#kidding but this is what the abuse felt like a lot of the time

[googledetective]

my thoughts on the new episode as always, as I am currently losing my shit lol. I know a lot of people dislike me after last ep when I spoke up about my thoughts, but this time I'm ready to be more mature about it.

1. I love the Hu argue uhhh thingy! I forgot what it's called ngl! I love her and Nico's new sprites too, they were really all amazing and conveyed so much emotion!

And then Hu said this 💀

genuinely insane analogy to make here. I'm sorry, but that was actually insanely uncalled for imo.

2. I think everyone forgot Hu's custom weapon is wire, (if you realized and predicted this, huge props to you), and I did not expect Nico to try and frame Hu for murder like that. NicoHu divorce arc when??? Just kidding, but they're much more cruel then I originally thought. I completely understand trauma from not being accepted as the person you are which was likely in the form of bullying/abuse, but I was genuinely surprised that they really try and murdered Ace just because they didn't like him and they didn't want to go through that again. Very interesting. I also feel very bad for Hu, because she's poured her heart into trying to protect Nico, and even though her methods are EXTREMELY flawed, it must hurt to know someone you really tried to help would try to frame you for murder. This makes me wonder if Nico felt Hu was a threat to their sense of self like Ace was, if they were going to try and pin a murder on her. I'm glad Charles and J told Hu to shut up though, because she was becoming unreasonable. I really hope things turn out the best for her though, because it's clear she's coming from a place of kindness, even if her kindness is mostly self-serving.

3. As much as I don't really like the guy, I'm very glad to have seen Ace pop off. Everyone has treated him like shit, and even if he's treated everyone like shit back, he did not deserve to be almost murdered and then for people to just not care. I really hope Ace ends up making a friend if he isn't the killer, because he really deserves someone to care about him the way mostly everyone in the cast already has someone.

4. They both make very good points here. I think Ace deserves an apology, but a real one.

5. "of course I regret doing it, I'm not Levi" - Nico

THATS ACTUALLY INSANE- but that may be my favorite line of the ep. I'm glad Nico regrets the crime though, because I was scared for awhile they didn't and there might be another incident of the same thing again. This makes me think they won't try and kill again, but it's drdt so you never know, and I think they're a definite threat if they get provoked to that point so easily.

6. I feel so bad for Rose, but let me say, dare I say, I think Whit asking if Rose is okay might've been the sweetest thing Ive ever seen. A lot of people tend to forget that Whit is actually very compassionate, so I'm glad to see that part of him shine through again. Rose is so human, and I think she may be the most realistic character I've ever seen portrayed in a fangan. A lot of characters are able to just get back up after a murder, but she's stuck, and I think I would be the same way. Unfortunately there's zero mental health professionals (obviously, cause they all need to be in a ward) in drdt, but I hope that she maybe can come to cope in a healthier way with what's going on around her, because she doesn't deserve this mess. I didn't actually realize before that the cast had put her on a bit of a pedestal due to her amazing memory, but it makes sense. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but I hope that Rose comes to peace with the turpentine and the tape thing because it really isn't her fault and that she can get help for her trauma due to Min and Xander, and Teruko's almost death. No matter how much people expect her to memorize a crime scene, she's human, and we all take things at much different paces.

7.

Hey David, didn't Whit teach us that trauma is a serious thing? You know I've been defending this guy a bit because of how he helped Eden and how I think he's trying to do what's right, but NEVERMIND. Because what the actual fuck is wrong with him to say something as messed up as these two statements. Rose and Arturo do not owe you anything, and they deserve to heal healthy, and at their own pace.

8. Teruko defending Rose was not in my ch2 trial bingo card, but oh my god, that really is sweet. I think Teruko really has started to change from talking with Rose.

I'm running out of images so I can't include her monologue, but it genuinely makes me happy she's starting to get some sort of character development. She really deserves it, and Charles really deserved being so fucking right about being social, lol. Also Teruko thanking Rose with that genuine smile on her face- brought me to tears. I hope they become friends :)

9. Ace and Eden, huh? To be honest, I'm completely torn and I can't see it being either one of them, but then again, I can't see it being anyone. I know so many people are complaining about not having a culprit reveal this ep, but I'm fine. I could wait another year and a half for the reveal. Actually, I don't think we need one at all. Maybe the true drdt is the friends we made along the way. Maybe it's better to choose delusion that nobody could've done it than it to have been Ace or Eden. Maybe, I killed Arei.

(I'm not that smart so I don't think I should be making killer theories, lol. I think it's safe to say I should stick to memes.)

10.

LMAOOOO. She right though.

11. "It pains me to come to Ace's defense" - David

another laughable moment, but a win for the Acevid shippers, I guess. I don't think David was lying though, and it was my suspicion all along that he had seen the body before anyone. I'm not very smart so I'm a bit confused as to whether later they're saying David actually did see her body (which is weird bc he'd have an alibi), or if he thinks someone else might've seen it and wanted to include that as a possibility.

12.

Teruko handled this whole situation super well, I was very impressed with her. Obviously you can't rule Eden out as the killer and Teruko explained that, but she was so compassionate and understanding about it that it made me cry. I never thought I'd say this, but here's a Teruko W. As for Eden pleading... I wish I could say more and I'm sure I'll be able to later, but it's just so likely she could be the culprit that I can't take anything she says at face value rn, and I was having trouble empathizing with her. Of course that's just my take, and I have already chatted with others who felt the whole scene was just a heartwarming experience, and that makes me really happy. This being said, the fact Teruko immediately turned to Ace as her main suspect TOOK ME OUT. I feel so bad for him he has literally done nothing but be suspicious to warrant this, while Eden is at the same level of suspicion. I really like that Teruko is playing favorites now, because Eden's been so good to her all this time.

13. I forgot to include David trying to get Teruko to not trust others!!! Shit!!!

Is that seriously how he plans to end the kg.. I can kinda see what he's going for bc so far the trope is in most danganronpa that you need to trust others to live and be fulfilled (not saying drdt is gonna follow that trope though). Hm.

Bro is actually down horrendous for Teruko though 😭

tierlist after watching this ep (kill me now)

[braineater444]

To Be a Princess

Chapter 4

Last/Next

fem!reader x kokonoi/bonten

TW: Disordered eating, Mass murder, Depersonalization, Poor proofreading

A/N: This is pretty heavy because I've been in a rough place recently. Read with discretion.

The last two months have effectively blurred into each other. It’s been all the same. You wake up, Hajime dresses you, and you go nowhere. He leaves and if you’re lucky, Haruchiyo is forced to watch you. If you’re unlucky, you’re cuffed to the bed and stuck in your room all day. 

“Eat this and we can go.” Hajime slides you a decently sized pork cutlet sandwich and you get to work on it without a second thought. 

It hurts your stomach to eat so much after such a long time of eating so little. Your throat is even rejecting it a little. It takes more energy to chew and swallow than you’d anticipated. You definitely should be taking it slower, but you need to get out of this place. You’ve been going stir-crazy. 

At least it’s a really good sandwich. Even if it pains you to eat and give him what he wants, you can appreciate a good piece of meat.

When you’re done, you slide the plate to him, and he kisses your forehead.

“Thank you.” He smiles.

✮✮✮

It’s good that Hajime is letting you tag along today because you’ve started to eat the stuffing in your pillow. Not a lot. Maybe a fistful. A decent fistful every day for about a week. He hasn’t noticed, or if he has, he’s kept his mouth shut. But you try your best to hide it. You re-fluff the pillow you keep pulling down out of and flip it, so the torn side isn’t showing. If you eat any more feathers, you might get sick though, and that’s not ideal. You should be sick, right? If you are, you haven’t noticed.

“So, do you like Haruchiyo?” Hajime asks, not taking his eyes off of the road.

“He’s alright. Weird. But he smells good. I think his teeth are fake.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” It’s a lot to explain. You realized it once when the Haitanis were over. Rindou has charmingly, somewhat crooked teeth and Ran’s teeth are perfect. Sanzu’s teeth are good at passing for real when you don’t look too hard or have anything to compare them to. 

“Not all of them are fake.” Hajime says matter-of-factly.

“How do you know?” You rest your head against the window.

“I took him to go get the implants.”

“What? What happened?”

“Ran knocked three of them out. All in the front of his mouth.”

“That doesn’t make sense. What do you mean?”

“He does a lot of drugs. His teeth were on their way out, anyway.” Hajime smiles at the thought. “I didn’t want to see him missing so many teeth, though, so I took him to start getting them fixed the next day.”

“Yeah, but why did Ran hit him?”

Hajime shrugs. “There could be several reasons. I think he needed it either way.” He thinks for a second. “I just remember that Haruchiyo came to me with his teeth in his hand and he told me Ran did it. There was so much blood, he kept choking on it when he cried.”

Hajime seems amused by recalling it. He tries to suppress smiles and keep seriousness in his tone, but here and there it sounds like he’s telling you a pleasant dream he had. 

“Why don’t you like him?” You prod. It’s not your business, but in the past months you’ve developed quite the attachment to Haru and while you can see tons of reasons for someone not to like him, Hajime seems deeper than the surface level.

He goes quiet in thought and then starts. 

“He’s a jackass. I know I’m far from being a good person myself, but he takes it to a whole different level. His personality is grating. He doesn’t listen. And while he’s second in charge, it’s only for show. His bullshit falls on me all the time and I’m stuck with work I don’t want.” He clenches his jaw, and his hands tighten around the steering wheel. He seethes, “If being second in command was as simple as sucking Mikey’s dick, anyone could do it.”

“Wow.”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’d be easier to not hate him if he was incompetent. Okay? But he’s not. He’s very smart, and that’s what gets on my nerves. It’s like he does dumb shit on purpose, and I always have to fix it.”

“Must suck.”

“It does, but it’s fine. I’m going to outlive him.”

✮✮✮

A black-haired man slides up to your open window and starts talking before you can process who he is or what he’s saying. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, uh, they’re in his glove box. The cigarettes. I just need one.” He’s a very polite man. Very handsome too. Even with the scar marking a solid quarter of his face. 

You’ve met him before, right? At the club? Had to be.

“Here.” You hand him the cigarette.

He starts to walk away but stops in his tracks. “You don’t want to get out?”

He’s opening your door and offering you his hand before you can think about it. You take it. How could you not?

“It’s weird that he left you in the car when it’s so hot.” He guides you to where a group of people are standing and talking.

For the first time in the fifteen minutes that you’ve been here, you realize that you’re in the middle of an empty shipping yard.

You look around at all the faces and then turn around to take in the entire scene. A bunch of well-dressed men in an empty shipping yard? What the fuck is going on?

“Calm down.” A friendly voice cuts through all the noise.

Rin. Why?

He checks his phone. “Kakucho, Mikey needs you. Keep your phone on you.” He says to the man that guided you here.

Kakucho walks away.

Something’s not right. Where’s Koko? Why are you here?

“Rin, I want to go home.”

He looks at you as if he’s considering helping you. Your eyes dart around, and you see Takeomi laughing with a man who has severe eyebrows and a goatee. You’ve seen him before. Other men are laughing too, but you’re not acquainted. You should leave.

“Let’s go over here,” Rindou says as he leads you to the side of his SUV where no one can see you.

“What is going on?” You ask plainly. “Why are we here?”

He scratches his head. “We have to kill a couple of people.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

The sun feels hotter. Your palms feel sweatier even through your sheer black gloves. You want to run, but you can’t in these heels, so you walk. Or so you start to walk. Rindou grabs your arm and pushes you right back against the door.

“I can’t. I can’t. Please.” Your nose tingles at the onset of tears. 

“You will be fine.”

“No. I won’t. Rin. Please.”

“Stop fucking crying.” He forces out, irritated. “Do you want something to make you calm down a little? I might be able to find a pill.”

You shake your head.

“Then calm down.”

You try. Your hands smooth over the cotton fabric of your minidress. Once. Twice. Three times. Again, and again and again. But the tears don’t stop. Your head falls to your chest. 

“Fuck.” He grunts. There is a split second where he’s all but throwing you into the backseat. You can feel your dress ride up and you know you flash him and when you’re situated, he looks at his watch as says, “You have about fifteen minutes to cry and then you have to be out there.” Before slamming the door.

You beat at the headrest in front of you and sob. He stands with his back to the door as if nothing is happening. This is why Hajime didn’t put any makeup on you. He saw this coming.

You scream into your hands and the fabric of those sheer polyester gloves burns when it rubs against your eyes. 

You’d give everything not to be you.

The rest of the tears are silent. You lay your head back and just let them fall with the occasional hiccup here and there. There’s no more relief in screaming after it starts to hurt and it never got you anywhere, anyway.

✮✮✮

It’s more people than you’d expected. You count all the way up to twenty-five. Twenty-two grown men in their underwear, heads bowed in shame and their knees pressed to the shipping yard dirt and gravel. One woman and her two kids are in the same position but wearing the clothes they’d go about their daily lives in. Elementary school uniforms and nursing scrubs.

The two kids cry. They’ve done nothing wrong, and they can’t understand what’s going on. 

At least one hundred people are standing around watching this, and you are the only one who seems to feel anything. Rindou has his arm resting over your shoulders and when you look at his face, it’s blank. Ran’s too. 

Kakucho brings in a last man. He’s been beaten. Some of his nails are missing. He limps when he walks. Rindou and his brother titter. Of course they find this is funny. How long has it been since they’ve been full people?

The man bows to the detained before turning his back to them and getting on his knees. There’s a moment of breathlessness before the kids run to be at his side, hugging his half-naked body. They’re screaming and crying and begging their dad to tell them what’s happening. He stays silent. Everyone does.

Twenty-six people in total will die.

Mikey, Haruchiyo and Hajime appear. You can hear every one of their footsteps.

“Apologize to the team you let down.” Hajime isn’t yelling, yet his voice is strikingly clear.

The man yells. “I’m sorry for steering you all wrong and now you have to die because of my mistakes.” He’s shaking. Despite his confident voice, every inch of him is wrought with fear. There’s no denying it.

“Now apologize to them individually,” Hajime commands. The warm wind lifts his hair, and he almost looks like God. Mikey stands silently beside him and Sanzu stalks back and forth between the rows of men with a gun in his hand. You can tell he’s eager to do this. He’s more dressed up than you’ve ever seen him. Everyone is.

“Nakamura Touma!” There’s a loud wail at the sound of the name. “I’m sorry!”

Haruchiyo is quick. There’s the sound of a gun being fired, the woman’s scream, and grown men crying.

It’s real. You see the brain matter splatter on to the people nearest to Touma. You watch everyone flinch at the sound. The kids cower into their father. The woman folds in on herself to sob.

You stand in shock.

“Maekawa Yuichi! I’m sorry!”

It’s nothing for Haruchiyo to kill again. It’s just as fast as the last time. He executes the man with a smile. There are no second thoughts or regrets. He just lines his gun up and pulls the trigger.

This time, you’re not frozen in fear. You turn away at the sound of another namel. You’re faced with Ran’s chest and there’s a scuffle between you and both brothers. They force you to turn around.

It’s just in time for Haruchiyo to locate the man and put him to death. 

“Don’t you ever turn your back. It’s bad manners.” Rindou jeers into your ear. 

Your head falls as you start to cry again. Rindou’s hand comes to your hair to force your head back up. You’re met with an unreadable glance from Hajime. 

The bodies fall name after name. Some men pee on themself before being done away with. It’s too cruel for you. You’ve never wanted to live in a world like this.

The numbers whittle down until the man is left with his wife and kids. 

“Say sorry to your family.” Hajime sounds actually angry. The man doesn’t speak. It seems like the impact comes before the actual kick to the head Hajime delivers. The kids scurry away as Koko yells.

“Tell your wife you’re sorry!” He leans into the man’s ear. “Are you deaf?”

“Emiko!” He projects over the shrill screams of his children. “I’m sorry. Our financial troubles are my fault and I should have told you what was going on. I did this behind your back and it’s my fault—“

The sound of Sanzu’s gun going off is its own sick timer. He’s killed the wife before her husband can fully apologize.

Hajime is stoic. Unbothered. The kids’ screaming explodes into something worse. Something indescribable. They’re the type of screeches that claw at your insides and assure you’ll never be well again. 

“Dead or orphaned?” Sanzu shouts to the man. It’s a question that’s impossible to answer.

✮✮✮

The screams have died. Non-executive members clear out. The Haitanis stay right next to you. Your feet are cemented into the earth. They gather around you as if you’re leading them.

Mikey speaks.

“Mochi, find someone to clean this up by tonight.” His voice is low, the wind is louder. He speaks calmly and precisely. “Rindou. Ran. Find the oldest son and ex wife. Kill them.”

They don’t object. They just nod. 

“I’m going home.” Is the last thing he says before turning away. Haruchiyo trails after him.

They all disperse like nothing happened

Ran pets your head before heading to his car. Rindou bumps you with his elbow before leaving, too. 

It’s like nothing happened.

Blood, piss, the salt of your tears, cologne. You can smell it in the air as you’re dragged back into the car. 

Your stomach churns and your mouth feels like it’s full of slime. There’s spit filling your mouth and in place of crying, you vomit. 

It’s stomach acid and that sandwich. You cough and then more stomach acid comes up. Hajime rubs your back as you lean over. All stomach acid comes up the next time. 

You hyperventilate, trying to catch your breath. Spit drips off of your lips. You start to shake and you’re finally able to make a noise for the first time in minutes. 

You let out a caterwaul. It rips itself through your vocal cords and punches out all the air in your body. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Hajime helps you into the passenger seat as you howl. It’s agony.

When he takes his seat you try to speak, but all you can do is let out tortured noises. 

Your hands reach out to grab him and you bawl into his chest. When his hands come up in an effort to comfort you, something snaps.

You’re swinging without thought, and you don’t stop. You hit everything, but you know you mean to hit him. You punch and slap him over and over. Even the steering wheel is a victim of your fury.

For a moment, Hajime is letting you have this. Then there’s a switch where he’s on top of you with his hands around your neck and your heeled feet flailing to kick him.

It’s cramped, and every sound feels as loud as Haruchiyo’s gun.

“Stop.” He speaks gently as he strangles you.

You manage a sound resembling “why?” but you don’t know what you’re asking it for.

What?

His hair drapes like a beautiful curtain around you. You’re running out of air and your fingers are gripping at his wrists. Your dress is up your back. You can’t calm down.

“I said stop.”

You quit flailing. He lets you go. You hack and sit up as he returns to the driver’s seat.

You sob the entire way home.

✮✮✮

“There’s vomit on your dress.” He speaks softly as he unzips you and drops the new dress to the floor.

He slides your gloves off and takes a chance to feel at each of your hands. Next, your bra. He gropes your breasts with fervor. He hasn’t been this rough before a bath, ever.

You can only let it happen. You can see yourself from above as it happens. Your hair is messed up and you’re slouched over like a broken animatronic. You don’t move.

From above, you see him drop to his knees and kiss your stomach. You hear his voice like it’s being played on a shitty speaker.

“I couldn’t think of another way of showing you how well I protect you.”

You see yourself nod.

“You’ve been difficult lately, and I wanted to- I don’t know.” His hands grip at your hips. He puts his forehead against your stomach. “There’s people like that man that would’ve killed you.” He says, muffled.

He looks back up at you with teary eyes. “I’m just trying to keep you safe and I want to take care of you, but—” He searches for the words. “I don’t know how to show you that you’re better here with me.”

Your body nods.

“Please forgive me. I’m sorry.”

He hugs your waist with his face to your stomach.

You stand frozen as you return to your body. 

[goldkirk]

.

[angelstrawbabie420]

grief will have you saying shit like goddamn and fuck maybe the abuse was worth it

[snekdood]

bitches really be treating you like a dumb bimbo when you're blonde huh

[kn11ves]

emotional support group for autistics who got called condescending and rude as kids just for responding to things directly and still not knowing how they were being mean

[heyitsphoenixx]

.

[hysteriasgarden]

I had a conversation with my brother the other month, and it's making me wonder just how much we don't remember, how many bad things have we simply forgotten? he doesn't even remember that time we genuinely were scared our dad was mad enough to kill us, and we were clinging to each other in fear waiting for him to snap. it's not like we were that young either when that happened

[justtogetthrough]

Look I know humans need to be individually strong and able to function independently etc and stuff but also humans evolved to be in groups too and I don't have a group, I've spent 95% of my life without a group, and I just so desperately want someone to be as attached to me as I am to them. I have spent my whole life lonely by myself on the outside looking in and I don't want to be here anymore. I've experienced what it felt like to be inside a group now and this loneliness feels even worse now that I know what it felt like to belong.

[hecksupremechips]

Had a very bad day Gotta eat gravel

[snow-and-saltea]

it is a bit scary but ive been in the limbo between not allowing myself to do anything until i get my shit together for too long, which means i havent been "indulging" in anything i really like but only things i've cycled through routine to the point of tastelessness. i am somehow so adamantly resistant against escapism through hobbies or from making myself feel better but also very cowardly in the sense that i'm too afraid of looking at my problems in the eye because my bad mental health bars me from being honest and hopeful (to inspire myself to fix it) to myself because every time i try, i can only hear the "brutal" part of the "brutally honest", and i don't even know if i'm being honest because it's as though i go into this dialogue against myself with an intent to kick myself down. which, i do understand why it happens, but i currently have no energy to "fight" back against it so i just go "yeah. you're right. i AM trash and worthless. i already know this, can we stop bringing this up please?" perhaps from an outsider pov or through a friend's pov i am seen differently, but imagining myself being seen in a positive manner somehow feels delusional because i "know" i'm not being very umm. valuable. i guess skhdjshfjdjf there's definitely stuff going on there

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[wilwheaton]

When I was a kid, and I was 14, 15, 16 years old, my home life was terrible. I was really sad and abused and having a terrible time at home, and the only place I was happy and felt safe was at work. I went to work and I loved my Star Trek family, and they loved me and I loved being there. And then the work we did, people were mean to me about it. People who didn't know me, who I didn't know, got on what was Usenet at the time, and they were awful. They wrote angry letters to Starlog, and they were really mean to me. They were cruel to this child at conventions and stuff in ways that would never fly today. I think that a narrative took hold — “Nobody likes Wesley.” That is empirically false. That is completely unsupported by decades of data. The truth is the kids who Wesley was meant to bring into Star Trek loved him! A lot of them grew up to work on Star Trek, right? [Laughs] What happened is, at that time, the kids who loved it weren't writing letters, they were not using Usenet. They didn't even have modems! They were just loving the show. It took me 30 fucking years to hear them and meet them and know, “Hey, buddy, you're not the person your dad said you were. You're not the person that those fans made you believe you were. You're that guy, and he is you, and there's a bunch of you together. You inspired a generation of kids.” I am so relieved and happy for my younger self. I wish I could just, like, pop through time real quick and just whisper in my ear, “Buddy, I know how much it hurts right now, but I promise you there's a day coming where it's really okay. You're not even gonna remember this.”

Wil Wheaton Reacts to the Positive Reception of Wesley Crusher's Star Trek Return: "It’s 35 Years Overdue"

[heartless-curr]

i want to talk about the moment that both made me fall in love with atsushi nakajima as a character, and which made me realize that I was probably going to get obsessed with BSD.

specifically, it was this moment.

words can not describe how important this moment was to me, and how vital this is to both atsushi as a character and his relationship with dazai as a whole.

as someone who is currently living with my abusive parents, this was something that resonated with me a lot — oftentimes, media when attempting to portray abuse (specifically parental abuse) and victims of abuse, does 1 out of 2 things:

1. Tries to justify the abuse and protect the parents — having the kids be okay with the treatment they recieved.

2. Has the kids utterly despise their parents with no shred of good feelings.

And whilst, sure, both of these can happen — and I'm sure there are victims who actually feel like this — it's not the most common response.

Speaking from my own experience — I don't know how to feel about my parents. If they died, I wouldn't know what face to make. I hate them more than anyone else, but at the same time, I grew up with them. I hate them, but I also love them. If they died, I don't know how I'd feel about it. And we get to see Atsushi having that exact breakdown — the elation over the person you hate dying, versus the grief and frustration and confusion. Abuse isn't simple, and feelings aren't simply — your abuser dying isn't something that's clean cut, it comes with a million different conflicting confusing emotions.

And the fact that Atsushi is allowed to have these feelings, is allowed to hate the headmaster, is allowed to grieve without forgiveness, is so important. BSD doesn't try to justify his abuse — it's okay to mourn someone that hurt you even if you don't like them. Their death — or their intentions — don't make forgiveness a necessity.

And even moreso, the fact that he gets explicitly told that regardless of the fact that that abuse was what molded him into the person he is today and has helped him survive, and the fact that the headmaster had good intentions, it was bad and unforgivable, is extremely important.

dazai not forcing atsushi to feel a certain way about his abuser, and encouraging him to mourn without forgiveness and to actually feel, is an incredibly important moment — i doubt that i'm only speaking for myself here when i say that when dealing with these subject matters, these are the types of things we'd like to hear.

the fact that dazai is the character telling atsushi this isn't lost on me, either — considering that earlier on this chapter, he sent ryuunosuke to tell atsushi about the headmaster, and they had this interaction:

everything about this is so fascinating and well written — from atsushi having an extremely realistic breakdown over the death of his abuser, to dazai telling him that he has zero obligation for forgiveness — and the implications that he's aware that what he's done to ryuunosuke is wrong regardless of intentions, is fascinating.

to me, atsushi nakajima has always felt human in a way most protagonists don't — his trauma impacts him, he has complex messy feelings that can't be easily resolved. it's his choice what to do with his emotions, and all others can do is give advice, and let him figure out how to deal with them.

atsushi nakajima crying over the man who simultaneously raised him and made his life a living hell is accurate in a way that almost hurts.

(slightly unrelated, but i sure was accurate with this prediction from a month ago, huh!)

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Gonna talk about the marshmallow test in therapy bc I think that's why the endless forward march of time makes me so panicked

[shaisuki]

SHAI I NEED YANDERE MICHAEL KAISER BABY TRAPPING CHUBBY READER..... PLEASSEEEEEEE AHSHSJZJZNJ

𝗕𝗘𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗘𝗦

FT. YANDERE! MICHAEL KAISER

content warnings: babytrapping, sabotage, brief chap. 260 spoilers, implied abuse, abandonment issues, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, smut.

synopsis: kaiser is ready for a baby but you aren't ready so you leave him with no choice.

“i'm not ready for a baby, michael.”

that wasn't the answer he was expecting coming from you. michael had put a lot of thought on this, starting a family with you and you straight out refused him. never did he felt betrayed from the person who is you.

he have the influence. connection and wealth to raise children no matter how many you want but why the answer of you not being ready when in his mind you were the perfect mother to his perfect kids.

“so when you will be ready for children, rose?” the nickname rolling smoothly in his tongue. grasping your soft jaw softly and lifting it up to meet his baby blue eyes. his lips quirked in soft curve. a smile he had shown to you many times.

“i don't know, michael. honestly, i've been thinking that we're both not ready for it and i'm scared. scared that i'm bringing a life in this world where i'm unsure of what to. i don't want for the baby to have a mother whose unsure of herself.” you reasoned and you watch as his smile deflates. replacing it with a thin line. a look of disappointment in his face. his baby blue eyes darkening.

you meant it. he's sure of it and despite for searching for a subtle hint that you are lying, he found nothing. only the features of what a anxious person is and michael hated it.

everything was going fine. he's the ace of bastard münchen, the one who will replace noel noa, an emperor and he can't get what he wants. needs. he only want a fucking child with you and you can't even be prepared for it when your job is only to bear his kid.

your explanation meant one thing. you don't want to be with him anymore. that's right. that's the reason you don't want to take it on the next step and sooner or later, you'll be leaving him for good.

he won't allow you leave him. out of admirers and his potential lovers none of them made connection and attachment to him like you did. you were the chosen one for him and a devious idea formed inside his thought. he could impregnate you without your knowledge and you won't be thinking of leaving him with a child inside your already round stomach. he's sure of it. you're nothing a like to his greedy mother. you're perfect for motherhood, to him.

he'll be killing two birds with one stone and thus, it begins.

“m-michael....” you softly moans out his name after reaching your release and kaiser groans from the tightness of your cunt milking him dry. it's still the same from how you call his name, the hold you have in his arms, everything. however it didn't change that you leaving him since you confessed that you don't want a baby from since he expressed his desire for wanting one.

michael eyes the pill bottle in disdain watching as you popped two pills in your mouth. birth control pills. one of the things he certainly dislikes. preventing you from being swollen with his child.

he softly pats your head. the questions reeling in his mind. “you know we're going to be great parents to a child.” he commented out of the blue of the dimness surrounding the room. you tense at the subject of being parents. shifting in your place where you lay your round cheeks in his lean chest. you pressed your palm in his chest and meeting his gaze. “michael, please not again. i'm not ready. we're going to be one but not today.” frowning at what he's implying again.

“i apologize, my rose. the thought don't simply want to leave me.” the pad of his thumb grazing on the softness of your cheek. “i always think that our child will be blessed with a parents like us. imagine a mini-version of me or yours and better a mix of us. having us for them to look at. both they will love.” his voice gentle and sweet. a glint of fondness swirling in his eyes and it made you sick. staring at those eyes of him when he talks about it.

sighing, “i want that too, michael.” your simply murmured. avoiding his gaze and he's quick to met yours again. “we both want it.” catching your lips in one of a desperate kiss before pulling back. pushing your round shoulder. laying down with your back in the sheets. michael hovers above you. his blonde hair streaked with blue were like vines hanging.

“we should have plenty of conversation once it happened. looking forward to seeing this stomach of yours getting rounder than already it is with our baby.” he cheekily commented although it was laced with honesty. “michael, i'm on the pill.” you giggled. the striker smiles at you. “i know. let me have you like i'm going to get you pregnant.” he's one with you again.

the sudden blaring of the timer startles you. five whole minutes of waiting and your life is about to change, maybe michael's too. you weren't sure and your hands shakes like they were electrocuted. exhale and inhale. you repeated it. the tears is already pooling in between of your lashes and you didn't know wether to cry or not.

building the courage of grabbing the flipped pregnancy test down. you reversed the stick and you bursted into tears. the results clear as the daylight.

all two lines. it is positive. all three of the pregnancy sticks littered in the sink indicated you were pregnant with kaiser's child. why? the first question appeared in your mind. you were careful and so is michael since you made it clear you didn't want a baby and michael was respectful of it. you don't know what you're supposedly to do know. your misery in exchange for kaiser's happiness.

a triumphant smirk blooms in his face. his jaw resting in your head while he comforts his girlfriend who told him minutes ago that you are pregnant with his baby. switching from shushing and comforting you that he knows best. listening while you cry your heart out. “we were careful, michael.” you sob. “i know.” he whispers.

“i was on the pill. i took them regularly at the right time.”

sugar pills.

sugar pills is what you had been taking for the past months. a bit hard to differentiate them from the real ones, your birth control pills easily switched with those sugar pills. you didn't even suspect a thing and during that time where you began taking them is where he made sure to breed you full. cumming deep inside and staying for a bit to make sure it took and it did.

michael cups your cheeks. “it was meant for us, my rose.” was his only explanation to you. sparks and sparks of new emotions bubbling inside of him. he's going to be a father. the best one and you his girlfriend is about to be a mother. he would spend the next months looking over for his soon-to-be wife and baby. of course, wife. the baby would not to be illegitimate child of his.

as much kaiser dislikes your tears, it was better. you can no longer leave him. not with his baby inside you. it would be considered a crime for you to take it away. truly, it wasn't going to happen if you simply just agreed with him. have his baby, end of story.

it's going to be a bed of roses from now on.