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mooishbeam · 7 months

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『♡』 Treasures of the Fraud

♡ featuring: pantalone x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been forever since you've seen your friend, and as the hero of liyue, a new interruption has arisen. you pursue it, only to find memories awaiting you. wc: 9.1k+ (D:)

♡ cw/tw: long lonnggg fic, obsession, mentions of murder, mention of suicide, mentions of blood, manipulation, toxic pantalone, mean pantalone, possessive, spanking, degradation, mild praise, fingering, thigh riding, missionary, overstim, begging, edging, comeshot, pet names (darling, slut)

notes: helloooo!! ive been slow to get stuff out college is kicking my ass rn so sorry. not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes. I can't wait to have more time :) art by yion_yi on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

12 years ago

“Come get me!”

The boy with inky curls spiraling down his back dips through trees, ducking under low hanging branches embellished with vibrant autumn foliage. Messy blends of pink and purple melt across the slowly bleeding sun carried into the night. His silhouette resembles that of a malevolent spirit peeking behind the boughs, leaping over tangled twigs and shallow ditches. His excited screeches signal you to chase after the leading direction. You’re both screaming and laughing down the undoubtedly dangerous shortcuts. If your mother knew about the adventurous risks you were taking at 13, you’d never leave the house again. Tag is a troubling game—despite the thousands of times you’ve played with him, you regularly end up being “it”. You don’t care about losing, though; having someone to call a friend is enough.

You turn into a clearing with columns of trees overseeing your small presence, hundreds of them. The colder night is rising, not a celestial body to shield. In this deep blue void, the leaves seem to be aggrieved at your interruption of some secret meeting, angry and smiling faces crumpling in the whispering wind. You spin around frantically, looking for signs or laughter, but neither reveal themself. It’s quiet besides the downy linger of grass. Your shoulders are snatched back and shaken to a rattling shock. You scream, and he laughs.

“Rahhh! Did I get you?” he jests. Your eyebrows narrow, and you push him lightly to a stumble.

“You scared me!”

“Hah, that’s the point. C’mon, it’s late. Let’s go.” He's scared too, swiftly grabbing your hand as you both brave the darkness back to the village.

“We should’ve been home a while ago” you say quietly. You feel the chill in your bones and press yourself closer to him.

“Yea.” He holds your hand tighter at the sound of a small rock bouncing down a steep hill.

“I had fun today. Let’s do this again tomorrow.”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m moving in the morning” he states. It was nonchalant, but your stomach turns a churning sickness. One you can’t understand yet, it makes you uneasy.

“Oh. Okay, then.” It isn't okay, not in the slightest. But it had to be. Your best friend of 8 years looks at you, aiming to register the gravity of the situation. You both say nothing, but tears start to brim in your eyes in the silence. You wipe them with your arm.

“Will you miss me?” he asks.

“A lot.”

“I’ll miss you too. Lots and lots.” He sways your interlocking hands. You pass by vacant homes tattered and aged by abandonment, overgrown with invading ivy. Homeless reside, caring each other to warmth from the freezing draft. You were lucky to have a home in this little forgotten sector of Liyue. It's a small, unfortunate room, with holes in the roof that drips when it rains and bags over the windows to keep the heat in. The stove never works, and you share a bed with your mother, but every birthday she makes sure to save just enough for a slice of cake with one candle. There isn’t more you could ask for. Everyone in the village suffered from poverty but they made it work, sharing crops and dairy to persevere until the next year. That’s how you met him, sitting on a rock as your mother collected rations. You perform two pebbles in your hands, mumbling sea shanties while imagining voyage on a grueling journey—he sat next to you.

“Those aren’t dolls. They’re rocks.”

“You’re a rock” you retorted.

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you want to be a rock?”

“...That’d be kinda cool.” You gave him a pile of pebbles, and he joined the trip.

You’re getting closer to the village, still processing who you’ll play with once he’s gone. You glance at him, he’s spaced out in a faraway stare. You crave the power to read minds.

“Can we talk about something? I’m getting sad” you sniffle.

“What should be talk about?”

“What are you going to do after you move?”

“I’m gonna be super rich” he assures, looking up at the starless sky as if a meteor would shoot across and grant his wish. “What about you?”

“I’m going to save the world” you proclaim.

“Cool. I hope you do.”

“Me too.”

You arrive at your makeshift door drawn together with scraps of wood and twisted rope for hinges. A dim candle glimmers inside, most likely your vexed mother waiting for your tardily return. He makes space for your entry, and you undo your hands for the last time. Before you go, he snatches your wrist. His eyes are foggy, cheeks an anxious tinge of pink. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, but the strings in his heart are tense. His mouth shapes to say something, but nothing returns.

“Yeah?”

“...I... I’ll really miss you a lot” he whispers with a lump in his throat.

“Then don’t forget me, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?” you say and raise your pinky towards him. He curls around it. “I promise.”

“Good. By the way, you’re it now.”

“I’ll get you back when I see you again!” he chuckles. You bid your goodbyes, unaware that it would mark the unforeseen conclusion.

Leaves crunch under your feet as you make your leisurely traverse to Liyue Harbor. It’s just before sunrise and you finished helping the elderly in Qingce Village carry copious amounts of heavy produce to their homes. The thankful candies from seniors' jingle in your pocket as you stretch your weary arms. Your mom offered to cook, but you're determined to locate the best commissions Katheryne had before afternoon. “Maybe I’ll pick up some rice buns” you think out loud at the rumble of your growing appetite. You still had a long way to go before you got to the harbor.

This was your new normal. After your thundering battle with Ningguang and Keqing against Osial, you became an example of Liyue’s triumph. You also became more aware of Fatui tactics, wiping out their swarms with the raging fury of your pneuma and swinging vision. Days of grueling bloodshed resulted in your victory, cementing you as the lionheart of Liyue. Beat up and bruised, the only request you made after your fight was a hot meal and a place for your mom to retire. They delivered both, and you used your recent hero status to provide help to the villagers where needed, be it casual favors or ruthless assault on Fatui agents. You were neither rich nor poor, and lived off the land and kindness of the Liyue Qixing. They often suggested you focus on less mundane tasks, but to you, the most vulnerable age groups warranted priority. There was something about the lighthearted innocent squeals of children and mellow grandparents rocking in their wooden chairs that made you protective to an almost volatile extent.

Bustling interactions of trade and commerce carry through the wind as you enter the harbor—a sound that’s brought you peace for years. The smell of food vendors has you drooling instantly. As you devour the complimentary rice bun, you feel the yank of a little hand on your skirt. You look down and a boy with brown hair searches for familiarity in your face. You recognize him, babysitting him numerous times. You kneel and pat his head, but he doesn’t react or move.

“Hey, what’s up? Where are your parents?” you question, briefly scanning your immediate area for his family. He’s hesitant to speak, as if he can’t find the panicked words, and rushes into your arms. You hug him instinctively and let him sniffle into your shoulder. You pick him up in your grasp and raise his head with your other hand so that he’ll hopefully be open to your compassion.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” The boy wipes his chubby tomato-red face. “Grandma is on the floor, what do I do?” You quell your rising nerves to suppress his alarm and speak calmly.

“Where is she?”

Speed walking towards the destination, the commotion of a small crowd surrounds a kneeling woman in the distance. She’s on her sun-spotted hands and knees, wailing for some bygone Archon. “Grandma!” he yells and jumps out of your arms. You run after him, relieved that the worst case scenario hadn’t occurred. You push through the group and get eye level with her, forehead pressed to the ground spouting religious scripture.

“Are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Wise sunken eyes wrinkled with age and torn by tragedy stick to your heart. Her feeble hands encapsulate yours, and tears stream down her cheeks. “They took my baby!” she rasps, rocking back and forth. “Who did?” you ask, and she weeps harder. “They took her memory...my baby, my daughter!” You support her weight and lift her hunched figure off the pavement. “What did they look like, ma’am?”

“A black hood...red mask” she recalls shakily. Instantly miscellaneous chatter ensues. They whisper nervously in each other's ears, he who shall not be named steals their voices. “Fatui probably got ‘er” you hear the mumble of one. Fatui. Your blood boils at the word, and you direct your view to the shrinking man with hands in his pockets. “‘He’ got all of us” he scoffs. “Did they hurt you guys, too?” you ask, and they stare. They’re pained but accepting.

“500,000 mora.”

“194,000 for me.”

They list off their debt one by one, and you’re horrified at the accumulating number. They seem to endure, however; no longer phased by the incurable tally haunting their lives. “H-how are you paying any of this?”

“We can’t. It adds up. Interest, late payments, it always does. So, we give everything, and ‘he’ takes everything, until we have nothing left. We die poor without a possession to our name” a woman sighs. As a child, you heard of the loan sharks that purposely fed false promises to the poor, and once they were reeled in, charged insurmountable payments to blackmail—it was the origin story of most people in your birthplace. Your soul aches for them, but is there anything you can do?

“...I’ll help you, all of you. I’m sure I can-”

Ningguang arrives. She's a nurturing figure to you, the kind that asks if you’ve been eating well and politely scolds you. “What happened?” You lead the tired elder to the Jade Chamber, and she tells her story through choked sobs. You didn’t expect Keqing to already be there, arms folded and turned away from the situation. Ningguang can barely glance at the woman.

“They stormed my home and took my jewelry and belongings. They took the pendant my daughter gave me; it had her face in it. Archons give me strength, my baby! I can’t afford it; I have nothing!” she quakes. You rub her back and Ningguang nods, listening—you can’t help but notice the anxiety blooming on her abstracted face. They take her through the process and once she leaves, Ningguang and Keqing look at each other with a silent understanding. The room is eerily quiet, and Ningguang paces back and forth in front of the intel wall contemplating an uncertain danger. You fumble with your thumbs.

“What are we going to do about this?” you wonder. Keqing clears her throat loudly, attracting the attention of Ningguang. She looks at you, and sighs deeply. “We already know about this issue.”

Your ears perk up. “Great, so how can I help?”

“By doing nothing, (Y/N)” Keqing says.

“...What?”

“I have eyes everywhere; I’ve known for a long time. The Fatui are not people to be taken lightly, especially the harbingers. A few of their skirmishers were caught trading exotic goods and taxing medicine at high prices, on top of extorting the impoverished regions.” Ningguang points to one of the many Fatui exclusive headquarters on the wall. “Pantalone is the richest man in Teyvat, he has more political influence than anyone can imagine, and they answer to him. We can’t risk getting involved with this. They’ve brought this upon themselves, and unfortunately, they must deal with the consequences.”

You can’t accept this response. How can they just desert them? It doesn’t comprehend in your naïvity—you scold yourself for not spotting the signs sooner, furrowing your brows and looking at them with distaste. “I expected this. You shouldn’t have said anything” Keqing chides. “...Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped before-”

“You’re the last person I wanted to know about this” Ningguang interrupts. Your anger feels misplaced, and you bite your lip in restraint. She sits next to you and offers fleeting comfort with a graceful hand on yours. “You’re quite the reactionary type. In due time, this will be sorted. But right now, I need you to calm down, and trust me.” It sounds desperate, you know you shouldn’t go looking for answers, but a snagging thread pulls at the back of your consciousness, all too convincing. You bounce your leg. “You should want revenge just as much as me. Where we came from, where they end up, it isn’t fair.”

“You know I do, more than anything. But we must handle this with care, before too many people get hurt. I’m doing this for the betterment of Liyue as a whole. It’s not easy to make these decisions.”

“We can’t just go around serving justice, there’s laws we have to act with” Keqing adds. You don’t reply and stand up abruptly to leave. The worried Tianquan grabs your wrist one last time. “Promise me you won’t make a mistake, (Y/N). I’m trying to protect you” she pleads.

“I promise. Thank you.” You flash a half genuine smile, already planning to rebel against her wishes.

Who exactly is ‘he’—Pantalone. You don’t even know where to start looking. Too many headquarters, infinite possibilities. The best way you have to find him is through Fatui agents.

You start taking up odd jobs late in the evening, scouring for the possibility that a fatui agent might fall into your hands. Though you considered playing the part of an impoverished villager taking out a loan at Northland Bank, it didn’t guarantee that you’d meet Pantalone in the flesh—it’s more likely that would raise unnecessary suspicion in the process. It’s awkward at first, seeing the hero of Liyue fish on the dock for petty change throughout the night. As you do, the malicious fire in your eyes burns bright at the occasional voice in chill silence. Your vision glows as you toss the hunting knife between your nimble digits. Listening closely to conversations, hoping that one might be unguarded enough to slip up, but nothing of the sort appears—not even the boldness of Fatui skirmishers enables them to divulge secrets under the baleful existence of Celestia.

The moon illuminates sweetly on the tranquil waters lulling you to drowse. You hadn’t heard much since the start of your escapade. A fishing pole is weak in your resistless hold, and you’ve evidently given up on the idea of portraying the hardworking fisherman tonight. You vowed to help the people of Liyue, but justice was seemingly unfeasible. Maybe a direct approach? Should I ambush their headquarters? More so a suicide mission, you’d have no luck achieving that. Just as you’re about to leave, the crunch of withering grass straightens your posture. You make yourself hidden with a burst of energy and slouch behind the bushes as a Fatui pyro agent charges along the route. Through the glutted leaves obstructing your vision, you can just make out the heavy bag on his shoulder and jagged blade waiting restlessly on the other. His stride points towards Qingce Village. You hold your breath disguising yourself with the scenery and allow him to take a few feet between you before you begin following him. He’s rather shifty, those veiled eyes darting back and forth at the lightest noise. You’re careful to glide behind trees, moving with the heartbeat of the wind and taking advantage of the various melody's nature offers. You suck in a breath and duck behind a boulder a few inches too close, and his head snaps in your direction. The feeling of being watched besets him, but with no way to prove it and time running out, he secures his knife for the hypothetical ambush, and makes haste towards the target. Turning a tree, you watch as the pyro wielder knocks on the house of a small worn cottage. A short stocky man appears, shading half his body behind the door.

“H-hello...” you hear faintly. The Fatui keeps his hand firm on the door, one boot propped under the hinge. He presents the flaming knife loosely as he towers over the man. “We’ve given you time.” You were sure now that he's working for Pantalone.

“I don’t have it. P-please, if you could just give me some more-” He slams his fist against the wood, a resounding thump shakes the home. The man cowers. “Give me everything you have. The Regrator won’t wait any long-”

A small rock flies past his mask, skidding on the ground until it comes to a stop. He glares in the direction of the tree you’re hiding behind. You have no plan, nothing but the distracting impulse to stop the assailant from attacking. “Stay here” he commands, and stalks towards you. His slow footsteps get increasingly louder, playful stomps toying with your obvious whereabouts. He twirls the razor-sharp knife, and as he sharply peeks around the corner, you’re nowhere to be found. “Here, kitty kitty” he taunts, spinning towards the lake, then the village grounds for footprints. He severs the air aimlessly in mirth, believing some amateur fighter came to challenge him. As he monitors the tracks under you, you drop down from the wiry branches. Legs wrap tight around his neck, and you catch hold of his hood trying to pull his mask off. He gags but he’s too quick, throwing off your steadiness as he slams your spine on the grass. He whips around to take a stab at your chest, but you roll away guarding the vital arteries. You kick him in the crotch, and he recoils giving you ample time to stand.

You can’t feel the wet laceration dripping down your abdomen as you take a slash at his throat with your weapon, infused with elemental energy. He leans back and meets your strike. You trade blows, the strength of your smite bursting sparks of light above the scratches and bruises. Your wrist burns with the unmoving knives stumbling you. He begins to manifest blazing knives circling his figure, and you jump back from the singing cut melting the cloth. You wipe the dried blood from your mouth, and in the blink of an eye, he disappears. Suddenly, red auras similar to the pyro agent surround you. One by one, the clones charge at you, and you parry their overhead onslaught. Something is different about the last clone, your vision revealing a brighter outline than the others. When the next clone attacks, as you counter you pretend to fall for his trick. With your eyes on the other, he immediately passes through the black fog to deal the killing blow. You’re quicker this time and heave a heavy tear into his chest. Crimson splatters the grass, it shatters his element and rips open the robe. You tackle him on the dirt and wrestle until you kick his weapon away. Your knee digs into his back, and he can barely breathe with his arm locked behind him and knife rigid against his neck. He ttempts to swing at you, but you wrench his arm tighter and slice into his skin just enough to draw blood.

“Fuck. Okay!” he wheezes. “Where is Pantalone?”

“I don’t know what you’re- shit!” You’ve lost patience long ago and twist his arm to dislocate the shoulder. He lets out a blood curdling scream thrashing in pain—you tug hard and focus him. “Shut up and answer my question. Where is Pantalone?” you demand. He hisses in pain and coughs up phlegm mixing with reddening soil. “Kill me.”

“Just tell me and I’ll let you go.”

“I’m a dead man, either way.” he rasps and hangs his head waiting for the execution. You grit your teeth; a drop of guilt leaves a bad taste as you thwack the pressure point on his neck that forces him unconscious. You glance at the bag he left and limp over to rummage through the contents. Useless papers crumple under stolen items, but one note catches your eye. Presumably a to-do list, you read to the bottom. A list of homes, goods on standby exchanges—at the bottom of those, a rendezvous point:

Report back- Yilong Bank, Liyue

You rest in a plot of prickly bushes and leave in the morning after patching yourself up. You couldn’t stop now, not when you were this close to facing him. You soothe your body from the twigs prodding you all night, and check the wound suppressed by gauze. It’s a light scar now, apparent after bathing in the warm water on the outskirts of Qingce. You contemplated telling Ningguang about what occurred, but imagining the look on her face once she knew kept you moving.

Tucking your vision where it can’t be viewed, you take a waverider to Yilong Port into the afternoon. You concoct a half-baked scheme, one that relies on every scenario being perfect to a tee. Unreliable, but probably your only chance. The plan amounts to scaling the building and breaking in through the office window, snatching everything owned by the villagers and breaking out before anyone notices. Easy in your capabilities, but you have no idea what the building looks like, nor do you know where the office is. The man driving wears all black, an outfit that stands out from the rest of the region. He stares at you blankly, and once you’re aware, you meet eyes. His smile is uncanny, stretching across his face with an abnormal friendliness.

“Is this your first time at the port?” he asks, finger tapping the wheel. Be it sleep deprivation or ignorance; you don’t recognize red flags in his behavior. You smile at the courteous face. “Yeah, the weather’s beautiful out here.”

“Mhm, hot weather up here. On vacation?”

“Nah, I have business here.” The minuscule edge of your vision catches in the light. He homes in on the passing twinkle. You wonder why his eyes widen momentarily, and his finger starts to tap methodically, as if memorizing a coded pattern.

“Business...what kind?”

“Oh...I have some items to trade.” You close off your answers feeling that you’ve said too much. He subsides with a stale expression. “If you’re looking to trade, you might find luck at Yilong Bank” he utters monotonously.

“And where is that?” You feign disinterest, but victory is too loud on your tongue.

“Up the mountain.” The waverider halts at the harbor, and he turns his head away from you unusually cold, akin to a mechanical bot shutting down. “Welcome to Yilong Port.”

You make yourself invisible in the crowd and wait for nightfall. People still roam the port along with Fatui monitoring the front of the bank, which gives you leeway to blend in as you find passage around the back of the mountain. It’s a steep, dark incline jutted with irregular jagged stones. The imposing size of the climb tangles knots in your stomach, and you wipe the persistent sweat on your top. In one huge leap, you latch onto a craggy indent, and begin your ascension.

Your legs feel like jelly with each contact of the unforgiving breeze. You sway alongside the spirit of anemo and swallow your anxiety before leaping to the next rock. Shoes plant into rock and nails excavate fresh cobble on the next jump. By the time you’ve realized, you’re already up most of the mountain. You tug yourself even with the land as a barreling gust of wind goads your glance to the ground, kilometers beneath you. Your breath stills, and for a second dizziness overtakes your nerves at the thought of slipping. I could die, one mistake and I’m dead. You focus, and spring to the next piece. Without warning, rock gives way into pebbles at the weight of your foot. You nearly plunge, but anchor onto the small bump out with one hand. You’re dangling off the edge, playing with death while you fortify your body. Hyperventilation makes your heartbeat thrum incessantly and stress palpitates tired muscles; If you didn't have your vision, you would’ve fainted to your demise. You bite the bullet, push your heels in and persevere through the hurdles. The next thing you clutch is malleable in your palm. You vault over the cliff, the smell of dew is overwhelming. The back of the bank—the end goal—is visible.

One Fatui member remains in the front. You scale up the building effortlessly, nothing compared to the hell you just went through. Shifting window to window, your eyes land on the pitch-black darkness of the room at the top of the building. An ideal glow casts on the fraction of precious gold resting on a coffee table. This has to be it. You slink through the window soundlessly, and land on the balls of your feet. Analyzing the dish, you don’t discern the pendant. You can faintly identify some bookshelves near the dish, and tiptoe further inside. You creep around luxury sofas, and squint at the embellished glass case next to the door, containing all manner of jewelry and valuable possessions. You won; this was it. You scurry to it, moving with abrupt carelessness. One more step.

Click

The fireplace you didn’t heed is set aflame. It flickers sneering shadows on the opposite wall and brightens the case. You pause and hope. There’s a confining silence stirring in the room, like someone is with you. The case is visible now, and so is the key to opening it.

You fell into a trap.

“Looks like I have a little thief on my hands.”

A bittersweet voice in the sable, reminiscent of rich dark chocolate, rolls off the room. He steps out obscurity behind his desk and your eyes adjust, revealing the tight black turtleneck compressing his willowy torso and gloves adorned with silver rings. You can’t see the upper part of his face, but the chains of his glasses hang in front of that duping smile. You expected the Fatui harbinger to be on the stronger side, physically intimidating. It’s not physical, but you feel a certain fear boiling in your body. He’s not terrifying, but you tremble. His presence makes your hair stand and sends waves of goosebumps up your arms. You can’t find the will to move your wobbly legs. His charmed laugh rings in your ears and causes you to hold your breath. He has no vision; you shouldn’t be afraid. You could take him on easily, why can’t you fight?

“Hello, honored hero of Liyue” the headless man taunts. It makes it worse that he knows who you are. How long had he known you were coming? Was your plan doomed from the beginning? Your feet are stuck in molasses as your fight or flight shuts down at the man before you.

“Now, tell me. What is the little thief doing, barging into my office to take the possessions I worked so hard for? Not very heroic of you, If I may say.” There’s power in his stature—you forget how to speak. He holds his palm out to you. Tangled between his fingers, is the ornate golden pendant you’d been searching for, a woman’s face in the frame. Your eyes widen, and the sweet familiar curve of his lips stretches in amusement.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” The plod of low-heeled boots accompanies unveiled darkness, and you can observe his entirety. Amethyst eyes drunk with an orchid hue pool into your being. Lazy curls brush against his glasses and kiss his porcelain skin. He’s beautiful, a calm enticing rip current that sweeps you with immeasurable pressure before you can pull yourself out. He leans on the desk, observing the chain halfheartedly. If you weren’t careful, you’d mistake the look on his face for genuine kindness; you’d drown, just like he craved. Nonetheless, you can’t shake the emotion his smile grants.

“Yes. That’s all I need, and I won’t bother you again” you whisper meekly, hoping that he’d let you go with the pendant in a spur of forgiveness. The jest in his eyes says something different.

“Come get it.”

Come get it. Your mind begins to piece the man into a stage of your life you’d forgotten. It can’t be him. Memory tells intrusive truth in short flashes. Inky curls spiraling in front of you as you chase. He was consistently miles ahead of you. It was irrelevant how far apart you were; he’d always find you. That big, curving smile for every match he won. Purple eyes glancing back at yours; the same ones that withheld tears when you said goodbye.

“Come get me!”

Tears stream down your eyes for the friend you thought you’d never see again. Childhood laughter bleeds into his current cat-like conniving snicker, and you gaze at his face.

“I... remember you” you choke. He looks up without a smile, perceiving an unexpected thought, and meets your eyes. There’s a hint of affection in the warm smile beaming on his face. “My my, (Y/N). You have quite the memory.”

You’re motionless, full of something that catches in your lungs. This isn’t the triumph you wanted, and now that you’re face to face you feel powerless. He must’ve known the entire time. Watching you fight and work alone, sending Fatui to roam in Liyue, all done to toy with you. Your lip quivers, swelling in your already deafening heartbeat.

“How long...” you utter. He inquires with the tilt of his head.

“How long have you been messing with me?” Your eyes adhere to the floor, pride that won’t permit you to shed misery for Pantalone. He drinks in your resistant frame, the kind he desires to break; perhaps this game of cat and mouse isn’t done, after all.

“This hurts me too, (Y/N). I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t so…persistent.” Your confusion spills over in shaky, weak huffs. You can’t maintain your composure, and make yourself first to oppose the authoritative man on his own territory.

“How could you do this to anyone? We grew up poor!” You shout with balling fists.

“It’s inefficient to dwell on the past” he replies with gentle cadence and languid grace unrepresentative of his cruel tactics. You nearly regret raising your voice.

“These people are at their wits end and you’re taking advantage of them” you chide. He slowly paces towards you. Pantalone looks down on you from height disparity, but the royal glower pities you, judges worth you can’t see.

“Driven by emotions, are you that simple? You presumed that if you stormed in here, and professed a touching story, that I would suddenly see the error in my methods?” You’re not sure what you’re here for anymore or why you haven’t left yet. Subconscious urges can't determine if they should slap or hug the man inching towards you. “I simply enforce contracts and exchanges. No one can be swindled by a debt accreted on their own.”

“No one asks to be poor either” you interject. Pantalone’s a foot away from you now, analyzing your reactions to his personal entertainment. He recalls the blurry past—the pranks you pulled together that ultimately failed from your loud hurried sneakiness tripping to alert the farmers, helping out for loose change so that you’d split a snack between each other that wasn’t big enough to share, gazing at the twinkling night imagining a distant future—you changed and stayed the same, but he keeps wanting more.

“Weigh the odds. They either die impoverished or live by passage of loans. I merely provide a service. Does that make me so cruel?” You can’t find an answer.

“You’ll always be my friend, but I need it back. It can’t be much to forgive someone’s debt” you plead.

“You still consider me a friend?”

“I think…you’re hurt. And you’re trying to heal. We all are. I know I’ve dealt with a lot as I’ve gotten older and I think you have, too. Power corrupts even the best people in this world, so maybe you’re not a bad person. But you’re doing bad things, and this isn’t the right way to get better.”

Pantalone is quiet for a few long moments. His hands web his face, but you can clearly see the pearly fangs in his open-mouthed smirk. Then he laughs—dulcet and mocking, it lingers for too long as he throws his head back and relishes the obtuse notion. He gazes with insulting compassion and stalks towards you.

“Incredibly…. gullible. Mora is the pathway to all endeavors. Devoid of gnosis or divine knowledge, wealth has rendered me impervious to control. Suffering and destitution only manifest if I will it. I am the guise of a false god, an emblem of achievement.” It’s borderline delusional the way he regards himself, arms moving in theatric grandeur, the star of his own opera.

“Does that make you feel good? Stepping on the backs of the community that raised you, and abandoning them because they chose not to be influenced by greed?” Pantalone towers over you. His fingers brush light against your sensitive ears, trail to your clenched jaw, and finally cup your frustrated cheeks with the cradle of a long-lost lover.

“It does, in fact. I’m not easily swayed by ridiculous optimism, that’s why I’m at the top. You’ve devoted your blood and tears to a region that will succumb to adversity in your absence. Is that not a pointless feat?”

“So what? That doesn’t mean we just don’t help people. You have nothing without the Fatui, you’re a pawn just like the others” you retort. He brings his lips close to the shell of your ear, and his breath hot on the untouched skin drags a tingle up your spine.

“And what do you know about the Fatui?” he whispers.

“I know enough. You’re all disgusting.” He huffs out his nose.

“Disgusting isn’t the right word. I’d say...opportunists.” Pantalone backs up, sliding his hand up your chin and tilting your attention to the intense glint. “But you’re clever, I’ll give you that. If only you were clever enough to know your place.” You'd forgotten you were acting out of line. You refocus your mindset to negotiation.

“I’ll do anything you ask for the debt. Please, just give it back.” The word “anything” evokes a malicious yearning—so forthcoming without understanding the implications of “anything”, of eternity. He caresses your cheek.

“Anything, hm? Even if I said to give up being a hero for good? Would you still call yourself a heroic traveler if you weren’t allowed to travel or adventure as you please?” he teases. Your mouth opens to refute, but you bite your bottom lip instead. Pantalone walks back to his desk and leans while dangling the golden chain. Now that he’s far, the invading space between you two shows how insignificant you are in this luxury palace.

“Your resolve moves me. Consider this; make an exchange with me, and I’ll guarantee not only her debt, but the debt of all residents in Liyue forgiven” Your face instantly lights up, ready to accept it without thinking.

“What is it?” you ask.

“In exchange for regional loan forgiveness, I want you.”

“...What?”

“I want everything you have. It’s the fairest exchange I can make. Your obedience, your loyalty, and your body.”

The choice turns in your frontal lobe. You can’t fathom giving yourself to a man, let alone a Fatui harbinger. It’s unbecoming of a hero to lie with the enemy.

“Absolutely not” you assure.

“Alright. Then allow their village to be reduced to nothing.” No, wait. “You may leave. However, if you do, you’ll cause great misfortune to that woman and her struggling family” You play into his covet so smoothly as you stand in the center of the room, reluctant to leave.

“I’m not a complete monster, so I’ll give you 5 seconds to make a choice.” He sways the pendant in his hand like the transient time of an hourglass. 5 seconds, all you have to sign your life away.

“4.”

What if no one ever sees you again? What’s the point of sacrificing your happiness and freedom, are the people of Liyue truly worth it?

“3.”

You could threaten him, take him hostage so that a harbinger might bow to your demands. That, or they kill you, and the village suffers anyway.

“2.”

You think of your graying mom, the sweet boy with his chubby red face who cries over the smallest things, the grateful elders that give you candy after every good deed, Ningguang and Keqing stressing over the next financial impact.

“1.”

“I’ll do it.”

Pantalone swings the chain into his palm, an undefeated smug overbearing as he sets it on the desk. There was never a point in resisting; he always got what he wanted, no matter how long it took to achieve it. He waited months—no, years—to get you in this exact moment. There’s a daunting beguiling charm in the way he closes the gap between you two. You glare at him; a temper common people would dread shooting. He assesses the pending punishment and lowers himself eye-level. He grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I can see the defiance in your eyes. Do you want to talk back? Go ahead, challenge me.” You don’t test this scenario and turn your head. “Don’t patronize me. Get it over with, ‘Pantalone’.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and pliable flesh strains your teeth as your face is gripped rough by satiny leather. You’re twisted sharply to the calm expression—it humbles you.

“That’s not how you address your superior. What should you call me?” You don’t answer promptly to his liking, and he tightens his grip. “Answer me properly, darling.”

“...Sir.” Pantalone plants a sickly sugary kiss on your forehead, the kind that makes you forget how petrifying he can be, and lets you go.

“Good.” He walks back to the desk and sits in the onyx chair embellished with silver jewels fit for a king. His chin rests on bridging hands. “Strip.”

You don’t move, your heart hammers in your chest at the request and you stir uncomfortably. You have no experience with sexual gratification, let alone exposing yourself to an old friend.

“(Y/N). Don’t make me say it again.” Keen agitation in his voice serves as a final warning. He eats you with his eyes, homed in on your hands clumsily snaking the top over your head. A glimpse of the scar you received during your fight with the Fatui captures him. He takes a mental entry, for an explanation that might justify why the agent suddenly goes missing. You were generally too busy to look in the mirror or analyze your assets, and pleasure was a removed afterthought—so the hungry fervor warming your skin and permeating the room clamped your thighs shut. You’re visibly flustered and nervous fumbling with the clasps on your bra while stabilizing your anxiety, and he delights in every second of the accidental strip tease. It feels like fresh meat introduced to a savage animal, and the instant your bra omes off, a new vulnerability coils in your gut. You move to your bottoms; the sheen of sweat polishes your plush thighs to wiggle out of them. You’re left in nothing but tantalizing panties hugging you in the right places. His eyes undress and redress you, tracing up and down the perk of your nipples, tempting fullness of your thighs, each unseen curve and perfect imperfect mark on your glistening body. He lets out a deep breath to stop himself from jumping over the table and taking you right there.

“The underwear. Take it off” he says, an undertone of lust. You shimmy the fabric off and fully expose yourself. You impulsively cover your intimate parts and avert your eyes, but you can still feel Pantalone on you, ravaging you. He doesn’t bother telling you to put your arms at your sides, your bashfulness combined with an attempt at stoicism is comical.

“Ah, the little thief is trying to act tough. That's cute” Pantalone teases and leans back in the chair. Manspreading, he pats his thigh. “Crawl.”

He’s hellbent on shaming the defiance out of you. It’s a vile command, but you begrudgingly drop to your hands and knees. You drag your chaffed knees on wood, balancing like a newborn fawn adjusting to its legs. It’s humiliating and downright degrading; the cold floor fails at cooling your burning fever. You’re on the verge of tears, but Pantalone can’t help but smile. You get around the desk and look up at him, waiting for the next horrible thing he’ll have you do. “Unfortunately, the stunt you pulled impeded my paperwork. Be a good thing and sit on my lap until I’m done.” A “thing”—that’s all you were now, a shiny trophy meant to be ogled at but never taken seriously, used and thrown away. You stand off your scraped raw knees and straddle his thigh, hands balancing the leg so you don’t fall.

And Pantalone starts to work. Working as if you’re not there, filling in the spaces on his documents. For some reason, it’s more demeaning this way, you truly are just a prize. One hand dances beautiful penmanship in masterful motions on embossed paper, the other fondles and explores your being. The gloves brush down your delicate spine, nonsensical shapes drawn on your lower back that make you shiver and pool heat in places you’ve never thought of. You’ve never been touched like this, it’s needles light on your skin. They move to your stomach, pleasant circles above the pelvis that threaten to go lower. He’s careful to trail his hand up your cleavage and behind your neck, neglect your hardening nipples and repeat the process over and over. He’s painstakingly slow, savoring the dazed arch of your back, massaging your inner thighs and dragging the sleek material over your rear.

Middle and index sweep across your lips, pulling your bottom lip to reveal teeth, and prods your mouth. Pantalone’s fingers are invasive, they exploit your gums and twirl around the squishy tongue molding to his appetite. He plays with the pink mass, and it fills you like a kiss. He’s everywhere and he hasn’t looked at you once. You hate it, the kind elegance and refinement of his technique that makes every calculated word and action reek of opulence. Yet, arousal pools on the surface, sticking to your labia and clouding your drowsy mind. It’s an extreme ache that doesn’t go away from cold showers or shrugging off like you usually would. You can’t remember what you did today, yesterday, or the day before that. The sensation of him consumes you and persists in spots he left. He smells of expensive cologne, hints of heady wood and sage. You’re lucky his fingers are in your mouth, or piteous moans would spill out of you. Flat on his thigh, the subtle jolts of his leg rub against your hypersensitive clit and set your nerves on fire. Throbbing swells in your core, and you struggle to stay stiff as your hips stutter.

Pantalone knows exactly what he’s doing. Your labored pants sound like saintly melody while you writhe on his lap. The fabric goads your pulsing pussy, and you hang your head in embarrassment of the juices soaking your thighs and his. He’s surprised you have strength left to withstand the itch. You do your best to hover above it, trailing thick strings of slick. “There’s no need to pretend you don’t like this. Just give yourself to me” he whispers. And it’s so enticing, an invitation that might let you come if you ask. However, remnants of pride cling to your melting resolve, you can’t give in yet. He takes the fingers out and presses on your nipple, flicking the bud. You can’t hold the mewl, and he snickers.

“So indignant for the hero of Liyue, to be on a harbingers lap, reduced to a pretty pet.” Your ears tune out the insults. The damp gloves pull and pinch your puffy nipples, then knead to soothe the pain. He does the same to the other, switching between both as he feels you squirm.

He works on the last few pages. Piles upon piles of reports and records—they detail the deaths, or “suicides”, of clients who’d disappeared mysteriously after extended absence of payments for millions of mora, people who dared go against the Regrator. Unruly, uncooperative clients that take advantage of fair exchange, and pay the price for it.

Your arms get tired, and you settle on him again. Pantalone starts to softly bounce his leg, enough for you to notice the friction on your clit. It’s too much, you can’t take it anymore, and start to rut your hips on his thigh. You look messy, smearing your essence on those overpriced slacks and biting back your moans. Pleasure flows in your veins, and you give up. His cock throbs nonstop, print stealing space in his pants. “Did you believe I wouldn’t catch you? You’re not sneaky enough. You’re not good enough," he taunts from the corner of his eye. You hump his leg like a desperate bunny, chasing the addictive high.

“Nasty slut, fucking your hips on a man you barely remember.” He moves his hands to your clit and replaces the slacks with slippery leather. You grind on it harder and hold your moans. More, more, more. He coats it in the mess and finally diverts his attention to you. He teases your entrance gliding vertically on your vulva before pushing one finger in. It hurts at first, but your walls hug him eagerly, pulling it deeper. He coaxes it to take another and starts scissoring your gushy walls.

“I’ll devour you. I’ll inscribe my name upon every surface of your physique until it adorns your lips, and I’m the only thing that remains.” Pantalone starts pumping rhythmically, tormenting, poking everywhere but your g-spot. Gloss drips down his knuckles and glazes his rings.

“S-sir please, s’too much” you whimper, mustering up an ineffective stable voice. “Hmm? Can you hear the lewd sounds you’re making?” Loud squelches sing from him fucking your insides. Each time you try to speak, he elicits another moan.

“M-my sto-mach hurtss” you whine. He holds your waist in place with the other hand and continues the assault. “I know, it hurts? Would you like me to alleviate the pain?” he coos. You nod fast.

“Hold it in. You ask for permission every time you’re close, do you understand?” You don’t reply and try to angle your body to get more contact. You make the mistake of guiding yourself to your clit and earn a harsh stinging slap on your hand. “Don’t touch what’s mine” he orders. You’re frustrated and he’s doing it on purpose, it’s entirely too hot where pleasure and pain blur. “N-not yours” you stammer, and he stops. He pulls out your warmth and you whine from loss of pressure. Looking at him, there's no smile, and the irritation on his face makes your heart drop. You're really in for it.

Without delay, your stomach flies over one of the chair arms, and you hold onto it for dear life. It presses firm on your ribs, and he slants your ass to the air. “You have courage, speaking back to me” he says. He pulls his gloves off and hurls them. They’re lovely, the silken soft hands of a man who hadn't lifted a finger through combat a day in his life. They sink into your sex, and you moan out for him. The other winds back, and you feel the palm hit brutally on your unsuspecting backside. Crack. It echoes in the room, and you almost fly forward.

“Disrespectful.” Crack. He keeps pumping through it, and tears collect in your lashes.

“Disobedient.” Crack. There’s blood rushing to your head, and violent smacks make your pussy flutter and ass ripple; his control won’t give you adequate touch.

“Little.” Crack. Every time he feels you getting there, he pauses. A masochistic pleasure whirls innermost.

“Brat.” Crack. Both cheeks are a sore fiery color and beginning to welt, but he resumes. You’re drenching his palm, sobbing from prolonged edging and Pantalone laughs. “Pfft, you’re crying? Too embarrassed to beg? Perhaps I’ll give you what you want, if you grovel hard enough, darling.” An incoherent orchestra of please’s mesh with broken moans. “Sir m’sorry. Wan’ it so bad, p-please!” you mumble. There’s no dignity on your lips, no residue of the hero you once were. Drunken ardor floods your short-circuiting brain.

“Oh, what do you say? You want it? Is that it? I'll let you have it... but only if you say it loud and clear for me” he croons. He winds his fingers in a come-hither gesture that licks your core.

“Please...I won’t misbehave again!” He spreads your ass apart and watches your hole pucker from lining the brink.

“I’m not sure I want to give it to you now. It's a lot more enjoyable watching you squirm and beg.”

“’M yours, sir. Please give it to me. I’ll be s’good, promise!” you mewl. You’re so pathetic, it’s endearing. He simpers and maneuvers impossibly fast while gyrating your clit. “How humiliating. You’ve satisfied me.” Your eyes roll back, and you dissolve in pure euphoria. There’s black dots in your vision, and it doesn’t stop as he starts torturing your overstimulated clit with the pad of his thumb. Your tears only encourage him. You jerk and spasm, but he moves where you move with insistent skill. “T-too m-”

“Aww, what’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted, where are your manners?” Pantalone pulls out and delivers staggering mean swats to your pussy, and you recoil. “Say thank you” he demands.

“Thank you, sir.” He hums and picks you up in his arms. Before color can return to your numb cells, he lays you on the desk. You watch him pull his shirt up to his pecs with haste and uncover the lean skinny midsection. Unzipping his pants, he unsheathes his leaking thumping erection. Even his dick is pretty, it curves upwards and shades a starving dusty pink past the thin strip of tissue on the underside of his bulbous tip. Composure thinning, a bead of pre come runs down his tip at the sight of provocation sluicing your ass and thighs. His glasses plunge down his neck, body blushed wildly, but he doesn’t care. Pantalone slides between your labia and groans at the sound. Engulfing the tip in awaiting velvet warmth, “You’re so good for me, hm?” he sighs. You embrace him, delicious searing stretch of your walls forming to his cock. Your orgasm builds just from your body accommodating the size. He places your hands on your calves and holds them at your sides. He slips out, and in one swoop, drives into you. His heavy balls smack against your ass as he thrusts frenetically in the gooey grip he’d been waiting for, stalking and spying for. He digs crescent shapes in your waist and uses you to his abundance. The desk base creaks and grinds on abrading wood and obituaries float to the floor with overturned calligraphy ink from the unrelenting momentum. You throw your head back and indulge the carnal lust washing over you both.

“You’ll never see anyone ever again. Fuck- you’re mine, and mine alone. You’re nothing but a come dump, your purpose is to please me, hah, until I say it’s over” his voice is unexpectedly deprived and weighty with vulgar whimpers. Pantalone eyes your neck and encapsulates it in his slender hand. He clenches tight and releases in sporadic bursts that have you seizing around him. For a split second there’s the image of you—exorbitant pearled collar wrapped around your throat, with “Pantalone” inscribed in bedazzled letters—and he loses it. He swipes your clit rapidly and feeds you deep strokes; you’ll definitely die. You speak, but it’s unintelligible rambling.

“Use your words” he lilts, squeezing your airflow taut. “C-can I, sir, please?”

“You’ll do it on my command.” Pantalone thrusts frenetically, you can feel him bucking, twitching and quickly approaching his climax. His hips sputter, chanting some mixture of your name and curses under his breath. “You’re so obedient for me, aren’t you? F-fuck, darling, go ahead. Come on my cock.” You permit yourself to surrender, white noise streams in and time slows as you come down his shaft. A creamy ring forms at the hilt of his slaps. You recite “thank you” through wails with the semblance of a follower at the altar of their savior. Then he grabs your face and goes in for a kiss.

It’s sloppy and misses half your lip, but its doughy attachment mellows your blissed out head. His lips taste like the bitter excess of green tea, and you crane for a better sample. His tongue does things his fingers couldn’t, and swirls around yours in a passionate bruising waltz. Pantalone breaks away, a string of saliva when he frees himself. “Mm, coming. Gonna claim you everywhere” he whimpers. Sweat on his lustered abdomen, he pumps his tender cock before spurting thick hot ropes across your tits and stomach. He paints your vulva with the rest and plunges the tip in your entry so as to not waste the endless globs of white. He tremors inside you until soft, and when some dribbles out he fingers it back inside.

Afterwards, Pantalone opens one of the drawers on the desk and takes out an embossed loan dismissal form. You can’t read the finer details through hazy eyesight. “It’s already signed, so don’t worry. I won’t deceive you.” He caresses your face in his normal sing-song attitude. “We depart in the morning.” You don’t have a clue where you’re going or how you’ll get there as you drift unconscious. Once you’re asleep, Pantalone shuffles in a different locked drawer. He twiddles the stunning purple geode in his hand, a crystal lined mineral you gave to him years prior. He looks at you, then the druse, and cackles.

“Mine. Always.”

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin au #pantalone smut #pantalone #pantalone headcanons #headcanon #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #pantalone x y/n #genshin impact pantalone

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chawarin-panich · 8 months

Text

Ray's mother, music and the barriers to his heart that Sand must overcome

TW: discussion of suicide This is building upon the shorter meta I wrote here about the Micro song that plays during Ray's suicide scene. The parallels between Ray's arc in falling for Sand and Mew are so overt that I was completely overlooking the person that Sand is really up against in Ray's wounded heart and who, I believe Mew is ultimately a proxy for - his dead mother. I go into a little bit about how Sand's affection for Ray can sometimes read as familial here and I think it's quite readily noticeable how Ray acts very childlike around Sand with his puppy dog eyes and constant wheedling. One thing I do want to note is that Ray doesn't particularly come off as childlike in any of his other interactions either with his friends or in his conversation with P'Yo except for perhaps that first night when he got drunk and told his friends how much he loved them and during the suicide scene when he cries wrapped up in Mew's arms, distraught by how his mother never loved him. I think Ray is the epitome of someone with a deeply wounded inner child and the only way he can ask for love is as a child, somewhat helplessly and appealing to people's caretaker/protective nature. The parent child relationship between Sand and Ray comes up a few times through the episodes. The earliest explicit acknowledgement as far as I can tell is here at the end of episode 2:

There's another explicit nod as to how their dynamic is set up within Sand performing acts of service for Ray in Ep 3:

Sand says he has been Ray's driver, drinking buddy, shrink and chef. Three of those things - driving him around, cooking for him and providing him emotional support are not just familial activities but activities you would normally do for a young child. Sand pointedly leaves out that they've had sex from this list of services. And yes, that's because Sand doesn't view sex as a service and if it was just this then it would be hard to make the point that I'm trying to make which is that Sand needs to fulfill that parental attachment need that Ray craves; give him that type of no strings, unselfish kind of love before he will ever be able to gain Ray's trust enough to be able to build a romantic relationship with him. So how is the show making this point? That Sand is replacing not just Mew but Ray's dead mother in his heart? Well, let's start with the two things that Ray's mother has left him with: 1) music and 2) her alcoholism. Ray's friends were all very surprised when Ray volunteers to arrange the music for the party. While that was more about Ray's lack of interest in taking responsibility (His now in restrospect gut wrenching 'I'm only good for spending money' line from Ep1 like ouch) but it also indicates that none of them really know or connect with Ray over his music. How can they?

Music is such a deeply personal part of him, that's where he keeps the love he holds for his mother; the love that is entirely grief - painful in its vastness, beautiful in its consistency. And the first thing Sand tells him to do is be grateful for it - her good taste in music. The second thing? Is to show him how to enjoy it:

The fact that he's taking his hand and Ray is half resisting it, the silliness of the gesture more than the touch itself but he's undeniably enjoying himself - It reads to me like the awkward, stilted movements of a childperson who doesn't know how to move their limbs when they're first being taught how to do something. And when you realize that the song that Ray plays for Sand in ep2 is the same one that is playing when he's taken the pills - the positive associations that Sand is making with Micro in Ray's life suddenly becomes monumental. This happens twice more in the show. Once, in the car when Sand ditches his date to drive them to Ray's house where they engage in a delightful flirtation around it, Ray singing badly while Sand eats it up complains about it

And again, at the night of the party when Ray tells Sand to play Micro for him and Sand like the simp that he is serenades him with it:

But their connection over music doesn't stop at teaching Ray to cherish and honor his past - and unknowingly the pains that are attached to it. No, Sand goes further to expand it, help Ray find a space for himself in music, carve a corner of it that isn't only pain, isn't only that moment of seeing his mother laid flat on that floor with a whiskey glass inches from her fingers.

When music is such an integral part of Ray's personality how else does one interpret this scene other than Sand telling Ray to move on, when Sand plays Selina and Sirinya for him because finding new music he likes is Sand's happiness how else do I interpret it as anything other than Sand teaching Ray how to be happy? What am I supposed to do but pull out my own hair when they're connecting over music, looking at each other like this:

And Sand will do it AGAIN - as the ep5 preview suggests - take Ray's hand and teach him how to enjoy contemporary music while Ray makes his awkward, adorable face where he's having fun in spite of himself. And the sheer amount of joy that Sand gets in seeing Ray like this is just - they're so insufferable:

But perhaps the most surprising (and delightful!) of all is this:

Ray taking his headphone off, interrupting this magical moment of being with Sand and the music, telling him he wants to be close to nature and drink beer - for the very first time Ray desires alcohol not as a means to destroy himself but as a vehicle of peace and of connection and I haven't been well since seeing it and understanding what it means. In many ways, Ray's mother is such a tragic character. I know nothing of this woman other than the three seconds I have seen of her dead and the frightful way she has driven her son to follow in her footsteps, to feel so unloved and unwanted. And yet she named him Ray Pakorn (pakorn meaning sun) - a ray of sunshine. Perhaps even, her ray of sunshine.

How can I truly believe that she never loved him?

I know Ray tells Mew that she never held him but he loves her so dearly, wants to be with her so desperately, she permeates every moment of his life so thoroughly that the loneliness she left behind isn't a gaping emptiness but the festering carcass of a love so profound and full to bursting that Ray keeps trying to give it away, keeps trying to love his friends, keeps trying to save them and aches in the way that he finds no recipient for it.

People wonder what Sand sees in Ray, why he would fall for him. But Ray is a creature made entirely of love, soft still in the way he lets it rule his life, innocent in the way that he asks for it, precious in the way that he gives it away - How can Sand be anything but desperately in love with him?

#ofts meta #sandray meta #only friends meta #ofts #sandray #only friends the series #ofts ray #ofts sand #nani's hot takes #i spent so long on it please don't let it flop #but also its so long so i dont blame you #but i couldn't help myself #ray is an open wound in my heart #i do nothing but think about him #long post

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

Note

AITA for being upset at how my former friends treated me?

tw: suicide and animal death

So for some context this was a very close knit friendgroup, for several years, of about 10 people, including me and my then partner. Also, everyone here is an adult.

Basically, one day I was in a really really bad place mentally. A beloved family pet was going to be put down soon, this dog had been a part of my life for almost half my life, and I was inconsolable and struggling to cope with this. During a discussion about some random interest I got too mean/harsh about it and it turned into an argument.

I know this was not justified and my grief wasn't an excuse, and I knew it then too and apologized to the people involved, and was met with overwhelming support, I was told "it's ok, we understand you're going through a rough thing right now, we're here to support you and you'll always have a place in this group"

Then my partner messaged me. They had not been part of the discussion at all, but they told me they felt hurt and wanted us to take a break. However, I misinterpreted that as a break up (combination of language barrier and me already being in shambles. This miscommunication is not something my ex can be blamed for)

This was an extremely serious relationship, we had been together for 2 years at that point and had a lot of future plans and such, so that on top of already grieving made me have a mental breakdown.

So, I vented on my personal tumblr. My vents did not mention/vague/allude to the situation at all, they amounted to "I feel terrible I can't do this anymore" and could very well have been only about my dog, or just about my depression in general. I also should point out that my ex doesn't use tumblr at all, so I didn't think he'd ever see those vents, and I certainly didn't want him to. And I also would not have reacted like that if I had known it was a temporary break. I know I still shouldn't have vented on a public blog, and it was hurtful no matter what. I wasn't thinking clearly at the time.

The next day, after our dog was put down, I sought support from my friends, but was suddenly met with "we're not impressed with how you've acted, get therapy, bye" and was kicked from the group. Several of them blocked me everywhere instantly.

Unbeknownst to me, someone had sent my vents to my ex and they had shown them to the others, and they'd drawn the conclusion that I was upset about a temporary break and was venting to try to guilt my ex into getting back with me. And not a single one of them brought this up to me. Again, we'd all been friends for several years at that point and this was literally the day after telling me I'd always be a part of the group and they were here for me. I couldn't even defend myself because no one would tell me anything, I asked many times but was told "you know what you did" even though I clearly didn't. I thought they'd all changed their minds about the previous day out of nowhere, or that this was because of (what I thought was) the breakup. I only learned what they actually thought much later. Oh, and my ex told me I needed therapy and he never wanted anything to do with me again (which is when I learned I'd been wrong about the breakup).

Again, I know me venting was harmful no matter what, so in that regard I am the asshole, but I still feel like there's a difference between what I did and deliberate manipulation, and surely people I'd been friends with for years could have spoken to me before assuming things?

So at that point I'd lost a beloved pet, my partner, and most of my close friends, within a day. So at that point I tried but failed to commit suicide, and was hospitalized.

While in the hospital, I didn't get a single word from any of my friends, except for one person. Supposedly, everyone had been "worried out of their minds" when they saw my suicide note. But not worried enough for a single word.

Even the one person who talked to me got extremely defensive and angry if I so much as implied I felt hurt by the group's actions. They even tried to hold it over my head how "despite everything you did X and Y were super worried about you" as if being worried about someone comitting suicide is some kind of heroic saint.

I asked to be allowed to talk things out with them, but was told "the others aren't comfortable associating with you", so I had to write a fucking google doc letter. I explained the situation from my perspective, apologized for my actions etc, but also made it clear that I felt hurt and didn't think their reaction was justified and that they should have at least talked to me first, and that I was very open to talking things out in person if any of them wanted to get back to me.

None of them did. Apparently they were writing a formal collective response letter to me. At which point I had enough of the silent treatment and said that if any of them had anything to say to me they could do so in person. Which made the group extremely angry because I was "silencing" them.

About three people got back to me, and all of their responses amounted to "we don't owe you an apology, our actions were justified because we thought you'd done something bad and we were just trying to protect [my ex] and the fact that you're upset about it proves you are bad" one of them compared me to their abuser.

They also said they'd been "having issues with my behavior for a long time now", I wish I could elaborate here in case it'd impact judgement, but I can't because none of them specified, and NOTHING of the sort had been brought up to me previously.

So. Again, I know I am the asshole to some extent, because regardless of my mindset me venting on my tumblr was still harmful, but I also feel like I was treated unfairly and cruelly by my former friends. AITA here?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #suicide cw

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southparktexts · 1 month

Note

Hii, can u do how the main 4 would react to sh scars? (Obviously with TW)

HII ANON !! THANK YOU FOR BEING MY FIRST REQ AND OF COURSE !!

How the main four would react to self harm scars

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of self half, suicide

STAN :

- If im going to be honest, he was probably the last straw for you to break and self inflict scars.

- He probably wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for you’re hoodie sliding down when you reached for something on the high shelf.

- He wouldn’t talk about it to you but honestly will hint about it to you very subtly.

“Hey.. you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“You know how much I love you right?”

“I’m always here if you need me.”

- Eventually after it starts healing he still wouldn’t talk about it because he does so himself but whilst its healing he apologises for every little thing he does.

“Im sorry for not doing the dishes on monday.”

- Still hasn’t talked about it but showed you a lot of affection and sometimes grabs your wrists to kiss your scars better.

KYLE :

- Out of the main four he would be the first one to notice.

- He wouldn’t have noticed if you wouldn’t have worn a jumper when it was boiling hot outside.

- He caught a glimpse of your scars when you were studying with him.

- Kyle being an over worryer he would grab your wrists instantly, gently lowering your sleeves to see the damage.

“..What made you want to do it, my love?”

- Would also be the type of person to talk about it too.

- Reassuring you while you let out what you’ve been bottling up in his arms.

“Shh.. baby its okay.”

“Darling im not mad, okay?”

- He knows you’re struggling so for the next week he’ll do anything you’ll ask.

- The next following weeks he will show more responsibility and care for you.

- Sometimes even coming over unannounced with food just to feed you.

KENNY:

- wouldn’t notice until someone would point it out.

- probably would be butters because the boy is curious of what happened.

“Hey y/n what happened there?”

- He would turn his head and find Butters pointing directly at your self harm scars.

- He watched as you brushed it off with ease.

- Anger boiling up inside him but not towards you, but himself.

- ‘Why didn’t I check up on them?’

- ‘God.. I’m such an idiot.’

- Eventually will grab you by the wrist and drag you to the nearest empty room to confront you.

- Grabs you’re wrist and pulls down your sleeve.

“What’s this.”

“Oh its nothing bab-“

“No. What’s this.”

- Will definitely be upfront to you about it and comfort you.

- Very demanding because he cares/

- The following weeks he’ll bandage it up for you daily until it was healed.

- He just cares but in his own way.

Cartman :

- would be the first one to get suspicious.

- noticing how you would pull down your sleeves.

- he wouldn’t be vocal about it though.

- wouldn’t be mad either. more understanding.

- he’s the type to help you subtly.

- buying you food and delivering it to your house.

- helping you cover up.

- leaving his hoodies and jumpers for you to use with a note.

‘Hi, heres a hoodie or whatever. eric.”

- LOVES seeing you use wear his clothes to cover up.

- Holds your hand more in public.

- shows more affection when your alone.

#kyle broflovski x reader #south park x reader #southpark #southparkheadcannons #southparkimagines #stan marsh x y/n #eric cartman #eric cartman x reader #kenny mccormick #kenny mccormick x reader

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2amtechnicolor · 11 months

Text

We Need To Talk About Mahiru

Mahiru's second Trial is out and oh my god she just jumped up on my faves list. I love analyzing the MVs from different perspectives so I thought I'd give my 2 cents on Mahiru's character.

My vote: INNOCENT

The first thing I really feel the need to bring up is that people tend to ignore that Mahiru is actually very intelligent. There's multiple kinds of intelligence, and while she might not be "traditionally" smart in the linguistic sense, she's incredibly emotionally intelligent. She's a master of empathy and mood making and is an incredibly charming talker to the point you don't realize she's completely controlling the conversation. That being said, I genuinely don't think she uses her intelligence for malicious gains.

One of the theories going around with her first MV was that she was overbearing to the point of being abusive, while being oblivious to her own toxicity. Now after rereading and rewatching, I'm inclined to disagree. Her love may be seen as overbearing to some but we have not seen any explicit bad behavior towards her boyfriend. (Contrast with someone like Muu, who was revealed to have bullied as much as she was bullied herself). In my unpopular opinion, I genuinely think Mahiru was in a "healthy" relationship, at least on the surface.

[TW for discussions of death, murder, and fictional depictions of suicide]

[Side Note: One of the sticking points people have while saying "Mahiru was toxic" is that "Mahiru's relationship only lasted 16 days" which is blatantly not true when you check the translations for MV1. Day 1 takes place during college finals (mid-March-ish in JPN), Day 7 explicitly takes place in the summer, and Day 15 is New Year's Day (January). Mahiru's affection towards her boyfriend lasted almost a year, and they dated for around 6 months-ish during that. The "16 Day Memorial" isn't about a period of 16 days, it's about 16 days over the course of their relationship where she was explicitly making moves towards her boyfriend.]

I need you to take a real hard look at how Mahiru talks about "love" and "being in love." More specifically, when she talks about the concept of "love," she often brings up the action of "loving/showing love" in her explanation. Never once have I heard her say "My boyfriend loved me." or "This is what my boyfriend did for me." The focus is all on her actions towards the boyfriend. And I genuinely think she was a sweet girlfriend! She loved trying his hobbies and cooking his favorite foods and going to his favorite spots. She was sweet, and kind, and playful, and maybe just a bit clingy. But she was never jealous or possessive.

Es: I see. So, you became a murderer as a result of some relationship conflicts? Jealousy… Grudges… Having your partner stolen from you… Those stories aren’t all that uncommon now are they?

Mahiru: You’re wrong. It wasn’t that. I…never even wanted to kill anyone in the first place!

She explicitly states that her crime was not based off of negative feelings towards her boyfriend, but she still takes responsibility for what happened. Compare that to Fuuta, who, despite his own feelings of guilt, continually verbally denied that he had anything to do with his victim's death. Mahiru not only takes explicit responsibility, but also pins her "love" as his cause of death, to the point where if she was voted guilty, she would never try to love anyone again. Without "loving" anyone, she has no reason to live.

"To not forgive me means to take the act of loving away from me. That’s the same as not being alive. It’s the same as not being able to drink water or breathe."

It's interesting the way she compares basic needs to "the act of loving". Not the concept of "love" itself, but the act of showing someone love. If she is not allowed to show someone love, to her it's like suffocating, like dying of thirst, or maybe...dying of starvation?

Mahiru in her second MV may be dirty and barefoot with torn clothes, but the one thing she is not is starving. You could argue that "perhaps it doesn't show," but when compared to her boyfriend...

She's incredibly healthy.

And of course she's healthy! Her lovely boyfriend's been feeding her those bites of cake! So is the cake "love" then? But if the cake is love, why is her boyfriend, the one whose being "smothered," the one starving?

Feeding the cake doesn't represent "love." Feeding the cake also doesn't represent "the act of loving." Feeding the cake represents the boyfriend letting Mahiru "love" him. Does that make sense?

The boyfriend lets himself be vulnerable, he feeds pieces of himself to Mahiru for her to "love." But yet, he himself is starving.

...Have you even noticed Mahiru hates talking about herself?

It's evident from her first interrogation. Es can barely get two words in before Mahiru interrupts them to ask them questions about themselves or to offer her own advice to problems she thinks Es may be having.

Es: Oh… yeah. Uh… I apologise for that.

Mahiru: Did you zone out just then? This job must be pretty difficult, so you might be mentally burned out from work. Herbal tea’s good for that, you know? Oh! Like ginkgo tea—they say it helps improve brain function.

Es: Oh, is that so? I’ll try a bit then… I mean, no! Enough about me.

Compared to one of the few times Es gets a question in:

Es: I don’t completely understand what you’re saying, but… Being in love and loving someone—are they really that important?

Mahiru: They are.

Es: Hm.

Mahiru: They are… More so than anything else.

When reflected back to her, her answered become short and vague. Her voice grows soft and shy. She avoids questions, especially questions about difficult topics, not because she doesn't understand the gravity of them (like Haruka) but because she does. Like I said at the top, she's incredibly emotionally intelligent. She was beaten nearly to death because Kotoko decided to be Es's "fang", and yet she still empathizes with them. She still makes a strong attempt to see their point of view, and even to encourage Es to keep working hard. Compared to the other attacked prisoner we've seen, Fuuta, who blames and grovels for forgiveness, these responses are like night and day.

But what do we know about Mahiru, really?

She's 22

She's a university student

She likes romantic novels, comic, and dramas

She loves love. [But she's not obsessed with being loved. Haruka is obsessed with being loved, Haruka wants to be loved and taken care of, Haruka killed out of jealousy and for attention because he didn't feel loved enough. We never get that from Mahiru.]

Everything else we know about Mahiru? Is for other people.

Her favorite hobbies? Whatever her partner is doing.

Her fashion sense? Whatever will catch her partner's eye.

Her favorite food? Well, as long her partner cooks it, anything's her favorite!

The only time we ever get a sense of her and her boyfriend possibly disagreeing on something is Day 14 in MV1. Mahiru wants to see a French film and begs her boyfriend to take her. This is odd, because just a few scenes ago, she was bragging about how their tastes in films perfectly line up. If their tastes are the same, why would she have to beg him to take her to see this one?

Mahiru, like Yuno, is hiding behind a facade. But unlike Yuno, Mahiru doesn't have a strong core underneath her mirroring. Yuno can drop her "nice girl" act and she still has strong opinions and feelings and acts accordingly. Mahiru, when you try to go behind her mask, clams up, redirects, searches for a way out.

So. Back to cake.

The boyfriend feeds pieces of himself to Mahiru. He makes himself vulnerable, he lets her in, lets her care for him, lets her "love" him.

But Mahiru? She never feeds him until the very end, and even then, her "cake" isn't anything edible.

She's not stupid. She knows she can't give him what he really wants: any sort of vulnerability.

Their relationship is one-sided, but not because Mahiru is toxic or the boyfriend is apathetic. Their relationship is one sided because that's how Mahiru wants it to be. She wants to be the perfect girlfriend, because, if we're being honest, Mahiru doesn't like herself very much.

Why else would she hate talking about herself? She clearly loves to chat.

She puts her all into everything...as long as it's for someone besides her.

She will outright ignore her own pain and suffering, her own emotions, because she doesn't want to make anyone else upset.

Mahiru: Sorry… for making you worry. I’m fine! It doesn’t hurt at all.

Es: It’s a horrible injury. There’s no way it doesn’t hurt.

Mahiru: It doesn’t!

So why did her boyfriend die?

Mahiru's very good at hiding her emotions. If she slipped up and her boyfriend realized and noticed how she refused to love herself, it could cause friction in their otherwise perfect relationship.

Maybe Mahiru was the one who wanted to die in the woods, and her boyfriend, starved for any sort of real connection to her, found her at the last moment? Maybe her mental health dragged his down with her.

Mahiru's incredibly complex and tragic and endlessly relatable. She only loves too much because she can't love herself. If she's truly unforgivable, and she keeps her promise to stay alone...what's stopping her from killing the only thing she hates most?

#milgram #mahiru shiina #this is how to be in love with you #character analysis #i love you #daisuki #meta #deco*27 #milgram project #mahiru innocent #i log into the milgram fandom #i post a 1.5k word essay #i leave for another 5 months #lux talks

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hearthotchner · 1 year

Text

i’ll change for you

— aaron hotchner

@my-mummy-dust

tw; death, suicide, death of a child, lots of crying, aaron is a meanie, child abuse, then, the usual criminal minds stuff

notes: this took so long to write 🤧😭 but i really do like it. also, i have no idea how the criminal minds writers write this kinda stuff, i felt so horrible for what i wrote about the victim ☹️

word count: 3.2k

tension in the precinct was so thick, it could be cut with a knife; no one dared to speak, not with the stakes this high. you all just put your heads down, hoping to make sense of this mess of a case.

in the beginning, it seemed pretty simple. but, then the case began to drag on, with the unsub taking a longer dormancy period between each kill, leaving you and your team like sitting ducks.

you profiled this — he was arrogant, cocky. he knew that anything and everything that happened, was in his control; you hated to admit it but, right now, it was true.

as the minutes went on, aaron was becoming more agitated. it was obvious this case stuck with him more than others, they were children, innocent, defenceless, children; of course everyone felt that way about cases involving kids, but you knew that it was different for parents. and, as much as you wanted to, you refrained from trying comfort him, knowing he wanted to be left alone.

he had all the giveaways: the way his brows were furrowed, the scowl plastered on his face, how his whole body was tense, with his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

“i don’t get it. you said he was young, out of control, so why’s he taking a longer time between each kill? shouldn’t it be the other way around?” the deputy asked.

rossi spoke up, “yeah, it should be. these kinds of unsubs are always conflicting themselves in their profiles, it’s strange, but rare.” reaching for a few photos of the crime scenes, he continued, “look. you see all these? spilled milk, broken plate, unfinished homework.” he pointed at each picture where it was present, “he’s recreating something, that probably happened in his own childhood, and now he’s projecting it onto them, he sees himself in them, and feels he’s obligated to punish them.”

derek, fiddling with the pen in his hands, spoke next, “the trigger may have been something to do with a parent, and something as simple as seeing the first victim getting told off in a public place, like a park or mall, would prompt him to break into their home, and ‘punish’ the kid.” he shrugged.

“killing the parents is simply to ensure he doesn’t have his fantasy ruined, which is why they’re shot with a single bullet, through the skull.”

spencer takes over, “all these examples show how he is in control. however, his lack of control is displayed in the actual kill of the child. it reflects how, internally, he’s losing it.” he spoke with his hands too, raising them closer to his chest, at the world ‘internal’ “with each and every murder, it becomes more brutal, he beats them even after he knows they’re dead. it’s actually a huge escalation we see compared to the first, where he strangles the victim.”

“but why take the child this time? all the others were killed in their own homes. what makes matt different?”

“that’s what we’re trying to figure out.” rossi sighed.

all heads snapped to the front of the room, when the door was abruptly opened, revealing the officer who was slightly out of breath, “i think we got something. someone’s called the tip line, asking for you guys.”

—

“this is ssa aaron hotchner, with the behavioural analysis unit.”

the plan was to get him on the phone long enough for penelope to track him, and humanise the victim in his eyes, an ounce of empathy could save that boys life.

clattering and yelling could be heard from the other end of the line, shouts of “tell them!” repeated, over the loud sobs that escaped the child.

you couldn’t listen to this anymore, but you had to.

he was relentless, hurling insults toward him, and all you could do was sit there and listen.

looking over at your boyfriend, you saw him take in a deep breath, composing himself, before talking, “matthew’s just a kid, he doesn’t know why he’s there, or, why you’re mad at him.”

“oh yeah? he’s a spoiled brat, that’s what he is, and he fucking knows it! mom’s not here to save you is she?”

aaron tried to reason, “don’t do this. you’re doing the same thing to him, what they did to you, shouldn’t you be putting an end to this cycle? just bring matthew home, we can help you.”

sobs and begs for forgiveness grew louder over the line, “shut up!” you didn’t know who it was directed at, nor did you care. undoubtedly, it was the loud bang of a gun that filled the room, right before the phone was cut.

aaron sucked in a breath, hands beginning to shake slightly.

“penelope, tell me you got something.” morgan asked with desperation.

“yeah- i, uh, yes. it was a burner cell, pinged off of these three towers. i’ve already sent it to your phones.” her voice wavering.

“mom?” you whispered.

“what?”

“he said mom. garcia, could you check if matthew’s mother had any other children, around 20 to 25 years ago?” you hoped to god you were getting somewhere with this, if you weren’t, you doubted you’d catch this guy.

“o-okay.” there was a pause, as she typed, “yes. a son. eric watts. born in 1990, when elizabeth was only 16. he was put into the foster system, the day he was born.” she paused again. “his foster parents, brian and martha crawford, weren’t so kind, during his time with them: constant visits to the hospital, with broken bones, concussions — blamed it on fights, but, it wasn’t backed up. although, his school reported seeing bruising around his neck when he was younger once, but nobody ever did anything.”

“can you check if there’s a property, that has any significance to him? maybe, his old foster home? he’d need somewhere secluded.”

“um, yes! there’s a small ranch house in brian crawford’s name, just a few miles off the west tower, sending the co-ordinates now.”

wasting no time, the team quickly threw their vests on and piled into the two SUV’s — police units following closely behind.

climbing into the passenger side, you said, “this is probably his endgame. there’s no other reason why he’d change his plans, by taking matt to a secondary location, and have the courage to call — those insults were personal.”

“yeah. he’s jealous. upset. why did my mom give me away, but her new kid gets to live a happy and loving life, one i should’ve had. i don’t think it’s gonna be easy taking him alive.” rossi replied from the drivers seat, turning on the sirens.

—

when you turned the cars in, the lights and sirens switched off, so he wouldn’t know you’d be coming.

slamming the car door shut, you rushed to the front of the house, heart practically jumping out of your chest.

morgan kicked the door down, immediately turning to the left, while you went straight ahead, and JJ taking the right.

a series of hopeless ‘clear!’s was heard through your earpiece.

faint yells that were barely present before, got louder and louder, as you inched toward a white door. “i got him. in the basement.” you announced into the mic on your collar.

wrapping your hand around the cold metal, you swung the door open, gun aimed straight ahead, and quickly ran down the stairs, that creaked under you.

“eric watts! FBI! let the boy go.” aaron was stood right next to you, gun also aimed at the man.

“don’t! get away! i’ll kill him!” he was panicking, scrambling to drag matthew up by the collar of his shirt, holding the loaded revolver to the side of his head.

“eric. you don’t want to do this.” you spoke carefully, your aim not faltering. “we know what happened. your mom.. she was only a kid when she had you, she didn’t know any better, than to do what she did.”

“she let me suffer!” he cried out. “she lived her life happily, knowing i was out there, and she did nothing!” his hand began to tighten around the boy’s neck. “all those years! all those years, and she didn’t come! she got to play house with her perfect little family!” he spat, “while i was forced into that living hell she put me in!”

“killing these children isn’t going to fix it eric. they did nothing wrong, just like you didn’t. you need to stop this, so nobody else gets hurt.” it was working, you could see how his hold began to loosen. “let him go.”

a wave of visible emotion flew through him, as he looked down. horror, shock, disbelief, and, realisation, written all over his face. it looked like he had just woken up from a nightmare.

then, his whole body began to tremble, eyes brimming with tears, when he lifted the gun, to his own head.

a loud bang followed immediately after.

—

matthew was in bad shape.

aaron had carried his limp body to the EMT’s — praying he wasn’t too late. he needed to make sure he was okay, that he’d make it home back to his mom.

sometimes, his vision would change, at a glance, he saw his own son in his arms: all battered and bruised. it was an image that would haunt him for days.

“is- is he gonna be okay?” he croaked out.

“we don’t know, agent, he’s in critical condition.” they replied, shooting him a look of sympathy.

after telling them that elizabeth watts would be on her way to the hospital, aaron asked if he could ride in the ambulance with him. he needed assurance. closure.

—

“i’m sorry, sir. but we lost him shortly after he arrived.”

he felt like breaking down, falling to his knees, when he heard those words leave the nurse. but, all he managed to do was nod, with a solemn look on his face.

aaron didn’t have it in him to go to matthew’s room, to say goodbye — if he did, he may never rest easy again.

on his way to the car, he pulled out a little photo of jack he had in his wallet. seeing his son, always brought him comfort, made all his troubles go away, just for a moment. a small smile creeped up onto the fathers face, when he realised he’d be home to that ray of sunshine, in a couple hours.

—

aaron barely slept that night.

when he wasn’t seeing matt in the corners of his vision, he’d be visited by him in his dreams. the boy would cry, tiny hands gripping onto his shirt, demanding for an answer as to why aaron couldn’t save him; all he could do was let “i’m sorry” fall from his lips over and over again. why wasn’t he fast enough?

—

when morning came, you decided you had given aaron enough time. he was struggling. you couldn’t stand to leave him alone any longer, it wasn’t good for him.

in the short time people interacted with him, he’d get progressively more irritated — he was a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off.

you noticed, along with everyone else, how he’d stare off into the distance, face turned white, his usual blank expression laced with fear and guilt.

“aaron.” you spoke, breaking him out of his trance, “i know you’d prefer to be left alone right now, but i really don’t think you should be. are you okay?” he stared at you. “i think you should take some time off, you’re tired, and you’re stressed. maybe we could make dinner together? to get your mind off of it?” bringing your hand to rest on his, “and we can talk.”

“did you really just ask me that?” he whispered, gaze unmoving, “four kids, seven parents, and an unsub dead. multiple family members for me to answer to, for me to tell that i couldn’t save any of their children. and all you can think about is making dinner?” his brows furrowed in anger and confusion.

“what?” you asked, “aaron, you know i didn’t mean it like that.”

“then what did you mean it like? tell me.”

“i just wanted to help you-”

“well you can’t! stop trying to act like more than what you are, (y/n)! these people are dead, they can’t come back, and you want me to brush that off?!” voice becoming harsher with every word he spoke.

your vision began to blur at the edges, and your throat began to close up, “more than what i am?” you asked. “and what am i to you, aaron?”

“nothing.” he replied coldly.

having nothing left to say, you turned, not wanting him to see the tears that rolled down your cheeks, and walked away.

he didn’t do anything to stop you.

you knew this would happen, knew you’d be the one who’d be at the receiving end of his anger — what you didn’t know, was that he’d reveal the truth of what your relationship really meant to him.

it dawned on you then, that maybe his promises of love were empty. instead, they were used as a mere tool to keep you around, to fill the absence of a partner in his life.

—

it had been three days, since you got back from the case — you and aaron hadn’t spoke. he was withdrawn, barely coming out of his office unless it was necessary, but you saw how red his eyes were, from crying or tiredness, you didn’t know.

you were torn. one part of you longed to go over to him, do anything just to get that look of despair off his face; another part of you wanted to avoid him like the plague. he hurt you, used you — yet you didn’t understand why you were still so drawn to him.

—

there was rowdiness in the bullpen, everyone deep in a debate about how one should cut their sandwiches, until a voice broke through, “(y/n). may i speak with you?”

of course now he wanted to speak, you internally rolled your eyes, genuinely appalled at how he’s handling this, as you walked up the stairs to his office.

“what did you want to talk about, sir?”

the title stung more than he’d like to admit, “don’t. don’t call me that.”

“then what do you want me call you?”

his words were quiet, almost pleading, “my name.”

“i don’t think that’s appropriate, hotch.”

“(y/n), please-”

“listen, if this isn’t about work, then we have nothing to talk about.” you headed toward the door, leaving him alone again.

this time, you missed the way his hand reached out for yours.

you made a beeline for the bathroom, ignoring the teams concerned looks, as you wiped the tears beginning to fall down your cheeks.

you didn’t know why you were crying, it was only the sight of him that seemed to bring all those emotions rushing back, you couldn’t help it, as the dam finally broke.

a moment after, you felt yourself being pulled into an embrace, the person rubbing their hand up and down your back, until you calmed down.

“what happened?” it was emily.

“nothing,” you sniffed, “it’s fine.”

“did hotch say something? you weren’t in his office long.”

“no, can you just get my stuff please? i’ll finish the rest of my work at home.” you sighed, wiping your eyes.

she nodded, giving you a soft look, “yeah, sure, i’ll drive you.”

she told you to wait by the elevator, whilst she gathered your things, and told hotch where she’d be going.

—

“thanks, emily, you didn’t have to do this.” you set your bags down.

“it’s alright, just get some sleep, okay?”

you wanted nothing more. so, when she left, you collapsed on the couch, turning something on the tv as background noise, as you fell asleep.

—

it wasn’t soon after, when you were woken by firm knocking on the front door. rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you sluggishly made your way over, the sound becoming louder, and desperate. you didn’t even bother checking through the peephole, which was why you were visibly shocked, when met with the sight of aaron there.

“please hear me out.” he begged, speaking before you did, “i won’t bother you again, if you do. please, just listen.”

you moved aside, letting him in.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, (y/n).” his voice completely different, compared to the last time you spoke with him — something that was so harsh, was now soft.

he was so unlike himself: hair disheveled, with raw emotion painted on his face — he wasn’t ssa hotchner, bau unit chief, anymore, he was aaron, and he was afraid. “i wish i knew why i said that, i really do, because it was far from the truth. i shouldn’t have said it, i know that, and i should’ve gone to you straight away when i did,” his long fingers twitched, itching to hold you, “and explained to you that it wasn’t your fault, you were just trying to help.”

with every word, you struggled to hold yourself together, because the look on his face broke your heart. the urge to be close to him became unbearable — so, you gave in. wrapping your arms around his body, and resting your head on his chest, the rapid beating of his heart, and scent of his cologne soothing you.

“i didn’t want you to be alone.” you whispered, voice breaking.

you were a sensitive soul, and aaron knew that, which was why he had never raised his voice at you, prior to that day.

“please don’t cry, it’s all i’ve been making you do these days.” he spoke, wiping the tears that you didn’t even know were falling.

“it hurt hearing you say that. i thought- i thought you’d been lying to me, this whole time.”

“i wasn’t. i’m sorry i made you think that.”

looking up, he tried to hold back his own tears. “i’m scared, (y/n)..” he breathed, “ever since that day, he’s been there, always asking me why i couldn’t save him, what am i supposed to say to that?��

you lead him to the couch, sat him down, and let him hold you, as he continued, “and i can’t tell the difference, between him and jack.”

then, he told you how he saw jack as the one in his arms that day. and how, one night, he was putting his son to bed, and the vision of matt flashed for a moment.

knowing it calmed him, you ran your fingers through his soft hair, as he cried.

“you need help, aaron. this job, it’s taking a toll on you. if you carry on like this, you’re going to lose yourself — you already are.” you wove your fingers with his, “but, you can’t be helped if you don’t want it, you know that, don’t you?” he nodded. “jack’s spring break is coming up.” you mentioned, “you should take those days off, it’ll be good for both of you. and, i’ll start looking for some therapists too, alright?”

he kissed your cheek, “okay.”

“if that doesn’t work, then we’ll find something else, and we’ll keep doing it again until we find something.”

it was silent after that. eventually, the two of you moved so that you were laying on his chest; you thought aaron had fallen asleep if he hadn’t mumbled, “you’re too good to me, i don’t deserve you, angel. i’d be so lost without you.”

“don’t say that. you’d find your way around, you always do — i’m just giving you a little shove.” you smiled.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hurt/comfort #still have no idea if the keep reading thing works yet

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hetalia-club · 6 months

Text

I'm not normally one to rant or anything but here goes.

I hesitate to tag this. but I feel it needs to be said, in fact I feel it HAS to be said or I think this fandom is just going to be done for within the next 5 or so years. People need to read this and understand what is happening within the fandom and not continue this behavior or turn a blind eye to it.

This fandom has a SERIOUS problem. I don't say that lightly either. I feel like 99% of this fandom are sweet and caring people. but we have that 1%.

This 1% is killing the community in this fandom. How is it okay to message someone, demand they make a statement on THEIR blog and when they say they don't want to talk about it you then tell them you wish they would die a horrible death?

TW for suicide and SA! (you have been warned) Long rant below. (preempted note to let everyone know that I am fine, I am not posting this for people to feel bad for me. I am using my own experiences as examples, but this is not a 'me' issue this is a fandom issue)

Why is that so normalized here? The vague blogging and the call to arms people in this fandom do is actually disgusting. Picking one person and just beating them down until they eventually leave the fandom and at the SAME people will be like. "Why is the Hetalia fandom so small?" Who wants to be in a fandom where making one statement that's not even bad could get you death threats?

I don't think the fandom realizes how hurtful what they say can be. Sure you might not have liked a post someone made because you disagreed. Well then scroll down, hit the block button and carry on with your life. Why do some of you feel it is acceptable behavior to make mass posts calling out someone or going into their inbox to tell them you wish they would kill themselves?

I say I don't like Spamano and people say they want me dead. I say I don't want to talk about IRL politics on my parody Hetalia blog and my life and entire country is threatened.

I say we shouldn't insert our ships into everyone's lives and let people ship what they want and not feel forced to appease you. and you guessed it people wish terrible things onto me and my body.

I feel the only way this behavior will change is if we start calling it out more. I know it will feel repetitive but I think ignoring it is only making it worse at this point.

I know a lot of people would read this and think "If you don't like it then leave the fandom" well YOU'RE the issue. This is not normal behavior. These are not actions of someone who is mentality well. Why should I leave a fandom I've been in for 10 years because some idiot cannot handle that I don't like shipping characters together? How is that impacting their life at all?

a few months ago I made a post and it was highjacked and someone totally just took it over and added their own thing onto it talking about SA. Totally out of left field not related to what I posted at all. I simply messaged them and asked them if they could please remove the comment as I am a survivor of SA and it don't think it was funny or appropriate to add onto my post and they just said. "No I can say anything I want to. I was talking about Hetalia so it's fine." like what do you mean no!? Who responds that way? What a normal considerate person would do is say "I'm sorry of course! I can just go make my own post." but no they just left it there. It's still there, won't say which post or who it was because it doesn't matter anymore.

But this is the kind of behavior I'm talking about. This weird entitlement of everyone being so defensive and angry all the time. Just wanting to pick a fight over nothing. You never know if simply saying something like (Example) "I don't really like Austria" Could land you 100 anons all saying they wanted you to off yourself. It's like a game of Russian roulette. It's a very stressful environment for a big creator to be in. All it really takes is the wrong person to see a post you made and disagreed with and all of a sudden they are making posts about you without mentioning your name but are CLEARLY about you saying "This person hates all Austrians, they are a neo-nazi and we should all block them and send them hate and also let's just reword what they said to make it sound 100x worse because people won't read the original post and they will just believe us." Who would want to be a creator in an environment like that?

would you believe me if I told you I still to this day am getting someone in my inbox calling for my r*pe because of the stupid fucking beauty pageant poll I did? Is that not insanity? Who is that person? Wtf is their life? I personally could not imagine sending hate to anyone for any reason, and if I did it would be off of anon and I would say it with my chest. Because in order for someone to push it that far they would have to saying some absolutely terrible stuff to make me take time from my day and life to give them negative energy.

The fandom is shrinking because of the 1% driving them away. They come after artists who draw a character in a way they don't like. They come after writers for depicting a character in a way they disagree with. They go after shippers for portraying their ship 'wrong'. They will comment on people's fun little head canons and just leave the rudest most unnecessary comments thinks like "He wouldn't do that" like okay?? Thanks for your insert betty sue. And it's always when you were never trying to set someone off is when they lose their minds. They do not understand even if a blog is big and has a lot of followers it is still THAT creators blog. they are a person not an identity who just churns out content for just you and they have to say and do whatever you want.

Another thing the 1% like to do on here is they will wait for you to say something and then they will jump to attack a person who does the thing you said you dislike and they will tell that person "blog name XYZ said you are a horrible person and I agree kill yourself" That one is a near direct quote I got not too long ago. I got several like that and actually had to message said creator and say "Why are you mad at me?" and they were completely confused, had no idea how they decided to attack me because of what they said. When I tell you that the 1% are sitting there frothing at the mouth wanting to send hate and death threats I mean that 100%

It's not JUST me either. All creators in the Hetalia fandom I'm sure could tell you about upsetting hate they received and had no idea what they even did or said wrong. I have spoken to former Hetalia blogs ones who I used to call my pals before I went on my hiatus and came back. They all said they left not because they started hating Hetalia but they left for their mental health because the 1% got too bold and unchecked. This was never an issue before quarantine. I know it brought a lot of new fans and that's great! But I also feel along with bringing in some wonderful people it brought in some really dark minded people as well. Saying "Just disable anons and move on" is also not a solution. these people are still here and if they're not bothering me or you they are tormenting someone else because that's what these people do. That 'someone else' may only need the tiniest nudge at the edge and they may just actually hurt themselves. You don't know people. You don't know what everyone is going through. You don't know what someone's life is like outside of here.

PLEASE Please! stop telling people to kill themselves. Stop telling people to go get R**ed in a gutter. Get some help talk to a therapist, a friend, a trusted teacher, a life coach, your parents, your sibling. anyone! And if you don't have anyone in your life you can talk to you can message me and we can talk about what you're going through. I'm sure any other Hetalian on here would say the same thing. Bloggers are real people.

International suicide hotlines

Website to help you find a therapist in your own country and in your price range

I know I will more than likely get hate for posting this. Which is upsetting to just know is going to happen but someone needs to say this because it's getting kind of out of control these last couple months I feel.

if you read this through reblog it, spread it around let the people who NEED to see it see it.

#hetalia #this needs to be said #if you are offended here just know YOU are the problem #stop sending threats to people #stop attacking creators

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yuri-is-online · 4 months

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Same Anon here that dropped that mess of an angst post lol. Maybe I should find some name for myself if this becomes a regular thing.

There are a lot of valid points there. For as lightly as the story treats everything, wow this would be messed up irl. But I digress, I personally can see this potentially taking a much darker route. I don’t know if you’re comfortable talking about this so TW: Brief mention of suicide

I imagine Yuu to just bottle everything up for the aforementioned reasons of being seen as weak for expressing any of their emotions only for it to all come out in one big mental breakdown. I think it would be quite poetic for Yuu’s breakdown to be more of a quiet self-destructive thing just to contrast the showy, outwardly destructive nature of the overblots. I always thought it could be some spur of the moment decision to just end it all out of sheer hopelessness and a thoroughly crushed sense of self-worth. I just can’t see a teenager handling a burden this heavy very well. Whether or not Yuu survives could be up to how dark you want to go.

Also if it isn’t too much, I would like to see that post about the boys’ individual reactions to Yuu running away sometime. But I’m aware you only write for a few at a time so…

You are more than welcome to give yourself a name! I don't have any named annons so you are free to choose anything you like, and make regular appearances if that is what you wish. While I try to only write for a few characters at a time, I don't mind doing a bullet point type post with my thoughts on the boys reacting to Yuu running away sometime, but I need to think as part of me wants to write something sappy and romantic, while the other part wants to focus more on Yuu and their character. I could do both I suppose (￣ω￣;)

I'm fine with talking about suicide, but since it's a sensitive subject I am going to place my thoughts under read more and tag it so if it is something you, dear reader, are triggered by you needn't see more than you are comfortable with.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, discussions of suicide and depression, isolation, abandonment, and missing persons. This also kind of takes a trip into theory town I am so sorry annon. Please do not interact with the words below if you do not wish to think on such things.

I want to start out by saying that when a person is depressed it is not always obvious, even if they are contemplating suicide. We don't have a complete understanding of what drives someone to kill themselves because we can't ask people who have. I do think there is an element of assuming that either the world or you will be better off if you are dead; which I would like to stress simply is not true, but you are not evil for struggling with that feeling even if people try to make you feel like you are.

Yuu's breakdown being "more of a quiet self-destructive thing," as you stated dear friend, would be extremely poetic. To me it highlights the disparity between Yuu and the overblot boys. They have power and are able to hurt others to try and make themselves feel better, Yuu has next to none and is only able to hurt themselves.

Crowley mentions that there is counseling available to all NRC students, assuming the school follows real life laws we can assume the Professors are mandatory reporters. If Yuu shows signs of depression or self-harm, they will be required to report that and recommend Yuu for counseling, but the thing about therapy is that it's not a one size fits all solution. The patient needs to accept that they have a problem and, perhaps more importantly, trust their therapist otherwise you won't benefit from the treatment.

That's assuming that a counselor would even understand how to treat Yuu in the first place, there's a lot going on with their situation and while I could see a good therapist taking it very seriously, there's only so much they can do, which brings me to my sort of sticking point with this and why it took me so long to answer your ask.

Why in the hell is Yuu in Twisted Wonderland in the first place??? "Because they're Alice" ok sure but what does that like actually mean. I don't want to derail this into theory town but I keep thinking about the translated lines Crowley mutters to himself when calling Yuu a beast tamer that doesn't appear in the text box... something about how they look more like they are meant to be eaten by the beast than tame it.

There is a part of me that feels like Crowley wants Yuu to feel isolated and despondent about their chances of getting home, like he needs them to be accepting of their death and convinced it's the only way they will be useful. Something to do with Grim and that big Chimera at the beginning of the game, in the light novel there is someone telling Yuuya to take their hand but they can't move to take it, all they can do is stare up at the big monster and it's evil grin (if i remember correctly)

Anyway all of that to say I can see two sorts of scenarios leading to Yuu trying to harm themselves.

Route A: Summer

As was correctly pointed out in these tags on the original post, I think Summer would be the worst time for an actively depressed Yuu. If they have been seeing a counselor, they will likely not be available over the summer months, Crowley didn't take us on vacation with him the first time so there's no way he'll do it now, and everyone has their own families to get back to.

They only have Grim and the Ghosts. And while Yuu might love them, they technically belong here. Yuu does not. The lack of other friends bothering them means Yuu has time to think good and hard about where they are. And who they left behind.

I like to listen to Dateline while I work sometimes and one of the things that always gets to me is how little closure people feel when someone goes missing, even if they find out what happened to them. If Yuu is missing in their world and their family loves them... they just have next to no chance of ever finding that out. Ever.

If Yuu has a bad relationship with their family, or none at all, they probably start feeling like they are going insane. They have nothing worth going back to really, to the point that people would probably encourage them to see being in Twisted Wonderland as a good thing, a chance for a fresh start. But it has been anything but.

Summer would be a good time to run away, it's easier to be homeless in the Summer, plenty of places need part time help anyway, and Yuu can make a clean break from the school before anyone notices they're gone.

It's also a good time to decide you want to die. By the time your friends come back they will have already gotten used to life without you anyway.

.... i could see this making grim overblot tbh. He blames the school for taking Yuu from him and by the time everyone returns he is there. Waiting. The consequences of their actions given form.

A monument to all their sins.

Option B: Sacrifice

So back to theory tangent.

Grim and Yuu are one student. Crowley treats them as such, but what if he-

Or whoever the real final boss is

Need them to actually be one student.

So they approach Yuu, offer their sympathies. Tell them they know why Crowley cannot send Yuu home.

"Because you came here by dying, don't you remember? These events you have seen, all your misfortunes and troubles, they've all been like one big dream. What a terrible fate you've met... but no worries. I know how to set you free."

The strange masked man places his hand on your shoulder and guides you to the mirror. You see your reflection in it, for the first time you idly realize, hair spread out on the pavement with a halo of blood spatter about your sleeping head.

"You needn't be scared." the man's voice is calm, soothing even, so much so that you almost believe him when he says

"You've died once before, after all. You know exactly what it feels like, it will just be like going to sleep."

Sleep sounds good, even if you have just gotten done fighting to stay awake, so very good you nearly miss the creature's wicked grin spreading mockingly across the reflection of your peaceful face.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #tw sucidal ideation #tw suicide #sorry i was gone for so long i was obsessing over cows and ufos -_-#i think i worked it out of my system and put posting fic in my goals for this week so time to get back in the saddle

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waitmyturtles · 6 months

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Last Twilight, episode 1: reflections

TW: suicide

ALLLLLLLLRIGHT! Aof Noppharnach began our year with Moonlight Chicken; interjected it with Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars, and bookends it with Last Twilight. I've got my cha yen ready (not too sweet), here we go, Last Twilight, episode 1.

Some quick notes on random stuff first, then themes I'm picking up on:

1) Yes, we had to have Doc Jimmy start a new series with a new fight, huh (and always in these bowling shirt/jackets, too)

2) Ajahn Pichai with the gold chain, sheeeet! (Listen. It's my OGMMTVC Bad Buddy Meta Month. Just about everyone working on this show on the screenwriting and directing team are BBS alums. The comparisons will be unavoidable!)

3) Why do I know Sea Tawinan? It’s not because I watched Vice Versa (I stayed away), but because he was great in a small role in 55:15 Never Too Late, AND, more importantly, homeboy wore an off-shoulder Fendi sweater WITH a blazer (CLAP EMOJIS) to some GMMTV event, which warmed my couture cockles. Much respect for the taste! (Poor @lurkingshan has had to literally hear about my fashion obsession with this get-up MULTIPLE TIMES, sorry Shan, palms together!)

4) Of the few episodes of Midnight Museum and UMG that I watched earlier this year, I was not impressed with Namtan Tipnaree, but I appreciate that she's starting off quite strong and moodily here. (Also, UMG's script did literally no human being any justice.)

@twig-tea has gathered the ragged and burnt out (oh, is that just me, lmao) Ephemerality Squad from the Only Friends meta circle to join them in a Last Twilight Liminality.... what should we call ourselves, the Liminality League? The Liminality Legion? Someone choose! Anyway, I am super down, and ready to start chewing on some themes. Twig captured the big theme of liminality, of time purgatory, and I totally agree with what you've gotten down in your post, Twig.

In the preview episode for this series, Before Last Twilight, we learn that Day has 180 days -- six months -- of vision left. At the same time, Mhok has 180 days -- six months -- to earn enough money to buy back his late sister's car.

In addition to liminality/time purgatory (this is only my coinage, btw, a way in which I can understand the moment in life this show is capturing), we clearly have a theme of cars and movement. Mhok is a mechanic. He wants to keep his late sister's car. The Bimmer that Night is driving is Day's car. Mhok has to get Day home on the back of a motorcycle as Night had to drive away while Day was wandering in the middle of the road. A car can move backwards only very temporarily, and will HAVE to move forwards at any point in time in order to get to another location (..... unless you're a driver from New Jersey, ayooo!). The car belonging to the late Rung is very much in purgatory at the moment.

We have a theme of sibling rivalry between Day and Night. Day was the success of the family, knows it, and hangs it over Night's head. And we have a theme of opposites. Day, Night, blind, seeing. I can play badminton, I cannot play badminton.

(BY THE WAY! We know we'll be reading more into badminton, AND in the rivalry of Day and Night, AND in the rivalry of Sea and Mark in this series, yes? Mark Pakin and Sea Tawinan are both national-level Thai badminton players who chose acting as their careers. They're facing off in some GMMTV BL sports tournament at the end of the year. I hope it's slightly aggressive! In Before Last Twilight, Sea actually made reference to his rivalry with Mark. Ooooh, TESTY!)

While I'm watching closely the tension between Day and Night, I'm also watching for the stress and pressure that caring for Day will put on Mhok, as well as Night and his and Day's mother. As many of us are watching Last Twilight very closely for accuracy and authenticity in reflecting the experience of a disabled person in an unaccommodating environment; I'm also looking to this show to hopefully capture stories of caregiver stress, which is an incredibly real and important phenomenon (relevant articles here and here).

As I always, always harken to in my posts: behavioral change is very real, and very difficult -- especially when behavioral change is forced upon an individual AND/OR a group, all of which contain very different emotional constructions. Day and Night's forced behavioral change, based on Day's vision condition, has very naturally and automatically caused stress in the group dynamic of Day's family system, as we saw in the outburst in Day's car. I wonder how Mhok will deal with that stress, and how he'll manage his own stress vis à vis caring for Day.

Last theme for now, and then some concluding thoughts. Mhok's emotional distance from his sister's suicide. He can't bring himself to connect with it directly.

I'm eating this up. It's certainly Mhok's way of grieving at the moment. He's also talking with his ex-girlfriend in both of these scenes. There's emotional space between him and Rung, between him and Porjai. And certainly there's simmering and unresolved anger as well -- honestly, the whole emotional circle. But Mhok, at this point, is not toeing the line of getting close to those emotions, and is engaging with the memory of his sister with distance, which is bound to be addressed vis à vis his connection with Day.

There's a lot of anger, a lot of regret, a lot of avoidance, a lot of dancing around the honest truth. Mhok and Day are likely conduits of emotional openness and steadiness to each other; we will see how it plays out.

What do I think of JimmySea? I'm not you're average Wai hater -- I really liked Jimmy as Wai in Bad Buddy. Because I didn't watch Vice Versa, I honestly don't know what I think about him in a lead role. So I am going in REAL fresh, knowing nothing about JimmySea's chemistry, and I like what I'm seeing so far, particularly with Jimmy's emotional control. I appreciate having seen a bit of the work they did together in Before Last Twilight to get to this series premiere.

Aof has done this before: he's recognized potential in pairings (specifically in Dark Blue Kiss with TayNew and Still 2gether with BrightWin) to come up with fabulous shows. So I have trust that he knows what he's doing with JimmySea. Let's see. I really like this so far, but Only Friends did indeed burn me out to a crisp, so I'm allowing myself the slightest touch of hesitancy as I get into a new and big GMMTV show.

#last twilight #last twilight the series #backaof noppharnach #last twilight meta #last twilight the series meta #jimmy jitaraphol #sea tawinan #jimmysea #mhok x day #day x mhok #mhokday #namtan tipnaree #film rachanun #good to see film in here #ohm thiphakorn #liminality league #the last twilight liminality league #aof noppharnach

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anxious-witch · 2 months

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This post specifically goes for my mutuals/followers who have been struggling lately. I see you and I don't always have something encouraging to reply, but if you have been feeling down recently, I hope this will help.

TW for mental health talk, mentions of suicide (this is an encouraging post, but please don't read further if anything of the sort might trigger you. Keeping your mental health intact is more important ❤️)

It's so very easy to get in the spiral of "I am not doing enough, all these people that I love would be better off without me". And convincing yourself those same people would forget you and move on quickly.

It's not true. I understand the sentiment, I really, really do. I used to fully believe that myself. But that's a lie. Mental illness reshapes the way we think and perceive things. And our brain and wired to remember bad things more than good ones. But when you'd write down everything that happened every day, I'd honestly be surprised if all of it was bad. Of course there are bad days, but even then, depression tend to focus on things you did wrong instead of those you did right.

But I am here to talk about the fact that I'd miss you if you were gone, too. Which seems ridiculous. "Rio, you follow 1000 blogs, you wouldn't notice". *loud incorrect buzzer* wrong! I would notice. As long as we ever interacted, as long as you liked and/or reblogged my posts, I'd notice.

When someone gets busy and I don't see them in my notes for over a week, I hope they are okay and just doing something more fun irl. I am not always great at remembering usernames, but as soon as they like one of my posts again I'm like yes!! They are back! I am glad you are okay!

"But I don't even contribute to the fandom!" No? Do you think creating content is the only way to contribute? Even just lurking and liking stuff counts. And I know some of you send really lovely anon messages that have made my day more than once. It DOES matter. Notes help other people as encouragement to keep posting. That absolutely counts.

"We barely post about the same fandom anymore" ah! But I still see you! I have a mutual that I have been following since 2016-2017, I believe. I have no idea what the hell he posts about these days. I can't rven accurately tell you why I originally followed him in the first place, it was either LOTR or Twilight, but fuck if I remember, because neither of hs posts about it!

And I still care. Because his journey ended up helping me. Seeing people's posts about their little achievements always makes my day. And even if you don't feel like you achieved anything in awhile, that doesn't mean you won't in the future. My point is, you are loved more than you know.

And this is only about online stuff. People notice when you walk down the street. Maybe someone likes your hair, or some detail of your outfit. Maybe someone saw you feed a stray and thought how nice you are. Maybe someone takes the same public transport as you every day and takes comfort in the fact you share the same path, if only for a few minutes.

This tumblr post perfectly described it, actually:

So please, if not for your own sake, for the sake of all the people who love you silently, keep going. It will get better. You might be just a bit further away from getting better. But you won't know unless you keep going.

So let's find out together, shall we?

#rio rambles #mental health #tw suicide mention #I think I might be getting way to ahead of myself #but I have seen posts and heard second hand about a lot of ppl struggling rn #so if this makes even one person feel a bit better it's worth posting

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chao-thicc-hcs · 1 year

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Hi, how are you? I read your work, “It hurts when I realize I’ll never mean that much to someone, and it’s all my fault”, and I would like to request a sequel? Could you please include sanzu, rindou, baji and mikey? It also doesn’t have to be those characters, you can choose whoever, but I’d love to see sanzu especially! Thank you for your hard work and if you take the time to consider this! Love your works and small note, for English not being your mother language, it seems near perfect!❤️❤️

Thank you so much for your kind words, anon! I hope my future works will bring the same amout of joy as now!

And sorry for the delay!

I won't include Mikey and Baji, I don't rlly have ideas for them

It hurts when I realize I’ll never mean that much to someone, and it's all my fault. - the sequel [x reader]

ft. kakucho hitto, shinichiro sano, ran haitani, shion madarame + sanzu haruchiyo, rindou haitani

; when the turn tables. once, you were nothing to them, despite all of your efforts, now, fed up with all the pain they made you go through, they became nothing to you. ;

genre: heavy angst, no comfort at all (only fluff at rindou's ending)

tw!!: gn!reader, one-sided firendship/relationship, gun pointing, mentions of abuse, bullying, mentions of blood, abuse, cheating, reader snapping at the end, murder, mentions of suicide, alcohol problems, drug abusing, seizures, self-harm, necrophilia

kakucho (sequel).

Never in his life people have been so important to him, so important that their words pierced like a pitchfork.

He knew he was a villain, he knew he hurt innocent people, and this has never bothered him until now. So, how could you, a mere citizen, make him feel sick to his guts, make him tear up, cry, and coop himself up in a tiny room filled to the brim with dirty laundry.

Something deep in him knew you were special, despite all of the years denying you and assuming you're vile. In the end his anger issues and trust issues won, but at what cost?

You were able to help him, eradicate his pain and suffering, color his life and bring some joy. However, he missed his chance and now he's left only with the shotgun and cigarettes in his hand.

shinichiro (sequel).

He knew he hurt you and went over your limits, so it didn't shock him you were never willing to forgive him.

It was understandable, he left a deep wound that led to you losing your spark, miserable and insecure even until today and refusing to let others near you, embarassed to even show your face. He made you cry and isolate yourself as excruciating thoughts of ''never being good enough'' were flashing through your mind all these years.

He lost your trust for people that don't even reach up to him anymore, he doesn't even remember them himself.

Sano was smoking in front of your school, carefully watching how you were sitting under a tree, using your laptop and munching on your lunch. He was smiling at the sight of you tapping with your fingers on the device and taking your time to think of what to write down, even after the awkward encounter.

As he finished the cigarette, Shinichiro glanced once more at your figure, running towards the school entrance. He chuckled and turned around heading to his shop.

. . . .

Realizing his fate laying down on the floor as blood was pouring out of his head, the muffled police and ambulance sirens getting weaker as he starts losing his consciousness, Shinichiro was happy you were one of the last people he saw this day.

But you were not happy that your last goodbye with him was with his cold body in a coffin.

ran (sequel)

To his surprise he got over it pretty quickly, cursing the day he cried in front of you, instead of just killing you and that twink of a guard. He claims that he's gotten over it all, but even after months this encounter is still causing him random anger outbursts, driving him to insanity and even a desire to kill his own brother just to alleviate his anger. Ran seemed way more erratic, unstable and quick to anger as days passed by. The man tried to ease this by sleeping with women, but lowered his guard and ended up used by every single one of them.

Now he knew what it was like, being used up and then thrown on the ground, laughed at and left overthinking everything from the past weeks with a bottle of liquor and puffy, sleepless expression.

He also lost custody of his child and the mother filed a restraining order against both of them after he hit her and his child.

Ran stalked you, waiting for the perfect day to get his revenge. However you're not stupid, you knew he would be a pain in the ass and hired a guard, who works for another, albeit small, powerful mafia.

He deleted all of his social media, stopped going that much outside and settled down to work from home, eradicated all evidence of his exsistence, just so you think he's dead or just dissappeared, lower your guard and blunt your intuition. He bought extentions, dyed his hair to match them, and dressed blandly. Eventually he was able to abduct you and lock you in his basement, turning you into his favourite toy.

Even after your heart stopped beating, he was still enjoying the feeling of you between his thighs.

Is this what insanity feels like?

shion. (sequel)

His mind was still conscious while you were assaulting him, ruthlessly impaling him with the sharp item in your hand. He was able to process a glimpse of the things you were doing to him, a tiny teardrop going down his cheeks, as his eyes lost all color. He attempted to reach for your chin and feel you for the last time, but this is when you did the fatal blow that ended his life.

You opened your leather backpack and took out the food you bought before, casually sitting on his lifeless body, eating as the burger buns soaked the blood on your hands. ''It tastes better with a nice view.'' you mumbled.

Couple of years passed and you were sitting there, looking at your new lover, who happened to resemble Shion immaculately. The hair, the stern look, the physique. All the same. But at the same time radically different in spiritual terms. His demeanor meek and gentle. You felt the chills every time you looked in his eyes for longer than 2 seconds, reminiscing your past with the blonde.

It felt weird, anxiety creeping on your bones and nerves when he approaches you, still not over your abusive ex, the resemblance was uncanny. And the memories of you almost beheading him oftentimes flashed through your mind, what matters is that nobody will ever find out. You have your own tricks on how to get away with murder.

sanzu (+sequel)

Your mind was going in all shades of the rainbow as Sanzu was screaming at you in gibberish, equally as high as you.

He managed to get you into taking drugs with him so it could be easier to mentally damage you and chain you to himself. He succeeded, you were addicted to him and his pills, waiting eagerly everyday for your dose of brief embarking in another universe. Your brain was fried and you were on the verge of blacking out, just like every night. You don't know why aren't you already used to it. His screeching pounding on the inside of your skull, your eyes bloodshot red from the lack of sleep and you not blinking at all, staring at one spot, shaking like a leaf.

- You're nothing without me! You're miserable, you are ready to follow like a dog, drenching yourself with a concoction of tears and blood for someone else's benefit, you're worthless and have absolutely no value!

Overdosing on those potent drugs tickled his anger issues and made him almost kill you every time he encountered you while in this state, you were about to go in your room when he threw a chair at you and it hit your ankle, causing you to fall down and shriek in pain. You were unable to move, you were already tired from crying and skipping meals, hugging yourself as cold sweat went down your body.

-L-leave me a-al- you couldn't even finish a sentence without stuttering and zoning out or forgetting how to pronounce words.

-Oh heck yeah I will leave you alone, I will leave you here crying and screeching while I go on with my life and fuck others relentlessly while you are only left with missing my touch and drugs, craving me like a piece of meat! The others will be screaming my name and ending drenched in my juices and you still won't even have the courage to leave me.

You've known him since childhood, you grew up together, played games, and crushed on each other. However due to your strict upbringing, both of you waited until you were old enough to handle a relationship, but everything got worse over the years, with Sanzu's overflowing worshipping of Mikey and his growing intimacy with pills, and your deteriorating relationship with your parents, mental state, failures and you losing yourself over someone who didn't even love you.

The cheating, the manipulation, the abuse, this wasn't the Sanzu you grew up and played hopscotch with, you didn't even know who he had become. You were desperate to make things work, and forced yourself to dodrugs with him, hoping he will at least love you more if you shared ''hobbies''. And there he was now, proving once again all your work was futile, using the most dastardly words known to human to degrade you and make you feel small in your own house. You knew you would still feel pain, but consented anyways, because deep down was a searing love for this man.

You still loved him, every time you were sober, you were there to help him with the headaches and stomachaches, patched up his wounds. Sanzu never talked to you when he was sober, though, he ignored you and only paid attention to you only if it was related to his gang or using you to his advantage.

He even reached so far to make you watch him have the most gut-wrenching intercourse with a random cheap lowlife he hooked up with, enjoying how you cry for him and whimper in hurt and betrayal.

Sanzu liked to see you beg for the smallest things. He just felt like nagging with you all the time, so he tried his best to find the smallest mistakes and nitpick on them, growing the stems of your insecurities.

There were days where he didn't even look at you, slept on the couch, made himself food, and just acted like you were an inanimate object. Walked past you and didn't bat an eye if he accidentaly bumped into you. Your sanity depended on his mood and behavior.

The silence between you was loud, too loud it made your head hurt and feel heavy. He would take all your money, because ''you didn't deserve them since you don't bring anything to the table'', took away everything he didn't like that you buy because ''it's too ugly in his opinion''.

He did try leaving you, but he wasn't able to manipulate other people into staying with him, nobody was able to stand his erratic behaviour when he was high. You were feeble-minded and he already managed to imprison you and make you his puppy, so why leave you and waste all his ''effort''?

The day you snapped is engraved between his brain folds, the way you looked, the tears, the blood from your body, the messy hair, the torn clothes, your words filled with poison and pain. And especially, your eyes filled with fury and contempt. It was the first time he felt hurt seeing what his tomfoolery led you to.

. . . . . .

You overdosed on pills, cut your hair, cried and inflicted harm on yourself. Sanzu was sober, to his surprise, but finally saw what it was like being high, you were just an alternative version of his intoxicated state. You've had enough of this torture of a relationship.

- Y/n...? Did you fucking inhale my damn pills? - Sanzu tried hiding the shaking of his voice, but didn't succeed.

- N-no, I-i just - something in you snapped all of a sudden and you impulsively took a sharp glass shard from the broken bottle of alcohol you drank alongside the pills. Glenfarclas 12 year old single malt scotch whisky, both of you's favourite alcohol, drinking a glass of it after a fight to soothe the bitterness between you. Something propelled you to scream like crazy and swing the piece trying to impale the person you once called your lover, who was evading all of it, but tripped and fell to his nates.

Sanzu tried to look stern, but he was panting like crazy and looking around in panic, trying to find a way to escape. But when he turned his head towards you, suddenly, your eyes had a different sparkle and emotion in them that made him relax. Even if you wanted him dead that moment, he still managed to hit your soft spot with just his presence. All of your memories together, good and bad, he is still Haruchiyo Akashi. You still held hope. Whilst reaching out to hug him, your hands drowning in blood, yearning to hug him and feel his hands wrap around you like a precious ornament, suddenly your eyes went upward, mind and vision blank. You started having a seizure, but he didn't want to call an ambulance, as they will inform the police and arrest him for drug possesion. Instinctively, he grabbed his bag and ran away, leaving you there.

You had a brain hemorrhage, the pills and alcohol shutted down everything in your system, causing you to flatline. He just left you there to decompose.

The neighbors found you when the stench of your rotting carcass was spreading around, weeks after the incident. You were cremated by your parents' wish, because you had no ''true'' family in the first place that would want to burden themselves to cover the expenses of the funeral, but they kept your ashes in a small urn in your old bedroom.

. . . .

Ten years, ten damned years and this was still making him go insane. After the accident with you his life went downhill. He couldn't focus on his work, increased his dose and failed to complete everything he was assigned. He pretended to not give a shit about you, not at all, or at least he tried, albeit failing.

He actually felt something.... could it be, despondency? From a person who he saw as nothing? He lost his precious toy, the only person who could handle him. Eventually he was kicked out from the gang, got submerged with bills and debt, and ended up homeless, with stubble on his face and alopecia because of the severe stress he was subjected to.

Every time he remembered you his stomach was tickling, he realized he had a close bond with you, he realized you could've actually help him and drag him out of the shithole and help him reach the catharsis of becoming a better self. Since early childhood you saved him from thousands of troubles he involved himself into, gave your sholder for him to cry on, allowed him to be vulnerable in your embrace and filled his body with a new, purer blood, and now you're gone, probably laughing at him from the outerworld. Sanzu was not able to afford drugs anymore, and his sobriety stabilized his senses, and he realized how special you were. The only beam of hope and warmth.

Thankfully the apartment you died in was never rented by anyone. Rumours swiftly spread after your death, people thought your ghost was roaming there and were too scared to even glance at the front door engulfed in spider webs. Sanzu often visited the place to sleep in and stared at the dry blood on the ground and walls, crying and cursing himself for leading you to this.

rindou (+sequel)

The feeling of being overpowered by his brother and constantly living in his shadow plagued Rindou's mind. All the applause and credit for the hard work he was busting his ass for was aimed at his brother. Ran was the one who took the credit and profited more, leading him into becoming an insufferable stuck-up, who only got in his way, as Rindou was always saying.

His inferiority complex rooted from there his mental state and confidence went downhill, and he couldn't stand still nor remain calm without some form of reassurance, so he frequently organized pity parties and his co-workers had to bear with his whining. Unfortunately you were the victim of the self-conscious man, allowing yourself to fall into a trap of thorns and venomous snakes piercing your spiritual flesh. Rindou made sure to make you pity him, to make you feel the same way he does, just so he could ease his soul.

He loved you, he really did, so he wanted to share emotions with you, he wanted to teach you to be strong, so you don't get hurt just like him. From trying to stop you from doing what you love and saying how awful you are to even hiding all your stuff just so you don't experience the joy of succeeding in something, just because of his own bullshit.

You still wanted to work somewhere, you wanted your own money, because Rindou would never spoil you or give you anything money related, because he perceived them as the only reward he will ever recieve. He would even go far as to complete tasks assigned for you and gain all the credit.

- Baby, please, let me finish my work! - you pleaded as he was holding your laptop, deleting the files you spent days working on

You felt your blood boil, but the only thing you could do is watch him how he sat on the couch and continued writing, not even bothering to look at you or react to your cries.

- Make me food, please, I have a lot of work to do.

He deemed you weak if you cried, the only time he could try and apologize was when he had a hidden objective to fuck you. By his words, this was the only way to teach you how life actually works, so he didn't actually do any harm, at least that's what he preached. Rindou would seek empathy from you constantly, even after he mentally destroyed you just seconds ago.

Rindou took some rest from work. He loved spending time with you and analyzing every reaction you show as he was sitting on the couch with his hands intertwined infront of his mouth. The man slept almost all day with you, until sunset and still woke up before you. One blissful afternoon, right when the cocktail of sunset's colors were engulfing the sky, placing your head on his chest, you closed your eyes and fell into a deep slumber.

- Y/n, baby? - after what seemed for an hour he shook you awake from the nap you were taking on his chest, snuggled in a silk bedsheet as the sunset colors were touching the room

- Mhh, yes, honey? - you stood up and lazily rubbed your eyes, leaning in for a kiss

- I am worried. Now Ran will have even more time boasting about stuff he didn't do and will make me seem like a loser... and now I'm yet again useless, and he is currently probably living his best life, our co-workers praising him. - he said as a forced sigh came out of his mouth

The same questions, the same statement, for the 3rd time today. Your whole mood sunk to the ground and you tried to conceal your sigh of exasperation with a sweet smile on your face. He woke you up from your peaceful dream just to act like a brat.

- No, baby, you're better than him for the sole reason you do something productive, he's only there for decor, once people realize how useless he is you will gain your fame and he will be swiftly forgotten.

Rindou wrinkled his nose in disbelief, turning his head around and scoffed. This was one of his master tricks to receive a double shot of ego boost and new ideas to make you feel inferior to him. Even his own brother warned you about this behaviour, even encouraged you to run away as soon as you can, unfortunately you were taking a swim in pink clouds.

- Nah, you're still drowsy you can't even process information right now. I know you think of him all the time when I happen to fail, because you wished someone more competent was in your life.

- You know what? Yeah, you're actually a sore loser. - you blurted out with a raspy voice. Getting up from the bed, you went to the bathroom and took a fast shower. Grabbing the sexiest outfit you could find, fixing your hair, not even acknowledging Rindou's piercing glare. After half an hour you and aimed to the door, swinging your hips and leaving a trail of a heavy yet alluring perfume, the one you usually get more compliments for

- And where are you going? - Rindou asked as he was blocking your way to the entrance, towering over you, eyes filled with emptiness

- I am sick of being your punching bag, Rindou. Have you ever wondered why you're so miserable? Because you're weak, and if you go on with it, your brother will continue overshadowing you while you remain at the bottom. Grow a thicker skin and move on instead of asking for pity all the time. You're a child trapped in a grown man's body.

Before rushing out, you turned around and approached him. Towering over his laying figure, you began your taunting session.

- It's funny how you think that the only way to cope with the fact that you're insecure is by projecting your own issues onto others. Has Ran ever been laughed at and pitied? No. He's a real man who can handle his emotions and manage to do his own work without the help of his illiterate brother. Have you actually wondered why you're always the laughingstock? Tried to talk to your brother? You only sit and whine like a whore. All this time the ''work'' you've been doing for him was constantly the subject of a good laughter. You never acutally did your job correctly out of spite towards your own blood, but Ran had to correct you and then he enjoyed himself with a glass of whine, laughing at your kindergarten-level grammar mistakes with your co-workers while I'm sitting on his lap. His fame is deserved, and you will always remain in his shadow, alone and insecure, just how it should be.

You ran outside from the backdoor and head towards Ran's place, taking Rindou's car. You wanted to finally feel loved, and you remembered a conversation you had with Ran when your relationship with Rindou had just begun.

Your first conversation with the older Haitani was behind their bar, while you were waiting for Rindou to arrive. It took Ran embarrassingly long time until he broke the silence while

- My brother will damage you, angel. A pretty face like you doesn't deserve to be bothered with my brother's twisted fantasies of what a relationship is. I will make your life better.

You huffed in annoyance and crossed your arms, twitching an eyebrow and averting your gaze to somewhere else.

- Rindou always warned me about you, how you're always trying to steal everything from him, how you hate his guts and enjoy his suffering and blah blah. I know these old dusty tricks, I ain't getting fooled. You're always trying to overshadow him and steal his happiness away, and now even me, but I don't even like you. I know you're lying, you're a disgrace of a brother and never deserved your fame.

Looking back at this you realized how horribly wrong you were about your thoughtless trust in Rindou's words towards his brother. Fortunately Ran was not annoyed nor agitated, but still offered you help and shelter for when you realize that you were wrong about him. And there you were, kissing his lips and rubbing against him with unabashed passion and lust.

- I knew you will come to me, baby, I've waited so long for you. - he said as he moved his hips to match your rythm.

You spent the night with him, getting drunk and nasty. You unveiled a side of you that even you weren't aware you had, but it was an unbelievable night mixed with lecherous emotions. Ran was able to make you relax and be yourself without. You felt wanted, appreciated and all your craving needs were fulfilled this very night.

- No wonder you are the better brother. - you exclaimed in a slight laughter while hugging Ran's bare chest, sweaty from what was like your fourth session already

He smirked and turned to face you, embracing your figure under the moonlight creeping through the small gaps in his curtains. However, this sweety-lovely moment was swiftly ruined by Rindou kicking the door to Ran's bedroom, eyes filled with frenzied fury. Ran jolted and grabbed his gun that was on his nightstand, pointed it at his own brother and covered your figure with the blankets.

- What the fuck are you doing here, Rindou!

- Oh, no, dear brother, what are YOU doing with my lover! - Rindou screeched as he threw himsef on him.

Ran didn't want to harm him, but protecting you was his current priority, he managed to shoot Rindou in his shoulder and knock him down as he screamed in pain, holding his bleeding gash for dear life, his vision going blurry from all the anguish he was feeling. As much as he despised his brother's attitude and wanted him gone, Ran took him to the ER with you for his wound to be taken care of. The older lad tried to play it smooth but the anxiety could be spotted in his eyes and his hands were shaking.

You were sitting in front of the room Rindou was in, cold, still and stiff, looking at the ground and refusing to make eye contact with the older Haitani, who was sitting next to you, one arm massaging your nape.

After what seemed like an eternity, one of the surgeons left the room. Mikey, Sanzu, Kakucho and Kokonoi were already there. The surgeon's merry expression eased the atmosphere and it felt like all the world's weight came off all of you's shoulders.

- The boy is in a decent condition and we removed the bullet successfully. However, we have a suspicion his glenohumeral joint and humerus are affected. We have to perform an x-ray and a neurovascular exam to see if any bones are broken. But keep in mind if something is affected, the rehabilitation process involves gradually increasing activities to restore muscle strength, joint motion and flexibility. Now he needs to rest and is currently sound asleep.

Everyone smiled and cheered that Rindou made it alive. For a moment Ran thought he had affected a vital organ, fortunately he didn't. You felt tears coming out of your tears, becoming a potion of emotions as Ran wrapped his hands around you. Both of you felt immense guilt forming inside, mixed with sadness and joy. You were blaming yourself for everything and couldn't think how you will ever muster the courage to ever speak to Rin again or even look him in the eyes.

- Do you want a ride home? I can see both of you are tired and need some rest. - Kakucho mumbled as he was spinning his car keys on his finger

- We wouldn't mind, I will come pick my car tomorrow, my hands are too shaky to handle the wheel. - Ran retorted and thanked his friend

The ride home was awkward. Ran's arm was caressing your exposed thigh as you were snuggled in his jacket, staring outside the window. Everything seemed fuzzier and faster than usual, probably because you were lost in thoughts about Rindou. Ran was staring lovingly at your features and brushed your hair with his fingers, which snapped you out from your contemplations.

- How are you feeling, sweetcheeks?

- Could've been better. I want to go home and just fall asleep.. - you retorted and snuggled in him, wrapping a hand around his waist

He kissed the top of your head and brushed your hair and massaged your scalp, which led you to fall asleep under his touch. Ran carried you bridal style to his bedroom and placed you to sleep. You woke up some time later with his broad figure laying next to you to change your clothes.

- I think we need to cease our relations for now. For Rindou. I don't want to do him even dirtier than I've already did. - you nodded and hummed in approval, then went back to sleep

. . . .

Rindou got discharged with a fracture in his humerus and a torn glenohumeral joint. He didn't seem to be upset nor was acting maliciously towards both of you. What was even weirder was the fact he is happier than his usual self, albeit after your betrayal. He was constantly under yours and Ran's surveillance.

Both of you were sitting at a bench, waiting for the older Haitani to come back with the drinks and food. You were playing with a street cat that approached you, and Rin was smiling at your interactions.

- Can you put it on my lap?

You obliged and placed the silver tabby on his lap, who seemed not to mind at all and made itself comfortable. A very obedient and cuddly creature that took a liking to the younger Haitani. The cat transformed itself into a loaf and sat there. You were smiling and petting the purring animal, just when Ran came back with the food.

- What a lovely creature, but be careful, it might have fleas. - he scoffed and sat down

- There isn't a bigger sucker than you, brother. - Rindou slyly added and made u giggle, to which Ran threw his drink in his face

All of you sat there, eating peacefully and discussing random matters, giving the tabby some food too, arguing about it's gender, what name to give it and where will it live. There was a moment of silence after before Rindou spoke up.

- I'm not mad. Contrary, I even have a proposal. - that part made you and Ran choke, staring at Rindou with both worry and anticipation - why don't we engage in polyamory?

That sentence perplexed you. Your face was beet red and you almost dropped your food. Your lost all color from your skin when you turned to Ran, who was smiling like a cocaine addict nodding in acceptance

- Ran?? Rindou?? You're okay with this? - you shouted and only got a laughter from the two of them in response

- I know I was a total asshole towards you. - Rin blurted out, the atmosphere turing gloomy- With my inferiority complex and self-hatred, the only thing I inflicted was pain on you, rather than stabilizing myself and our relationship. I deserved to get cheated on, you deserved solace and the love I never managed to give you. But I still have as equally deep feelings as when I first got to know you. And I never want to lose you or my brother. I don't want us acting like strangers and avoiding each other.

Rindou took your hands and squeezed them tight in anticipation and anxiety of you rejecting him and leaving with his brother. In fact, he doesn't want to lose you and watch you with his own blood, albeit telling you he doesn't feel bad. It's eating him up on the inside, it's draining all life from him. He can't sleep, nor eat properly without his guts twisting in regret from all the suffering and torment he put you through. And the way his brother did the exact opposite.

- I-if you don't really mind... - you scratched your nape and held each one of them's hand in approval - I aggree..

You blushed and barely had the courage to muster your response. You were going to be with the hottest men you've ever laid eyes upon. The thought of being between them every night, sharing everything with them, even your own self, was exciting and simultaneously terrifying. Tears started forming in your eyes and you couldn't hold yourself from sobbing.

- What's wrong, baby?? - Rindou softly asked and both Haitanis hugged you tightly

- I'm afraid I won't be good enough... And that you will probably leave me for someone else.. I will not be able to satisfy you, I'm just a mere person while both of you hold power in your hands - you sobbed and snuggled between their embrace

- We never will, we promise. - the older Haitani retorted and kissed your cheek - You're our one and only we want to spend our lives with..

a/n: It took me way too long to be able to write again. I'm sorry for the long delay

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glitterdustcyclops · 2 months

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i feel complicated feelings about the james somerton thing

tw for suicide/self harm

not to make it All About Me, but as someone who participated in the grand Dunkathon I & II & III about james, in my own small way, i don't feel great about the (potential) suicide note he posted, and i tried not to talk about it because again, not even remotely about me, but i can't get it out of my head

so permit me a moment to vent my spleen out:

many things can be true here at once, i am far from the first person to point that out. hbomb and todd intheshadows and jessie and all the other queer women who called him out are emphatically not responsible for james' actions in response to being called to account for the demonstrable harm he did to the queer community, and anyone saying so is an opportunistic grifter or a rightwing troll

HOWEVER, while i think the initial wave of critique was mostly responsible, there is no doubt that because of social media and The Algorithms it inevitably turned into the normal dogpile car crash atrocity we've seen time and again. and while i don't necessarily blame anyone who was affected and hurt and needed a place to discuss the harm james caused our community, i also don't like how a lot of the worst kind of content mill youtubers milked it for endless drama updates and people are now, at this moment, making jokes to clown on someone's potential suicide

it is an absolute tragedy any time any one takes their life, and i feel deep empathy for any human being so backed into a corner they can't imagine a future for themself. i hope endlessly that is not the case here, and that james will be okay, and can find a path forward to heal and to also make real, meaningful steps to repair the harm he caused.

HOWEVER, the man is also a confirmed, admitted, unrepentant liar and fraudster, and threatening suicide or self-harm in retaliation for when you've been caught doing bad shit is, in fact, the tactic of an abuser. i don't blame anyone who is finding it hard to locate any wells of empathy for this dude, or who isn't believing james at all.

and while i want to say that my own personal part in this is negligible at best, i still feel icky that my posts reacting to his second apology have gotten the attention that they did. and like, no, i don't think i caused james to kill himself. i don't think anyone has that power. but i also don't like how the modern internet encourages us to participate in the constant dehumanization of each other, even when we do demonstrably fucked up awful shit. i don't like that anyone can be financially incentivized to keep doing this, and i think that's one of the things hbomb was very rightfully concerned about.

gah. just. the whole thing's a shitty complicated mess.

i'll end this by saying that if you are feeling any type of way about the current events that i completely understand that, and i am sending you all the kindness and warmth it's possible to send to another human through these interwebs. and if this has stirred up some trauma for you, please don't hesitate to reach out for help. suicide doesn't have to be the end of the story for anyone, and i want all of us to find a way to make this community better. and we need you to do that. you are important, never forget that.

okay, i love you. bye.

#shut up chocolate #james somerton #suicide tw

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 7 months

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What Went Wrong

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 1. Poisoned, 8. Seizure, 14. Bleeding Through the Bandage, 21. Near-Death Experience, 30. Coma, Alt. Prompt: Bloody Knuckles Fandom: DC, The Suicide Squad, Rick Flag, f!reader Summary: After a mission goes spectacularly wrong, Rick is forced to relay what happened, no matter how painful it is for him to relive it. Word Count: 5033 TW: Poison, Mentions of Death, Blood/Bleeding, Seizure, Hospital, Language, Rick is taller than Reader Note: Written for @ailesswhumptober's event. Thank you to the anon who requested Bloody Knuckled with Rick! It was really a wonderful inspiration! And thank you to @loverhymeswith for all the support and beta reading for me! 💖

Colonel Rick Flag sat in the small break room—now a makeshift interrogation room—oblivious to the world around him. All he could do was stare blankly down at his busted, swollen knuckles and watch as his blood slowly reddened the gauze he couldn’t remember someone wrapping them in. Apparently, someone had also given him something for the pain, but it was doing little to stop the throbbing ache that seemed to intensify with every beat of his heart. Yet, he sort of liked it. It gave him something to focus on, to ground him, even as everything else around him lay in ruins.

Gritting his teeth, he balled his left hand into as much of a fist as the swelling and bandaging would allow, and almost blacked out as every nerve running from his hand up his arm screamed out in excruciating agony. Squeezing his eyes together tightly, he stifled a groan of pain as he forced himself to maintain the fist.

Focus on the physical pain. Just focus on the physical pain. Let everythin’ else slip away until there is nothin’ but this pain.

“Colonel Flag….Colonel….Sir—”

“Flag!”

Waller’s sharp tone cut through his fog and Rick’s fist instinctively uncurled, lessening the pain to a point where he once again became aware of his surroundings. Blinking, he looked up to stare at the pair in front of him in a slight daze. “W-what?”

Waller nodded at the other man who shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he cleared his throat and glanced down at the stack of papers in front of him. “Uh, yes, well, I understand this may be difficult for you but we need to get your official statement on what happened for the record.”

Rick sighed as he scratched at the gauze on his hand. “Do we really have to do this right now? I got better places to be.”

The man shot him an apologetic smile. “I understand that but the less time that passes between the event and the report, the more accurate it is. And considering there were numerous asset casualties, we need this to be as accurate as possible to avoid any liabilities.”

“Assets and liabilities,” Rick spat, the words like ash in his mouth. “That’s all any of them are to you, isn’t it? Numbers on a page to use how you want. But the members of Task Force X are people. Yeah, people who made some wrong choices or did horrible things, but that doesn’t mean they are just fodder you can throw at your problems.”

“It wasn’t so long ago that you too viewed your squad members as nothing more than that,” Waller said coldly, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes completely devoid of all emotion. “I wonder, did your view on them change before or after you started crawling into one of their beds?”

Rick leaped to his feet, his metal chair clanging loudly on the hard tile as it toppled over. The man jumped and cowered back in surprise, but Waller didn’t even flinch. Instead, she continued to stare Rick down, daring him to try and make a move against her. But they both knew what would happen if he did….

Recognizing he was in an impossible situation, Rick could only point at Waller and snarl, “You leave her out of this. Whatever relationship we might have didn’t affect what happened on the mission. And what I do on my own time is my own business.”

“Maybe, but you fucked her while she was my prisoner, which makes it my business.”

Before Rick could snap back, the man cleared his throat, his face bright red behind his glasses, and he reached for one of his papers. Scanning it, he asked, “Excuse me but are you confirming you had an intimate relationship with Belle Reve prisoner 0806?”

Rick turned his attention to the man, anger gleaming in his hazel eyes. This just proved his point. To them, you were nothing more than a faceless number, something to be used when convenient then tossed back into a cell like the other thousand inmates of Belle Reve.

“Yes,” Rick said through gritted teeth as the man began to write something on his papers. “After several assignments together, a connection developed and we became romantically then intimately involved.”

The man paused his scribbling and glanced up as Waller began slowly walking around to stand behind Rick. “‘Romantically’...so this relationship between you and this inmate was more than just physical?”

A thousand moments with you unwillingly flashed through Rick’s mind: your head resting on his shoulder as you slept on the flight home from a mission; the determined glare on your face as you fought off a swarm of enemies all by yourself; the way he didn't need to say a word for you to know exactly what he needed; the pure adoration in your eyes as he settled between your legs on your tiny prison cot. How could he not have fallen in love with you?

Rick once again tightened his hand into a loose fist as he growled, “Why the fuck does it matter right now? However you define it, it didn’t affect the mission at all.”

“Given how the evacuation team found you, sir, one might say differently.” Rick began to rise up out of his seat but the man put up his hands. “I’m sorry. I have to ask these kinds of questions so we can get the full picture of what went on in that lab. It’s in your best interest as well as ours if you can be as honest and detailed as possible so we have all the information when presenting our findings. Right now, the depth of your relationship with this inmate only matters to me if it caused some sort of misconduct during the mission that led to its failure. Otherwise, I don’t care what the two of you have been up to or how you feel about each other, I promise.”

Rick could feel Waller’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head and he knew that she felt very differently. If she had her way, he would be court-martialed immediately. Not because he had been sleeping with you or because he loved you—no, he was certain she already knew about that. But now that it was public knowledge the head of her pride-and-joy task force was sleeping with one of its criminal assets presumedly right under her nose, it would put a black mark not only on the squad but on her as well. And that was not something Waller took lightly.

But for now, she wasn’t his main concern. He needed to get out of this room and upstairs as soon as possible. So, he nodded to the man and motioned for him to continue with his questions.

“Thank you.” The man gave Rick a small smile and looked back down at his papers. After scanning them for a minute, he looked at Rick and said, “Now then, Colonel, to the best of your recollection, can you tell us what happened? What went wrong?”

What went wrong….. It was the thought that had been plaguing Rick for the past twenty-four hours. He had replayed the entire mission over and over in his head trying to figure out what he could have done differently to save his team…..to save you.

It was supposed to be a textbook in-and-out mission with no foreseeable complications. An underground lab was developing a new weapon that could be catastrophic in the wrong hands—which included the scientists developing it. Though hidden, the lab didn’t appear to have more than the most basic levels of security and it seemed like a cakewalk for a small team to go in, destroy the research and weapon, and secure any scientists on site.

Because of this, it was determined this would be a good chance to break in the newest recruits to Task Force X and Rick found himself leading a team comprised almost entirely of untrained, terrified ex-criminals who wouldn’t shut up or fall into line. Before they even got off the plane, he was ready to detonate every last one of their nanite bombs.

Luckily, you had been allowed to tag along to help keep everyone under control….including Rick. Even if no one realized how deeply the connection between the two of you went, it was obvious that you had a way of calming him down and centering him even in the most dangerous or stressful of situations. Rick pretended to hate the idea that he needed someone to manage him but honestly, he didn’t mind as long as it meant he got to spend more time with you.

On your very first mission with Task Force X, Rick noticed you were special and unlike anyone he had met before. And by the third mission, he had you pressed against a wall in a dark alley as you shoved your tongue down his throat. Since then, he would do whatever he could to be near you, including bribing the guards to turn off the cameras in your cell for a few hours once or twice a month—and still it wasn’t enough. He was counting down the missions until you earned your freedom and he could have you in his bed every night without having to leave.

And this mission would bring that dream one step closer to a reality.

Once inside the building, Rick sent the rest of the Squad to destroy everything in the labs (he figured they could handle unbridled destruction without needing supervision) while you went with him to find the mainframe and extract any information you could before wiping it.

The plan seemed to be going perfectly until you and Rick finished your assignment and were heading back to the rendezvous point. Just as you reached the lab’s exit, there was a whirring sound and a pair of thick, metal doors slammed shut inches in front of Rick’s face. You spun around to try to rush back the way you came, but another door slid shut, blocking your retreat.

“Damn it!” Rick yelled as he slammed his fist against the thick metal door. Sighing, he picked up his radio to call into headquarters. Usually, they would all be on earpieces, but since it was supposed to be such a simple mission, they had forgone them this time. “Control, this is Flag. Do you copy?”

The radio crackled to life. “We copy, Flag. Did you complete your mission?”

“Affirmative, Harcourt. But on the way to the rendezvous, we got cut off. We are trapped between two metal doors and I can’t see a way out. Requestin’ an extraction team to come get us.”

“Launching extraction team now. ETA is approximately fifteen minutes. Stand by.”

“Copy.” Rick slipped the radio back into his cargo pocket and shrugged at you. “Well, I guess we just wait. At least we have a few minutes alone together until they show up.”

Looking around at the tight space you were now trapped in, you took a step closer, pressed your palms against Rick’s back, and leaned against him as you whispered, “Rick…I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Ah hell, darlin’,” Rick muttered. “Now why’d you have to say somethin’ like that?”

Suddenly, the sprinkler heads on the ceiling sprang to life, and a mysterious liquid sprayed down on you. It was clear like water but had an oily consistency and a bitter, acidic smell to it. Rick spun around, grabbed your arm, and pulled you tight against his chest trying to use his large form to shield you from as much of it as possible but it was of little use. Soon, you were both drenched from head to toe.

It lasted for less than a minute before the sprinklers turned off once again. Lifting your head from where you had buried it in Rick’s chest, you glanced around before muttering, “What the fuck was that about?”

“I don’t know. But I think we should get outta here before we find out.” Rick turned back to the metal door and began examining it for any sort of weak point or hidden switch.

From behind him, he heard you audibly shiver and he glanced back to see you rubbing your hands over your still dripping arms trying to warm yourself up. He wished he had something to give you but he doubted his soaked tact jacket would provide you any warmth. Either the extraction team needed to hurry up or he needed to get you both out of here as soon as possible.

However, just as he began to turn back to the door, there was a burst of static from above you, and a voice called out from a hidden speaker, “So, this must be the current iteration of Task Force X. Welcome!” You and Rick exchanged a nervous glance as the voice continued. “I had a feeling Waller would track me down eventually, and it looks like I was right. Good thing I took precautions.”

“Who the hell are you?” Rick called out as his eyes scanned the ceiling trying to locate where the voice was coming from.

“She didn’t tell you? She just sent you out on a mission without briefing you on what you were walking into?” The voice scoffed. “Why am I not surprised? Well, let me introduce myself. I used to be one of the head research and developers at ARGUS before Waller got everything she wanted from me and tried to have me arrested despite the fact everything I did was under her orders. You see, I’m the guy who developed the technology that made the nanite bombs possible, including that one currently residing in your girlfriend’s head.”

You gasped as your eyes grew wide and your hand flew to the side of your neck, your finger tracing the small bump just under your skin that Rick knew was there. His eyes met yours and he knew you were both thinking the same thing: If this maniac invented the bombs then chances were….

Rick glared up at the ceiling and roared, “Now listen here you bastard—”

“I can’t detonate it if that’s what you’re worried about,” the voice calmly interrupted. “Waller is smart enough to change the frequency for every mission which means I, unfortunately, can’t access them. However, I had a feeling she would kick me to the curb once she had my technology so I neglected to tell her about the one flaw in my design. The unintended way to weaponize them. The one I just set in motion.”

A chill ran down Rick’s spine. “What are you talkin’ about? What did you do!”

“Rick…” Your fingers dug into his arm as you reached for him, your shivering intensifying—but whether that was from cold or fear, Rick didn’t know.

“The bombs are not the only thing injected into the subjects,” the voice continued. “A small amount of a typically harmless chemical surrounds it to help the body not reject the foreign object or start breaking it down. I say ‘typically harmless’ because it only becomes toxic when mixed with another rare compound….the same compound that was just released from the sprinkler system moments ago.”

“What did you do to me?” you asked, addressing the voice directly for the first time. “What’s going to happen?”

“Oh, not just you, my dear. Those sprinklers went off all over the building so I’m sorry to say your entire team is about to suffer the same fate as you…except for the Colonel that is. Or did Waller implant a bomb into you as well? It wouldn’t surprise me if she did.”

“Shut the fuck up and just tell us how to stop this!”

“Yeah, I’m not going to do that. I need Waller to pay for what she did to me and show her she was wrong for ever doubting my abilities. And the best way to do that is by eliminating part of her precious Task Force X. I am sorry you had to be a casualty of our war but just like any game of chess, pawns get sacrificed. I would hurry up and say your goodbyes if I were you. The toxin forming in her blood should begin to take effect any time now and her body will destroy itself before your backup arrives. But Colonel….tell Waller I said hello.”

The speaker crackled out, leaving the two of you standing in a horrified silence. Rick’s mind was spinning with everything he had just heard. What the voice said couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t be. After all, Waller would have known about it.

“Rick?”

Waller was the one who came up with Task Force X and she oversaw every single detail as it came to fruition. She couldn’t have overlooked something like this….could she?

“Rick.”

But then again, what if she had? She wasn’t a scientist and wouldn’t understand all the uses of the different chemicals they were using with the technology. So what if the voice wasn’t lying and you only had a few minutes before—

“Rick!”

He whirled around to see you slumped against the far wall, your eyes wide as you wiped your fingers under your nose and watched them come away bloody, a bright smear still left on your face as more began to trickle out of your nose.

“No….”

He closed the distance between you in two long strides and took your face between his large hands. Your body was shaking slightly as you looked up at him with tears in your eyes and your voice broke as you said, “Rick, I can feel it. It’s already happening. Oh God—” you frantically grabbed onto his wrists as his hands still cupped your face “—I’m scared. I’m not ready to die. Not now. Not when I’ve found—” The rest of your words were lost as you broke down sobbing.

Rick pulled you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you tightly. Resting his chin on the top of your head and rubbing soothing circles across your back, he whispered, “It’s okay, darlin’. You’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna get you outta here and get you help, you hear me? I can’t lose you either so I need you to fight. Fight and just hold on, for as long as you can. We’re gonna get outta here…together.”

He felt you nod into his chest and gently moved you away to look at you. Red-tinted tears trailed down your cheeks and more blood was smeared under your nose. Rick glanced down and saw some of it had wiped off on his jacket, but it didn’t matter. He bent down and pressed his lips furiously against yours—trying to ignore the metallic taste of blood coating your lips— then turned back towards the exit door.

He had already searched every inch of it for some sort of switch but maybe he could pry it open. Rick tried to get his fingernails to dig into the seam where the two doors met, but the seal was just too strong. Maybe if he could find something to wedge between them….

As he quickly scanned the room for something—anything—he could use, he saw you clutch your chest as you began to cough. It started out small, like just clearing your throat. However, within what seemed like seconds, it had evolved into a wheezy, rattling hack that wracked your entire body. Rick watched helplessly as fresh blood sprayed across the floor as a particularly deep cough forced you to double over.

As it subsided and you looked up at him, he inhaled sharply as he saw blood now not only trickling from your nose but from your eyes and mouth too. You tried to say something—it seemed like his name—however, from your rasping gasps, it was clear you weren’t getting enough air to breathe properly, let alone speak.

“No…” Rick couldn’t believe he was being forced to stand here and watch you die with no way to save you. “No!”

Throwing his entire weight behind it, Rick smashed his fist into the metal door. Logically deep down he knew there was no way he would ever be able to punch his way through it, but right now, logic was the furthest thing from his mind. Instead, he wound back and drove his other fist into the door.

Over and over again, he pounded at the metal, ignoring the pain as he felt his skin split and bones crack. The door was now smeared with the blood from his ruined knuckles but it was nothing compared to the blood that was spilling from you just behind him. Hearing you struggling and in pain yet knowing he was helpless to stop it was too much for him and he increased the strength of each blow.

It was only when he saw you collapse to the floor as your body began thrashing and convulsing that Rick abandoned his fruitless attempts at breaking through the door and he dropped to his knees beside you. Pulling your writhing body into his lap, he held you tightly against him and pressed his lips against your ear, muttering empty promises that everything was going to be alright.

As you continued to seize, blood began to flow more steadily from your eyes, nose, and mouth. Your eyes rolled back into your head as your back arched and your entire body went rigid. You seemed to hold that pose for a moment, the entire room suddenly dead silent. Then, slowly and with one extended exhale, your body relaxed against his and your head lolled to the side.

Ice spread through Rick’s veins as he stared at your motionless form. No. This couldn’t be happenin’. Not to you. Please God, not you.

He gently took your face between his hands and turned it so he could see you better. Several trails of blood streaked down your face and though your eyes were mostly closed, he could just make out the dulled, faded color beneath your lids. And though you were lying on his chest, all he felt was an unnatural stillness—no heartbeat, no intake of breath. You were gone.

Tears began to stream down Rick’s cheeks as he buried his face in the top of your head. And though he knew you couldn’t hear him, he softly whispered, “Please, darlin’, come back to me. I need you and I love you and I can’t do this without you. So, please….come back.”

And that’s how Waller’s extraction team found the two of you moments later: Colonel Rick Flag with tears in his eyes as he clung to the limp body of one of the Belle Reve inmates.

Since that moment, Rick had been going on some sort of autopilot, letting himself be shuffled from place to place and doing what he was told. But now that his official statement had been taken and he had been released, there was only one place he needed to be. So, taking the hospital elevator up to the third floor, he stepped out onto the intensive care unit and followed the signs towards his destination.

When he reached the end of the hall, Rick stared through the window into the hospital room, his forehead pressed against the glass as he struggled to maintain some sort of composure. He could barely see your face past the countless machines and equipment hooked up to you in an effort to keep you alive.

By the time Waller’s extraction team had shown up and somehow managed to revive you, the poison had done its job and destroyed or seriously damaged most of your internal organs. It was a miracle the doctors were able to keep you alive this long, even if machines now controlled every aspect of your life support. The rest of the Task Force who had been in a different area of the building hadn’t been so lucky. The two of you were the only survivors—if you could call it that.

The doctors had done everything they could to save you and now the rest was up to you. Rick had heard the full spectrum of possible prognoses ranging from you making a full recovery to you being incapable of cognitive thought or movement—and all of it was dependent on you waking up which was an uncertainty on its own.

But for now, you lay motionless in your hospital bed just as you had for the past twenty-four hours.

Fury boiled in his gut as Rick’s eyes landed on the pair of handcuffs chaining you to the bed. Did they seriously expect you to jump up and sneak out of the hospital? Your heart was struggling to beat without assistance and air was constantly having to be forced into your lungs yet they had to make sure you wouldn’t miraculously make a daring escape. It made Rick sick. As did the fact he wasn’t permitted to be in the room with you. All he wanted was to hold your hand or press a soft kiss to your forehead, but Waller made sure no one except for her and the doctors were allowed in. Just another one of her attempts to punish him.

As if summoned by the very thought of her name, footsteps echoed off the tiles behind him growing louder and louder until Waller stepped into Rick’s peripheral vision. He ignored her, instead keeping his gaze firmly locked on you, and Waller seemed to do the same.

For several minutes, they stood in complete silence, the sounds of your rasping breathing and the beeping of machines the only sound in the dim hallway. Finally, without turning, Rick asked, “Did you know?”

“I know a lot of things, Flag, but you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Did you know the chemicals in the nanites could be used like that?”

Waller was silent for a moment before she answered curtly, “No. We knew about the chemical surrounding the bombs of course, but we were not aware it could be turned into a weapon. Our lab is already researching alternatives.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure my team would be thrilled to hear that if they weren’t all currently down in the morgue.”

“Mistakes happen, people die. But that’s why we formed Task Force X. Nobody cares when those dying are criminals.” Waller’s eyes shifted slightly from the window to Rick and back again. “With a few exceptions.”

Rick clenched his fist at her words then immediately regretted it as a sharp bolt of pain ran up his arm from his busted knuckles. He wanted nothing more than to make Waller feel the pain he was feeling. For her to understand how much he cared about you. But he knew nothing he did would make a difference. If anything, it would only make it worse.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm himself, he asked, “So…what happens now?”

Folding her arms over her chest, Waller said, “Despite my objections, the board determined you did nothing wrong on the mission. They said there was nothing you could have done differently to save your team and you are not responsible for their deaths and thus will not receive any formal reprimand or punishment. However–” Waller raised one eyebrow as she glared at Rick “–I have not forgotten your…indiscretion with her and it will not be overlooked.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t known about us since the very start. You’ve just been waitin’ for the moment it best suited your interests to bring it up,” Rick growled. “I don’t care what you do to me but when she’s better I want her released from Belle Reve. She only had thirty years left on her sentence—twenty after this mission. And this….this more than makes up for the rest of her time.”

“Possibly,” Waller said thoughtfully. “First, we have to wait and see if she even pulls through, then we can have that discussion. But until that happens, I expect you to do your job.” She slapped a file down on the ledge of the window. “Your next assignment. You leave tomorrow and you better be on the tarmac on time. Otherwise all of this–” she gestured to the hospital equipment surrounding them “–goes away. Do we understand each other?”

Rick clenched his jaw tightly as he just barely managed to hold back the slew of curses he wanted to direct at his boss but he knew that was exactly what she was hoping for. So instead, he gritted his teeth and in his most Southern twang said, “Yes, Ma’am.”

The “fuck you” was loud and clear in his tone but Waller thankfully ignored it. Shooting him one last glare, she turned sharply and began marching back down the hall. However, Rick called after her, “And I want those cuffs taken off of her. Now.”

Without turning or breaking her stride, Waller replied, “When are you going to learn, Flag? You don’t call the shots around here. I do.” Then she turned down another hall and disappeared from sight.

Sighing, Rick gazed back at your unconscious form. Pressing his hand against the glass, he whispered, “It’ll be alright, darlin’, I promise you that. You don’t worry about anythin’ except gettin’ better and wakin’ up. You do that, and I’ll take care of the rest. And no matter what happens or how bad things are when you do wake up, I’ll be right by your side for all of it, Waller be damned. ‘Cause I love you, now and forever.”

He waited, hoping beyond hope you had heard his words and they helped rouse you from your sleep. But this wasn’t some feel-good movie or romance novel where his bedside pleas would make everything better and you would wake up to fall into his arms once again. No, this was real life and in real life, people didn’t get their happily-ever-afters.

At least…..not yet. As long as your heart was still beating—artificially or not— there was hope. And for now, hope was going to have to be enough.

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