#why is existing to painful and why am i doing worse worse doing it

[pears-trinkets]

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[prapuna]

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[pizzapizzadickz]

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[yamikawas]

i wish yoomtah was here so she could tell me she loves me whenever i need it and also kill anyone who tries to get in between us

[somniavulpes]

man, i like... rlly wanna kms

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from in-progress "timebending with Zuko" fic

Zuko wakes up and everything hurts.

Most specifically, his scar hurts.

That . . . doesn’t make sense, he thinks, and reaches for it automatically. A strong hand catches his wrist before he can touch it, which seems–fair, yes. Probably a good idea, anyway, because spirits does it hurt. Just . . . so much.

“Uncle?” he asks reflexively, attempting to open his eyes. It’s surprisingly difficult. And Uncle is in Ba Sing Se, of course, but he’s on his back on a futon or bedroll or something similar and someone’s sitting beside him and his head is swimming and he’s injured, clearly, so options for who said “someone” might be are limited, really.

So it’s not Uncle, obviously, but . . .

“Nephew,” Uncle says, very quietly, and Zuko . . . blinks.

At least, half-blinks. The one eye’s in too much pain to open.

The ceiling is metal, he notes absentmindedly. That’s . . . odd. He was in the palace, wasn't he?

“What happened?” he asks, vaguely bemused. Uncle pauses in a very concerning way, and Zuko has about three heart attacks about just how badly he doesn’t want to know what he’s about to say before–

“The Agni Kai,” Uncle says, very carefully. “Do you remember it?”

Zuko frowns–just with the one side of his face, because again, his scar hurts right now. To the point that his whole body feels wrong, does his scar hurt right now.

“Um–which one?” he asks, because there’s been about a dozen this month alone, and frankly he’s getting really sick of fighting them at this point but if the old guard of nobles are just going to keep dragging everything out like this–

“With your father, Nephew,” Uncle says, very carefully.

Zuko . . . blinks.

“Oh,” he says, vaguely perplexed. Uncle never talks to him about that. “Yeah, I remember that. What about it?”

“Do you remember what happened?” Uncle says.

“The part where I disgraced myself or the part where he burned my face?” Zuko says, because it’s so fucked up and awful and horrible that he can’t even get upset about it anymore, except when he’s really upset about it. But if Uncle’s bringing it up, presumably he has a good reason to be, so . . . “Or the whole ‘go find the Avatar who no one even believes exists anymore or you can never come home again’ part?”

“. . . all of that, yes,” Uncle says, still sounding very careful. Zuko frowns a little–again with just the one side of his face–and then looks over at him. His body still feels weird and wrong, but . . .

But . . .

They’re on a ship, he realizes. A Fire Nation one.

Well, explains the metal ceiling.

It doesn’t explain why Uncle is wearing red armor and a topknot like he hasn't in years, though, or why he looks so unspeakably sad.

“Um,” Zuko says, and attempts to sit up. His head immediately starts swimming even worse, and Uncle catches his shoulders and keeps him pinned against the . . . futon? Looks like a futon, yeah. “Where are we, exactly?”

“We are aboard a ship,” Uncle says. “I . . . may have slightly commandeered it.”

“. . . you paid for it, right?” Zuko asks, a little skeptical at that idea.

“Yes, Nephew, I did,” Uncle says, giving him a very tired, pained smile. Zuko doesn’t feel much better, seeing it.

“Is someone dead?” he asks, because he can’t think of anything else that would make Uncle look that way.

“Ah–no, no one has died,” Uncle says.

“Then what’s wrong?” Zuko asks warily.

“. . . you are injured, Nephew,” Uncle says, slowly. Zuko frowns, bemused. “And your father . . . I did not know he was going to do this. I am so sorry.”

Zuko . . . pauses. Looks around the room again, and then realizes: he knows this room, doesn’t he. He knows this ship.

This is the same ship he woke up on after the Agni Kai.

“Hold that thought, Uncle,” he says, then lifts his hands and looks at them. They . . . well, they are his hands, obviously.

But they’re not his hands, obviously.

“Huh,” he says, frowning in bemusement at them; turning them around like he half-expects them to stop being a thirteen year-old’s or something equally ridiculous. They don’t. They are very definitely a thirteen year-old’s hands.

Specifically, his thirteen year-old hands.

Huh.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says after a moment, putting his hands back down and glancing back to Uncle, who’s obviously the more important concern. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I took you into that meeting,” Uncle says, his voice tight. “And I watched the Agni Kai. And I did nothing to stop any of it.”

“I know,” Zuko says. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” Uncle says, his smile a sad and terrible thing. “You were there because of my actions. My mistakes.”

“You’re not the one who wanted to sacrifice all those soldiers,” Zuko says. “Or the one who decided to throw fire at my face.”

“You were there because of me,” Uncle repeats, his voice tight and his smile no less terrible. It occurs to Zuko, briefly, that Uncle must be thinking of Lu Ten.

He only ever looks like that when he’s thinking about Lu Ten, so . . .

“Uncle,” he says. “Really. It’s not your fault.”

“Nephew,” Uncle says, and his voice is somehow even tighter. Zuko tries to get up again, and his head swims again, and Uncle moves to stop him again. This time he grabs onto Uncle’s wrists and uses them to pull himself up, and then . . .

Well, then he’s sitting up, at least.

So that’s something.

He tilts his head and his hair slips into his eyes. It’s loose, and long. Not shaved on the sides yet, like he wore it the last time he was thirteen. He supposes he should cut it, but then again, why should he? He's not changing anything, after all.

Except for this conversation, he supposes, because that went very differently last time.

. . . hm.

"Uncle," he says one more time, and reaches out for him. Uncle doesn’t seem to understand what he’s trying to do, so he has to reach out a little farther, and then Uncle makes the connection and leans in and lets him wrap his arms around him and alright, yes: that’s better, Zuko thinks, and clings to him.

Just a little, perhaps, but . . .

Yes. He clings to him.

Uncle wraps his arms around him in turn, very carefully, and makes an awful sound.

“My boy,” he chokes. “I’m so–I’m so–”

“I forgive you,” Zuko lies, because of course there’s nothing to forgive.

But of course Uncle doesn’t understand that, does he.

[shipovnikk]

If you have time please read this. Thanks.

Today when I was sitting in the cafe next to me a kid started jumping. It's a common situation, maybe a little annoying. But I started to choke. I had to grab onto my sweatshirt because I thought I was going to suffocate. Because the noise was remotely reminiscent of rockets exploding.

When I was 7 I thought "Why me?". "Why did I have to go through this, why did I have to leave home and live in fear, why was I deprived of everything just for being who I am?". Now I'm 17 and I'm thinking, "Why us? What did we all do to deserve this?" And the answer is always the same, always painfully direct and heartbreaking. Nothing. None of us did anything to deserve it. No one deserves it, no one should wake up to the sound of explosions and lie there thinking that if that missile hits your house, at least you'll be free from this hell. And no one deserves to go through that because they were just born. That they're just who they are, and they're proud of it.

To realise that this is now happening in more than one or two countries, and to more than one nationality is even worse. That people cannot understand and accept that EVERY nationality has the right to exist, to be in its own land with its own rights.

I know that on this account I don't repost a lot of stuff about Gaza, Ukraine or other countries. This is because most of the time I am in a state of detachment from reality, and it can be too painful to go back. But that doesn't mean I don't care. I try to do what I can, and I beg you to do the same if possible. Just a couple of reposts can already mean a lot, a little money can save someone's life, not supporting Russian authors and brands supporting Israel can lessen the pain just a little. But it will mean the world to those who are now struggling for their existence.

Thank you for reading.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Holidays Shana!! I really love your prompts about Greek mythology. Could you write a continuation of Hades or God's and Monsters?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Zagreus is mid word when he stills, eyes going distant. "Huh. I'll be right back."

"You're joking," Megaera says flatly. "You can't just drop this on me and-"

"Technically, Than did that." He would really prefer if Zagreus didn't pull him into this. "I'll be quick. She's calling me, it can't be anything good."

"Who's she?" Megaera demands but Zagreus is already gone. She scowls and turns to the others. "Who's she?"

"Eliana, maybe," Sisyphus offers, completely unruffled at Megaera's ire. "At least take a look out the balcony. This is the highest point in the court and the view is really spectacular."

It is. Thanatos hadn't known the underworld could be beautiful before he'd seen what Zagreus had built.

Her eyes narrow. "How long has this been going on?"

"Oh, I can't say for sure," Sisyphus shrugs, his lips almost curling into a smile. "I wasn't really there for the beginning."

"I was."

They both turn to Patroclus. Eurydice is the only one of them that's suitably wary of either him or Megaera.

"He grew poms in my clearing first," he continues. "It's where we grew things until it became too full and then he created this. Zagreus has woven protections around it, to keep others from stumbling upon it accidentally, but I'm sure you could find it if you looked."

Megaera crosses her arms. "I'm not leaving."

Patroclus shrugs. Eurydice looks longingly towards the door and Sisyphus seems to actually be enjoying himself.

Thanatos stiffens, pain with no physical cause blooming from his chest. "He's died."

"Really?" Eurydice asks, taking a step closer. "He doesn't really do that anymore."

"Except for show," Sisyphus adds, frowning. "But you're both here."

Before Thanatos can decide how he feels about that, Zagreus is slipping back through the mirror, flicking off blood from his arms. "Sorry about that, Artemis wanted a favor."

Thanatos cannot have heard what he thinks he did.

"Artemis?" Megaera repeats dangerously.

"Oh, she told Aphrodite by the way," he adds casually, then pauses. "Actually, she was pretty surprised to see me, so I guess Artemis just called me and let her figure it out herself. Cold."

"Well, this is all unraveling," Patroclus says, but he doesn't seem that worried about it. Not nearly worried about it as Thanatos thinks he should be.

Zagreus shrugs. "They can keep a secret. Also it's been almost fifty years already, this can't go on forever. I suppose I could just challenge Demeter outright?"

"Do not do that," Eurydice says.

Thanatos wants to sit down.

"Have you LOST YOUR MIND?" Megaera screeches, grabbing Zagreus's shoulders. Her nails dig into him, but he doesn't bleed. "You can't do this! You can't - have you - this is crazy!"

Zagreus shrugs, pressing her nails deeper into him. "What's she going to do? Kill me?"

"There will be war," Thanatos says quietly while Megaera seems lost for words.

"Long overdue, if you as me," he says casually. "She's killing a lot of people, Than. She's undermining the other gods and making things worse for everyone all because she lost her daughter. She's turning against her own domain because her grief is more important than her duty. I can't make my mother talk to Demeter. But I have the power to stop her, to put an end to this winter. So I have to stop her."

"This isn't your responsibility, Zag," Thanatos says quietly.

"No," he agrees, expression souring. "It's my mother's. But if the goddess of spring won't do her duty and put an end to winter, then I will."

"Why?" Megaera asks, something small and scared in her that Thanatos hasn't seen since the first time she heard of Zagreus attempting to escape. "Why does it have to be you?

"I am a son of life's beginning and of life's ending." Zagreus says gently. "I know there is balance. I exist because of that balance. When I was born, I had too much of my father, and Nyx filled me with my mother's blood, because I can only exist when there is both." Thanatos hadn't known that, hadn't known how exactly his mother managed to save a stillborn Zagreus. "Who else, Meg?"

She doesn't have an answer.

There isn't one.

[satforsatoru]

𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭

➪ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐟𝐭. 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

no warnings

“You shouldn’t have gone on that mission by yourself.” 

The corner of your lip twitched, dangerously close to a frown. Satoru had been nagging you nonstop about the three-day mission you had just returned from, and your patience was getting thin. 

“I think I got that the first… I don’t know, three times you said that?” You snarked, still trying to focus on the book in your hands. 

You’d been looking forward to finishing it after your mission, but Satoru had barged into your apartment, pissy and demanding that you indulge his complaints. “You’re not getting it,” He hissed, approaching you from where he was pacing a hole in your living room carpet.

“I was available to go on that mission with you!” He insisted. That one phrase sent the rest of your patience up in flames and you slammed your book shut. 

“I am well aware since it was me who asked that you not go with me!” You hissed, unthinkingly. It took a long moment of silence from Satoru for you to realize exactly what you had just said.

“Wait, Satoru, I didn’t mean-”

“You asked for me not to come?” He repeated lowly. You blinked back at him, your mind running rampant with possible responses, but none of them could be forced from your lips. Truthfully, the idea of going on a mission with him terrified you. 

How could you compete, or even keep up, with him? Sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder what it mattered to be a sorcerer when Satoru existed. After all, what could you compare to the strongest there is? 

Someone so powerful that the very earth shook at the beginning of his existence. What did it matter if you exorcized curses or not? Try or give up? You would never amount to even half of what he was on his worst days.

You didn’t used to be so insecure, you were strong (or you used to think so) and took care of curses that others couldn’t. It wasn’t until that fateful day that Satoru confessed and promised to always be yours that you began to have doubts. 

Insecurity hovered closely behind you as he told you of his missions or how easily he’d taken care of curses that you couldn’t even begin to imagine facing off against. Worse yet were his promises to protect you, as if you were a helpless thing (but wouldn't you be, compared to the strongest?) that only he could save.

It was your painful, little secret, your feelings of incompetence. You knew it was foolish, that he would never hold the difference in power over you, but having to see it in person? You feared that it might be too much for you.

“Why?” He stressed, impatient with your tense silence. You just shook your head. “I handled it fine! I didn’t need you to babysit me,” You shot back, tired of the stinging in your chest. Your lover scoffed, as if unable to comprehend your words. 

“‘Babysit’? You were gone for three days! I could have helped and had you home in one! I just missed you!” He cried incredulously. The meaning of his words was lost on you the moment he mentioned just how much quicker he would’ve succeeded. 

“I don’t want to go on missions with you, Satoru,” you confessed, “I don’t think I can handle it.” The frustration seemed to melt from his features at your defeated tone. 

“Handle it? Baby, handle what?” He murmured, hands reaching to hold you. When you didn’t move away, one hand made its way behind your head, and the other landed on your back holding you to him. “What use do I have… when around the strongest? Nothing I do can really matter if you can do it twice as fast and so much better,” You whispered brokenly. 

“You don’t truly believe that, do you?” Satoru sighed, pulling away from you. The corner of his lips raised in a small smile and his thumbs gently brushed away your tears. 

“What does it matter to be the strongest if there’s no one else? Not even the ‘strongest’ can do everything by himself… I need you, and every other sorcerer who risks their life every day, so baby, don’t ever think that what you accomplish doesn’t matter.” 

His words were earnest, but your insecurities were strong. Even when you buried your face in Satoru’s chest, you couldn’t hide your feelings from him, six eyes or not. He knew you.

“Do stars lose their worth because they’re not as bright as the moon or the sun?” He murmured into your ear and you laughed around a sob. “When did you get so smart?” You sniffled. Satoru pressed a heavy kiss to your cheek and you could feel his grin.

“I know right? I saw it Pinterest!” He exclaimed, far too proud of himself. You couldn’t help but giggle a little, feeling a little better. 

“And here I thought you came up with that all on your own,” You snorted, hugging him tighter. “Let me come on a mission with you and I’ll impart all of my Pinterest knowledge onto you,” He promised, only half joking. 

You lifted your head to meet his gaze and his smirk softened into a fond smile. “Whenever you’re ready, sweet thing. I hate being away from you, so let me go with you, yeah?” 

The idea of it scared you still, but you had faced worse, and this time, the strongest was going to be beside you as you did so. 

requests are open and reblogs are appreciated!!

[kingkatsuki]

Anyway, while I was gone I was thinking of this stupid idea with Bakugou (as usual)

Imagine your eighteenth birthday is when you find out who you’re bonded to, and this bond is created via telepathy. A connection opens between two souls, and you’re able to communicate with each other no matter where in the world you are. A connection that only becomes stronger as your relationship with your soulmate grows.

But of course, connections can be broken. The same way those dreamlike fantasies of meeting your perfect soulmate don’t always work— especially when your soulmate is Bakugou Katsuki.

The first time you try to communicate with him, he brushes you off. Telling you to “piss off”, that he doesn’t “need a fuckin’ soulmate”. It’s a time in his life that arguably he needs that connection with someone more than ever. But the feelings of inadequacy and inferiority he holds inside are at an all time high as he pushes everyone away, including you. Shutting the door on any hope you had of ever having a connection with him, of finding your soulmate.

You try again a few times after, watching all your friends develop their love and even meet their soulmates. Hating the green-eyed monster that appears when you realise how bitter you actually are— to be paired with someone that has no interest in you. Cursed to be one of the ones without a soulmate, to try and find a love with another broken person like you.

The conversations are always the same— his irritation for your very existence no match for the conversations you try to start. Making it abundantly clear to you that you’re a distraction, that he doesn’t have time for a soulmate. And yet amongst his complaining that you’ve opened the link at a bad moment, or that he doesn’t need you— he always answers.

So over time you find yourself starting to give up, wondering why you’ve wasted so much time on a man that clearly doesn’t want you. The connection going quiet as neither of you try to open the link.

Radio silence.

And what makes it worse, is your friends who have perfect connections pity you. One of the lost souls without a soulmate— which is why you’re prepared to join a special program. A program that can realign your connection— to tie your soul to another.

It’s unorthodox, an extreme measure that has an endless list of side-effects. You could end up with the more undesirable members of society, who’s connections have been severed before, or the ones that abuse the system for their own benefit— and if the second connection doesn’t work out you’re unable to claim a third. But craving that special bond with someone, picturing the perfect smiles and pickett fences it’s more than worth the risks. So you plan to do it— to sever your connection with your soulmate, and find a new one.

Someone who will actually love you.

But it isn’t until one night that you hear something at the back of your mind, barely a murmur as you shoot up in bed. Squinting as you try desperately to focus on the sound— another whimper. But you can’t seem to make out much else, as you realise that it’s the same connection that you thought was completely shattered all those years ago.

“Hello?” You feel almost stupid calling out, wondering if he even realised that you could hear him again— that you were there.

“Long time no talk, hah sweetheart?” He scoffs, a choked cough spills from his lips after as he winces in pain.

“You sound like shit— is that why you reconnected our bond at four am?”

“Must’ve called the wrong number, sweetheart.” He sneers, but you can almost hear the humour in his tone.

“Well luckily for you I’m going to break our bond.” You bite back as you’re met with silence on the other end, “So you won’t have to make the same mistake again.”

“You can do that?” He whispers.

“Yeah, they can reconnect me with someone else.” You murmur.

“They won’t be as good as me.” He manages to get out before another cough wracks through his body.

“I wouldn’t know, would I?” You scrunch your nose in irritation, “But at least they’ll want me.”

“Who said I don’t want you?”

It’s not until a month later that you find out the real reason he reconnected the bond that night. That it was the night that his heart stopped beating as he almost lost his life, his body shutting down as the only thing he could think to do was to call out for you.

[tnsophiaonly]

HATED - SAGAU.

In which Self-Aware Genshin People loathe your existence and believe that you're the founding reason why they're not real.

-

Tired of this obsessive and lovesick creator or impostor SAGAU? Then what about this alternate? Be wary, it's dark and we'll mentions of torture something ig idk

Basically. This is impostor AU and the real creator who looks like you is horrible af. And you're an actual impasta.

Special mentions (♡): @sleepparalasis @haru-tofuu

--

Hatred. That's all they could feel when they see your face throughout the screen. Amusement. When they see your face wrinkle in pain and frustration when you get a standard character in through wishing or when you get the wrong stats in artifacts. After all, you were the one that made that right? You were the sole reason for your own pain, you made them in a fictional universe, where nothing is real. You're horrible for that and you should take the consequences of such.

That's why you're transported in this place, in which you thought the world was heaven before became your most terrorful nightmare. Hell, just like how it should be. Teyvat is hell. An upside down world, ruled by gods-demons and filled with darkness and pain. The world you created. Right? That's your fault. Your fault alone.

---

"Oh great heavens, that's cold..." you chatted out, freezing and shaking because of the cold. You face the wrath of the Cryo Archon's Nation. The home of the so-called organization, Fatui. Snow and ice were evident everywhere. And the cold, the cold was for sure affecting you. (Especially if you live in tropical areas or close to the equator? I feel so sorry for you)

Any bits of liquid that could be created were frozen within milliseconds. So you're sobbing just makes it worse, maybe if you actually used your feet and moved and found a place to heat yourself up instead of shining and sobbing, you could probably be in a great condition right now.

But you chose to cry. Pathetic really. And you expect this to be an impostor of me? The so great, almighty creator of The Genshin Universe? Absolutely not. I'd rather guide the Traveller to the absolute truth of this world at a fast pace than be, represented by you.

But fear not, I am sure I am able to at least give some potential to you... OFCOURSE I can do it. It's me after all.

But now i should really have this pathetic excuse of an impostor of mine to.. move and do something rather than cry and freeze to death. After all, I can't have my ungrateful people of Teyvat run after a very obvious impostor who's close to dying eh?

So, much to my dismay, I chose to give you guidance, see? Such a kind creator, you're a very lucky fella..

"ah-aaachoo-!" You sneezed, it feels like something just happened, but what? And why? Those questions are left unanswered. As you unconsciously started moving your freezing feet to walk and find some shelter to heat up.

Oh how the torturous snow storm causes you pain and despair. Why were you striving forward anyways? Your whole body aches. It hurts. Why. Why.

"You deserved it." The inner within of the core speaks.

You deserved it..? Why?

No one answers.

----

After walking away which felt like centuries, you finally are met with a bonfire, a large one in fact, the only problem was that it's within a fatui camp. Oh god...

"Well, well, well.. what's a worm like you doing here for?" A taunting and mocking tone says so to you. Oh my Lord, oh it just couldn't get worse thab this, bits of electricity shocked you slowly, you were feeling the wrath of The Balladeer, the 6th Fatui Harbinger. You could only stay in your spot as you feel electro build up within you, hurting you, killing you.

You're sweating bullets of fear just turns to ice because of the environment, it was no use to run.

"Well well comrade, what's with the guest? I didn't know you were quite the welcomer!" A mocking and sarcastic voice taunted the hat guy, which earned him a glare for, the ginger bread- hair man had a boyish charm and looks, almost looking innocent if you didn't know better. Well guess it got worse.

The ginger head guy's eyes widen, as his taunting smile quickly turns into a frown. The mocking gaze turns into a face of anger, annoyance.

"Is that..." he muttered, bewildered and angry. The ginger guy quickly launched unto you, with bloodlust and wrath causing you to flinch, that's before the entire electricity builds up within you and completely shocked you to oblivion, and the ginger's defense mechanism, of course he backed down.

The electro flowing within you caused so much pain, overbearing pain, yet you did not scream. You did not scream in pain. That one thing The Balladeer was hoping for. Maybe the shock was too strong you couldn't scream at all? Yeah, that's it..

The electro shock died down, and you passed out on the spot. Yet you were still not dead. Despite the fact that electro burns were evident, and that you were crisped to the spot, you're still alive. How lucky, or should I say unlucky?

The ginger- you know what I'm tired of calling him ginger, it's Childe. Childe went close to your passed out body. Caressing your electro-burned hand, before gripping it.

A bone crack was heard, oh did he crack it too hard? No worries, he doesn't care. The fatui skirmishers walked close to the place "We'll take care of it Lord Tartaglia." The pyro agent spoke.

"No." The Balladeer protested, as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced your head to look at him, ofcourse you're still passed out, and you had an expression of sorrow, The Balladeer could just smirk. It's the creator.

"I could make use of our Grace after all..." He spoke sinisterly. The agents were on the edge and so was Childe, it really was the creator, they were so close to jumping and killing you on the spot if it weren't for the fact that The Balladeer was there.

-----

The sound of chains vibrated throughout the dungeon, sweet little breaths and movements.

You looked around, it was pitch black and only one candle was the source of light, which was out of reach for you.

A swarming and overwhelming feeling of cold and warm was brushed against you, the electro infused chains hurt when you try to make even the slightest movement, why were you here? Don't act stupid, you're aware why.

You could partly hear the conversation outside. It sounded a lot like the fatui agents earlier, it seems they were discussing either transporting you or guarding you still.

Your breath hitches—which echoed in the room— when they mentioned Il Dottore. They're not planning on giving you to him right...?

You could feel yourself sweating bullets, your eyes showed fear as your expression scrunches into fear. There's a 50/50 chance, but you've always lost your 50-50!

The door opens, and someone steps inside, a blue haired fellow, walking slowly and causing an intense atmosphere. You could feel yourself shaken, not because of him, but because everything feels colder. At least that's what's on your mind.

The blue haired fellow caressed your chin. And forcibly made you look at him.

"My, what a wondrous pet The Balladeer has taken upon."

[heartfullofleeches]

Oblivious healer entity reader that finds joy and endless happiness every day living in a town that's basically hell on earth for its human residents

-

To live in this place is to know true suffering. Life is meaningless, flesh is expendable. Few bother to make friends with their neighbors or check in relatives as tomorrow is never a guarantee. Creatures from the unknown, unexplainable disappearances, those who lost themselves and craved the same violence thrust unto them, false prophets. Those who attempted to flee often faced the worse kinds of punishment. There was truly no end to their torment.

Dazed and on the verge of collapsing, a new arrival in town found itself roaming the near empty shelves of a convenience store in ruin. Glass stabbed at its outer layer flesh, reflecting the strange clawing sensation in the lower regions of its stomach. It would later learn these feelings to be the pains of hunger, one it was not as fond of as others. The newcomer had learned so much in such a short time residing in this new town and body. It wanted to learn more - like what would happen if it stuffed those odd, brightly colored shapes into the singular hole it called a mouth. They were sweet, they were sour, they were savory- flavors and descriptions foreign til taught by those who cared for it later on.

The newcomer comes across the owner of the store laying motionless behind the counter. The syrup surrounding them is not as sweet as what it sampled from bottles in the cold storage spaces. Poking at the owner garners no response. It's then that the newcomer realizes their faults. It hadn't offered currency before eating like it'd seen others do. It didn't have those papers or coins or even those rectangular bits of plastic. It deciding the next best thing to give as payment was to fix that large hole in their face. None of the humans it came across before had one of those, so it must need fixing.

The store owner finally responded to its questions once it had repaired the hole. If the newcomer had anyway to describe the process it was like playing with clay. The store owner only answered in screams of terror until the newcomer was able to calm them enough to tell them how they had fixed them - and eaten the rest of their stock. They weren't upset by that second thought as the newcomer had thought, and even gave them a supply of their favorite treat before calling the police.

The newcomer wondered if it helped more people it would get more treats or be invited to come back anytime as the store owner had generously offered. It was having so much fun in this new form. Its powered had been limited, but the feel of warm sunlight on their skin was worth the loss. It couldn't understand why everyone around it was so unhappy when they get to wake up everyday and welcome the morning sun. It wants to fix people, it wants them to be happy. Many reject them for fear of the unknown, but those who accept cling onto them like a lifeline. Without the newcomer around they are plunged in darkness as it has become the source of light for them it speaks so highly of. The newcomer is oblivious to their devotion as it reads books about the new world and takes light of its tragedies as it takes glee I'm all its pleasures.

-

Yan: Let me get this straight - you just repaired my kidneys and all you want is a hamburger?

Entity Reader: .... Two?

-

Yan: There is no point in waking anymore. When I'm asleep i hear the crying of my dead mother. When I'm waking she's standing over my bed. I can't think, I can't breathe. Make it stop, make it stop- There is no reason to keep existing- I should just let my cannibal neighbor eat me

Entity Reader: ...They gave me eleven nuggets instead of ten. I am very happy right now. Want the extra? :D

Yan: ..I have never been more mentally stable than I am in this current moment, if you leave me I will die.

-

[Entity Reader walks in on a friend about to be sawed in half by a masked maniac. The two share a glance before Reader throws their arms up]

Entity Reader: Frankie!! :D

[The machine rips the saw out of their victim's abdomen and rushes reader - hugging them and spinning them around as the victim fights to keep their intensities in their body]

[cheshirebitch]

𝔽𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟 𝔸𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕥𝕦𝕓𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕟 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕘

Alastor x Reader (Oneshot)

It has been sixteen whole days since I last had a conversation with Alastor. It made me feel like I needed a cigarette or two because no matter how long I resist the temptation, I will always lose. Sixteen whole days since I last saw how he can have a genuine smile, how soft he could get, feel his gentle touches, and oh my stars do I miss it.

I walked past him again as he walked the other way in the hotel, our shoulders almost brushing each other. Both our eyes remained looking forward as we ignored each other’s existence. I wanted to stop walking and turn to look at him. It was just a small glance that I was wishing for but my mind wouldn’t allow it. Instead, I tightened my hold on the papers in my hand as I carefully walked to my office, softly closing the door behind me. As my fingers drifted down the black wood door, all I could think of was all the times he carefully drag his claws against my skin, the feeling of his human hands pushing my hair out of the way for him to put a necklace on me, the feeling of him braiding my hair after a hard day.

A tear dropped onto my cheek, cold and damp. Then another dripped down.

“Why can’t I let go of this?” I have done the math over and over in my head, there was just no way for him to ever consider us again. It was all just a misunderstanding but his stupid stubbornness and thick headed nature is blocking it.

My black leather chair squeaked slightly as I dragged myself towards my desk covered in papers. I slowly sorted through them all as I let my brain wander to old memories of Alastor and I. Sniffling and the sound of papers moving sounded loud without the sound of his broadcast in my office. My eyes landed on the radio in the corner of my room, and as I stared at it, I realized it was just as painful to see. My fingers were holding it tightly and before I knew it, I placed it on the ground outside of my office. When I stood up, Alastor was rounding the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. My tear stained face, his radio I used to always only have on his radio broadcast, and my shaky hands. A deep breath of air and a small sad smile as I gently shut my office door again.

My head rested on the door as I closed my eyes and cried silently for a moment, turning back around to continue my paperwork. Then he was standing behind my desk, his staff abandoned in the corner of the room where his radio once was. But as I glanced, I noticed the radio was back.

“Mon Cher…” It was his normal voice, the one I missed so dearly from our days alive. My lip quivered and chills ran down my body. He tensed at my reaction.

”Mi Amor…” Red claws tightened their hold, his back straightening before all of it melted out of his body. His smile twitched.

“It hurts to be something, but it’s worse to be nothing with you.” I breathed out, referencing how we have been treating each other.

“I apologize for causing unnecessary heartache, Mon Cher. I’m willing to listen if you’ll allow it.” My hands twitched, should I? It has been painful for him to just feel betrayed by me, for not understanding when I first tried to explain everything. I just didn’t want him to feel guilty but instead I ripped us apart.

”Will you listen this time or am I better off trying to get back into heaven?” His eyes started to switch into two emotions, regret and sadness. He walked around the desk and slowly reached his hand out to my cheek, wiping a stray tear.

”Please.” Patient crimson eyes danced with my scared eyes.

”When I saw you get shot and mauled by those hunting dogs, I fought the hunter. I begged him to call off his dogs, that you were a human and not a wild animal. By the time we got the dogs pulled off of you, you just didn’t look like you. It was- it was horrible.” My voice broke at the word horrible. My fingers played with his free hand as he was running his other in my hair.

“I tried begging the paramedics to bring you back, even though I knew there was nothing they could do. My heart shattered and remained broken till the day I died, three months after your death. I went out to where you died every night. That’s where I met the same fate as you, I got shot by another hunter.” A breathy laugh left my body as Alastor’s lip curled up in anger towards the hunter who took my life, knowing that bastard was also in hell with us.

”When I woke up, I was in heaven. I got to talk to your mother. She really was as lovely as you described, and boy does she miss her son.” Alastor’s mean mug face wiped into one of grief. I knew how much he loved his mother and wished we could have met.

“After a couple months searching for you in heaven, I found out you were in hell. Then, when I begged to be sent to hell, they refused relentlessly. That was till I found out how to become a fallen angel, and I fell. I’m so sorry, Mi Amor. I should’ve told you the day I fell. I should’ve searched harder for you before I tried to make a deal with Vox.” Tears were falling from my eyes, I couldn’t help but feel that anxiety and heartbreak all over again. The man in front of me didn’t look like my Alastor but still did in an evil way. My hands held his face in mine. Alastor gripped me into a tight embrace as he held me.

“I forgive you for not speaking the truth sooner dear, but please never leave my side again. If you have to ever sell your soul, make sure it is only to me.” I nodded my head as I breathed in his cologne. I missed it for so many months, months that felt like years. My wings spread out behind me before wrapping themselves around Alastor and I.

“I missed you so much.” I whispered against his chest. He kissed my forehead before whispering back, “I missed you most, Mon Cher. Forgive me for being a stubborn old stag.”

(As always, characters belong to their owner and the story belongs to me. If you have any requests or ideas, send them over :)! Just a short angst Drabble I thought of while listening to the song ‘Promise’ by Laufey. I will gladly try to write things for my supporters! Thank you for the love and have a great day <3!)

[killthewhisperingart]

"It's Cold Without You"

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x reader

Word Count: 2,452

Summary: A perfect description of your psyche while your husband is gone, would be the color blue. When he leaves, he takes the warmth with him, dragging the color orange behind himself, only bringing it and the sunrise upon his return.

Warning(s): Angst and descriptive thoughts of anxiety and death

A/N: It's a little abrupt, but I really wanted to post something. And I also wanted to express a specific energy (my requests r still open)

I am an 18+ Blog.

The house is cold. Maybe it's the slow approach of Winter, or the fact that the heater was busted and you refused to call someone to fix it. But the house wasn't as warm as it usually was. You stopped using the lamps with yellow bulbs, instead opting for either the blinding overhead light, or no light at all. The curtains were perpetually drawn, closing your bedroom off from the world outside, closing you off from the world outside.

Everyday is the same thing on repeat, go to work only to return home. But no matter where you are, you're always miserable. When you're at work you want nothing more than to be at home, wrapped in a blanket of silence and warmth. Though, when you're at your house, you feel lonelier than ever, longing for the human connection of your job and coworkers.

It isn't always like this, the chill in the air. The chill that settles so deeply within your bones your teeth chatter, it isn't typically present. And you know why it's here, but admitting it feels colder than the wind that hits you harshly when you walk outside. Saying it out loud, or even thinking about it for too long makes you feel... shitty, for lack of a better word to describe yourself in your head.

You don't tell him the problems you're having. You especially would never tell him why you are having these issues. Because you know him, inside and out, and you know he'll feel guilty. But you also know yourself well enough to be aware of the fact he knows you just the same. He would so easily see through the facade you have created, look through the walls you've built up as if they were a window pane. This is why you've been dodging his calls, and why he currently thinks you are sick with the flu.

You simply wait, counting the days until he's home, begging time will move faster. And while you lay in bed alone, ponder on the idea that perhaps you're wasting your life. You know it's pathetic, the fact your existence is dependent on the presence of your husband. And you feel horrible, the codependency clawing its way up your throat. It's even worse when you remember you haven't always felt this way, and you don't know what's changed. You don't know why you can't seem to act like yourself when he's gone.

Well, perhaps you do know. You just don't want to admit it. You don't want to admit that you're terrified. You don't want to admit that every time he comes home complaining of a new ailment due to a painful ejection, you get nervous. That every call from one of his superiors, or even one of his colleagues, you have a shock of terror that has your heart beating out of your chest. That you only ever feel comfortable knowing he's alive when he's next to you.

When he's home, it's different. He doesn't realize he does it, but he chases the chill away. The nervousness that wraps itself around your ribs, squeezing until your heart constricts, it lessens. You find yourself distracted by the feeling of his hands on your hips, the pressure of his kisses against your skull, that it all disappears for a moment. But you know, as your ear presses against his chest at night, listening to him breathe, that the problem is still present.

"How do you feel about kids?" He asks one day, standing behind you as you analyze the paint samples for the bathroom after it's remodeling.

And your heart sinks, because you don't know. You don't know if you'd be able to handle a baby with him, let alone when he leaves. How would you be able to calm a crying baby when you consider yourself one when he's gone?

How would you be able to handle his death...?

You think about it a lot. The idea that he will fall to his demise the same way his father did, leaving the same trauma his dad left him, on the child you two have. But you don't know if you're as strong as Carole Bradshaw. You never considered yourself a weak person, but that's what he does. Bradley makes you weak, and you don't know if you'd survive his death. If you'd be able to go on with your life, go back to normal. You don't know if you'd be able to handle your own grief, not to mention teaching your child how to do so.

You don't give him an answer that day, and he lets it go. He's good at that; letting go. It was always something you admired about him, his ability to let things slide over him, continuing on easily. The only exception he had ever displayed, was his attitude towards Pete Mitchel, never letting that go. And you can't help but wonder if you'd do the same thing to your child. Would you hold them back? Perhaps beg Jake Seresin to pull your own sons papers because you'd be so blinded by the grief for Bradley, that you'd stop your own child from achieving his dream as well.

Today is a day like any other, the calendar is marked with a bright red heart exactly six days from now. You tell yourself the house will be clean three days prior to his arrival, and the Bronco will be washed the day before, and you will be presentable the day of. But for now, you hide within the comforter that his smell still lingers on. You've taken the week off, avoiding your job with a simple call that ends with a cough you and your manager know is fake.

Bradley is never early. He's a punctual man. He's never late either. He has a talent of showing up to things at the exact time as expected. And you adore this about him, because you're never nervous about when he'll show up. After ten years together, why would you ever think that would change?

He notices the house is darker and colder than normal. He softly drops his duffel by the door, removing his boots slowly before treading towards the lamp in the living room. And the home looks eerily different. He knows you're sick right now, but he questions the extent of it as he takes in the mess.

Almost all of the dishes are piled in the sink, definitely not the amount someone who has been sick for a little over a week would use in that time. His eyes move from the dishes to the rest of the counter, where mail is scattered. He removes himself from the room, drifting into the laundry room where what can only be your entire wardrobe laying haphazardly in front of the washing machine.

It's not that Bradley ever expected you to be the sole proprietor of the household chores, typically every task being traded between the two of you. But this was clearly out of character for you. He always came home to a spotless house, something he dearly appreciated. Internally he wonders if it's his fault, for coming home too early, but he can't help but be concerned.

His chest constricts when he walks into your shared bedroom to find you, curled into the fetal position sleeping. You look exhausted, even though you're sleeping. For a moment he forgets all about the fact that his back hurts, or the fact he's been wanting to sleep in his own bed for almost two months. All he can think of is you.

"Baby," He whispers, a hand softly against your shoulder. "Honey?"

You awake with a sharp intake of breath, heart beating out of your chest in a panic. Realizing it is your husband and not in fact a murderer, does little to quell your anxieties.

"Bradley?" You blurt, springing up. "What are you doing here? It's not the twelfth is it?" You go to reach for your phone, frustration leaking through your voice. "What are you doing home?"

"I came home early," He exhales, brows knitted in concern as you rush around the room. You're clearly distressed, pacing before you finally stop and run your hands down your face.

"Why?" You dare to ask, voice warbling against your will. "Why are you home early?"

"You sounded like you were really sick, and it was only six days-" He clenches his eyes shut before looking at you with his sad eyes. "What's wrong?"

"You aren't supposed to be home yet." You whisper, crossing your arms. Your face crumbles as you remember the state of the house, the state of yourself.

"Baby if you've been sick longer than you told me, we can go to the hospital," He stands up, stepping towards you. "Something can really be wrong-"

"You're not supposed to be home," You repeat, turning it into a mantra under your breath as you cover your eyes. You can feel the slow burn as tears erupt from your eyes, strong emotions wrapping themselves around you like an octopus around a crab. Faintly, you can feel Bradley's hands touch your shoulders, and the way he rubs up and down doesn't feel the way it normally does. His touch burns your skin, itchy and irritating in a way that makes you want to cry harder.

"Will you let me take you to the doctor?"

"Will you shut up about the hospital?" You hiss, your frustration coming to head as you explode. His hands pull away as you look at him with such venom on your tongue, you can taste it. "God! Why are you home?"

His face twists in confusion, then to his own form of irritation matching yours. He doesn't understand, and typically you'd feel bad because it isn't his fault. But he wasn't supposed to be home yet.

"I don't understand." His mouth is slightly agape as he exhales. "I thought you were sick, you weren't answering my calls, you haven't been to work in two weeks-"

"You called my job?"

"I was worried!" He shouts, and you feel itchy again. "I was worried about you! And evidently I needed to be because the house is a mess-"

This strikes a chord within you. The house is yours. Bradley and you share ownership of it, you bought it together, decorated it together, but it's your domain. Every detail is finalized by you, from the color of the floors to the oven you own. It's yours. And it hurts that he points out how you've mistreated it. It hurts on a deeper level that he thinks this. No matter how much you know it's true.

"Don't you dare talk to me about my house." You can hold yourself back, snapping back at him.

"It's a fucking mess!" He points out, and you know. You know it's true. "It's never like this so clearly something is wrong and I'm worried about you!" You don't know what to do, because you had everything planned out, you knew when things were going to be put back-

And he's home early.

You prided yourself on being able to hide this part of your life from him. Being able to disguise your pain behind a mask of stability, pretending nothing had changed. That you hadn't changed. But now that's all gone. He's taken a peak behind the curtain and now the entire illusion falls apart, like ashes between your fingers.

"I just want you to tell me what's wrong." His voice is lower now, and he knows you're avoiding eye contact. "You've been pulling away, and I'm worried."

You can't bring yourself to lift your eyes from the floor to his face, where you know his eyes are bright regardless of the hurt that paints them.

"Is it me?" He asks, bending slightly to try and put his eyes in your line of sight. "Do you not want me anymore? Us?"

"No-" You can see his heart break in his eyes as you look up. "It's not that. No, Bradley, it's not that." You step closer, harshly laughing at yourself. "It's the opposite."

"I don't understand, honey."

"I love you." You whisper, feeling warmer now as his hands slide to your hips. "I love you so much, there's no one else in the world I'd even consider replacing you with. And I can't imagine my life without you."

He watches you apprehensively, eyes darting to your hands and back up to your eyes.

"I'm scared." You finally let it slip, soft like a prayer, quiet like a secret. He tilts his head slightly, practically begging you to elaborate. "I'm scared, when you leave the house for work in the morning. I'm scared when you go on missions-" your voice cracks harshly. "My heart drops every time Mav calls me instead of you, and when someone knocks on the door."

"I don't..."

"I'm scared that you're going to die soon." You blurt, not missing the way his eyes widen.

"Baby, I'm not going to die-"

"Do you think Goose told Carole that?" You ask, knowing you're crossing a line. Tears blur your vision. "You can't tell me you aren't going to die because you are, and there's nothing I can do to stop it-"

The hug is abrupt, your face being pushed into his neck and your bodies close. You feel nothing other than Bradley, and you can't even bring yourself to apologize as your hot tears drip onto his skin and inevitably his shirt. Your fingers tighten around his back, desperate to have him closer because you don't think he'll ever be close enough unless you're beneath his skin.

You know this conversation isn't done, it's not tied neatly with a bow on top. You know there's an entire can of worms that inevitably will be opened. But for a moment you feel warm again. Heat bubbles beneath your skin, rumbling through your chest as you feel his heart beating against your chest. Reds and oranges fly behind your eyelids in a way that has you breathing easier.

As he silently pulls the both of you to the bed, he hugs you a bit tighter. The smell of him surrounds you in a thick layer, your skin buzzing beneath the feeling of his lips against your forehead. You whine as he pulls away, tucking you in like you're a child.

"We're not done talking about this." He whispers, looking down at you with his sorrowful eyes. "Not even close to being done talking about this."

"Okay," You say softly back, agreeing.

"But you should get some sleep," He advises with a crooked smile. "I'll be here when you wake up."

[elvensorceress]

wip wednesday

tagged by @bekkachaos @tizniz @spotsandsocks @confetti-cupcake @wikiangela @hoodie-buck @exhuastedpigeon @sibylsleaves @daffi-990 @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus tagging if you haven't played yet 💕 @eddiebabygirldiaz @wh0re-behavi0r @eddiediazisascorpio @kitteneddiediaz @monsterrae1 @lemonzestywrites @pinklobstertale @jesuiscenseedormir @jesuisici33 @chaosandwolves @frenziedblaze @family-tree-of-ships

some more of this little thing 👀

When Buck opens his eyes, someone is sitting on the couch near his feet the way Chris does. Someone who shouldn’t be here. Buck sits up frantically and stares at the vision of Eddie, healthy and beautiful and here and unharmed. 

Buck is dreaming. That’s it. Has to be. Wow, he actually fell asleep? Enough to dream? 

“Hey, Buck,” this Eddie says softly, and it sounds so real. It’s gentle and loving and full of warmth like Eddie always is when they talk. 

Buck reaches for him. He sits up and needs to hug him, hold him, feel him alive and breathing on his own. But when Buck reaches him, he touches nothing. There’s nothing to touch. 

He’s dreaming. It’s a vision. Nothing solid. Buck sags and sits back on his side of the couch and stares instead. Maybe looking at whole, healthy beautiful Eddie will somehow manifest this into reality. “You’re not real. You’re not here. I’m dreaming, right? And talking to myself? Apparently.”

“Either that or I am,” Eddie says. 

Buck hadn’t considered that. Maybe Buck is the one who isn’t real. Maybe none of this is real and the whole of his existence is in his mind. Or in the mind of someone else? 

Who knows. It’s too convoluted and too much to think about. But he’s read about this happening before. Someone’s loved one in the hospital, near death, and how their family had dreams or visions of them visiting. Maybe relaying messages. Maybe offering a comforting presence. Maybe nothing but the imagination of a mind wrecked by tragedy. Doesn’t really matter either way. 

“Why are you here? Buck asks him even if he’s talking to himself. 

Eddie swallows and looks pained. And so real. So, so vividly real. Even if nothing is real anymore. “I wanted to be with you.”

Buck reaches for him again because he has to. Eddie offers his hand in return this time. 

Their fingers go through each other. Not touching. Nothing to feel. Nothing tangible. 

They can’t touch.

Why would they? Even in a dream, they don’t get to have anything of each other. 

“Please don’t die,” Buck says. 

Eddie gives him a pained smile. “I’m trying really hard not to.” 

Buck knows that. He knows Eddie would fight. Is fighting. He had to say it anyway. “Why did you— why? I mean I know it’s our job and that’s what we do. But what happened? Why— why was it like that? Why did it end up like that?” 

Did you do it on purpose? Did you sacrifice yourself to save Tommy? Did you do that?

Eddie looks away from him, exactly how real Eddie would. He shrugs. As if it’s nothing. As if it’s just an accident. As if there was no emotion behind anything. “I know you need him. I wasn’t going to let you lose him.”

Buck closes his eyes, bends his head, and just wants to cry again like he has been for more than two weeks. “Eddie,” he sobs and clutches himself around his chest, around his own body since he can’t touch Eddie. “I need you, too. I can’t— This isn’t okay. This is worse. This is so much worse. Not that I want it the other way. It would have killed me, too. But. I can’t do this. I can’t lose you. I need you, too.”

“I figured,” Eddie says quietly. So quiet and strained and absent and distant. Too distant. “If you had to choose. You already chose. You picked him. I couldn’t let you lose him.” 

At this point, Buck isn’t sure which is worse— if this is real and what Eddie really thinks or if this is his own mind telling him what he already feels guilty about. 

[butterfluffy]

“bitter end”

⠀⠀ੈ♡˳· tired of all the fights in this unhappy marriage of yours with your husband, you finally had enough, now having the courage to take your wedding ring off, putting a bitter end to your relationship.

⠀⠀➧ angst, pure angst | kid, law, zoro x f!wife!reader | multi-character oneshot/scenario

⠀⠀➧ warnings — swearing, arguing, slight violence, break-up (separation/divorce, really) and angstttt...! mistakes may be present too.. so do ignore them, thanks!

⠀⠀➧ requests are closed until further notice! but i do take requests here and there, though it'll take me some time to finish 'em..!

⠀⠀꒰ 🍨 ꒱ notes: mhhhmmm, good smell, angst. 🥰 i originally wanted this to be hcs but nah, this is much more painful~ alt title; taking your ring off after a fight.

ps. i can, and i will make a part 2, one day, but not today, hehehehehe. 👻

like this? then check this out for more pain~! :)

EUSTASS KID

“yo, i'm home..” eustass kid, your husband announced, arriving home at 3AM after spending his night partying with his friends, getting drunk and having fun—living a teenage life despite having a wife, which is you.

“wow, welcome back. seems like you're done enjoying your life to the fullest.” you said monotonously with an eye roll, sitting on the couch with crossed legs as kid snickered, wobbling to you with a stupid smile on his face.

“yeah, 'twas a fun night, such a shame that i gotta go home bacause your were bombarding my phone with calls and messages.” he says with a scoff, catching you off guard, head snapping to him immediately. “excuse you?”

“‘such a shame’? kid, what the fuck? do you not know that you're a married man—!?” “so what if i'm married!!? am i not allowed to have fun, hah!?” kid grumbles, cutting you off, frowning as he spoke. while you, on the other hand, gasped by his words. not being able to believe that your husband had said such response.

“kid, i'm saying that you aren't supposed to be always living a teenage life when you have a wife!” you defend, getting agitated. “it frustrates me that you arrive late and drunk, worse, i experience this shit of yours almost every day!”

“well why can't you just let me be!? you nosy assed woman!” shouts the male, pushing you aside before he stomped to the kitchen, getting himself water as you stood frozen in place for a few moments—soon following him with a teary, frowning look on your face.

“eustass kid.” you called, catching the annoyed tulip-haired man's attention. “i want to remind you that i am your wife. your wife who longs for you—but it seems like you don't feel the same, huh?”

raising his non-existent brows, kid then puts a ‘hah?’ expression on his face, looking at you before speaking up. “what the hell are ya fuckin' talkin' about?”

“you don't even treat me like i'm your wife, kid. and—and it raises a question in me; why? why did you even marry me? did you do so just for fun? but, you know, i—i don't think i can keep up anymore. let's.. end this. go ahead and live a teenage life as you wish, without me, your nosy assed wife.” you sighed out, taking your ring off and returning it to the now stunned kid who seemed to immediately sobered up, holding you by your wrist to prevent you from going anywhere further from him.

“fuck, no, you're not—we're—we're not ending anything, no, no. i'm not letting you go—i'm—i messed up, i know, so i'm sorry. don't.. d-don't give an end to us that quickly... please.” kid begs with a stammer, voice turning small as his chest heaved up and down, panting as he held his tears back knowing that you are serious with your words. “...sorry too. but i really can't anymore. so please, let's just put this to end, let's end this relationship of ours.”

TRAFALGAR LAW

“again. he's home late, again, and forgotten our anniversary, again.” you whispered to yourself, biting your lower lip in anger as you stood in front of the door of your shared home with your husband, trafalgar law who seemed to just arrived after you've waited for him for hours on your anniversary.

“trafalgar d. water law, you're home late, again.” you growled with a big frown on your face, arms crossed as you called your husband by his full name, only to be silently cursed by the raven-haired male.

“fucking hell... not now, y/n-ya. don't start a fight now. i'm tired, i want to sleep.” passing you, law headed upstairs to your room while you grit your teeth in anger, following him up with loud shouting, and stomping.

“law, i can't—i can't fucking believe you..!” storming in the room and swinging the door open to reveal your husband who you saw sitting up, preparing to sleep, rolling his eyes at you, looking at you in disdain.

“i told you, i have no time for this, y/n-ya. i don't wanna fight, i wanna rest.” he repeats, scratching his head in annoyance—while you, on the other hand stood like a stone by the door, a heavy sigh leaving your lips, and soon later, tears streamed down your face.

“what the—what drama is this now? i just arrived late because of work, it's not a big deal for you, since you're used to this right? so stop that crying and just sleep or something.” clicking his tongue, law then went ahead and laid himself down the bed to rest, brows still stitched to a frown.

“yeah, it's not a big deal, for you,” you said with a swallow, fist clenched tightly before continuing, “it's not a big deal that you're making your wife wait for you for hours every single day for your arrival, and today, which is our goddamn anniversary that is not a big fucking deal at all, yeah?” you croaked, wiping your tears away—your words striking a realization to law. shit.

“unhappy anniversary to you, law. don't worry, this will be the last time i'll be waisting my time waiting for someone who thinks that i'm not a big deal. now, good bye, law. enjoy yourself all alone on our anniversary.” you greeted, swallowing back your sobs as you took your ring off, causing law to shakily stand up, stumbling to you the instant he had grasped what you're implying.

“no, no, no, y/n-ya, honey—shit, i'm—i'm sorry, so please, don't do this. i love you, fuck. i'll do better, i'll change, please, please.” letting a string of pleads leave his mouth pathetically, law held you tight, taking the ring and trying to put it back to your finger as you shook yourself away from him.

“NO! this is the fucking end of us. you told me that you're tired, right? well i'm tired too, so fucking tired of keeping up with you, and keeping this marriage alive myself! i've been hurt so much, and i can't do this anymore, so let me go, trafalgar.”

RORONOA ZORO

slamming the door close after spending your day waiting for your husband, zoro, who never showed up for your date, you let a loud screech. tossing away your bag then stomping to the kitchen—greeted by the moss head who was drinking sake.

“oh my fucking god, zoro! where the hell were you!?” you exclaimed furiously, snatching the bottle of sake from your husband, pouring it down the sink before throwing it away, anger filling you up.

“what the hell's wrong with you..? i was drinking that, you know? and before you get mad, i was here, the whole entire day, you crazy bitch.” zoro grumbles, slumping himself against the wall as you gasped, totally out of words.

this is.. annoying, frustrating—rage, and sadness is eating you up as you stared at the moss head who was frowning, same as you who clicked your tongue.

“you're—this—this is absurd, zoro. i cannot with this! first, you refuse to spend your dearest time with me, your so-called wife. second, you missed our date that i arranged today, completely forgetting it. and third, you call me crazy bitch for wanting to be with you!”

“do you really love me or no!? because i don't think that you do, and it's painfully obvious!” you stated, tears streaming down your reddened cheeks as zoro looked down to the floor, seeming guilty.

“..i do, i.. i love you.” zoro mutters, avoiding your eyes while you frowned by his words. “do you, now? i don't sense any sincerity with what you had said.”

“i am not happy by this, zoro. i don't enjoy this unhappy marriage of ours anymore.” pulling your ring out of your finger, you sniffled, stopping your tears as you looked at zoro, his mouth agape.

“so please, let's just give this an end, okay?” you mumbled, extending your hand that held your wedding ring to zoro who's lips quivered, tugging downwards, shaking his head.

“no... no, i.. i don't want to. i—no. let's fix this, please.” “..i don't think we can do that anymore, zoro.” trying to return the ring to you as he turned your plea down, zoro's world spun as be thought of his life without you..

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