be frail of health or may suffer from specified ailments easily.

Also... DO YOU HEAR THIS LABORED BREATHING???

Like hello? BE FR RIGHT NOW??

In the JP dub, he speaks under somewhat heavy sounding breaths when he's going through this ordeal of trying to open the door to the Infirmary (as he should) It shows how exhausted he feels or how dizzy he is just wanting, BEGGING to lay down and make the world stop spinning.

(sorry for the poor quality video lol)

This was all that was going through my mind when I first played this part of the chapter. And I nearly lost it. He was officially on my list

This part of Chapter 0 was more than enough to convince me he had the potential.

SPOILER TERRITORY⚠️

Second: Yuma usually doesn't mind admitting when he is weak or vulnerable.

Such as when he tells Fubuki that he feels like he's in pain and going to pass out after Shinigami punched him in the Ch3 ML, or telling Vivia how scared he was when he was threatening to kill him during the Ch4 Investigation, or admitting his fear and hesitation to Shinigami in Chapter 5's deserted factory. Anytime that he admits his feelings if someone asks him rather than trying to act tough. Instead of playing dumb, he admits when he feels a negative way. He's completely honest about it.

THAT IS SOME GOOD SHIT 👀

This is really good fodder for a scenario where he just confesses that he's not feeling well. Or that he's about to be sick. Or if he's in pain or injured. Or if he's having a mental breakdown. He won't shy away from it. He'll say it.

(though I did kinda make him play dumb in my own fic lol I cannot deny that there are times he also wants to be strong and/or not be a burden to others)

Third: Yuma's size. HIS TINY SIZE??? COME ON?? He may as well be a CHILD.

I know vivia is a freaking giant but STILL LOOK HOW SMALL HE IS

He is so baby despite his age being completely unknown. He could be a teenager or he could be an adult over 20. Nobody knows.

Point is regardless of that, you can see him is any kind of vulnerable situation with no doubt or worry of it being OOC. You can see him crying if he's hurting. You can see him whining about making the pain go away. You can see him wanting comfort if he has a nightmare. You can see him having a panic attack reaching out to a caretaker for support.

He can be carried or lifted up by anyone taller than him and probably be light as a feather. Seeing him cling to them like a sick or hurt kid would.

He could sit or lay on their lap. He could lean on them as they help him walk if he's hurt, or as they help him eat or drink if he's too weak to do so himself.

And he probably couldn't stop someone from forcing him down to rest if he tried due to his physical stature being unfit for combat. (or anything)

Regardless, it would ALL FIT.

Like taking care of a child.

~

Now with those 3 points out of the way, I ask you all:

How can this character NOT be easy whump bait? Don’t underestimate my imagination as a sickfic enthusiast.

HE IS LITERALLY SO WHUMPEE SHAPED AND CODED WITH THIS INFORMATION

He's a perfect victim for specifically any sort of head issue:

Be it a headache, a head injury, migraine, or what I usually continue to give to him in my edits.

A High Fever.

plus, coupled with the RAIN 24/7 SETTING?

In THIS type of scenario??

AS I KEEP SAYING; IT'S WAY TOO DAMN EASY

THIS GAME PRACTICALLY SPOON FEEDS ME ALL THIS BAIT

he's got the major potential to be the biggest sickly wet cat ever

and I love him so much for that

he's so dizzyboy coded that I want to make him SICK AS A PUPPY

Which is why I do it so much.

40 degrees? Call a freaking doctor aaaa

I'll mostly go with a high fever because they're my favorite thing in the sick whump category and easy to edit, but at the same time, he could be suffering with any sort of issue and it would seem accurate, likely or canon, so long as it involves his head.

Such as a splitting headache, immense dizziness, flash blurred vision, or even a nausea induced migraine. (heck, even all of the above, go crazy)

You may ask yourself, why?

Easy: For caretaking fluff purposes.

That's mostly why sickfics exist.

The potential fluff of him getting taken care of by the NDA (found family) Shinigami (chaotic mascot partner/sibling) Kurumi (platonic or romantic) or heck maybe even Makoto (sibling dynamic or possible ‘self-care’)

Just the thought and image of him getting taken care of in general puts a smile on my face. Its a HUGE comfort for me 💜

The potential for the found family, shipping, or sibling moments he can produce from being in this state is astronomical. And you don't see that in characters very often. He is a very rare specimen. He is Number 1 after all.

Checks literally all of my boxes on why I love illness whump and sickfics so much. He is perfect.

Sometimes sacrifices must be made to forge deeper connections. And these kinds of scenarios almost NEVER fail to be 1 of three things: tooth-rottingly wholesome, heartbreakingly angsty, or chaotically comedic. It depends on your preference. (They're mostly wholesome and sweet though.)

~

fr though.

once you find your prime whumpee you never go back

and now I know how it feels ;w; the bliss makes me feel as though I am now complete in a place where something was missing.

~

Thank you Kodaka for this adorable smol anxious purple trainee who’s actually the top dog 💜

I love him dearly🥰

Some of you may just want to see Yuma as a cool smart, competent, and badass protagonist and that's great! I completely agree! That he is.

But to me personally? He's also a soft, delicate, anxiety filled, adorable lil' wet cat who needs constant TLC, love and/or support 💊 Physically and/or mentally.

Get a character that can do both lol

That is all.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

I love this little guy so much! He means everything to me.💜 He’s just a little guy. My babygirl, my little scrunkly, my lil' blorbo, my little meow meow…

No matter how you see it;

Yuma Kokohead is a blessing✨

[genezpen]

『 cruel 』

pairings: seungkwan × gn!reader

genre: ANGST‼️i feel the need to hurt everyone right now 😈

summary: seungkwan told you that he used you to win a bet.

warnings: drama w/o plot, this a bit slightly quite painful and has a huge impact on me :'), crying, harsh!seungkwan, mention of parents neglecting the reader, reader speaking from trauma, mention of vernon, someone using the reader for a bet, rejection (?) (lmk if i missed something or if i made a mistake!)

word counts: 597

notes: this is a very short drabble to let y'all know that a short fic of han, and hoshi is coming. i've never had a free time since my last uploaded fic so i would like to apologize to the sitting requests on my ask! i promise im working on them! also, pls don't hate verkwan! love lots ^^ (our exam week is next week, wish me a luck!)

“i never loved you.”

those exact words are enough to crush your wholeness. you almost hear your heart shattering on the pit of your stomach.

you felt bad. you are upset. you are disappointed.

the person you trusted the most just confessed that he fooled you. and for what?

“you're nothing but a bet. vernon lose, i won. now, it’s over.”

a bet. he won a bet. you are the bet.

and vernon? your bestfriend?

“what? aren't you mad at me? come on, y/n, hit me! i know you want to hurt me, too! i used you.” seungkwan grabbed your hand, forcing you to hit his hard chest.

but you're to numb to do so. as much as you want to show him how much it hurts you can die right now, you know physical pain wouldn't be enough.

he hit himself, he slap his cheek using your hand but you pulled it away. your eyes fixated on the ground while breathing fast, trying to stop your tears.

seungkwan then tried to find your line of vision but you keep avoiding it. not now. not when you're too fragile, too weak, too scared.

“come on, say something. lash out on me! i know you're upset—”

“i knew it...” your whispers made him shut up. something bitter spilled inside you. “i knew something was up the day you asked me out.” with shaking voice, you let it out.

even with a blurry eyes, you force yourself to meet his gaze only to see how shocked he was. seungkwan looked pale and his pupils were going back and forth on your eyes trying to find something you don't know of.

“don’t worry. i-i figured it out r-right away– you– i... knew this day would come.” you manage to utter those despite you choking on your own saliva and the nonstop tears.

you covered your face as you breakdown infront of seungkwan, shaking your head. so what if you look hopeless and pathetic right now? so what if he use this against you someday? so what if he makes fun of your misery right now. you don't want to think of the future at the moment. it hurts, it's killing you inside-out.

“you never actually like the cupcake i baked you, right? you never once liked my outfit every time we go out. you did not really want to say my 'i love yous' back, you just don't have a choice!”

fuck. this is a different kind of pain when your pet died in an accident. this is not the same pain you felt when your parents failed to recognize your academic success back in highschool. this pain is on another level. the one that could hold you back for years, again. the pain that brought you back to your thirteen year old self.

seungkwan did not say anything. he stood there frozen. you bet on your life, tomorrow everyone will turn their back on you. your colleagues will laugh at your situation. this has happened before, none of them was your friend, they were seungkwan’s.

no matter how hard it is to swallow, your only best friend, vernon, used you too.

you hate the universe for why must it be hard to live on earth. if you aren't allowed to feel loved then why must people hurt you? they could've just push you away, not stay for a short period of time just to leave you again. not pretend they accept you when in reality they are disgusted by you. why must everyone have to be so cruel?

©genezpen

all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, plagiarize, repost to another platform/sites without my permission. this is solely available on tumblr.

[tteokdoroki]

🌸 - I just want to establish the following isn’t an attack on all shippers of this ship because not all of you are toxic it’s just that some of y’all scare me;

So I have been having a few mental health issues this week and I have the bkdk tag blocked but I can’t figure out how to block tags on yt and instagram so I literally started crying when I was exposed to it. I experienced a lot of toxicity from them on twt so I can’t even look at the ship but kiribaku has been my comfort ship. Unfortunately because the canon material has been focused on deku and bakugo, which makes me deeply uncomfortable. I don’t have the context but the sheer idea of bakugo having feelings for the nerd, even in subtext makes me physically sick. It’s not that I don’t like deku, it’s just that the ship feels like pseudo incest because in my interpretation they act like brothers. Also the fact that kirishima isn’t really relevant as much anymore bothers me. He’s a good character on his own and I’ve accepted the fact that it won’t be canon because it’s shonen. But after kamijiro (which I also have blocked in tags but don’t mind at the moment) had that out of pocket scene that caused me a literal mental breakdown (long story), my mental health can’t handle the fact that bakugo literally sacrificed himself for deku without even a reference to his CANON BEST FRIEND kirishima. I deeply hope that we get a blatant confirmation that bakugo and deku have a BROTHERLY relationship even if we don’t get any on screen kiribaku crumbs. I want reassurance that bkdk would never happen and for the toxic shippers to stop posting bkdk content under the krbk tags and stop trying to force your ship onto others. I already had a crisis about accidentally falling in love with a fictional character (Denki) and feeling heartbroken but now I have to deal with possible subtextual evidence for bkdks and a lack of krbk content in canon. Please tell me I’m just the subtext wrong and that in context I don’t have to worry. I’m freaking out because I’ve seen krbk solos literally get doxxed on twitter and harassed by toxic bkdks.

listen, im only going to answer this ask/topic once im pretty sure i’ve addressed this with you personally already. this is not the first time I’ve warned you about trauma dumping here but im going to set some boundaries. please don’t do this in my inbox — i don’t know you personally and I’m literally just a girl on tumblr writing porn. i am not your best friend, you cannot dump issues on me like this out of the blue, especially without considering how they make me feel myself. you do not know me.

secondly as a person who regularly engages with both bkdk and krbk content i think this is extremely selfish and ridiculous for you to send this to me 😭 just because YOU had a bad experience with bkdk doesnt mean i should have this projected onto me. i am just a person on tumblr, im not a therapist — i can help with day to day issues but this just seems like something you need to figure out for yourself.

im sorry about the issues you have surrounding it and perhaps the toxic people on Twitter but it seems to me that you need to make the conscious decision to leave bnha Twitter or Twitter in general?? like idk what to tell you but the manga is literally about deku 😭 he’s the protagonist. you’re going to see him and bakugou interact. pseudo incest is literally ridiculous as well. they’re childhood friends ??? like what

im not going to reassure you about krbk this or bkdk that because quite frankly i don’t care. they’re lines on a page to me and its literally never that deep. shipping is meant to be for fun and not to be taken that seriously. i severely suggest that you take a break ?? from all thing bnha related because as you’ve stated it’s not been very good for you and im sorry for that.

i literally cannot even fathom how disrespectful this is 😭 coming to my inbox with no warning and venting like this. genuinely don’t mean to be rude but i have no idea what you expected me to respond with. it’s deeply concerning and literally never do this again. please.

[enbycatboyart]

"Heal Over"

1 Year post mental breakdown. I'm still here.

CW for under cut: Mental Health Issues + General mentions of mental unwellness.

Hello all! Today is a pretty emotional day for me. I don't generally like to share my life on the internet (I only started posting on here at the behest of one of my teachers), but I thought it was worth sharing a bit about myself and my journey in case someone out there might relate.

A year ago today (June 7th) I suddenly became completely unable to take care of myself. I don't really know what the specific cause was other than overwhelming amounts of stress, anxiety, and depression that had been boiling under the surface for years, but I had a mental breakdown. I was getting physically sick and lost a ton of weight. I could barely get out of bed most days and was shaking and crying, completely overwhelmed by everything all of the time.

Most days in the beginning, I genuinely didn't know if I'd see another full year, but I was determined to keep pushing for all the people in my life that love me and for all the people I had yet to meet who I would come to love. Here, a year later, I am happy to say that I get to share this story. I'm not 100% better. Some days I still struggled with derealization and depersonalization, but I'll happily take the bad days with the good.

Don't get me wrong, the bad days are terrible. I have to force myself to work and pretend to be "normal" (whatever that means) and end up totally exhausted, but without struggling through the hard days I'd never get to have late night discord calls with my best friends or do the volunteering that has helped to heal me in ways I can't even begin to describe.

I'm medicated, surviving through college, and full of love. If you're reading this: Thank you. And I hope reading this made you feel seen (or opened you up to some new realities to how someone else may experience life). I hope you're all surviving out there. Be kind to yourself and others today.

You have to keep surviving no matter how bad it gets. You owe it to yourself. <3

Yours,

Catboy