#i need to stop going on instagram sooooo many hot takes on there piss me the fuck off
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procastinating at work but here's my philosophy for today: it's okay to hate a behavior in someone else but also understand that this behavior does not make them a bad person. like i HATE when i'm venting or talking about a serious problem i have and then the person i'm talking to starts trying to relate by talking about a similar experience they've had. like absolutely hate it. make me feel like the focus is being taken off me and it genuinely is in some ways, regardless of your intent. yeah, i understand that's your way of trying to comfort me -- but that's not the way i need or want to be comforted, and that's what matters in a situation where i'm coming to you to be helped.
and that's okay! like. no one is in the wrong here unless i have explicitly asked you to support me in a different way and you're intentionally refusing, or if i lash out at you when i could just disengage. it just means you're not a person i should go to for help when talking about my problems. we can still be friends, you and i can probably support each other in different ways, but we're just incompatible in this regard. and that's like....okay. it's okay to be incompatible with people.
#i need to stop going on instagram sooooo many hot takes on there piss me the fuck off#ok going on a rant here but like.#soooo many 'neurodivergent' posters on there are like 'neurotypicals suck bc they dont realize im being comforting when i talk abt myself#when they're upset!!!' and its like my friend i can understand your plight but like#1. this is an easily changable behavior#that tbh does not require much change on your part aside from just like. not talking.#2. the so-called neurotypicals in ur life are allowed to have boundaries and accomodations to their needs and ur currently not doing that#3. not every neurodivergent person does that. and some also hate it like the so called neurotypicals.#4. why are you prioritizing your emotions when a loved one comes to you for help or comfort. are u just a dick.#this has nothing to do with you being neurodivergent i think you're just self centered lol#like genuinely if you do this you are not a bad person. it's not a bad thing. i thinnk im just mad at the people who insist#that it's the only way they can ever try to comfort someone and they act like asking them to change this behavior is ableist#and if they genuinely can't change this behavior then fine!! like they i wont go to you with my problems#and that's also fine#but yeah anyways these tags are so different from the message of the post lol but anyways just needed to rant
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Please Don't Say Goodbye | Tsukishima Kei/Reader
Characters: Tsukishima Kei, Reader, Yamaguchi Tadashi
Pairings: Tsukishima Kei/Reader
Warnings: light swearing, crying, implied panic attacks, arguments, yelling, ummm lemme know if I missed anything
Word Count: 2181
A/N: This was meant to be a drabble- okay, in my defence, I've had such writers block and apparently the feels were necessary soooo. This is 1 of 2 fic ideas that were sent to me by @satan-ruler-of-hells for a prompt thing I did (idk if I can find the thing) and the next one is Tendou. So, maybe get ready for more feels of my almost 5 am angst. I also did not proof-read this, sooooo
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How had things ended up like this?
Every little thing was like the calm before the storm - the most tense calm that had ever existed; you were walking on eggshells, and maybe so was he, but you couldn’t help it. At least, you thought you couldn’t. Each attempt to try and fix the mess around you only ended up in more heartbreak.
The storm that always seemed to be headed in your direction had tore apart the home you’d meticulously built together. Plates and picture frames shattered to the ground; glass leaving you walking on bleeding feet. The flowers of your love torn apart somewhere in the distance now. Breath stolen from your lungs, but not from those kisses he’d give you back in high school, not from the way he’d dance with you around his bedroom (only to shove you onto the bed when his brother barged in), not from your outrageous laughter at something stupid that had happened. This was a breath stolen from countless nights arguing, screaming, trying to gain the upper hand in a situation where you were both at a standstill. A breath stolen from your heaving words as you scrunch your hands into your roots, pull your legs close to your chest and shove yourself into a corner while he slammed the door and left to God knows where. Breath stolen from the realization that maybe things just weren’t working like they used to, and that it was okay to love him, but to not be in love with him.
Tonight was just another picture perfect example of why you weren’t meant to be together. You’d come home late from work (because of some stupid assignment that you just wanted to finish today). He was sitting on the couch, scrolling through Netflix for something to watch. Honestly, you just wanted to eat something, so you didn’t bother greeting him, but the moment he noticed your presence in the house, he was hot on your tail.
“Where were you?” His voice sharp as daggers, digging under your skin and tearing you apart piece by piece. His arms are crossed over his chest, eyes so judgmental you feel like you’re in court. Nothing you say is the right answer, so you choose to not say anything. Apparently, that wasn’t the right answer either - this you find out when his iron grip settles on your shoulder and forces you to turn around.
“Hey-” you winced, trying to pry his fingers off.
“Where were you?” He repeated, basically growling at you through his gritted teeth.
“I was at work.” You rolled your eyes, turning your attention back towards the fridge, trying to ease the beating of your heart. In, hold, out. You repeat to yourself, barely remembering what all those instagram therapists had told you.
He scoffed, finally releasing his grip in favor of slamming the fridge door shut, “really? Because the last time I checked, your work ended two hours ago. What could you possibly have been doing for two whole hours?” He was in your face now, making you know how pissed he was.
But you already knew. You’d always known. Why did he need to try and make it so blindingly obvious to you?
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Kei, I was working. What part of that is so hard to understand?” You snapped back, moving away from him with a heavy sigh. At this point, you didn’t bother holding back the venom in your words. You knew he had issues (and you knew why) but did that mean he should take it out on you? No. Fuck.
“Two hours! Y/N, I was waiting two hours. I was going to take us to dinner, we were going to have a nice time.” He followed after you, closing every cupboard door you opened, trying to get your attention. “But you didn’t even send me a text. Were you too busy fuck-”
“Oh my God!” You yelled over him, spinning around to face him with your pure unfiltered aggression.
Back and forth you went for what felt like hours. Tears were acid down your cheeks, your spit a very special concoction of venom just for him. And yet, even as you were dry heaving in the kitchen sink, yelling more obscenities at him, you could never seem to stop. Neither could he.
Tsukishima Kei was known for a lot of things, being an asshole was one of them. That you knew too well.
For a while, though, things were good. He loved you. You loved him.
As he sits there, accusing you over and over of cheating on him, even though you hadn’t and you wouldn’t. God.
When had he become so anxious and persistent that things were going wrong? Yes, they were going wrong, but not for the reasons he keeps saying. It’s driving you insane, to the point where you can’t even remember those stupid breathing techniques, or grounding techniques, or anything.
This argument had lost the plot at some point around when he started yelling at you for doing the dishes wrong (you still insisted there wasn’t a wrong way to do them). So you bit back that his clothes were stupid, or that dinosaurs were stupid, something. Something was stupid.
“If you have so many problems with the way I choose to live my life, then get the fuck out.” You screamed, slamming your fists down onto the table and pointing to the door. His expression was scrunched up into something completely unrecognizable - a fine mixture of hatred and anguish. His chest rising and falling so rapidly you’re amazing he’s still standing. His hair is a complete and utter mess, so many times he’d ran his hand through it to try and make sense of the nonsense you were both spouting.
“Fine, I will!” He yelled back, voice hoarse from the past two hours.
You watched him head towards the door without a second thought, grabbing his coat, shoving his shoes on. You didn’t have the energy to call out after him, no matter how much your heart begged you to.
And your heart did beg you to; but it had already accepted that the end had been coming for too long.
You lean back against one of the cupboards, looking up at that one crack in the ceiling that he’d insisted he’d get around to fixing but something had always come up.
If you had to say what was wrong in your relationship, it would just be something. Something was wrong, and neither of you knew what it was, but something would be your downfall. Something filled the air with poison and made you destined to hate each other; something danced around in your words and twisted the meaning; something caressed your cheek as tears fell.
Something was your downfall and you didn’t have the energy to fight it.
So, maybe you’d call in sick the next day, and your boss would believe you because your voice sounded like hell; and maybe you’d spend the entire day lying in bed despite the fact your stomach was beginning for some nutrients; and maybe it would feel good to not have that nagging voice that you shouldn’t sleep in all day.
But today would have felt nicer with him by your side.
If there was one thing Tsukishima Kei was good at (after a lot of practice), it was making you feel just a little bit better with his empty promises and sweet nothings.
So, maybe you’d dressed yourself in his shirt and breath in him; and maybe you’d grab that dinosaur plushie you’d bought him for his birthday so many years ago and pull it to your chest; maybe you’d sleep on his side of the bed even though his pillow wasn’t as fluffy as yours; and maybe, just maybe, you watched his favourite movie on repeat, hoping it would bring him back to you.
Those were all maybe’s. But maybe they did happen, and you wanted nothing more than to be in his arms and tease him for his glasses that he insisted were cool. Or to have him laugh at you for the fact you majored in literature, despite the fact you weren’t good with words.
When your phone rang, you didn’t hesitate in picking it up, almost too excited for his voice, “Kei-”
“Y/N…” Yamaguchi’s voice was soft, understanding. It killed your fire of excitement in an instant.
You listened to him talk, something about how Tsukishima had decided you needed a break and would be staying at his place for a little while. Something about how he still loved you, but he didn’t want to keep hurting you like this.
It wasn’t a surprise that you didn’t manage to keep it together and broke out crying all over again, basically screaming and begging for things to be okay. There was no doubt in your mind, if Tsukishima was in the room with Yamaguchi, then he’d heard your cries.
“I’ll be better…” you whimpered, after far too long, “I’ll be nice. A-and… I won’t make fun of his glasses. Or dinosaurs. Please… please, Yamaguchi, please tell him to come home!” You cried out, unsure if you even managed to breathe.
He was silent on the line. You couldn’t take it. The silence, you wanted the noise. You’d prefer the arguing over this.
“I’m sorry…” Yamaguchi said weakly, and you knew how much it was hurting him to say this.
He hung up the phone and you were left as a shell of yourself.
And yet, your life must go on. So, for two months, you pushed your problems to the side and kept dredging forward in the hope that the answer to your problems was in one of these articles. Hoping that your co-worker would tell you some shitty anecdote that would distract you for just a little while.
Yo couldn’t look at your apartment anymore, not as little pieces of him were still littered everywhere.
Only, one day, you came home and he wasn’t anywhere. You didn’t notice it, not at first, but then you saw his mug from your museum visit in his third year of high school wasn’t next to your matching one. And then neither were his books on the shelf in your living room, or under the coffee table. His clothes gone from the closet. Every inch. Every detail. Every bit of him you had left had disappeared in the span of one work day.
And you were left with nothing.
With as much energy as you could muster, you turned and ran in the general direction of Yamaguchi’s house (which was hopeless, considering you had the directional capability of a broken compass and the stamina of a dead horse). You really were hopeless as you dialed his number, ignoring the way the moon taunted you in the sky.
He answered, for whatever reason, and you let out a breath. “What is it?” His tone was even, but something told you he was barely holding it together.
“Is this it?” Was all you could say. Head dizzy as you looked for Yamaguchi’s house - which you just knew was somewhere around here.
“It’s been it for a long time.” He really sounded robotic, like he was reading from a script.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Your voice broke as you ran, ignoring the splintering pain in the balls of your feet, “you thought making Yamaguchi say you needed a break, and then disappearing for two months, and then only reappearing to take your things back was the answer?” You cried out.
“You know-” his voice cracked and he stopped speaking. God, it hurt you so much.
“I never wanted this.” Tears were pouring down your cheeks.
“You think I did?”
“No-”
“I tried, Y/N, I tried so hard. But you would never listen to me!”
“I tried too, Kei!” You tried not to yell, and you hoped that it worked.
Some miracle brought you to Yamaguchi’s door, the one you only recognized because of the little frog statue on the windowsill. You pressed the doorbell, hoping for the best.
“I tried because I loved you. And I waited for you, I waited and hoped you’d come back. I-” you ran your hands through your hair once again. “I know we aren’t the best, that something is always wrong, but we can work on this. We can… fuck, I don’t know. You were the smart one…” he let out a low chuckle laced with pain. “But we can work something out, can’t we?”
There was a pause, and Yamaguchi opened the door, shocked to see you. Your breath hitched but neither of you spoke.
“I… I can’t do this anymore…” he admitted, and you felt your heart shatter. “Y/N, this is it…”
You could see Tsukishima pacing in the living room just down the hall, and you know Yamaguchi knows you’ve seen him. His phone pulled away from his face, finger shaking over that familiar red button.
“Please don’t say goodbye…” you called out.
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