#platonic breakups hurt

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Desperate Fool - Part 1

written for @steddiemicrofic

Prompt: 'fool' | wc: 454 | rated: T | cw: hurt/no comfort, break-up

~~~

“Stevie, baby, please answer the door,” Eddie begs just as the front door bursts open to reveal Robin Buckely in all her righteous fury.

“You need to leave,” she says, and god, he’s never heard her sound so cold before.

“No Robin, please, you don’t understand. I’ve been a complete f-”

“Fucking asshole?” Robin spits.

“Well,” Eddie sheepishly replies, “I was going to say fool, but, yeah.”

“Fool is a bit of an understatement, don’t you think? It’s been almost a year, and you just show up?" Her hands are white-knuckled and shaking, like she’s physically restraining herself from attacking him. Eddie’s pretty sure he'd deserve it. "How did you even find our new place?”

Up and coming rockstar money certainly has its perks, so he hired a PI.

“I asked Dustin,” he lies.

“No,” Robin cuts him off, “no you didn’t. The kids would never betray his trust.”

Not like you did rings unspoken. 

Months worth of tears finally spill over, a small sob wrenching his body forward. He harshly rubs his face in an attempt to ground himself. Gathering his breath, he looks up again to find Robin glaring, hard and unyielding.

“Robin please,” he sobs, leaning to glance around her, desperate to catch a glimpse of the boy he left behind. “I just want to talk to him. I need to tell him how sorry I am. I regret everything. All of it. I never should’ve said what I said or did what I did.”

“Oh!” she rages. “Do you mean when you celebrated your first big show by ditching Steve and hooking up with some rando in the bathroom?”

She’s yelling now, stepping out onto the front stoop to crowd his space. People are starting to gather on the sidewalk, among them a group of girls with their phones out, recording everything. 

This could ruin him. His reputation, future gigs, possibly the band as a whole. 

He doesn’t care. It’s his reckoning.

“Or, was it after he moved out and you threw a massive drunken doxxing bitchfest on TikTok and said– how did it go again?”

Her voice drops to mock his own ”’a rockstar can’t be seen dating a normie, suburban, ex-high school jock who’s only bullshit dream is to raise kids. That’s just bad for business.’”

“I didn’t mean any of it,” he whispers.

“I don’t care,” Robin says, voice hard and resigned. “You cheated. You embarrassed him publicly. Then you left without a word. Now I need to you to get off my porch and kindly fuck off.” 

Robin steps backwards into the townhome, and just as she’s slamming the door in his face, Eddie swears he sees a flash of chestnut hair and wet hazel eyes.

~~~

Part 2

Homesick on ao3

[phoenixs-fandoms-and-writings]

What’s Wrong With Me?

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: parent!Sirius Black & reader, Implied Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Implied James Potter/Lily Potter

Character: Sirius Black

Summary: You've just broken up with your ex. You go to your dad because you need comfort and to know there's nothing wrong with you.

Ex is referred to with pronouns he/him/his.

No pronouns are used for reader. The only nicknames used are sweetie, honey, and love.

Note: I don’t own Sirius Black or the Harry Potter franchise. I am not JKR, I don’t agree with her views and my account is a safe place for all (except bigots, homophobes, transphobes, ableists and racists)

Cross posted on AO3 as simplyreflected

You hated feeling worthless and useless. You had broken up with your boyfriend; he used to make you feel so loved but now he would flirt openly in front of you with everyone under the sun, and put you down in front of everyone in the same sentence. Tonight you found him cheating on you with your now ex-best friend. You didn’t know what you did but you believed you did something wrong though.

Before you broke up with him, you yelled at him, and didn’t go back to your apartment, but instead decided to go somewhere he didn’t know the location of - your father’s. You had parked in front of his house, when you finally let the tears fall.

You don’t remember getting out of the car or walking to the front door but there you were, so you knocked on the front door, or at least you hoped it hit the front door, your vision was very blurry from all the tears.

Your father, Sirius opened the door and you heard, “sweetie, I didn’t know you…,” his speech slowed down when he realised his daughter was crying, “…were coming. Honey, c’mere.” He held out his arms for you and pulled you into a hug, closed the door, then moved his hand and ran his fingers through your hair.

“Daddy,” you cried. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Oh, sweetie, nothing’s wrong with you. Why do you think something is?”

“He’d flirt with everyone in front of me. And tonight, I caught him cheating on me with my best friend. I guess, now my ex-best friend.”

He pulled you closer, being as gentle as he could hugging you that close, and kissed the top of your head. “Honey, nothing is wrong with you, but I can tell you, everything is wrong with him. What he did tells me more about his character than it does about yours.” He paused looking down at you. “Love, how about we go to the living room, you can get comfortable on the couch and we can keep talking?”

You nodded, as he took your hand and guided you to the living room. With you sitting he sat in front of you, he held both of your shaking hands, quietly told you, “I think it’d be better for you not to go back to your place, so for however long you need, you can stay here with me. Tomorrow, we’ll get your uncles and go get your stuff. And we’ll find a new place for you that he doesn’t know about.” He moved his hand to rub your cheek and you leaned into it, shedding a few more tears. “How about this, love? We can go away together for a while, yeah?”

“Ok, daddy,” your voice sounded so small, like a child.

“Honey, you’re so much better than him. There’s a few things I have learned about love and one of them is that loving might be a mistake but it’s worth making. You deserve to love someone and to be loved back, but if it turns out to be a mistake then it is worth making, because then you've experienced love. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I do.” You paused before looking up at him again. “Are you sure you don’t mind me staying here for a while?”

He looked you in the eye, and with complete honesty, he told you, “Of course not, sweetie. I’m happy to have you back here. I’m just sad that you’re having to go through this.” He paused before asking. “ Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, please,” you whispered.

He left the room and when he came back you had your head against the back of the couch. He placed a mug in front of you

“Dad?” He looked up at you and hummed, letting you know he was listening. “I’d like to go away. Maybe we can ask Papa, and we could also ask Uncle James if he would like to join us, he can bring Aunt Lils and Harry. I think they’d like that.” He nodded and you paused before saying, “I also want you to know, I am everything I am because you loved me. It makes me feel lots better being here and knowing that you’re here.”

You drank your drink as he told you, “sweetie, I will always be here for you. You are my beautiful child. I would do anything for you.” He yawned. “Tomorrow, we’ll ask them if they want to join us.

It dawned on you that maybe you had woken him up, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

He smiled at you. “It’s alright. I was going to head up, but you will always be the most important thing to me. Your papa is asleep.” He paused. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, but I am always happy to see you and I know your papa and uncle will be as well. We can explain to them tomorrow or whenever you are ready, okay?” You hummed in agreement as both of you walked into the kitchen and he took your mug from you. He placed it in the sink. “Right now, I think it’s time for bed. You know where your room is. If you need anything, you know where to find me and your papa.” He kissed your forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning, love.” You went upstairs to your room, turning once to see your dad smiling at you. You gave him a small smile before going up to your room, knowing you may not be okay right now, but with your family by your side, you knew you would be in time.

[mandalhoerian]

I hate you for what you did, but I miss you like a little kid: CLAIRE REDFIELD & LEON KENNEDY. a study on friendship loss.

[puppiesandnightlock]

Link: Two Birds On a Wire

Summary:

Damian and Jon, and their views on the moment that the Super Sons - and their friendship - cracked. the supersons broke up yall im sry-

for prompt six: Friendship

Two birds on a wire…

They watched each other, Damian sitting on their old Gotham rooftop as Jon seemingly descended from the stars. It was almost a remake of a few months before, except for a few rather striking differences. The wind swept Jon’s curls to the side, tearful pools of sapphire blue desperately searching for the boy’s gaze.

His domino was off, and for his credit, Damian’s gaze stayed steely, looking straight ahead. The black cape he wore whipped around him in the Gotham chill, the reds of his kevlar suit bringing out his caramel complexion. 

Touching down onto the rooftop, Jon inched closer to him until Damian stood straight up, fiddling with the mask in his hand, seemingly a nervous tactic.

One tries to fly away…

“Stop.” 

Damian looked up, piercing the indestructible Kryptonian with his gaze. He twirled the mask in his hand, debating whether or not to put it back on. Jon stood in front of him, having recoiled at his words.

This boy, someone he had once treasured and still did, someone he would have once killed for, had gone as Damian's best friend, and had come back as someone completely different.

If it had just been the trauma, he would have understood, who else but him understood how deep a scarred childhood could go. 

He had never treated Jon as anything less than an equal. He, yes, had looked down on him, had once considered him a danger to society as we know it, but he had never treated him as an incapable small child, someone who could have gone off the rails at any given moment, destroying everything. 

Sure, that was a little hypocritical, and perhaps he was justifying himself a bit too much because he probably has done exactly that,, but that wasn't the point.

The point was it had always been them two, Jon and Damian against the world. 

And then Jon came back older. bigger , stronger, with a stupid boyfriend.

Romance was stupid. Feelings were stupid. 

And so, he closed himself off. If everything was going to change, if his oldest, only friend, was going to change and leave him alone with all these incompetent people who called themselves heroes, then he sure as hell was going to make sure he left first.

And the other stays…

“Dami…I-”

Jon reached out again for him, watching the pain fill the green eyes he’d so desperately missed. 

He’d come back, and sure, he didn't say bye, but they were still the Super Sons, right? Robin and Superboy, although now he was technically the oldest AND tallest of the two, but he could muster up some big brother energy and let his name go first.

He knew he would have o take more charge now, be a bit more assertive here, and that was in. He couldn't understand how or why Damian was so appalled about this. It hurt that they wouldn't go to school together again or grow up together, but that would pass, and Jon had already gotten much more used to being practically an adult, so why hasn't damian?

They were still best friends. They would always be best friends. 

He knew he was all Damian had, so why was the younger trying to pull away so much?

Two birds of a feather….

They stood there, on the rooftop, these conflicting thoughts running through their heads.

“You’re so much taller then me now.” Damian spoke suddenly.

Jon took a step closer and tried to joke. “Yeah, shorty-pants.”

“You're bigger, broader. Your hair got longer. A part of me swore it was you, when i saw you coming towards me. But everything else didn't know who you were.”

Damian made a motion as if he were hugging himself, and as he looked down, Jon could feel the hurt coming off in waves. 

“The only thing that could vaguely clue me in was your eyes. Same beautiful, haunting shade of blue. But they held ghosts. They were so deeply pained, heavy with trauma. Not my Jon’s eyes.”

The Super’s throat went dry, and while his heart broke at the description and his eyes welled with tears, anger bubbled up instead.

“So what, you’re blaming my six year space trauma for whatever the hell is goinng on between us right now? Because if thats the case, then kid, you’re just as spoiled and entitled as-”

A broken laugh was barked out, as Damian pointed at him with his mask. 

“That, that right there is another reason. I don’t even know if you relized it. You  wanna know the top reasonon this list? It’s because i lost my best friend.”

“Damian. I am right here.” Jon spat out each word as if they caused a vile taste in his mouth.

“Everyone mourns the loss the little boy, but i couldnt fucking care less. I lost the only person who would ever consider me an equal. One who wouldnt judge me for who i was, who i’ve become. Someone who would stick through with me. Not one who would call me ‘kid’ and force me out of missions. I don’t need another goddamn big brother, Jon, I have six older siblings. i have never seen you as kin, i never will.”

Say that they’re always gonna stay together….

Domino was plastered back on, completing the walls being built back up. They had seen each other at their most vulnrable, and Damian was never letting anyne past his barriers ever again.

He told himself that he didn't care about the tears in Jon’s eyes, the soft little cries. He forced himself to keep the water pouring from his own eyes concealed in his mask

“Is that just it then?” Jon scrubbed his eyes. “Are we done?”

Damian paused, willing himse;f to keep his voice steady. “If that is how you wish to call it.”

“What about younger us? What about the Super Sons?”

The bat swiveled around. “Keep their name and their legacy out of your mouth, Superman. We are not them. We can never be them again.”

His mask slipped, just slightly, but enough for Jon to see the tearful emerald eyes. 

He stood on the edge of the roof, cape flowing behind him. 

“Goodbye, Jonathan Kent.”

His hearing caught the pained sobs as the younger boy collapsed on a nearby rooftop, his heartbeat thumping erratically. 

Jon had the urge to chase after him, to help him and comfort him, but he knew that nothing would help him break through those walls again. Still, he stuck for a bit, crying himself until he heard Damian’s broken voice sniffle into his comms. 

“Please, Oracle, can you send for one of my siblings to come, I am at (coordinates). Thank you. No. I’m not injured. But not okay, either.”

He flew up into the air, leaving Gotham behind him. 

Still, despite that night, a part of his heart would always, always belong to Damian, to Gotham. Therefore,  he couldn't stop himself from uttering what he was sure would be his last words to his old best friend, knowing he would never hear it himself.

“Goodbye, Damian Wayne.”

I

Love

You

@super-sons-week-2023

[offsidekineticist]

Here it is. Part 15. I have outlined the rest of the arc, so I think we're more than halfway through now. Looks like there will be a total of 25 parts.

CW: child death, crippling guilt, despair, magically induced suicidal ideation, internalized ableism, vomiting, emotional abuse, emotional breakdown

It's Still Not Enough

You lose track of time sitting on the bench by the river. Something about it was soothing in a way few things have been lately. There’s something beautiful about the sound of running water. Maybe it’s because it reminds you of home, of growing up and living on the banks of the Brastle River. Or maybe it goes even further back, to before you were in Brastlewark, when you and your mother trekked across the deserts of Katapesh. Water is life, and in those days water was scarce. You don’t remember seeing a river or brook in Katapesh, but you spent the last few months of your mother’s life in a gnomish oasis town called Finderplain. There was, in the center of the town, a pool filled with water from a natural spring, and every day you would go down to the pool with a bucket half your size that you would fill with water before dragging it back home. The pool wasn’t a river, but you fondly remember the sound of the water moving into your bucket - especially when you dallied and dragged the bucket back and forth, trying to generate a wake, or dunking the bucket into the water to create a short-lived vortex.

Water is life. Water is safe. And maybe…maybe water is healing, too.

“Hey, Thay?” You break out of your reverie to see Gilly eyeing the now overcast sky nervously. “We should probably go. It’s getting pretty late - don’t wanna be caught after dark.”

You certainly do not. There have been rumors circulating around Redroof of vengeful ghosts stalking the streets at night. You’re skeptical of the details of the rumors, but you know for a fact something is preying on the people of Kintargo. The other day you happened to overhear a couple talking about a family down the street from you whose son was found, his head removed, after he stayed out playing too late.

You hop off the bench and give the river a last fond look before pawing the strap of your bag over your shoulder, less irritated by how much you struggle with it than you’ve felt in some time. Less angry about how hard it’s going to be for you to walk home. Less bothered.

Yes, water is healing. You should try this more often.

You are about to set off back the way you came, when Gilly speaks up. “I think I know a shortcut,” he says, more subdued than usual - the river seems to have affected him, too. “It could get us home with less walking. I think. Might get us home before dark.”

“That would be preferable,” you say dryly before gesturing to let him pass. “Lead on.”

(You really should have known better. Giliys is good with maps - he has to be, given the life he’s lived - but he doesn’t have a map of Kintargo.)

Gilly leads you down a series of side streets. It makes sense at first, but the more turns he leads you down, the more like a maze things begin to feel, and the longer the shadows grow.

The first time you stop for breath is when Gilly says he needs to stop to get his bearings. For once, it doesn’t seem to be an excuse.

“You have no idea where we’re going, do you?” you say once you’ve managed to catch your breath enough to speak.

“Of course I do! We just - the fucking streets - well, I know where they were supposed to go!”

He has no idea where you’re going.

“I think we should double back and start again from the waterfront,” you say, the calm from the river beginning to fade. Gilly looks rankled, but nods with an exasperated growl.

“Ugh, fine. We’ll try it again another time when it’s not so late - I’m telling you, there’s a fucking shortcut somewhere around here.”

“I’m sure,” you say as you turn around and begin backtracking the way you came.

The trouble comes at the first intersection. You turn right. Gilly turns left. Neither of you notices until you’re both across the intersection from each other.

“Where are you going?” you call.

“Back to the fucking bench! Where the fuck are you going?”

“Back the way we came - I thought we said no more shortcuts.”

“This isn’t a fucking shortcut, this is how we got here!”

“No, we came from this street and turned left!”

“No, that’s two whole fucking blocks back this way that we turned left!”

“We went down three blocks before making this turn!”

And so on. You do eventually close the distance and take the dispute to the side of the street when you notice passersby staring at you.

(You should have told him to shut up and just asked one of the passersby for directions. Why did you indulge him like that? Were you so desperate for normalcy that you forgot safety? That you forgot who he is?)

Five minutes of back and forth solve nothing except to make you both less certain of the correct way back. You realize, with dawning horror, that you’re lost at dusk in a city that becomes markedly unpleasant at night.

“Ok, look. We know Redroof is southeast of where we are cuz there’s no fucking way we walked far enough from the waterfront for that not to be true. So we just turn south and east until things start smelling like shit and then figure out where we are and get home.”

You cross your arms. “Which way is south?”

Gilly looks up, about to reckon the direction from the sun’s position - only to realize the sky is overcast.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Ok, fine, you got me. You got any bright ideas?”

You open your bag and start reaching for books. You don’t remember having any books that would have a map of Kintargo, but it’s worth a shot when the alternative is wandering around in the dark. Unfortunately, your hands splinted as they are, you’re just pawing at the contents of your bag while the passing tallfolk occasionally take a moment to stare as they walk by.

(Of course, that’s why you didn’t ask for directions - the passersby were all tallfolk. You’re used to being the shortest person in town - you’re not used to being shorter by this much, and, frankly, it’s intimidating to attempt to flag one of them down. But Giliys is used to being among tallfolk. You should have made him do it.)

“Ok, look. I say we pick a direction and keep going till we hit some shit we recognize cuz we’ve been there or it’s a landmark or some such shit. Worst case we just wander till it’s so fucking dark we can see the fucking stars if we get away from the fucking lanterns. Either way, we figure out where the fuck we’re going. Yeah?”

You close your bag with a huff. “Fine. Next time we go back the way we came.”

Gilly chooses the street neither of you thought was correct, and you follow him.

(You agreed on which street you should have gone on, you only disagreed on which direction–why didn’t you just flip a coin and travel the street until you had gone far enough to figure out if it was the right way?)

You follow the chosen street until you come to a strange sight: a model building–some kind of prison?–at least as tall as you are in the middle of a field. There’s a distinct sense of foreboding, of unwelcomeness, but something about the situation piques your curiosity. After all, it’s not every day you find a foreboding model building in the middle of a field. You move towards it to examine it more closely.

“I think we should turn back, Thay. Thay? Thay!”

You pay him no mind. As you approach the building grows to full size. The sense of foreboding feels even stronger now that the building is looming over you. With black walls and barred windows, you recognize with a terrified lurch this isn’t someplace you want to see–this is a place of pain and punishment.

Exactly where you belong.

You’re suddenly hit with a wave of memories–cruel words to Gilly, outbursts at Qweck. You see your old friend Cei, back before your being a bleachling turned her away. You see her trying to help you through what you both thought were your last days, and you see yourself snapping and belittling her for refusing to leave you to die miserable and alone.

You see your brother as he was the last time you spoke to him, back when your hair was orange and your skin russet. You see him staring at you, pain written across his face, and you see the moment when you finally pushed him so far he couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. You see him whimper. You see his mortification at allowing that expression of weakness. You see him break away, tearing across the living room of that house in Brastlewark that’s home to neither of you, now. You see him flee the home he’s known his entire life, watch him escape your rage for the “safety” of hellknight training.

You see your every flaw and foible. You see your anger. Your anger that you can no longer control. You’re a danger to everyone, you realize with horror. You lash out, and not only can’t you control it, you can’t even take responsibility for it. It always feels like you’re on the outside looking in, watching your body and words lash out, but it’s not just your body; it’s you!

But even when you are in control, it’s still not enough, is it?

You see the library. You see children cowering as hellknights clap you in irons. You see yourself freeze. You shouldn’t have frozen. The children were afraid. It was your responsibility to soothe them. Your responsibility to keep them from doing something foolish.

“Leave Mister Theo alone!”

She is so small, and the hellknights are so tall, but still little Pel rushes towards them without hesitation. Of course she does–this is what you taught her to do. You taught her–and all of the children you’ve ever taught–to stand up for what she thought was right, even when it’s scary, even when nobody else would.

You taught her to die.

She hits the bookcase and falls to the floor and doesn’t move and there’s so much blood–

And it’s all on your hands.

She might not be dead! You don’t know–they dragged you out before you could see–

It makes no difference. She could live. She could die. In either case, you are equally guilty. Justice demands penance.

You understand now. This is where you belong. This is where you will pay. This is where you will die. The only thing left is to face it with dignity. It is finally time for you to learn the lesson you taught to Pel. You had so many chances to improve, to be better, and you wasted them all. Now it’s time to answer for–

Something barrels into you from behind, wrapping its arms around your waist, knocking you to the ground. Your face hits the cobblestone with a crunch of pain in your nose, but that’s irrelevant. The pain is a fraction of what you deserve–and justice demands that you continue. That you do the right thing, even if it’s terrifying. You need to move forward.

You try to wriggle away, but whatever has hold of you, its grip is solid. It picks you up off the ground and begins running, even as you struggle against it, shouting at it to let you go, clawing at its arms with your still splinted hands because justice demands penance.

You struggle to the point of exhaustion. You feel sick to your stomach from exertion. And then the stench returns.

It’s too much. You throw up on the ground, on the arms around your waist, on your uselessly kicking legs, on your shoes. You are suddenly free, falling onto the cobblestone street on your hands and knees, your stomach still trying to empty itself. You're vaguely aware of a figure kneeling by your side, a gentle hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. It’s Gilly.

The adrenaline begins to subside and some clarity returns. The magnitude of what you just tried to do hits you, and then the shock hits. You almost went back. You almost, willingly, went back to being buried alive and, you’re certain, mercilessly tortured.

“Gilly?” you ask wearily, confused. Gilly takes a long deep breath.

“Yeah?”

“What happened?”

“A piece of fucking hell is sitting in the middle of Kintargo,” Gilly says, trying to be gentle but his anger clear in his voice. “Some kind of trap to lure in poor fucking bastards and drag them back to the rest of hell. Fuckers almost got you.”

“But they didn’t get you,” you say slowly. “Why?”

Giliys goes very still, but the circles continue. “Not much point in trapping what you already own, is there?” he finally says.

You’re exhausted. You’re disgusted. You’re breathing in the stench of corpses and your own sick. You’re so busy just existing that you have nothing left to stop yourself. “Hm. Convenient.”

The soothing circles stop as Giliys’s whole body stills. “What?”

You take another gulp of air–you almost taste the stench, but it’s not as bad as through your nose–before repeating yourself. “Convenient. The whole situation. How incredibly convenient.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that you chose a route that would lead us straight to an infernal trap that you were immune to, but I would need to be rescued from by some heroic hellion.”

“Wait–”

You don’t let him speak. It’s like all the times before–all the times you saw–it’s you, but it doesn’t feel like it’s your choice. You don’t know what you would choose if it was. “Did you really expect me to fall for that? That just because we had a nice afternoon–because you’ve been starving yourself–I would forget what you are? That I would trust a word that you say when you try to tell me that you didn’t know that trap was there?”

The hand withdraws from your back. Giliys reels back.

“I didn’t–”

“You decided to take the shortcut! You chose the direction when we were lost! You led us straight to the trap, and you expect me to believe it was an accident?!” You’ve sprung up, still kneeling on the pavement but now sitting upright. You’re shouting. You’re causing a scene in the middle of the night when people are trying to sleep, in a neighborhood where unknown forces are preying on fools caught outside after dark, but the part of you that is aware of that isn’t the part of you that cares about things. That part of you is screaming and can’t stop. “Were you hoping I’d buy it and just be so overwhelmed with gratitude that I’d forget what you did? Or were you trying to remind me just how lucky I am that you think I’m different from your prey?” He doesn’t say anything, and that just makes you angrier. “Good job on the trap, by the way! Intriguing, excellent craftsmanship, strong sense of foreboding - all top-notch, fantastically theatrical. Much more efficient to trick a city to walk themselves into a prison than to damn souls one by one. Your masters must be thrilled.”

(You know he didn’t set up the trap. Giliys is frighteningly clever, but breaking the fabric of reality to summon a piece of hell to Kintargo is well beyond his ken. That doesn't make you any more able to stop.)

“We should tell someone,” he says quietly, finally speaking up. “About the trap.”

“Oh, so you can be the hero of the hour for discovering the trap you set? Well of course, by all means! Because of course a man, completely lost, running for his life–sorry, running for his ‘friend’s’ life–would be able to remember where the authorities could find this hell prison that he accidentally stumbled upon. Obviously. Certainly nothing suspicious there! Of course this known agent of hell has nothing but the best of intentions towards the city and had nothing to do with a piece of hell itself coming to Kintargo! I mean it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Giliys doesn’t say a word. “Isn’t it?!”

“Okay,” he says softly.

“‘Okay?’ That's all you have to say for yourself–‘okay?!’”

“What do you want me to say? Tell me, and I’ll say it.”

You don't know what you want him to say. You want him to say something that will fix this, that will fix you, that will make this anger go away, that will make you stop, but you don't know what would do that. You don’t think anything can do that.

“I don’t want to be placated! I want you to be sincere! But you wouldn’t know sincerity if it hit you over the head with a brick, would you, Giliys? You just say what people want to hear! ‘I’m sorry,’ ‘I love you,’ ‘I’m here for you’ they’re all just words to you! Buttons you press to get people to do what you want, to get them off your back! And I was an idiot to fall for it again.”

You force yourself to your feet. The stench is back, which means you’re back in Redroof, and now that you know that, you recognize this street. You’re on Old Main, the road that runs from the western end of Old Kintargo to the eastern end of Redroof. Up ahead the road will split three ways: left will take you to the top of Temple Hill, straight will take you to Bridge Street, and right will take you to the northern end of Devil’s Nursery, the poorest neighborhood in the already impoverished Redroof. You’ll be turning right.

You start walking. A few moments later, you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t look back. It’s just Giliys.

You manage to get home and drag yourself up the flights of rickety stairs to your apartment without making any stops, even if you are completely out of breath at the top. For a moment you allow yourself a moment of triumph for the feat.

Then you realize you still have to open the door.

Still gasping for breath, you start pawing at the door, trying to grasp the doorknob between your hands so you can twist it and open the door. It doesn’t work. This apartment was built for tallfolk. The doorknob is almost as high as you are tall, and your hands are still splinted and aching like hell with every attempt to curl your immobilized fingers around the knob. Every time you think you’ve got it, every time, it’s started to turn, your hands slip, and the doorknob turns back to where it started.

You bang on the door with your palm in frustration, hissing at the jolt of pain it causes. The anger rises to a fever pitch. You kick the door in fury, and then you kick it again. Again and again, you kick the door, your grunts of effort getting louder and more bestial with every impact. Your breathing speeds up, but you barely notice, kicking the door for refusing to open.

You finally scream. It’s not a high-pitched scream of terror. It’s a roar, like a bear’s, of anger and frustration from your chest, as you slide down the door into a pile on the ground. Why does everything have to be like this? Why are you so damn useless?

Because you deserve it. Justice demands penance.

Giliys steps forward. He doesn’t look at you. He takes the knob in one hand and opens the door before entering the apartment. He doesn’t shut the door behind him.

[f3v3rpitch]

Sometimes there are people in your life and you used to love them so much and one day you look around and you realize this isn’t what being loved feels like.

You hold the idea of them in your palm like a worry stone polished smooth and you say, “I always feel like shit around you.”

And you ask yourself, “How much of that is your fault? And how much is mine?”

There isn’t a good answer. Because they are rarely as awful as they make you feel. But they did make you feel like that long enough that it’s your subconscious version of them.

You can love people who treat you poorly. Ask yourself if you should, though.

Maybe they’ll get better. Are you in a place to let them? How much forgiveness are you made out of? How much would they need?

Kicked dogs don’t bite the first time they’re kicked. They whimper. Fangs are for creatures tired of taking hits. Can you afford to forgive them?

[midnightshade]

Shipping and Fanon aside, looking at Suguru's and Satoru's relationship solely as it's presented in Canon just makes my heart ache.

We've all had that friend who we thought would be with us forever. That friend who meant so much to you, who you planned out your life with. You went through life expecting them to be a permanent fixture, only to look over one day and realize they aren't there anymore.

All that remains of them is a distant memory and the bittersweet reminder of what could have been. Happier days that aren't there any more.

[plumbley-bee]

I will not regret having loved.

I don't mean I won't be sad, and my heart won't ache over connections I've lost.

I don't mean I always forgive people who have betrayed my trust and hurt me.

I don't mean I haven't loved the wrong person before.

I mean, the day I regret having felt love at all is the day I fear I will truly lose myself in every way that matters.

Even if I no longer hold any love for someone, I can not regret having felt it in the first place.

Why on earth should I regret the part of me that loves when it is my favorite thing about myself? Why should I shame myself for feeling the very same thing that allows me to have friends to hug and laugh with and milestones to celebrate?

I refuse to feel at fault for having felt something so beautiful and untouchable as love. I can not with good conscience condemn the version of me that loved when I didn't know why I shouldn't have. I will not punish myself over having found something worth loving, even for only a few seconds.

So I will weep for the connections I've lost, and I will do so proudly.

I will scream and cuss and cry at and about the people who have hurt me, and I will do so proudly.

I will laugh and hug and celebrate the people in my life, and I will do so proudly.

I will do these things with all the love I've ever felt etched into my heart, and I will do so proudly.

[nazuna-tunnel-vision]

i love getting stupidly invested in characters. i use the whole hyperfixation as a blotch test to externalise and explore all the hang ups i didn't know i had and/or don't dare to face head-on.

[nomaishuttle]

uninstalled all the dating apps which ws like 8nof them . in the morning ill tell the guys i was talking to that i overestimared how ready i was and hopefully theyll understand andnjust drop it

[blueslight]

👎

[1winwin]

.

[babygirlvanitas]

well ive got one partner less now

[ghoulinfuschia]

Romantic breakups suck, but I think platonic breakups hurt just as bad. You lose a person you thought would be around forever. What’s worse is if neither of you did anything wrong. Circumstances just wouldn’t allow it anymore. You stand at the end of your journey together, side by side, and all you can say is “Thank you for everything. I hope the future treats you kindly.”

[malkaviian]

i never talk about the effects the "breakup" with finnley had on chase so im going to do it now

[to-be-a-dreamer]

Man. If I had a nickel for every time Zac Oyama and Lou Wilson had to rp a breakup-coded fight between their “platonic besties” characters because Zac’s character was experiencing a hard personal internal struggle and decided to leave a group/cause that he wasn’t actually invested in and mostly just joined because Lou’s character was passionate about it and Lou’s character was canonically very charismatic and good at garnering followers/admirers but Zac’s character was one of his only true friends that he fully trusted and was loyal to and Lou’s character was really hurt when Zac’s character left, less by the actual action of leaving and more by the implication that he didn’t care about Lou’s character enough to stay I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot but it’s fucking RUDE that it’s happened twice.