#the five stages of grief and i don’t even know which one i’m on

[blackunecorn]

it’s official

i gotta block all jjk content 😭 for my own sanity.

ps. fuck anyone who making angst shit right now 😭 can i mourn in peace??? it ain’t even been 12 hours

#i’m not okay #whyyyyyy #gege when i catch you gege #the five stages of grief and i don’t even know which one i’m on #this is a dream and i’ll wake up from it and hell still be here #how dare you #it’s time to go home sweetie 🥹 #stop playing bookie #GET UP #i literally just reposted this man yesterday #oh i was so happy then 🥲 #gojo satoru #jjk #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen #gojo #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk satoru #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru #jjk gojo #gojo angst

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.6

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.7]

Danny slumped over the table at the library. He’d feel embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the rest of the floor’s occupants. Around him, students were speed running through the five stages of grief like it was going out of style.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“Same.” Danny replied, rolling his head to look at Tim. “I’m feeling like an academic victim instead of an academic weapon right now.”

“I should have stayed dropped out of school,” Tim grumbled.

Danny gasped theatrically. “And deprive the world of your awe-inspiring genius on…” Danny peered at Tim’s books and grinned. “On… the Krebs cycle? Seriously? They’re teaching that again?”

“I know! This is like, the third time.” Tim whined.

“At least you’ll be good at it, right?”

Tim scoffed. “I’m gonna drop out of college and become a stripper.”

“They do make bank,” Danny nodded. “But aren’t you like a millionaire or something?”

Tim brightened. “Oh, you’re right. I don’t need education! I’m filthy rich!”

Danny whacked Tim on the back of the head, laughing quietly.

“Whatever. Let’s go take a break. Snacks?”

“I literally don’t know how you eat so much.”

“Snacks have a separate stomach pouch. Normal food goes one place, junk food and desserts in another.” Danny retorted, quickly packing up his stuff. In reality, he didn’t need that much food. He’s half dead, after all. But food also converts to ectoplasm in his body, and ancients knows Danny needs all the energy he could get.

They made their way out of the campus library, passing stressed out looking students on their way to a taco truck.

“Does this even count as a snack?” Tim asked, amused. He tugged on his book bag, readjusting the vigilante pins on them.

“Is the sky even blue?” Danny snarked back, forking over the cash needed for the best fucking tacos on this side of Gotham. They sat on the benches, asking for an obscene amount of extra lime and cilantro before going to town.

“Holy shit, how many of those can you eat?”

“Dunno,” Danny mumbled though a mouthful or carne asada and pico de gallo. “Hungry.”

Tim snorted, pulling out his phone to scroll as he ate. A moment later, Tim showed Danny his screen.

“Hey, you live near here, right?”

Danny, cheeks bulging with food, peered at Tim’s phone and nodded.

“Oh, cool! Have you seen the green guy around?”

Danny squinted at Tim, tilting his head as he chewed.

“You know, the glowing green guy that’s been blowing up the Gotham Bay tag.”

Oh. Tim was talking about him, Danny!

Danny nodded. He quickly ate his food and wiped his mouth before replying. “Yeah, why?”

“Does he seriously just clean up the bay? Nothing else?”

Mildly offended for some reason, Danny shrugged. “I mean yeah? He doesn’t seem to pop up near any of the shady spots- oh, I saw him save someone from a mugging in front of my apartment once! But like, I think all he does is clean the bay. Which is good, because holy heck, that place is nastyyy.”

“Seriously?” Tim leaned in, looking super interested. “So he’s friendly?”

Danny raised a brow. “Yeah, he seemed pretty nice, I guess. Though, that’s not saying much considering your Rogues tend to be pretty chill when they’re not in the middle of a scheme.”

Tim snorted. “True that. You talked to him? When? Outside of his bay cleanings, right? I’ve noticed that he only talks to the Bats during those.”

Danny stared at Tim. “Tim… are you… stalking the guy?”

What Danny really wanted to say was: “Tim, are you stalking me?”

“I’m not stalking him!” At Danny’s suspicious glare, belied by his sauce stained mouth, Tim sighed. “Okay, maybe I am. But only some minor stalking!”

“Uh-huh.”

“But if you have, you think you could introduce us? Maybe he’d want to be friends?”

Was Tim asking Danny to introduce him to… Danny himself?

“Uh. Why do you even want to meet him?”

“Danny, he’s a glowing green guy that does community service for funsies. And he knows the Bats. That’s cool.”

“And here I thought you wouldn’t know cool if it smacked you in the face.” Danny teased. Well, whatever. He might as well do something nice for Tim. “Sure. I’ll text you when he pops up and see if he’s okay with meeting you.”

Tim grinned at him, a piece of cilantro stuck in his teeth. “Thanks!”

——

Danny made a duplicate of himself and went ghost. Danny and his duplicate looked at each other and sighed.

“We’ve done stupider things.”

“But we’re still not telling Jazz.”

“Agreed.”

Danny paused. Did he just make a deal with himself? No, he’s busy.

Doppelgänger Danny went invisible and left the apartment by going through a wall. Danny followed in a sedate pace, the normal way.

Outside, he pretended to catch sight of a suddenly visible Phantom. He’d heard the heartbeats outside his apartment ever since he got home all those days ago, and he’s pretty sure the vigilantes were watching his place ever since. Luckily, he made sure there weren’t any bugs or hidden cameras- Sam beat cautiousness into his head a while ago- before starting the plan.

One of those heartbeats sounded like Tim’s which left some… interesting connotations.

Danny sighed. Who was he kidding? Of course he’d be friends with a vigilante.

“Hey, Phantom!” Danny shouted, waving. Phantom floated over.

“Danny. Hi. Did you need something?”

“Oh, not really. My friend wanted to meet you, he’s a huuuuge fan. Think you’ve got time today?” Danny held up his phone.

Phantom hummed. “I can stay for a bit. Thirty minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll call him. His name is Tim, by the way. Thanks for taking the time to meet him!”

“No problem.”

Danny texted Tim, and minutely frowned as he picked up the sound of Tim’s ringtone. Shit, that pretty much confirmed his suspicions. He got a text back from Tim.

Timsy

[5 nin]

Nin

Nin

Nin

Min

Danny huffed an amused breath. “He’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Alright.”

Danny texted back an okay.

Five minutes later, a flushed and disheveled Tim peeled onto the street and right to the curb.

“Here!” He said as he tumbled out of the car.

“Damn, bro. You good?”

“Fine- oh my god, you’re the green guy!” Danny had to hand it to Tim. If he didn’t already figure out he was Red Robin, Danny would’ve believed the act. Holy shit, wait, he called his friend broke. Hah!

“It’s Phantom. Nice to meet you, Tom.”

A quick sliver of sullenness flashed over Tim’s face. “It- it’s Tim.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, human names sound so similar.” Danny leaned back and hid a grin as his doppelgänger messed with his friend.

“Oh, wow, you’re not human? What are you then?”

“Oh my god, Tim, you can’t just ask him what he is!” Danny scolded. These vigilantes were really similar.

“Sorry…” Tim apologized.

“It’s fine. To answer your question, I’m dead. Ghost.”

“Do you really pay taxes?”

Phantom tilted his head. “Yes, of course.” By the, Danny meant that he paid both human taxes and oversaw the Zone’s taxes. “You know that saying, something about never escaping from two things and that’s taxes and death? You can escape death- might come back a little wrong- but taxes are in the afterlife too.”

“Come back a little wrong?” Tim asked, eyes suddenly sharp.

“Come back a little,” Phantom gestured to himself. “Green. More emotive and prone to irritation.”

Tim stared.

——

“Jason, are you a ghost?” Dick, crouched on the top of Danny’s apartment building whispered.

Red Hood, crouched in the same area, stayed silent.

——

“How did you die?”

Phantom snarled and disappeared.

Tim whirled around, looking bewildered. Behind him, Danny struggled to stay calm.

“Where’d he go?”

“He probably didn’t want to hurt you.” Danny sighed.

“What? What did I do?”

“You asked him how he died. That’s like, the ultimate social taboo.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“It’s common sense, dude. Trauma like that has to be shared instead of asked about. Generally.” Danny sighed. “Come on, let’s get off the street and I’ll give you a crash course in manners.”

——

Bruce, upon hearing about the conversation, dove headfirst into researching the after life.

“No, go suck a goat’s genitals, Batsy, I am not helping you adopt a being of the infinite realms!” Constantine hung up on him.

“Hn.” Bruce will adopt the child and give him a home. It’s only a matter of when… and what inter-dimensional loopholes he could find and use in the relevant laws.

Jason was right behind him, because he was going to get answers, dammit.

#danny phantom #batman #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #dc x dp #dick grayson #red hood #nightwing #bamf danny phantom #sea cryptic! danny au

[shima-draws]

Okay so a few things about the ending to the DLC. Spoilers below obviously

-Really REALLY disappointed they didn’t go with the whole toxic possession arc thing with Kieran and the new mythical (Pecharunt?) TO BE FAIR that was more of a fan theory than anything but it was one that made a lot of sense and had a lot of evidence to back it up. I guess I got too attached to the idea and was inevitably let down when the game didn’t go in that direction. Still it would have made more sense to give that extra edge as to why Kieran’s treating everyone so awfully,, and having him finally break free of that control during the final fight VS Terapagos would have been SO sick. Either that or before we even get to Terapagos Carmine calls Kieran out and that’s when he finally fucking explodes and rages and vents about his inferiority complex—and THAT is what summons Pecharunt, those negative feelings that it probably feeds off of or smth idk. Then we’d get a split second of Kieran finally being back in control and begging for help. And then Carmine realizing her brother has been under the influence of this Pokemon the entire time and. Okay I’m getting off track into AU territory now lmao sorry moving on

-Switching back to the Terapagos fight, I really enjoyed it! It wasn’t too long of a fight to be drawn out, but it was just long enough that it didn’t feel anticlimactic (also the MUSIC? STELLAR. Pun intended). ALSO ARGHFHH the five stages of grief Kieran goes through in that fight to finally accepting that he’s been going about this the wrong way and has been an awful friend and the way the LIGHT COMES BACK INTO HIS EYES I ALMOST CRIED. This is 10000x more emotional and powerful if you choose to bring Ogerpon with you and fight with her bc that really just. Hammers in the fact that despite all the bad blood and bitterness, Kieran still chooses to fight alongside you and the Pokemon he coveted so much…AND he even processes things enough to fully let go of all his hatred and anger and allows you to catch Terapagos because he KNOWS you’ll take good care of it and after all this time he still trusts you even though he’d probably hate to admit it. #GOOD WRITING

-Something really scary I realized. Kieran brought a Master Ball with him to catch Terapagos. 1. Where did homie even get that. 2. The fact that he was READY and didn’t even give Terapagos a chance to react, that he was essentially catching it against its will (which probably led to its power going out of control), that he was enforcing his own twisted desires and beliefs onto it and not considering its feelings (sound familiar? Looks at Ogerpon). BOY. 3. We’ve only ever seen ONE other person use Master Balls in SV. The AI Professor. I don’t know if this is significant in any way but if the Pecharunt theory WAS true that would make them so so similar and that’s eerie to me. Two characters controlled by something greater than them that they can’t fight…can you imagine how INSANE the dynamics would be listen to me

-Another thing I was kinda disappointed about was Briar? I guess I was just picking up on the vibes that she was actually a villain and would try to steal Terapagos from the player, but I probably gave Nintendo too much credit on that one lol. I do like that she’s not inherently evil, she’s just too absorbed and obsessed with her research to really pay attention to what’s going on around her. BUT. They should have pushed that WAY further. Either commit and do the full villain arc where she snatches Terapagos from Kieran right after he catches it to use it for her own purposes, or pressure him into Terastallizing it so much that it makes him uncomfortable. I want to see Lusamine levels of unhinged obsession. What she had was just a little bit too excited about Area Zero, not a full blown unhealthy and dangerous thing that puts everyone around her in danger.

-Following up on that. Drayton. I kept expecting him to also go villain arc IDK LOL I guess I want everyone to be gay do crime in this DLC 😂 But I seriously kept thinking he was just using the player to knock Kieran off his thrown so he could take it right back from us. But no he actually genuinely cared about Kieran and kept pressuring us to beat the Elite Four so WE could knock some sense into him since Drayton wasn’t strong enough to do it himself. Which is a very sweet sentiment, I think :’) But am I the only one who was like bro calm down right after the fight where he was getting up in Kieran’s face and calling him ex-champion…..either he’s way too honest and doesn’t realize he was being cruel OR he was doing it on purpose to be a silly goober (but everyone else was like DUDE. LOW blow.)

-I still have questions. HELLO. HELLO. The notes in Area Zero mentioned the professor meeting a child with a white(?) book? Is that the Scarlet/Violet book? We still don’t know how the whole time travel paradox happened and why Heath talked about meeting Paradox Pokemon DECADES before the professor even brought them to Area Zero through the time machine? What is with the weird ass crystal tree sitting in the middle of a lake in the depths? Is there any significance to the Crystal Pool in Kitakami being connected to terastallizing and Area Zero? I’M JUST. AGHHH. I’m fairly certain we’re getting more content, maybe an epilogue to the DLCs but I’m going CRAZY I NEED TO KNOW NOWWW

-Also isn’t Area Zero like. Top secret hush hush. Why did Geeta let Briar publish a whole ass book about the HIDDEN SECRET of Area Zero that was miles under a closed off SECRET lab. I thought they were denying Briar access to Area Zero for YEARS, probably because they didn’t want her blabbing to the public. Idk. Maybe my memory is fuzzy on that one. Just feels very contradictory fhhdd

-The small little subtleties of Kieran regaining his regular personality as we went down….I ADORED that. His little smiles and him unable to contain his childish excitement and Carmine smiling at him with a knowing look bc after all this time her brother is FINALLY acting more like himself. And Kieran trying to brush it off like “wh-whatever” like he’s some sort of edgy teenager pretending he doesn’t care. GAHHHH it was so cute I wanted to cry 😭

ALL IN ALL it didn’t QUITE meet my expectations but it was still really good, especially considering this was all DLC content. Nothing will ever EVER top the main story of SV but the entirety of TTM and TID came pretty darn close. Kieran my sweet baby boy my blorbo I’m so glad you got your redemption arc and that you finally came to terms with your perception of strength and how it affects others. Baller DLC Nintendo do it again 👏

#Pokemon #Pokemon Scarlet and Violet #Pokemon SV #The Indigo Disk #Indigo Disk spoilers #Pokemon SV DLC #Pokemon Kieran #Kieran #Pokemon Briar #Pokemon Drayton #The Indigo Disk spoilers #Pecharunt #Long post #Shima speaks #Well there is always fanfiction. LOL

[schrijverr]

How to Survive Gotham as a Goon

Late one evening, a goon is there to witness his boss – Red Hood – shoot at Robin. Which means he goes through the five stages of grief as he imagines all the ways Batman will skin them, trying to get Red Hood to stop before it’s too late, which only leaves him with more questions.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: references to violence & gun shots

~~~~

Joseph does not want to die. He especially does not want to die at the hands of Batman. It might seem unlikely that that will ever happen, even if Joseph is a henchman, however watching his boss whip out a gun to shoot at Robin, he knows it might only be a matter of time.

It’s kind of the unspoken rule of the goon and henchpeople underworld to not hurt the kid in a way that’s permanent. While the big villains don’t keep to that rule, Joseph had hoped that Red Hood, with all his rules surrounding children, would be different.

However, all that hope is snuffed out when the two of them are taking a smoke break and Hood spots the kid on a warehouse across from their own.

Joseph is immediately on guard as he goes to scan around for the Batman, despite knowing it’s quite useless. But Hood stiffens in anger and screams: “You!” as points at Robin.

The giggle Robin lets out is heard easily as it echoes across the yard. It sends shivers down Joseph’s spine. He knows Robin is just a kid, but all goons and henchpeople have learned to fear the sound of that laugh and it isn’t any less intimidating when he can see the kid giving them a jaunty wave.

Hood’s street instincts must be broken, though, because he doesn’t do any of the things you’re supposed to, instead scrambling for his gun. Joseph is so in shock that he doesn’t even stop him when the first few shots ring out.

Across from them, Robin back flips away from where he was just sat, thankfully not getting hit by any of the bullets.

Robin starts to run and Hood follows him with a spray of bullets, yeering loudly: “Yeah, fucker, ya better run! Ya better fuckin’ run! If ya ever pull tha’ shit again, I’m killin’ you. Killin’ you! Ya hear me?”

Joseph gathers his senses and against the better instinct of keeping his boss on his side, jumps Hood, pushing his gun away as he exclaims: “Are you crazy!?” while Robin disappears over the rooftops.

Hood pushes him off and Joseph lets him, though he likely couldn’t have stopped Hood even if he wanted to, the man is built like a brick house. “What’re you onnabout?” Hood frowns, like he truly doesn’t realize who he just shot at.

“You shootin’ at Robin,” Joseph exclaims. “Do you have any idea the kind of carnage ya would’ve brought down on us if ya’d hit ‘im?”

“What?” Hood asks, sounding truly confused and a little taken aback.

“Do you really not know? By your accent I would’ve sworn ya were from ‘round these parts,” Joseph replies, more confused than normal by his enigma of a boss.

“Well, I’ve been outta the loop for a bit,” Hood grouches. “Explain.”

“I mean, most of the big fish don’t keep to it, but it’s common knowledge to not hurt Robin too bad unless ya want the big Bat to rock your shit,” Joseph explains. “I was already in the henchin’ business when the little guy first hit the street. Course we were all wary of ‘im but what ya gonna do? Fight a little kid?”

Hood lets out a bitter snort, commenting: “Yeah, who’d do that.”

Joseph isn’t sure where that comes from and hesitates for a second, then cautiously goes on: “But the kid was good, better than any of us thought. Fuckin’ embarrassing tha’ was. So we started fighin’ back a little, ya know. Actually punching the kid here and there. It was Jimmy who first truly hurt the kid.”

“Wait, Vegetable Jim?” Hood asks.

“Yeah, isn’t a vegetable anymore. Sonnabitch’s damn lucky that Wayne Enterprises offers compensation for those hurt while working, including hench work,” Joseph laughs a little bashful and awkward. “He clipped the kid with a baseball bat, broke his arm. God, I never heard a kid wail like that,” Joseph grimaces at the memory. “What’s worse is that the kid called for his dad. His dad.”

“Wait, tell me more,” Hood asks, sounding gleeful now, which weirds Joseph out a little. “Like was it super pathetic? Did he really just break his arm, nothing more?”

“No, nothin’ more, just the arm,” Joseph answers carefully. “And ya know how kids can get, it was piercin’ and whinin’. Why’d ya wanna know? Poor fella did nothin’ to ya. You’re to young for that.”

“Nah, I know that, just gonna bully the shit outta him when I see him,” Hood grins and now Joseph is fully confused, because from what he’s heard their first baby Robin is now Nightwing in Blüdhaven and they’re not planning to expand that way. However, before he can ask, Hood says: “Sorry, continue.”

“Well, uhm, Batman came immediately. It was carnage, like I said,” Joseph replied. “Jimmy became a vegetable for a year and a half. Bats usually tries to give us injuries that’ll only last a few weeks max, so we all knew we’d fucked up with that.”

Hood is quiet at that and Joseph explains: “Jimmy was the first and one of the worst, but all the goons tha’ ended up in the hospital for longer than three months hurt a Robin. I think the worst might be those tha’ helped, uhm, that villain kill the second Robin. His organization’s still recoverin’ from tha’ one. Think it’s the closest the Bat ever got to killin’ a man.”

Joseph knows that Hood has some deep seated grudge and hatred for Joker, despite taking his old moniker. So, he isn’t sure how well it will land.

He holds his breath as he watches how his boss will react, hoping he isn’t about to get a bullet in the leg. With Hood you’re less likely to get one in the head, but he’s absolutely not above taking out your femur or kneecap and that also sucks.

However, Hood surprises him. Joseph has always guessed that Hood is younger than he pretends to be, but he now sounds like a lost kid as he asks: “Really?”

“Yeah, boss, the Bat don’t play around when it comes to his Robin,” Joseph answers, suddenly feeling like he’s talking to his own son, instead of his crime lord boss. “New kid’s lucky. I mean, he made Batman nicer, god was he fucked when the second one died. But Stan over at Mr. Freeze’s operation cracked a few of his ribs by accident a coupla weeks after the Bat took ‘im in, I hear he still eatin’ out of a tube now. Bat’s gotten more vicious.”

Hood doesn’t say anything and to avoid feeling awkward Joseph just keeps talking: “Heard through the grapevine tha’ the kid got attacked pretty bad at that fancy Tower they’ve got out there, if the guy who did tha’s capable of thought, it’ll surprise me.”

At that Hood shifts slightly and Joseph is surprised to see a bit of guilt in his stance. It’s not something they see often from their boss. Like everything this smoke break, Joseph has no clue how to react to it.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to, because Hood speaks first. Softly he says: “Guess the kid’s lucky. Just hope the Bat’s nearby when he needs ‘im.”

“Yeah, suppose,” Joseph agrees. “Though he usually is. Never seem ‘im leave the kid alone, especially this one.”

“Good, I’d kill ‘im otherwise,” Hood grunts.

While it fits with Hood’s penchant for protecting kids, Joseph is still thrown off by it, since Hood was shooting at Robin earlier. So he gives him a look, before saying: “I mean, ‘s good tha’ he worries. Kid’s a sprout. Must be older than my boy with the way he talks, but by god is he skinny.” Joseph laughs. “It’s almost funny tha’ I worry for the kid.”

“Nah, worry’s good,” Hood surprisingly assures him. “Wouldn’t be the same if he weren’t jumpin’ ‘round, even if he’s a nuisance.”

“That why ya were shootin’ at ‘im?” Joseph can’t help but ask, even though he knows it’s stupid. It is just- he can’t help it. Not after this strange conversation.

“Kinda,” Hood shrugs. “Little shit needs to learn not to touch my shit. Fucker moved my furniture, I like where my furniture is.”

“He was in your home?” Joseph exclaims, because what the fuck? Why didn’t they hear about it. If the Bats are investigating them close enough to break into their boss’s home, they have a big problem. Very big.

“Yeah, fucked up my alarms too, even though he got a perfectly good key,” Hood mopes and Joseph’s brain screeches to a halt.

Almost as if he’s misheard he asks: “He got a key? Robin got a key? A key to your home?”

“Not voluntarily,” Hood sulks, seemingly not aware of how fucked up that is. “He’s a little stalker. Still. Stole it and copied it.”

“We need to change the locks,” Joseph says, getting up immediately to get going. “Who knows what they’re after. You- you need a protective detail. We need to up security.”

Next to him Hood startles, looking surprised. Then he laughs and waves him away: “Nah, nah, no worries, Joseph. No worries. The Bats ain’t after us.”

“They broke into your home,” Joseph feels the need to point out, because that’s a very important and very worrying detail.

“Just Robin. And just to move my shit and eat my leftovers, which is fuckin’ rude, he has his own chef at home, I have to cook all by myself and it isn’t like he chips in for the groceries,” Hood complains, while Joseph just stares at him, bug eyed.

After a beat, Joseph says: “Uhm, boss, I- uh, I hafta ask. How- how close are ya to the Bats, because that ain’t normal. No- uh no ‘fence.”

“Batman can go suck a dick and Robin needs to go back to school,” Hood scowls. “Kid shouldn’t be out here and I’m not talkin’ to the old man. But he’s a persistent little shit, I haven’t shaken him yet. Doesn’t look like I will.”

That answers absolutely nothing, but does tell Joseph that he doesn’t really want to know, because his brain is putting things together, but not things he wants to think about, because if he thinks about it, he might realize that his boss is a teen and he doesn’t think he can handle the mental weight of knowingly working for a teen.

So, Joseph follows another unspoken rule of the goon and henchpeople underworld and keeps his mouth shut when the boss is spewing nonsense.

He already has a kid to raise, he doesn’t want to think about raising his boss and by the sounds of it, the boss already got people looking after him. Even if they annoy him. Joseph is just going to be grateful about that and ignore the rest.

And pray each Sunday in the Church he doesn’t go to anymore that Hood is gonna keep missing the kid when he shoots. He hasn’t faced that sort of wrath from the Bat yet and he doesn’t plan on ever doing so.

Best to keep his head down and follow all the unspoken rules. Next time he’s smoking alone or with more people than just the boss. He has his blood pressure to think about.

#rr writing #dc #dc comics #detective comics #jason todd #tim drake #robin dc #robin #tim drake as robin #red hood #OCs #red hood goon #tw: violence #tw: gun use #batman #batfamily #batfam

[heartpascal]

please don’t lose it again

— joel miller x platonic!f!reader

— summary: the aftermath

— a/n: i’m replaying tlou2 and got to the scene again. this followed. sorry if the flow isn’t great!! im all over the place. please please please heed warnings. love you so much. not the official ending for itdws!

— warnings: major tlou 2 spoilers, major character death, grief, burying a loved one, loss, spoilers for itdws, throwing up / vomiting (referenced, not really explicit), all the stages of grief in like 3 minutes, guilt, blame, being sad, GORE, or descriptions of gore, and dead bodies

— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being (pedro)

a what if one shot from the if the door wasn’t shut universe!

masterlist (part one , part two , part three , part four , part five )

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

The world is full of horrors.

You learned that much a long, long time ago. In your formative years, your youth, when you were actually a child, you had experienced more horrors than you could name. You didn’t have enough hands to count them on. There was loss and there was pain and there was Joel.

There was a brief time, after arriving to Jackson, where you didn’t have Joel. A part of you always knew he would come back. Not for you, that was true, but you had always known that he would be back. That he wasn’t gone in the way so many were. That Tess was. In the very depths of your mind, he lingered. Even if he had left you behind, he was still with you, in the worst of ways.

You have never lived in a world which didn’t have Joel Miller.

He had always seemed untouchable. Unmovable. As if the world could only move around him.

You never thought you would have to live in a world without him.

There was always a certainty that you’d held. Joel would outlive you. He would survive, where you wouldn’t. Despite how you had improved in your skills out in the wild, in the back of your mind, when you saw Joel, you had always believed he would be the one to bury you.

Because even if Joel hadn’t stayed for you, he would surely stay for your death. It was who he was. Always the survivor, always the one to bury the bodies, always the one left.

You had never considered what it would be like to bury Joel.

Even now, as you sit with your hand pressed against the freshly turned earth, frozen at your fingertips, you aren’t sure you really know what it’s like. Because, surely, there’s no way that Joel Miller could be reduced to this. A body in the dirt. A faceless name left upon a headstone, forgotten in a garden of the dead.

He was alive yesterday.

He was alive.

How could they have buried him? You think of the way the dirt has iced over, numbing your fingers. You wonder how much effort had gone into plunging a shovel into the dirt. How much ice had formed on Joel’s skin when they put him in there?

He would be cold, out here. Without the jacket you knew was hung up in his closet. He would be cold.

“C’mon,” Jesse said, faintly. “Put your gloves on.” He tried, crouching beside you, beside Joel, with the very gloves Joel had gotten you held in his hands. Did you thank him, for those? You needed to. You needed to thank him.

You turn your head away from the wooden headstone, the clumsy carving that Joel could’ve done better, the letters spelling his name. If you don’t look, if you turn your face away, or close your eyes, Joel is still out on patrol. He’s wearing his jacket, holding his gun, pressing a warm hand against his hip in his signature pose. He’s not cold.

But when you turn back, it’s still his name. The ground is still frozen, and as much as you press your hand against the dirt, Joel doesn’t reach towards you. Joel doesn’t do anything. Joel stays buried underneath frozen dirt, underneath snow and ice. Joel stays cold.

Jesse’s hand is warm when he grips your own, his stare concerned and helpless. You wonder what would have happened if it had been you on patrol. If you were the one taking Joel and Tommy off duty. You wonder if you could’ve saved him. You pull your hand away.

He follows you when you stand up.

When you look back, Joel’s headstone blends in with the others. There’s nothing remarkable setting it apart, nothing screaming that it was Joel and he had been alive yesterday.

You wonder who the other headstones belong to. You wonder if anybody remembers them. You wonder why nobody is here, visiting. You wonder if Joel’s grave will end up the same way.

Vaguely, you notice that you’re counting. As you walk, you count the crunch of snow beneath your boots. There are thirty-three steps from Joel’s grave to his door. Thirty-three measly steps between his home, and where his body is buried. Did he know, yesterday, when he was drinking his morning coffee — the coffee you had brought him — that he would spend the rest of time buried thirty-three steps away? Did he have any idea that he would never come home? That he would always be thirty-three steps away?

Tommy is stood in the house when you walk in. His head is bruised, blood still crusted on his skin, and you wonder what happened. You wonder how this could have happened. He doesn’t look like the same man who had once walked on a patrol with you, gun raised, vigilant in every movement. If they let Tommy live, if they let Ellie live, why did they kill Joel? Why did they stop him from coming home?

It’s not long until you realise that you have nobody to ask about Tess. Tommy had long ago told you everything he could remember, most of which was corrected by Joel. Is there anybody left in the world who knew her? Anybody left who would ask about her?

Will it just be you, until your death, who remembers Tess? Who remembers Joel? After you, Tommy and Ellie are gone, who will know him? Who will remember him? Who will put flowers on the grave in which they buried him?

You wonder how long it will be until people wonder about his grave, as you had with the others. How long it will be until he’s forgotten.

What’s going to happen to his pictures? The photographs of Joel and Sarah? Of him and Ellie? Of you and him? Who is going to understand each of these pictures? Who is going to know what was happening in each? How many memories are gone, now that Joel is dead?

“Kid, I…” Tommy trails off, eyebrows furrowed.

Joel is dead.

He’ll never finish the supply of coffee you gave to him. He’ll never complete the guitar he was making for you. He’ll never finish reading your favourite book. He’ll never receive the new mug you’d made for him. He’ll never do anything. Because Joel Miller is dead, and he’s buried thirty-three steps away.

How do you fix that?

How do you tell Joel that you’ll forgive him for ever leaving, that you’ll forgive him for everything, if he just comes back? If this time, he comes back to you. How will he know that things could go back to normal? That you’d— you would do anything. You would bring him all the coffee you found. You would watch every shitty movie he wanted. You would make him every damn mug he asked for. You would forget about him ever leaving at all. You would go back to normal. To before he left, but better.

All he had to do was come back again. That was it.

He just had to prove that it wasn’t him they buried. That the disfigured body they’d brought back to Jackson wasn’t him. That he wasn’t the one who’d had his head caved apart. Joel had proved things that had been far crazier. Surely, for you, he’d be able to prove this.

He would come through the door, all amused grins and warm jacket, and he would walk the thirty-three steps to his grave and tear the headstone with his name on from the ground. He would make fun of Tommy for ever believing it to be him, and he’d make a better gravestone, the name — which wasn’t Joel Miller — carved on neatly, more clearly.

Joel Miller was a survivor. He had to survive.

You aren’t quite sure what you’ll do if he doesn’t.

“I’m sorry.” Tommy says eventually, finally finding his words, and the look on his face reduces your denial to ash. You look at him, trying to find the similarities between him and the mess of the body that had truly been Joel. You find nothing. No resemblance between the body and Tommy. It makes it all the more difficult to believe that he’s dead. You’re not quite sure what Tommy is apologising for. Was it his fault? Did he goad that—that girl into cracking Joel’s skull? Into spilling his blood out of his veins? Into leaving him there like that? Like a body, not a human being?

Jesse says your name, gently, as if your skull would cave if he spoke it any louder. You realise that you’re standing here, in Joel’s house, in the very place that you had drank tea and coffee and whiskey with him, and you have no reason to be here. There’s no Joel to make you a terrible cup of tea, or to play his guitar while you carve at his workshop desk. There’s no Joel, and all of Tommy’s apologies won’t change that.

“I didn’t—” You cut yourself off, finding that you can’t speak any further, lest your throat go dry and your eyes get wet. And really, the words you had gotten out are enough. You didn’t.

You didn’t save him. You didn’t give him that god forsaken mug. You didn’t take him dinner. You didn’t tell him how much you appreciated him. You didn’t tell him that you loved him. You didn’t tell him that he was your dad when nobody else was. You didn’t forgive him.

“It’s okay.” Jesse tells you, and he believes it, obvious in his arms as they wrap firmly around you. Obvious in the way he holds your head, in the way he breathes. But it’s not. It’s not okay.

How could it be okay? You want to yell at him. You want to scream at him that Joel is dead, that it’ll never be okay. You want to do something, anything, but there’s nothing you can do. It wouldn’t matter. Joel would still be dead, and still, nothing would be okay. But you can’t do anything. You can’t vocalise a thing, except for what becomes a choked sob as it leaves your throat.

This is the first time that you cry.

And even though Jesse squeezes you tighter, as if he could possibly put your pieces back together, you fall apart. Once it starts, it doesn’t seem to stop.

There’s an acceptance here. Tears wash away any hint of denial, and you’re left with a reality you can’t help but accept. A reality where Joel Miller is dead, and you will never see him again. The arms around you will never be Joel’s. He’ll never teach you to play a new song on the guitar he was making you. He can’t hear the way you cry, even if you scream and yell and call out for him.

For once, you can’t feel him lingering in the back of your head. As if his absence has removed him from you. It feels like losing him all over again.

You didn’t see Tess’s dead body. Now, you’re glad. If there had been anything left of her to see, anyway. But you had seen bodies before. Mostly of Infected. Or of raiders and hunters who were often shot and killed, sometimes when you were the one shooting. Either way, you’re not used to remembering them as being so… still.

When you close your eyes, forcing the tears to fall, you see him. You see the flashes of skull and soggy brain tissue and smears of blood. And he’s still. You think that you’re so used to seeing Infected people that this just… wasn’t natural.

And to think of that body as Joel? It was even more unnatural.

“C’mon,” Jesse urged once more, voice a murmur in your ear as he tightened his arms around you. “Let’s get you home.” He said, moving to leave.

It was wrong. You didn’t want to leave. It was making you feel all wrong, like there was a constant chill sending shivers down your spine. How could he ask you to leave? How could he ask you to leave when Joel had never come home? Who was going to wash Joel’s mug — the one you had made, that he had stolen — of coffee that he’d left on the side? Who was going to make his bed? Who was going to clean the dirty dishes Joel inevitably would’ve left on his dining table?

Joel wasn’t coming home. So who would do it? How could you leave it like this?

“Kiddo,” Tommy sighed, stepping towards you and taking hold of your hands as Jesse dutifully stepped back, expression creased. He looked tired, more than anything. He looked his age. Tommy blinked, looking up towards the ceiling as if holding back tears, and squeezed your hands in his. “Please, don’t… Go home, okay? I’ll send Maria by. And we’ll—we’ll talk later. Alright?”

It was hard to face the fact that Tommy didn’t want you here. It was incomprehensible. How could you be anywhere else but here? How could he want you anywhere else but here?

How could he expect you to go home? To go back and see that stupid mug you’d almost finished? That Joel would never see? All because you had insisted upon it being a surprise. Insisted that he couldn’t see it until you were done. And now he would never see the mug that matched his own, a slightly better looking owl painted upon its side? The size of it just a smidge smaller than Joel’s own?

He had been complaining that you always had to use the shitty old mug with a football logo on the front. You wanted to surprise him with a mug which matched his own. A sign of your bond. A symbol of your trust, your forgiveness.

Things hadn’t been the same since he left you, all that time ago. Both of you had known it. It was almost tangible, every time you saw one another. But you were getting better. You were seeing him at least once every week, which was improvement from the sporadic visits that’d been occurring last year.

You were all he’d had, after he and Ellie had fallen out.

You, perhaps better than anybody, knew that isolation. You knew how cold it could get. You wonder whether or not he would have even been on that patrol, had you not declined his offer of dinner, in favour of working on the mug.

It was a bitter feeling that bloomed as you pulled away from Tommy. An ugly, rearing feeling that was biting at your throat, and the only thing that stopped you from falling to your knees was Jesse. You wanted to be angry at Joel. You wanted to be able to scream and cry at him, to scold him for leaving you once more, even after he had promised he would never do it again.

And you know it wasn’t his fault. You know that he wouldn’t have chosen this. You do know that. But who else can you blame? Tommy, who is grieving the same as you? Jesse, who had done nothing but support you since you had known him? Ellie, who had no choice but to helplessly witness his death? And there was the girl, of course, Abby, Tommy had said to Jesse. But she seemed… inconceivable. A figment of imagination. After all, Joel was the strongest person you knew. What could have taken that away? Who?

It’s not fair. None of it is fair.

Abby had taken so much from you, and you know from the state of his body, that she hadn’t done it quickly. You feel sick.

Jesse is rubbing your back as you kneel on the snow, the shock of the cold seeping through your trousers bringing you to reality. You hadn’t even noticed leaving Joel’s house.

In the corner of your eye, you can see all of the flowers that people left for Joel. It doesn’t help. These flowers, too, will be cold. They’ll be cold and they will die and then Joel’s porch and garden will be covered in flowers just as dead as he is.

And all of the notes will be left unread, because Joel Miller is dead, and he is not coming home.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

if the door wasn’t shut taglist: @sleepylunarwolf @am-i-shit-or-am-i-the-shit @mandowhatnow @aphrcdites @doodlebob-mp3 @rrickgrrimes8 @nikt-wazny-y @fallenoutofrose @wrathofcats

#heartpascal writes #itdws series #this is A WHAT IF ONE SHOT #therefore this is not a definite ending #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x platonic!f!reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller father figure #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller angst #tlou x reader #tlou x you #tlou one shot #tlou imagine #tlou part two spoilers #tlou part 2 spoilers #tlou 2 spoilers #tlou two spoilers #the last of us part two spoilers #the last of us 2 spoilers #the last of us spoilers #tlou spoilers #pedro pascal x platonic!reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal ansgt

[juneknight]

•.Be Lost.• 2

Chapter One | Chapter 1.5 | Chapter Two | Chapter 2.5

*

“You talk about them often enough. I feel like we should formally meet. What’s the equivalent of putting a face to a name, but with sex toys?” Marc asks, voice warm with mirth from the other end of the phone. It’s the only thing warm about living up here in the constant snowstorms. Your feet ache today from stomping around in the fields on the frozen earth. Even though Spring approaches on the calendar, you don’t yet feel it in the air. 

You dread the thought of possibly having to delay your return home, to Marc, because of the weather. 

Your box of sex toys (it’s a shoe box, yes, some nice Cat’s boots with steel in the toes and thick insulated soles, a half-size larger than usual to allow for thick wooly socks which you favored) sits on the bed. You no longer even owned the shoes, but the box was heavy, the lid bulging from two years of collecting an eclectic set of sex toys. 

“I’ll show you. But I have rules,” you say, phone wedged between your shoulder and ear. 

“I’m listening.” You can hear the smile in his voice, and it drives you nuts. 

“One–absolutely no naming them. I’m serious. The last thing I want is to be trying to get off and remember that you named a certain dildo Colonel Mustard.” 

“I’m more of a Professor Plum kind of guy anyway, but consider your objection noted.” 

“No making fun of me of any kind. Not even light teasing.” 

“Agreed.” 

“And no questions.” 

“That’s…yeah, I don’t think I can agree to that,” he says, surprising you given how amicable he’s been so far. “Can we agree on premeditated questions? Some basics that you answer for each of them?” 

You purse your lips and sit down heavily on your bed. The box rattles beside you, lid almost coming off. “Depends on the questions, I guess.” 

“When was the last time you used it, and your personal rating out of ten.”

You relax somewhat. Whatever you had been worried about Marc wanting to know—’gross, why that?’ or ‘who used that on you?’—disappears. Maybe it says something about the men you’ve been with lately that your first fear is that Marc will become jealous or judgemental. You should have known that Marc would be different. “Yeah, okay. That’s fine.” 

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice growing firm. “I don’t want you to say something’s okay when it isn’t. That’s a big deal to me.”

“I’m sure, dad.” 

Marc snorts. “Okay, champ. FaceTime. Let’s go.”

You press the button, and while it connects, you experience all five stages of grief, chewing on one of your thumbnails as you shift from one socked foot to the other. At last his face appears, and it’s like a punch to the gut. Marc is so handsome: his brows, the curve of his nose, his whiskey-warm eyes, the curls spilling onto his forehead. His hair is longer now than the last time you saw him, and it makes your heart clench. You find yourself smiling without meaning to. 

“Hey, beautiful,” Marc says, eyes squinting with his smile. “Long time no see.” 

“Too long,” you admit. You study the picture in the background, trying to piece together where he is in his apartment. Judging by the lighting (warm but dark) and the lamp in the background, he is in his bedroom. This is confirmed when he rolls over onto his side and props himself up onto his elbow on one of the fluffy pillows. 

Once, you had gotten too drunk to drive home and Marc had let you sleep in his bed. You had spent the whole night rolling around on the soft sheets, breathing in his scent, aching but too guilty to touch yourself. 

“You okay?” he asks, brows lifting. His mouth settles into a soft, more neutral position, like he is being careful not to convince you one way or another. His lips are so full and soft looking… “If you don’t want to do this, we can say forget it. I just like to know what my options are.”

His options—oh fuck. 

Your face burns hot. You slap one palm against your cheek, feeling the heat your skin gives off, knowing that Marc is watching you (which makes your face burn all the hotter). Fuck, how can he just say stuff like that, calm and casual in his soft, warm voice? You think about turning the camera away for a moment just to catch your breath. 

“You’re so shy right now,” Marc says, a hint of laughter in his voice. “God. It’s cute.” 

“Quit,” you groan, parting your fingers so you can glare at the phone. His grin just grows. “I’m not shy, I have a strap-on.” 

“If you think having six inches between your legs makes you immune to shyness, I’ve got news for you.”

“Is that all you’ve got? Six inches?” 

“You want to see?” The way he raises his brow, the way he so expertly calls your bluff makes your thighs clench together. Like a great neon sign flashing behind your eyes right now are the words MARC’S COCK. You’ve never seen it, but you know Marc is well hung. You’ve seen him adjust his hard ons before—in the morning after waking up, during a particularly steamy scene on Netflix. The bulge in his sweats has made an appearance or two in your dreams, yes. 

“Maybe,” you admit, wondering if he’ll show you. Right now. On FaceTime. Just whip his dick out for you to drool over. 

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” he says, mouth quirking into a smirk. “But really. Go on. I have work in the morning, and I want to see every last toy.” 

You bring out plenty of things that are “normal”. G-spot vibrators. Clitoral vibrators. Rabbit vibes, and pretty glass dildos. Most of the items get a high score—you have narrowed them down to your favorites. A natural selection amongst sex toys, if you will. 

Sometimes you glance to Marc and get flustered at the solemn, studious expression on his face. He hangs on your every word, committing the things you say to memory. No man has ever given you attention the way Marc does: whole-heartedly. Singularly. Unconditionally. 

Your throat gets choked up for a moment at the thought. God, you’re falling in love with him, you think in terror to yourself, as if you haven’t already. As if your knees aren’t skinned and palms bloody from the fall. 

“You okay, honey?”

You jump a little, having gotten lost in your own thoughts. You clear your throat. 

“Yeah, no, I’m good.” You pick up the next item, a candle. When he asks you what scent it is, you laugh a little. “The wax melts at a safe temperature for wax play. You know. Pouring wax on somebody.” 

“Rate it.” 

“It’s…maybe a four. May-be.” 

Massage oil (8), cuffs (10), collapsible spreader bar (9), bite gag (5), blindfold (10), harness (7), all come and go. It is easier to continue once you get talking, and by the end you feel like late night Dr. Ruth. 

At last, the box is empty. 

“That’s all she wrote,” you tell Marc. He looks a little sleepy, though his eyes are still sharp where they focus on you, tracing over your features. He is quiet. You prod: “Well?” 

“I’m going to have to use every last one on you,” he says, eyes on your own. “And until I can, I’m going to be thinking about you using every last one on yourself.”

His shoulder shifts, arm moving off screen—adjusting his hard cock. 

“Fuck, Marc,” you sigh brokenly. “You can’t say shit like that.” 

“That wasn’t one of your rules,” he says, eyes going heavy-lidded. You thought he was just adjusting himself, but the motion continues. Not enough for him to be full-fledged jerking off, but you think that’s he’s teasing himself. Massaging himself maybe. Your thighs squeeze together. Would he notice if you did the same? “Thank you for the show-and-tell. You’re such a good girl for me.” 

You groan. 

He laughs, the sound gentle and teasing. “That gets you, huh?” 

“Don’t laugh at me,” you bark, endeavoring to cover your face as best as you can with one hand. The truth of his observation doesn’t matter; it’s the principle of the thing. Peeking through your fingers, you catch his expression, and your breath hitches. Marc looks at the phone screen with something unbearably tender in his eyes, something so terribly soft. 

Marc looks at you like he loves you. 

“Which one’s your favorite? Let me see it again.” 

Your favorite. Hmm. You step back from your bed and look at the toys spread out so neatly, your brain turning over the question. All of them get you hot in one way or another, but there is one that stands out. You end up choosing a relatively simple rabbit vibrator. It’s ol’ Faithful; what else can you say? 

“Is this what you grab when you want to blow your own mind, or is this what you grab any old night?” 

“I want to blow my own mind every old night, Spector.” 

“Noted. But you’re not pouring hot wax on yourself every old night,” he says. It is utterly distracting how his shoulder still tenses periodically, hand moving off-screen. You spend an inordinate amount of time watching those small muscles flex, trying to recreate the image of what his hand must be doing in your mind. “What is it about this one? What do you like about it?” 

“I like that it fills me up,” you admit. It is a little easier to talk when you’re so distracted by him. “I like that I can use it without hands. Sometimes I put the spreader bar on and bind my hands to the headboard so I can feel like—” 

Marc’s arm has stopped moving. His eyes are sharp, burning hot, like iron from the furnace. How voice is quiet but brooks no room for avoiding the question when he asks: “So you can feel like what, baby?” 

“I…I don’t know,” you say. It isn’t a lie, either. You aren’t sure where the sentence was heading, and so much about your relationship with being submissive eludes you when you try to put it into words. You chew on the inside of your cheek while you think, and Marc is utterly quiet and still while you contemplate. “Like…like I’m suffering for somebody. Like my pleasure belongs to somebody else. Whoever tied me up. I don’t know.” 

Marc nods a little, quiet for a moment himself. “From now on, it belongs to me, yeah? Even if you’re the one tying yourself up—you’ll be doing it because I tell you to, alright? And you’ll be doing it safely. It’s dangerous to tie yourself up when you’re alone. That’s not like my good girl. I don’t want to hear you doing that again.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper. You kneel on the floor, bed too covered in toys to lay on. You rest your head against the edge of the mattress, adjusting the phone so that he can still see your face. 

“I’ll forgive you when I hear that you won’t do it anymore,” he says. His hand is moving again. Maybe he is jerking off. “Promise me.” 

“I won’t tie myself up when I’m alone. I promise.” 

Marc lets out a breath, a literal sigh of relief. His eyes go squinty as he smiles, pride evident in the curve of his lips. “There’s my good girl.” 

You groan again, turning to bury your face in the mattress. 

“Are you on the floor right now?” he laughs. 

You groan in an affirmative. 

“Kneeling for me?” 

You hadn’t intended it that way, but now that he says it, you realize that you are. You nod your head, face still hidden. 

“Thighs apart?”

You peek an eye at him and hope he can tell that you’re scowling. Determined to follow his rules (even if your sex positively aches between your thighs) you shift your legs apart. 

“You make me feel so powerful,” he says, voice a little shaky. His eyes are looking just off screen, like he can’t make eye-contact with you right now. “Kneeling for me, following my orders. So powerful. But so, so small. You know that? Because you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. And I like it.” 

“I like it too,” you murmur, head a little foggy. 

“Why?” 

“It feels real safe,” you admit. “Like you’ll take care of me. Like you’d never have me do something that might hurt me or embarrass myself.” 

“I wouldn’t, baby, I swear I wouldn’t,” he says. Then he sighs. “You’re driving me fucking crazy. I’m jerking off twice a day just to function.” 

“Marc,” you say, your voice literally shaking. “Are you—right now?” 

He hums and lets his arm grow bolder. The motion is unmistakable now. Marc Spector is masturbating on the phone with you—because of you. The knowledge is like an electric zap that you feel from your head to your toes. Is his dick out? Does he have a hand beneath his sweats? All of this is too much; your own hand falls between your thighs. 

“At-at,” says Marc. His shoulder stops moving. “No touching yourself.” 

“What?” you whine. “That’s not fair!” 

“I stopped too!” 

“You’ve been jerking off for twenty minutes though, you owe me!” 

“That’s not how this works,” he laughs. “Not to mention, there isn’t a chance in hell you’d last twenty minutes even if I did let you touch yourself. No—we’re going to wait.” 

“Til when?” 

“Spring. The first time I hear you cum, it’s going to be with my fingers tucked inside you. I want to kiss you and swallow every sound.” 

“Then can we hang up?” you ask, shifting on your knees. “I need to touch myself.” 

“Use your cute little vibrator,” he murmurs. You both hang up. 

He’s right. There’s no way you could have lasted twenty minutes when you barely make it to two. 

Spring is never going to come. 

*

Except it does. Of course it does. There is still the occasional snowstorm, but they are irregular enough that you are no longer needed. You book a flight back home, and send Marc a screenshot of your ticket. 

I’ll pick you up. 

The thought makes your belly flip with nerves. You decide that as eager as you are to see Marc, you are just as anxious too. You would rather prolong it a fraction more, would rather it took place on more familiar turf (outside your apartment rather than the strange unfamiliar-familiarity of an airport). So instead you tell him to meet you back at your apartment. If he brings some basic groceries, bonus points for him. 

Though planes don’t often make you nervous anymore, you find yourself gripping your folded hands so tight that you leave marks from your fingernails. What are you doing, agreeing to have sex with Marc? This could ruin everything: your most valuable friendship. The one person in the world who had stuck beside you through thick and thin, even when you had lost people you thought you’d die without. 

Even more frightening: what if everything goes right? 

Landed, see you soon!! You hope that your exclamation points cover up your anxiety. 

Don’t be nervous, he sends back. Fuck. 

The Uber is the longest of your life, familiar scenery passing by as you leave the airport and enter the city you’ve called home for so many years. The city where you met Marc. The city where you meet him again and again in the spring, like Persephone coming home. It always happens like this too. 

The Uber pulls up to the curb outside your apartment, and Marc is sitting there on the steps. Today is only different because he’s pacing—maybe you aren’t the only one who’s nervous. He’s dressed for spring in just a light jacket, t-shirt, and his jeans. He doesn’t recognize the car when it pulls up, but he recognizes you in the passenger seat. God. His face lights up. Marc goes to the car door and opens it for you, draws you out and into his arms. The first hug he always gives you is bone crushing. He lifts you off the ground and twirls you in his arms before helping you regain your footing. 

“Long time, no see,” he says—like always. 

“Too long,” you say, clinging to him. 

“Uh. Don’t forget your bags,” your Uber driver calls through the open window. 

“I got them,” says Marc. He insists on carrying them inside and up the stairs—nice to see that the elevator is still out of order even after the winter. On the way up, Marc fills you in an the uneventful time he spent popping into your apartment every other day to collect your mail, to dust, to water your plants. 

You wonder if he slept in your bed. If he laid amongst the scent of you and wanted to touch himself, like you had that night you were too drunk to drive home from his place. You hope that he did—you hope that he touched himself. You—

“Bed,” he says, giving you a jumpscare. At the wide-eyed expression on your face, he misunderstands. “Not for sex! Just—your exhausted. That’s what you get for taking such an early flight. You should nap. Then we should get dinner, my treat. Then we should—”

“Talk.” 

“Exactly.” 

At his mention of it, your exhaustion (which you had been adamantly pushing back with nerves and adrenalin) resurfaces. He’s right; you always take the earliest flights you can manage, to get home as soon as possible, and yes you arrive to the airport way too early. You’re a woman with anxiety; it’s a given. But the last thing you want to do right now is part ways with Marc. A part of you believes that if he leaves, then you might chicken out. You might never let him back in…

“Stay?” you ask. 

“For a nap?” he wonders, mouth stretching in a grin that reeks of fondness for you. 

“Sure.” 

“In your bed?”

You swallow past the sudden knot in your throat. Fuck, it feels so real. You’re going to have Marc in your bed tonight—for more than just a nap. You push the thoughts away with violence, feeling the way heat rises in your face at the thought alone. Come on, get it together! The way you’re pining for this guy is ridiculous, like you’re a virgin on her wedding night!

Fuck, but can you help it? 

“Just sleep,” Marc says, interrupting your spiraling. “Then, dinner. Then…we’ll talk.” 

Something inside you relaxes, your shoulders drifting away from where they had been climbing to your ears. Just sleep. You can do that. You’re certainly exhausted enough. A trail of you is formed throughout the apartment: your keys left in the dish by the door, shoes toed off at the shoe-rack, suitcase left haphazardly outside your bedroom door. 

Inside, your room is as pristine as you had left it. The sheets are fresh. You have suddenly never been more tired in your life. Taking the last few steps to your bed—a full, larger than the twin you had suffered on during the winter—you collapse on top of the blankets. Who needs to be underneath them? You’re tired enough to sleep just like this. 

But Marc pulls the blankets and the sheets back, working them free from beneath your body. He tucks you in, and he climbs into the bed on the other side. Peeking one eye open, you see that he is on his side, watching you. He grins when he catches you looking. 

“Sleep tight,” he says sweetly. 

God, you do. 

When you wake up, the shadows have changed on the wall. It is early evening, your sleep schedule properly fucked. Marc has come to spoon you sometime during your sleep, and you relish the feel of his strong arm looped around your waist, his warm chest pressed flush against your back. The both of you had fallen asleep in your jeans and socks, and neither one cared. For a moment, you let yourself lay there, enjoying the intimacy. It’s easy to pretend you are lovers when he holds you like this. 

Then his nose brushes a line up the side of your neck and his breath is hot against your ear as he whispers: “Sleep good?” 

“Holy shit, I didn’t know you were awake.” 

He snickers, unapologetic. 

“Yes,” you say, twisting in his arms. “I slept great. But now I’m starv—...ing.” 

As soon as you had turned in his arms, Marc’s eyes had gone molten. Outside, a car alarm goes off. There are horns honking. Someone plays music, but it doesn’t matter. Inside you room, the only sound is the heaving of near-silent breaths as you both lean precariously over the ledge of friendship—whatever rests below, who knows!

“I’m hungry too,” he says, innuendo in his words. His hand on your back traces a line down to the curve of your hip and then up to your ribs. His thumb barely brushes the space beneath your bra. He whispers your name. 

He kisses you, a soft press of lips on lips. Again, heads tilted a little differently. Again, noses brushing in a way that has him smiling against your mouth. You part for a single heartbeat before he is leaning back in and kissing you deeper, tasting the seam of your lips with his tongue. Eager, you part your mouth and let him in. Fuck the uncomfortable angle of your neck—you’re kissing Marc Spector. 

And God, what a kiss it is. He explores you in a way you hadn’t been explored before. Oh yes, you’d been plundered: had men whose tongues were like their cocks, thrusting away at your mouth, no finesse, no savoring of the moment. Marc kisses you like this is the first and last time he might get to. He traces the line of your teeth with his tongue. He softly nips your bottom lip. He coaxes your tongue into his mouth just to suck at it sweetly. Never have you felt so worshiped from a single kiss—nor so aroused. 

Your hips rock against him, finding that he is already erect. You manage to loop one leg around his waist before he breaks the kiss, laughing breathlessly. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he teases. 

“Aren’t we—?” you blink. 

“I said dinner first.” 

“But I’m hungry,” you remind him, arching your back to drag your sex over his hard cock. You’ll never forget the sight of his eyes rolling back, his mouth going a little slack as he takes a shuddering breath. 

He rolls you over and straddles your hips, hands finding your wrists and pinning you to the bed. His cock tents the seam of his jeans. Like this, you suddenly feel so small. Something inside you gets small and soft and says, ‘Be good for him. Do as he wants.’ You have long come to terms with the instincts inside you that make you crave this, knowing that they do not make you less of a modern woman but God, it’s still so embarrassing how easily you want to fold!

You argue instead, arching up to rub yourself against him, a spark in your eyes. A challenge. Marc’s own eyes narrow. He kneels up off of one of your legs, gripping your thigh to push it up-and-out, spreading you open for him, and God for a moment you think that you’ve convinced him, swayed him with just a wiggle of your hips, and the coming satisfaction will be (almost) as strong as your disappointment. 

Instead, he brings his hand down on your pussy in a spank. You yelp. Muffled as it was through the denim, you could still feel the strength in his hand, and you are sensitive enough that it leaves you with a brief, stinging ache. He cups your sex with his palm, soothing it with the warmth of his hand. 

“Dinner first. Where’s my good girl at? The girl who fell to her knees a thousand miles away without me even having to ask her, huh?”

You’d cover your face, if your hands were free. Suddenly you are shy and embarrassed at your own behavior. You don’t even allow yourself to rub up against his touch, light though it may be. Looking at him through your lashes, you say: “I’m sorry, I just…” 

“You need it,” he says, thumb smoothing along the sensitive stretch of your inner thigh. “I understand, baby. Was I harsh?” 

“No.” 

“No, what?”

“No sir,” you whisper shyly. 

His grin is broad, beatific. It turns teasing almost right away. He leans down and brushes his nose against yours before releasing your wrists and rolling off of you. 

“I want to be just friends for just a while longer,” he admits in a whisper. “Throughout dinner. There’s something important I need to tell you.” 

#marc spector x reader

[hxney-lemcn]

Closure — Farmworld! Finn Mertens x gn! reader

summary: reader has trouble figuring what universe they want to stay in. Prismo gives them some leniency and lets them visit Ooo. Finally, reader gets some closure and makes their decision.

tw: reader gets close to a break down, bittersweet

a/n: If I were reader, I'd simply die because I wouldn't be able to choose, but for the sake of the plot, they do.

wc: 1.2k

Chapter Five [A]

Master List | Chapter One

“Heeeeeey,” Prismo drew out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry about leaving you there for so long.”

I blinked, unsure how to feel. On one hand, I did want to leave my previous scenario…but leaving forever? And without saying goodbye, or letting them know that I was safe? I bit my lip glancing to the side only to see the tv wall still on. My eyes widened as it showed Finn trekking through the forest, a worried glare set on his face as he followed the lantern light in the same direction I took off. 

Prismo followed my view, “Oh, sorry. Don’t mean to distract you.” Then he turned the tv off, turning the wall back yellow.

I blinked, turning to face the pink wishmaster, “I have to go back.”

This time Prismo blinked at me, “You don’t wanna go back to your old world?”

I hesitated, and Prismo seemed to notice. He turned the tv back on, revealing the Finn from my world. Turning the volume up, it revealed Finn on the phone with Marcy.

“You haven’t found them yet?” He asked in a worried tone, desperation filled his expression. 

“No,” Marcy was heard from the phone. “I’m sorry man. But I’m sure they're fine, maybe they went on a trip?”

“Without telling me?” Finn asked, slightly hurt. “They’d never do that.”

Suddenly, the situation got 10x worse. I felt torn. How do I have two different Finn’s searching for me? I frowned looking towards Prismo. I suddenly felt like crying. No matter which world I choose, I’d be leaving people behind. I started pacing, thinking of all the pros and cons. My frown started to wobble, as no matter what I did, it would be the wrong choice. The thought of Finn endlessly searching for me throughout Ooo, once again being left behind by someone he cared about. Or Finn going back to his family, having to explain the person they’ve grown so used to had run off, and only glob knows what happened to them. 

“Whoah, whoah,” Prismo spoke up, turning the tv off once more. “Hey, since I kinda caused this whole mess…sorry ‘bout that…I can be a bit more lenient.” I looked up at the pink deity, unsure of what he meant. “How about you go back to Ooo, talk with Finn, and then make your decision. I’ll put a sticky note in your front pocket to send you back. If you’re still unsure, I can send you to the magicless world and you can talk to that Finn. How does that sound?”

I felt myself calm, nodding my head, “That sounds really nice, thank you so much Prismo. This means a lot.”

“No probs,” He shrugged with a sly smile. Suddenly, I was transported back to Ooo, standing in the Candy Tavern. 

The first thing I saw was Finn hunched over the tavern counter, not having noticed me just appear out of thin air. Dirt Beer Guy coughed, gaining Finn’s attention before pointing towards me. Finn seemed to go through the five stages of grief in the span of a few seconds before rushing to hug me.

He let out a happy shout of my name, “Where have you been?!”

I let out an awkward chuckle, hugging him back. He was nearly killing me with how hard he was hugging me…but I honestly deserved it. 

“It’s a long story,” I mumbled. I can’t believe I was being so selfish. Staying in the magicless world without even telling Finn and the others where I would be staying? I’ve been downplaying my importance in Finn’s life and now I felt like a doo-doo head. 

“I’ve got time,” Finn smiled while pulling away. “Get us another round DBG!”

I felt my heart clench, even more unsure of what I wanted now. As Finn and I sat down at the bar, I started from the beginning. How Prismo had accidentally brought me along with Simon, about how Fionna and Cake are real, and how I got stuck in the first universe we fell in. How in that world he had a family and I had become incorporated into it. How I ran away and ended up with Prismo taking me back to Ooo to decide where I wanted to stay.

It was awkward, explaining to Finn about how I lived with another version of him. I tried to pass over the fact that I might have fallen for that Finn and may have kissed him, but I think Finn knew I wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“That’s crazy!” Finn exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder. “I had kids! Five of them?!”

I laughed gently at his awe, “Yeah. They’re really sweet too.”

Finn hummed in thought staring at me with a somber stare, “You wanna stay there don’t you.”

I looked down towards my drink, swirling it around and shrugged, “I do…but I don’t wanna leave you here either.”

“Why don’t you bring your phone with you this time?” Finn asked, giving me a brilliant smile. “That way we can talk whenever we want!”

“Would that even work?” I asked, looking at him with hope. “And you’d really be okay with that? And I mean seriously. Not just saying yes for my sake.”

“Of course!” Finn said, leaning over to hug my side. “I want you to be happy! Even if it means smooching an alternate version of me.”

My eyes widened, face suddenly feeling like it was ablaze, “I’m not smooching an alternate version of you!” 

“Uh huh,” Finn smiles cheekily. “Whatever you say. Don’t worry about me, I’m typically hanging out with Huntress Wizard anyways.” I wiggled my eyebrows at that, and he just let out a ‘pshh’.

Our laughs died down and I downed the rest of my drink. 

“Hey, sorry to be a downer, but I gotta close up for the night…” DBG spoke up, putting a clean glass back in place. 

“Oh! No problem bro,” Finn waved off, standing up. I stood up as well, and we exited the bar together. “So, when are you gonna head back?”

I shrugged, “Prismo said whenever I wanted.”

“You should probably go then,” Finn recommended. 

I hugged him, squeezing as hard as I could, “I love you man, don’t forget that. Keep me up to date on everything, okay?”

“I will,” Finn agreed, hugging me back. “I love you too.”

Pulling away from each other, I waved at him before pulling the note from my pocket, which transported me to Prismo’s room once more. 

“Welcome back,” Prismo welcomed. “Made your choice?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Oh shoot! I forgot my phone!”

“Oh, yeah that totally wasn’t gonna work,” Prismo shrugged. “You’re lucky I got you one that will work, already with your contacts transferred.” 

With a snap, a phone appeared in my hands. Searching through the contacts, they indeed had all my friends listed already. A giddy grin formed on my face. Making this choice wasn’t going as badly as I thought it would. 

“You ready?” Prismo asked. I nodded.

“Thank you again for doing all this.”

“Yeah, I totally shouldn’t be doing this, but since it was my fault…” He trailed off, looking to the side. “Anyways, are you sure you're sure? Cause after I send you there you won’t have a way to find me again since…well, their world has no magic.”

“I am,” I nodded with a serious expression.

With a snap of his fingers, I found myself in the living room/kitchen of the Mertens household. Suddenly, I was being tackled by a bunch of kids, all of them asking where I went and why would I do that.

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#finn mertens x reader #adventure time x reader #fionna and cake x reader #farmworld finn x reader #farmworld finn mertens x reader #adventure time #fionna and cake #finn mertens #farmworld finn #farmworld finn mertens #adventure time imagines #fionna and cake imagine #fionna and cake imagines

[ridhearts]

all for show {housewardens}

!! THIS IS A REPOST !! If you see a copy of this post floating around, that was INTENTIONAL! I was shadowbanned :(

@sakurarabbit18 requested: Hi, there~! So I have this really fun idea in my head. I would like a headcannon in which the fem! reader asks the housewardens to be her pretend boyfriend. But what happens when the boys fall in love for real? Super fluff, please! Thanks

sits on hands. I LOVE fake dating hehehe I left the reason for the fake dating kinda vague because I did NOT have a reason they’d agree to ready but I still hope it’s enjoyable! Also sorry if the least two are a bit short I was both getting tired and don’t know a lot about them yet so I’m still in need of some practice ig!

(also sorry for the second tag, I hope you don’t mind!)

I hope you enjoy! Feel free to leave a request!

Riddle

If you watch closely, you can see Riddle go through the five stages of grief as soon as you ask him.

Denial: no way. The prefect who has stopped Overblot after Overblot is not reducing their problem solving skills to this. (They are.)

Anger: How could they?!?! Do they have no respect for the way dating is usually done?! For themselves?! (Apparently not.)

Bargaining: Well, surely it doesn’t have to be him. Ask Ace or Deuce! Just say he’s your boyfriend and don’t make him actually do anything. (It won’t work that way.)

Depression: Is….is he seriously going to do this? If anybody finds out, his reputation will be dragged through the mud! He can imagine the field day Ace and Deuce will have if you ever tell them…

Acceptance: Riddle’s made up his mind,  and he is not happy about the decision he made.

You barely have time to cheer for your victory, because before Riddle does anything, he is setting down the ground rules. Most of them start ok: hand holding was a-ok, hugs should rarely be a surprise, only short cheek kisses allowed (he turned bright red and hastily agreed to whatever you said was acceptable)… He even insisted you had to maintain a certain grade point average if he were to help you, as if you were some kind of athlete on a scholarship. Eventually the two of you settle the details, and you skip happily out of the office with a new (fake) boyfriend ready for…whatever it is you have planned.

Riddle, at first, was very…stiff. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was supposed to be doing. After all, he had little to no experience and it’s not like he was particularly invested in the relationship as anything other than a good friend and a man of his word. You’re the one initiating any affection, and the best he can do is not appear wildly uncomfortable and embarrassed when you do.

It’s not that you make him uncomfortable. It’s just…if this were real, he’d definitely opt for affairs to be more private. Making such a literal show out of something that he’d like to keep private just feels…a bit weird.

Don’t worry, though! Eventually, he falls into the act, and he is damn good at pretending to be the perfect boyfriend. It’s definitely less ‘naturally suave and charming’ and more ‘this boy has definitely memorized a syllabus (or several) for an etiquette class before’ but hey! Whatever works, right? Just hope there isn’t a pivotal moment with Ace and Deuce around because…they are weirded out by their bestie pretending to date their housewarden, and they make it known.

“What are you two looking at?” Riddle asked sharply, fighting the urge to shift uncomfortably in his seat. Ace and Deuce had been staring at him like he had grown a second head ever since you left to get your lunch, and he was beginning to fear the incoming outburst.

It was Ace who cracked first, hitting the table with one hand. “Dude, what are you doing? It’d be weird enough if you were dating them for real, but this is even weirder! It’s way weirder, right?”

Deuce nodded. “Definitely. I mean, it’s not exactly our business, but…”

“But we have to watch it from our lunch table! So I think we should get to speak our minds if it’s a daily occurrence.”

Riddle sighed, doing his best not to make a scene. “The prefect and I have everything under control, so-”

Ace’s face suddenly brightened as he got an idea. From experience, Riddle knew that was definitely not good. “Oooohh, I get it! You’re just trying to prove to them that you’d be a good boyfriend because you like them!”

Unable to hold himself back, Riddle stood from his seat and watched as the pair cowered before him. “Don’t you two know how many rules you’re breaking by delving into other people’s personal business? Another word out of you and I’ll have your heads!”

Riddle catches feelings somewhere in the middle of the act (or, if he already had them, they get worse), but he doesn’t even realize anything’s amiss until you tell him you’ll free him in a few days. Then he spends the night wondering why the thought made him feel so heavy and panicky.

He doesn’t strike me as the type to ask you out once the deal is over, though. Honestly, he’s probably still analyzing every last detail, every last emotion he had around you while also trying to figure out if you feel similarly. Did you ask him to be your fake boyfriend because you wanted him to make a move, or do you just really trust him? Were you flustered when he played his part exceptionally well because you liked him, or were you a better actor than he thought?

If YOU ask him out, he’ll stand there starstruck for a solid few seconds before clearing his throat and eventually agreeing. If you don’t, it’ll take him some time. But eventually he’ll ask for your company and begin gently prodding you under the guise of asking if he did a good job. No matter what you answer - telling him yes or teasing him for how strict he was about the whole thing - he’ll clear his throat before asking…did that make you wonder what it’d be like to date for real? He can promise that there will be less rules for this relationship…or, at the very least, more leeway.

Leona

Leona is the worst choice if you’re trying to actually accomplish something, but the best choice if this is a last-ditch attempt to see if he likes you likes you.

Very few things are worth putting in the effort, and the amount of stupid things on that already short list is 0. When you tell him your plan, the only reason Leona doesn’t condescendingly laugh in your face is because he’s pretending to be asleep (a point of pride, really, considering you wouldn’t continue your blathering if you didn’t think he could hear you.)

Whatever your reason for needing a fake boyfriend, you’re only going to convince him through bargaining. Keep in mind, putting up with you and pretending to enjoy it is a tall order. If you’re stuck skipping Crewel’s class two days a week and bringing Leona lunch so he can use you as a pillow, consider that getting off easy.

…you almost would consider yourself lucky, if Leona actually held up his end of the deal. He isn’t pretending to enjoy this at all. Hell, half the time he isn’t even with you. And when he is, he’s doing off or just as gruff as usual. You don’t have a fake boyfriend any more than you have a grumpy lion to babysit.

It’s weird, though, because now Leona is reluctant to leave your side. Before, you could push him off you and eventually have him swagger away to do something else. Now, your prodding is met with a snide grin and him asking you, “What, herbivore, isn’t this what you wanted? I seem to remember you begging and pleading me to-”

Hopefully you don’t need the fact that this is fake to be a secret because…he won’t listen. Whoops.

Honestly, you’re surprised he’s even fulfilling any part of the deal. But the moment you need someone on your defense team, it’s like he appears out of thin air,  teeth bared and bad attitude sharpened for lethal destruction.

The second years that were bothering you scrambled to their feet, not willing to go toe-to-toe with Leona when it only took one swipe of his arm to knock them both to the ground. They stammered out useless apologies, meant more to be shields and less to be peacemakers, before running back to safety.

“Tch. Young enough to get into trouble and old enough to prey on the weak,” Leona muttered, rolling his shoulders back as if to shake the irritation off. You tried to blink away your surprise before he turned around, not willing to be the subject of his ire after he nonchalantly threw twice your weight to the ground. But of course he already knew. “What’re you looking so shocked for? I barely did anything.”

“I…didn’t realize you were there,” you said simply. Leona’s ears almost imperceptibly flattened and his tail stilled in its lazy movements against the ground.

Before you could ask him about it, he scoffed. “No wonder they thought you were an easy target, then.”

Neither of you can pinpoint exactly when your arrangement became enjoyable, per se. When you started it felt like your relationship was worse than it had been before, but now Leona seemed to love nuzzling into your shoulder and he could, more often than not, be found trailing after you (as long as you promised you weren’t going far or to do something exhausting). You didn’t remember when he decided it was alright if you ran your fingers through his hair or over his ears, either.

He’s not going to be the one to take the leap and make anything official. As far as he’s concerned, if you’re enjoying yourself you’ll stick around. and if you leave, well, it couldn’t be said he wasn’t your first choice if he never gave you a choice, right? If you’re interested in labels and stuff……just tell him that you no longer need a fake boyfriend but are looking for the real deal. If you ask sweetly enough, he might just offer to fill the spot in for you.

Azul

I’M GONNA BE REAL WITH YOU. MY BOY PROBABLY HAD FEELINGS BEFORE YOU EVEN CAME UP WITH THE IDEA.

When he hears your proposition, he’s torn between two perspectives: one, that you’re certainly toying with him and about to call him a fool for even accepting, or two, that this could be an excellent investment opportunity. He’s nervous, absolutely, but he’s never sensed that sort of hostility from you. (Ignoring the fact that he’s “lowkey” thought you made the sun shine for a while now). So he accepts your proposition, with a very clear IOU from you.

(In his giddiness, he couldn’t quite figure out what to take from you out of this deal, yet he was wise enough to think not wanting anything might make him look desperate. You, in your desperation from…whatever you needed him for, didn’t care much for specifics as long as you got a yes. Perhaps you were BOTH fools.)

Azul puts on quite a show as a fake boyfriend. He’s a master at sidling up beside you when you’re walking in the halls, falling into step with you like it was nothing. His conversation is light, easy, and you find your laughter to come naturally. Azul finds himself handing you small trinkets, charms to hang off your belongings or snacks from the Mostro Lounge (because he’s seen what you put together from Ramshackle, and he describes it to you as cute, his true distaste dripping off his words.)

But there are moments he gets…shy. Like if you laugh for a moment too long he starts to think you thought he was funny for real. Or when you toy nervously with the charm hanging off your phone, or insist he share the snacks he brought for you. When Azul works up the nerve to drape his coat over your shoulders, allowing you to nap atop your assignments while he finishes paperwork, he wants to reach out and touch you, admire the shape of your face, maybe push your hair away, just a bit…

But he doesn’t. For as well as he puts on a show, Azul has never initiated any of the affection. You have, sure. You grab his arm as you walk through the halls, you lean on him when he’s sitting close to you, you’ve even been so bold as to kiss his cheek a few times. Each time, Azul has heard his own word stutter, felt his breath catch and his cheeks warm. It was easy to pretend you were interested in him the way he was interested in you. But at the back of his mind, a voice reminded him that this was pretend. There was a time limit.

As the end of your little deal approaches, Azul gets more and more distant. He stiffens more when you touch him, and sometimes he interrupts your move to kiss his cheek and instead kisses your hand. The one thing he doesn’t give up, though, is walking with you whenever he can.

One night, when he steps onto your porch and prepares to bid you goodnight (he’s never been inside, you note, not since you’ve started this whole charade),  you stop him from leaving with a gentle call of his name.

Instantly, he freezes, but he still responds in a level voice. “Yes?”

There is finality hanging in the air, heavier with each day your final date approaches. Rarely has there been a time where you felt just how important a moment was, yet here this moment was, catching you entirely unprepared.

“…what about my IOU?"

"What?” Azul jolted, forcing his glasses askew instead of pushing them up like he intended. “Oh, yes. Your end of the deal.”

Where you felt tension, Azul felt it even more, wanting nothing more than to curl up into a trembling, sniffling ball somewhere and figure out what was going on. He thought he could use this scheme as a practice run, proving to you just how capable he was and how good of a boyfriend he could be so you’d surely realize what you were missing and want him. Instead, it felt more like you were doing a victory lap, then three, then five, proving that you really had captured his heart long ago.

It’ll be up to you to offer up a real relationship. For as much as Azul tries to be the confident businessman with answers to everything, he’s still not quite to the point where he can just brazenly ask you out. Besides, asking you to date him to fulfill a deal just feels nasty and insincere. Nervous and self-conscious as he is, Azul is still greedy, and he wants your love to be genuine, should he ever earn it.

(It’ll be up to you to let him know he already has, but won’t you take the jump if you know he’s already yours?)

Kalim

Here’s the thing: Kalim missed the part where you said fake boyfriend.

As a friend, Kalim is naturally affectionate. He’s not just ‘lean on your shoulder when he’s tired’ affectionate, either. He’s a ‘lean on your shoulder all the time like it’s a wireless charger and he’s a phone at 3% battery’ affectionate. A ‘tackle you to the ground if he’s been away from you for more than an hour’ affectionate. A ‘here, let me shower you in gifts worth more than you’d see in your life otherwise’ affectionate.

So it makes sense that you’d ask him - surely, nothing would change, right? Maybe you’d hold hands a little more obviously, or make up ridiculous pet names for fun, but it couldn’t be too bad, right? Plus, Kalim didn’t leave a bad impression on anybody (mostly), so he’s an obvious choice for a good fake boyfriend.

However….the gifts start rolling in, and you’re not sure what to do.

If Kalim missed the part where you said fake, you were at fault for not following up and setting up clear rules and boundaries. Sometimes Kalim gets so excited about things, you get swept up in the whirlwind, too. But the small mountain of (real???? Almost definitely but you’re too scared to check) gold jewelry growing underneath the socks in your drawers is enough to send you into a small panic.

At first, you try to play it cool, as if this is normal and expected and not totally stressful. Aside from the gifts, things are fine! Kalim is a natural at slinging an arm around you and leaning into you like it’s nothing. He doesn’t just hug you anymore, he holds you tightly and nuzzles up to you, eager to prove you fit like complimentary puzzle pieces. And, while you aren’t familiar with the culture around dating and courting in the Scalding Sands, the garments he begins gifting you seem awfully familiar to the significant pieces he was talking about just days before you got yourself into this mess.

Whatever plot you needed a fake boyfriend for is quickly swept aside as you try to figure out what to do with your maybe-fake-maybe-accidentally-real boyfriend situation. You try to ask Jamil for help, but he only gives a flat look that screams ‘you got yourself into this mess’ and ducks away to go to basketball practice. Clearly an intervention is in order, but you feel like you’re the one that’s lost, and Kalim is a bullet train without working breaks.

“You do remember that the plan was for us to fake our relationship, right?”

There. You said it. That dreaded ‘what are we?’ that you never thought you’d actually have to say was out in the open, feeling just as heavy on your shoulders as it did in your chest. Part of you wondered if you sounded too accusatory, but you were at wit’s end trying to figure the way out of the woods you had gotten lost in.

Kalim’s smile dropped, his eyes widening as his hand flew instinctively to his chest in surprise, his arm a shield in case your words turned to daggers. For a brief second, a crestfallen expression flickered across his face, eyes unfocused and eyebrows furrowing. Just as quickly, though, he replaced it with a smile, one more hollow than before. His hand then moved to rub the back of his neck.

“I overdid it again, didn’t I?”

It’s one of the few times you’ll see Kalim embarrassed and thrown off-kilter. He laughs, but it’s hollow and uncomfortable and you immediately feel bad for being the reason he’s like this. But Kalim is an expert at rebounding, and he’s honest to boot. So he takes a deep breath and proclaims that ok, maybe he messed up the fake dating part, but if you were happy with the way things were going, why not continue where you left off…?

It’s a little strange, at first. Kalim has a little difficulty remembering that to you, you just started dating but to him, it’s been about a month. But his boundless energy swept you away in the first place, and it’ll sweep you away again if you let it. Just…maybe tell him to ease up on the gifts. You’re running out of space for everything he’s given you.

Vil

You’re going to need a very good explanation to even get him to consider this.

See, if you were anywhere but NRC, Vil would assume you were using him for fame or something. It’s not a reflection on you, it’s just that he has eyes on him all the time when he’s in public so naturally you would get some exposure. Honestly, for that reason alone he may reject your proposition, as it’s not worth any of the pain you’d go through just to have a little fun for whatever you need a fake boyfriend for.

But you are at NRC, so things are a little different. Not entirely, as he is still very busy at school and wouldn’t have time to keep the charade up for long. BUT. If you have a specific event and he deems it worthy of his attention, then…fine. He’ll be your date…if you pass his training.

(So maybe this is less 'fake dating’ and more 'you’ve made a fatal mistake asking Vil to be your date to the NRC version of the homecoming dance for revenge,’ but it gets the job done.)

No matter what you already know or have prepared, Vil is taking the reins on this project and he will NOT accept anything less than perfection. It may have been difficult to get him to agree to this, but once he’s part of the plan he is in it to win it. Do you already have an outfit? Too bad if he doesn’t like it, the two of you are an item, you will look the part and it will not look like that. Do you need to know how to dance? Well, lucky you, you’ve got yourself a personal trainer who is extremely adept at all types of dances. Vil doesn’t cut corners on anything, and to top it off he is an actor. You are going to look like the perfect couple whether you like it or not.

The first few weeks of preparations put more strain on your relationship than anything. Vil is renowned for being a vicious teacher, and you were already simply looking for an easy way out of your problem. The two of you are at each other’s throats, practically snarling at each other each time you pull each other in to practice a dance again.

Eventually it mellows down, of course, and the tense frustration simmering between you two is erased as you focus on a joint goal. Maybe you wouldn’t be taking an easy way out of your problem, but you’d have a fake boyfriend at the end of the day, which is really what you wanted. Besides, you’re starting to pick up on Vil’s sense of humor, the dry and sarcastic quips he makes while you guys are chatting through your last runthrough of the evening. If you’re trying to avoid or get back at a certain person through this plot, he’s immediately invested and on your side, meeting every frustrated sigh of yours with a comment.

Vil would be lying if he said he wasn’t sensing the changes in the atmosphere between the two of you. You’ve been spending more and more time together, so of course you’ve grown closer, but he’s finding you endlessly endearing. He rather likes how hard you’ve been working to meet his standards, and though petty drama is beneath him, he finds it rather amusing how far you’d go to purposely spite someone. Vil is rather glad he took you up on your ridiculous offer; you never fail to surpass his expectations, and he’s finding out that he rather enjoys that about you.

The day of your event rolls around, and a part of you is nervous. You realize you have no idea how you’re going to deal with the fallout - people will surely wonder why you dropped the Vil Schoenheit, how you landed him in the first place, and all of a sudden you’re certain you forgot everything you spent so much time learning. This isn’t the first time Vil’s dealt with a rookie that has a bad case of stage fright, though. However, this might be the first time he’s purposely making it worse.

“By the way,” Vil starts moments before he opens the door to lead you into the room where everybody else is already mingling. “You don’t mind if I give a few last-minute notes, do you?”

Immediately you tense, flinching aggressively as if trying to retreat into a shell. Vil, stoic as always, watches you sputter with an expertly-concealed smirk. His perfectly painted lips barely quirk up at the corners, but if you were less preoccupied, he knows you would’ve spotted it anyway.

“Of course you don’t,” he decides for you, ignoring your fragmented protests. “We are prepared to give them the most dazzling display they’ve seen yet, but it’s missing a certain authenticity. Why settle for mere costume jewelry when we can offer them something real.”

“Authenticity…” You murmur, your eyes searching his. Something almost mischievous sparks within them, and a few moments later everything finally clicks. “Wait, are you really asking me out?”

“Does it surprise you? I can’t imagine it’d be much different than what we’ve already been doing.”

“…There will probably be less dancing.”

“Hm. What a shame. I suppose we’ll have to make tonight count, then.” With that, Vil opened the doors, allowing all eyes to almost immediately fall on you. Your face grew warm and you took a side-step closer to Vil, hoping to gain a fraction of the confidence he radiated.

Idia

You are trying to kill him, aren’t you? He already said he was sorry he got the rare character you were excited for and you didn’t a thousand times, there’s no need to resort to murder!!

I don’t think Idia has it in him to do this irl. If you’re in a chat room and some people are being creeps, he can step in. But that’s kind of a one time thing.

However…he will agree to be your emergency contact.

In a car and you don’t feel safe? Talk to him the whole way and put him on speaker. Need someone to send you a barrage of texts so it looks like someone has been begging for your attention? He’s your man. After a short while, he’ll even send lazy pictures of half his face so you have something to show others like 'see? see?? I told you I have a boyfriend.’

Here’s the thing that Idia won’t tell you: He’ll pick up your calls at any time, as soon as he gets them. He’ll respond to you as quickly as he can just to hear back from you even faster. He’s not so good at letting people know how he feels or even knowing himself how he feels, and the thought of you knowing how much he values you leaves him feeling kind of itchy, but he’s happy to help you if you’re in need. Honestly, the thought soothes some of the complicated feelings he’s opened himself into. Maybe the cute selfies and messages you send are part of an act, but you genuinely trust him to be your fake boyfriend. It’s an honor all its own, if you think about it.

Except he CAN’T think about it because the more he realizes what sort of shoujo manga hijinks he agreed to and he crawls under his covers to process it.

Idia checked his phone while the next level loads, shoulders slumping once he saw it was all game notifications and nothing from you. He thought about sending you another message, especially since some of your last messages mentioned someone giving you a bad vibe and wanting to leave, but what if he just ruined your socialization by asking about you?

Maybe you didn’t need a fake boyfriend anymore because you had found a real one.

Idia turned his volume up again in case you messaged, and started his game.

Sometimes Idia talks himself into a bad mood, one that ruins his vibe for forever both because he feels worthless and then feels more worthless for thinking about you in such a bad light. You can even notice it over text in the slightly longer response time and the suddenly accurate punctuation.

He won’t do much about his feelings, even as they continue to grow. He’s already fighting for his life out here, trying to figure out the brand new environment he threw himself into. You’ll have to take the next step - but don’t worry about him rejecting you. You seem to have a knack for roping him into your crazy ideas already.

Malleus

His first thought is oh, dear. I’ve made a grave mistake somewhere.

Similar to Azul, he’ll start to think that perhaps this is a trial period, or a courting ritual from where you’re from. Those are the only terms he’ll understand it under. Everything else confuses him - why act exactly like you’re dating and not date for real and have the benefits forever?

Still, once he wraps his head around it, he goes all in. If you want to convince people he’s your boyfriend, he is going to convince people. Malleus before had a habit of toeing the line, occasionally acting a bit intimately that might suggest he had feelings for you. Now he’s over-the-top romantic, taking advice from every  piece of courting and dating rituals and advice he’s ever perceived. (Some of it goes better than others, and yes, Lilia’s advice is 50/50)

The bad news is, since he is still Malleus, people are hardly around to see the show you’re putting on. The good news is this plan has worked wonders if you were trying to get some creep off your back.

“So, where else do you need to go today?”

The other people on the sidewalk gave you a much wider berth than normal, not wanting to approach the formidable Malleus Draconia. It would have been funny, how they avoided the man who was nothing but sweet on you, if it wasn’t sort of sad. You could see why Malleus felt so isolated all the time - you were feeling crestfallen after a few hours a day of this obvious avoidance.

“Actually, I only need to head home. Grim’s waiting on me to make dinner,” You answered, shrugging your bag higher on your shoulder. “Thanks for walking with-”

“I’ll be happy to accompany you,” He interrupted before you could urge him to part ways with you. Furrowing your eyebrows, you nodded.

“Okay…if you insist.”

If you let him know it’s about time to start winding down the act, Malleus…won’t listen. He’ll never overstep to make you uncomfortable, but having such singular attention from you for so long was kind of a dream come true. Plus, Malleus has a sinking feeling that your withdrawal won’t stop once the two of you return to being friends as you were.

If you don’t make a move, he will. The two of you will be walking at night like you used to, and it’ll be one of the most romantic things you could think of in such short notice. Please, please accept him - he isn’t sure he can lose you now, not when he’s already in this deep.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim al asim x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 22

chapter 38:

1. “"Right, so, your stylist?" Marlene asks, settling in as they continue to sway. "The one who looks like a fucking goddess? Yeah, so get this, she says we're friends…"”

james and marlene gossip sesh <3333333

2. 😧 MCGONNAGAL??????????

3. wait i think mcgonnagal is good. i’m pretty sure she’s from the phoenix. i’m not sure. i’m hopeful. i’m so hopeful

4. aww huey is kinda sweet. i like that’s he’s reg’s breath of fresh air when it comes to talking to the hallows

5. reg, i understand your anger, but please don’t make one of the only good sponsors feel bad

6. jealous james >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

7. “"I like your tea," James offers. "Maybe I'm biased, but it tastes better than anyone else's. What do you do to it?"

Regulus hums and lightly says, "I spit in it."

Without missing a beat, James replies, "Ah, that explains it."”

😭😭😭😭😭

8. “"Would you—" Regulus chokes on another relentless giggle, gasping a little. "Wait, would you actually drink my tea if I spit in it, James?"

"Love, I would let you spit directly into my mouth," James announces with absolutely no shame in his tone whatsoever.”

😭😭😭😭 james i love you

9. awww i love that barty is the most consistent part of reg’s life. i love barty

10. 😬 riddle is unconvinced in their love story. i- yikes

11. okay, right, mcgonnagal is good. thank god

12. dorcas wants to keep marlene out of the war, but only one of them has had a pov so far, so i’m not hopeful

13. oh shit marlene sounds hot

14. also, to add in, i’m so fucking glad there’s like no homophobia (that we know of) in this world

15. i do NOT want dorlene to be a tragedy in this universe

16. 😟 she gave back the ring. AHHHH

17. oh no. shit shit shit shit shit what did riddle do

18. “Riddle didn't even grant the liberty of leaving bodies behind for them to bury.” 😟😧

(but also, orion and walburga were dicks, so like, i’m not sad, just scared)

chapter 39:

1. aww regulus finally invites james in for tea

2. “On the day he accidentally kills a bee while tending to his flowers, he goes through the five stages of grief in less than an hour, which has nothing to do with the bee and everything to do with Vanity.” STOP! THE VANITY MENTION HURTS TOO MUCH

3. “When Regulus wants more time with him, he adds bagels, which James has now unconsciously been Pavloved into thinking of as his favorite food for that very reason.” STOP THATS SO GAY

4. sirius being dramatic about james and reg liking each other is TOP TIER in this fic, in the most realistic, aggravated, obnoxious, and completely loving way

5. BWAHAHAHHAHA JAMES GETTING A PIGGY BACK RIDE FROM SIRIUS IS GOLD

6. oh shit, (i’m not the best comprehensive reader, but i should have figured this out sooner), but from sirius’ perspective, he has to do the back and forth with remus his whole life. he doesn’t have the knowledge that i do, that a war is coming and they’ll finally get a chance to live together. he thinks he only gets to see remus once a year for two weeks at a time. this- this shit is heartbreaking yall

7. “”I watched him stand to his feet and tip himself into a river of blood in an act so tender that I'll never again be able to look at him with anything less than pure love. Every other member of the Black family, including you, fought and clawed their way home to their family, oftentimes to a family that never truly made them feel loved at all. Regulus? He fought and clawed through that arena, the entire time, for James. He's far more gentle than anyone gives him credit for."”

y’all, i’m crying over this. this is so lovely. effie is right, and i’m crying over how right she is

8. 😒 i know what’s coming. riddles a bitch. a right bitch. he’s gonna announce that previous victors are competing and i’m PISSED

9. so far, all three potters offered reggie food. they’re so hospitable, i love them

10. “He hasn't forgotten what it is to long for James. He still knows what it is to want him so badly that he'd be willing to kneel at the altar of James Potter and beg; he'd drop down on his hands and knees and crawl if that's what it took, if that would prove his devotion. He is the manifestation of longing built up with nowhere to go, and he craves, he yearns, he covets.”

both of them are so down bad

11. omg reg is so horny. his inner monologue is literally only like “”””“rip my clothes off please, read my mind and rip my clothes off”””””

12.AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I KNEW IT WAS COMING! BUT IM SO MAD!!! FUCK RIDDLE

13. effie is a queen. she is a godsend. and i’m so upset right now

14. not effie making them promise not to volunteer, and immediately james and sirius arguing over who’s gonna volunteer for her

15. i’m seething. i’m pissed beyond belief. i’m so angry it’s indescribable. my babies are going back into that arena. honestly, fuck riddle

#marauders #regulus black #james potter #fanfic #jegulus #sirius black #effie potter #euphemia potter #sunseeker #starchaser #dorcas x marlene #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #crimson rivers

[mojjisxng]

super shy

&team jo x reader / y/n

high school au, in which basketball player jo and ‘nobody’ y/n both have huge crushes on each other, yet are totally oblivious. well, that is until they are forced to confront their feelings in the aftermath of the final basketball game of the year.

requested (sorry it took a while, i’ve been quite busy)

pronouns- she/her (as requested)

warnings- super cheesy, shit writing because i haven’t written properly in ages (i’m so so sorry 🫶🫶)

word count- 1,035

lowercase intended

y/n hurriedly scuttled between the rows of students inside the crowded gymnasium, eventually situating herself in the middle of her two best friends. any minute now the final basketball game of the season was about to begin, and y/n was trying not to pass out from the nerves. so much so, that the aforementioned friends had to physically drag y/n to the game. if you’re thinking that the actual result of the game was significant to y/n, you’re terribly mistaken. the poor girl merely had an earth-shattering crush on the school’s star player, jo. she didn’t even think she could look at him right now, never mind watch him do what he does best; the crush had escalated that far.

she didn’t even know where the crush came from, it just manifested after observing him in their classes and during the small interactions they had at school. however, she was adamant that jo could never like her back.

‘i’m meek, nerdy and don’t stand out at all; i’m completely unremarkable,’ the girl pondered to herself whilst counting down the minutes until the game began. ‘he’s perfect and popular, and wouldn’t even know of my existence if we weren’t in class together. like yeah, we do make eye contact a lot in the corridors, but i’d be delusional to think he actually could like me. he doesn’t seem as intimidating as his other team mates though; he seems so gentle with everyone including me. and his stoic face sometimes quirks up into the most adorable smile when we greet each other. oh. my. god. I CANNOT STAND ITTTTT!!!!’

obviously, y/n’s internal monologue was presenting itself on the outside as well, as her leg was shaking erratically, she was gripping her jumper so hard it looked like her fingernails were going to pop through the other side, as well as her facial expressions going through all five stages of grief. her friends looked concerned, yet simply shared a slightly worried look and laughed with a roll of their eyes; they were used to this.

on the other hand, y/n could not have been more wrong about jo’s feelings towards her, seeing as though he too had a monumental crush on her. that’s why he was almost having a panic attack outside of the locker room, with yuma trying to hand him a paper bag to hyperventilate into. jo then started to pace towards the door of the gymnasium, peeking through the window to look for y/n. as soon as he spotted her, he sprinted back to his previous spot, doubling over with nausea.

“just take the bag dude, it might help you to not die,” yuma exclaimed with slight amusement in his voice.

the team captain, nicholas sauntered over, “you’re just nervous because you want to help us win the whole season, and it’s not because of that girl you like right…RIGHT?!?!” jo’s side eye did not look promising to nicholas, who just patted jo on the shoulder, shook his head and walked away in defeat, not ready to give relationship advice.

there was no time for anyone to comfort jo anyways, because the team was directed to line up ready to file into the packed gym.

the boys ran out, one by one, jo being the last due to the anticipation he brought with being the most important player of the season. as he scanned the audience while waving to everyone, he made direct eye contact with y/n. the pair immediately looked away from each other, blushing profusely.

throughout the game, y/n was internally being pulled between being unable to spare a glance at jo because ‘his magnificence was just to great’, as she put it to her friends, and being unable to look away from him. he effortlessly moved across the court with the ball, gracefully jumping to score (which he did many many (*italics*) times). the lovesick girl was mesmerised by jo, watching his tall frame join the crowd of other boys to celebrate a basket that he made, with a huge grin on his face. she wished he would smile like that because of her.

it was no surprise that jo’s team won the game. despite this, the oblivious pair were in for a shock, when they were forced into facing each other.

as soon as the final whistle was blown, y/n’s friends pushed her down towards the court, whilst jo’s teammates basically held him hostage in the centre of the court.

“jo has something he needs to get off his chest…don’t you jo?” yuma probed.

“funnily enough, y/n does too,” stated one of y/n’s friends, very matter-of-fact, despite having to push down a smirk.

y/n decided to just let it all out, maybe it would be a weight of her shoulders no matter the result, she thought to herself. as if they were psychically linked, jo figured that confessing couldn’t feel as bad as he had been lately because of his crush on y/n.

“OK SO BASICALLY I LIKE YOU, LIKE A LOT,” y/n and jo, practically screamed at the same time.

“huh, you like me back?! you, jo, the star of the basketball team, the most popular boy in school at the moment?!”

“well…yeah i do, i like you so so much, i could burst. i may be all those things that you said, but i feel like a shy loser around you. you’re so sweet and smart and beautiful, that i can’t handle it. i could barely look at you lately.” a smile bloomed across y/n’s extremely rosy face, at hearing jo’s confession.

“well, i guess we can be shy losers together now,” she giggles, laying her soft lips on jo’s plushy cheek.

their friends whooped and hollered, as the couple hid in each other’s arms, sending a glare at their mildly irritating supporters. yuma had to clutch onto his evil eye bracelet for protection from the double side eye.

“i guess we were the only ones that were clueless about each other’s feelings,” jo whispered into y/n’s ear, as they basked in the first of many tender moments they shared together.

#&team #&team jo #asakura jo #&team scenarios #&team imagines #&team fluff #&team reactions #&team ej #&team euijoo #&team fuma #&team k #&team nicholas #&team yuma #&team harua #&team taki #&team maki #&team x reader

[skzhocomments]

The Five Stages of Grief - Bang Chan Oneshot Fanfic

(And a second cover because I couldn't decide)

General Masterlist

Pairing: Bang Chan (Stray Kids) x OC/Reader (Story is written in 2nd person, no name is mentioned)

Genre: angst

Word Count: ~10k

Warnings: death, devastatingly sad, mentions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts. No comfort, although it does end in a positive note. Ending is hopeful if you squint.

This is just a story that doesn’t describe Bang Chan or other mentioned Stray Kids’ members true characters in any way. It’s just a product of my imagination and should be treated as such.

This story is also on Wattpad (click here) and AO3 (click here)

---

A/N: As any other writer out there, I would appreciate reblogs and your comments on this story. Please let me know if you enjoyed it, and most importantly, have fun!

© all rights reserved by skzhocomments (Tumblr), skzho (Tumblr)/ storminsidemycore (Wattpad), storminsidemycore (AO3)

---

The Five Stages of Grief

---

“Hey Channie!” You entered his studio with a smile plastered on your face, that soon enough turned into a frown when you noticed your boyfriend of almost 5 years hasn’t even acknowledged your presence.

He tended to do that a lot, especially when working on new comebacks. His whole focus was on that damn computer which you were sure by now was your life-sworn enemy. It’s hard having to compete with a screen to get your boyfriend’s attention, but such was life sometimes, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You knew the risks that came with dating an idol, you just didn’t know how much worse it could be if you were to date a workaholic, perfectionist idol.

This was Chan.

He spent hours and hours and hours cramped in his small studio, perfecting beats, arranging vocals, switching up different rhythms and trying to figure out what could work out and have the most success between his fans.

“Have you eaten?” You asked, kissing his cheek, and only then did he notice you’re there, and pulled out his headphones.

“Oh, hi. Didn’t see you come in.” Was all he said, his face scrunched in concentration. “Did you say something?”

“Just asked if you’ve had dinner yet.”

He must’ve, right? It was well past 11 pm, but one of his bad habits was working himself to death, and more often than not, he would skip meal times entirely simply because he wasn’t good at keeping track of time.

“I had a protein bar earlier.” He shrugged.

“Want me to order you something? Or even better, why don’t we both head home?” You asked with a smile, trying to be convincing enough for your boyfriend.

It usually worked.

He would normally laugh off your attempts to be nice and realise that you’re just trying to take care of him, and he would comply and go home with you for the night, then resume his work the next day.

Once you’d be home, he would crash immediately, proof of how tired he’d been and how much he’d ignored his body’s needs. His sheer determination was scary.

However, none of this happened tonight. He rolled his eyes and muttered a small “There she goes again.”

You played it off, though, realising he probably didn’t mean for you to hear that. Brave on his part, you thought, in such a small quiet studio.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You asked, your tone still friendly, as if you were joking with him.

What you didn’t expect was for him to turn his whole chair towards you, his expression angrier than you’ve ever seen him.

“You heard me. God, it’s so frustrating having you come here all the time bossing me around. Eat! Sleep! Stop working! Can’t you see I’m busy?!” He ranted, pointing towards his computer screen.

“Wow, sorry, Mr. Busy.” You chuckled, despite being slightly angry with his words.

He doesn’t mean them. You told yourself. This is another one of his bad habits: bursting out and speaking cruel words whenever he’s extremely stressed and has tight deadlines. It hadn’t happened often, only a handful of times in your years long relationship, but it hurt nonetheless whenever it did.

“And there you go mocking me.” He rolled his eyes at you. “It’s like you don’t even care about the work I’m doing.”

“It’s not that, Chan. You know how much I value your work, it’s just-”

“Yeah, bullshit.” He laughs. “If you would, you’d stop barging in here demanding things from me when you know I have stuff to do.”

“Hey, I know you had a tough couple of days with the comeback and all, but there’s no need for you to take it out on my like this.” You crossed your arms in front of your chest, this time feeling genuinely upset. It’s like he’s escalating it on purpose.

“No, it’s not just a tough couple of days. Don’t you get it? You do this shit all the time, and I’m frankly sick and tired of it. Can’t you just leave me be for once and stop being so controlling?”

“Controlling?” You asked, baffled. “How am I controlling, huh? By making sure you eat and sleep when you’re supposed to?”

“How do you even know what I’m supposed to do?! You always think you know best, but you never fucking consider any of my needs and wants.”

“Literally everything I do is fucking consider your needs, Chan.” You answered coldly.

“No. You’re just too deep in your head and can’t fucking figure out when to back down, so I’m telling you. Stop telling me what to do and leave me alone if I’m busy. God, I don’t need this shit.”

He mumbled the last sentence and put his headphones back in, turning his attention back to the screen.

Maybe you shouldn’t have done what you did next, but he hurt you, and you didn’t like the way your conversation apparently ended. You wanted to know what he meant, so you grabbed his headphones’ wire and pulled them out of his ears forcefully.

The way he turned to you and the look he threw you almost made your blood freeze, but you were far too upset to care about upsetting him anymore.

“What exactly don’t you need, huh? What is this shit, exactly?!” You gestured with your hands.

“You can’t fucking let it go, can you?” He laughed in a baffled way.

“No, unless you tell me what this shit is.”

“This. Us. Everything. I’m really fucking done with how overbearing you’re being. I was doing fine before I met you, and I sure as hell do just fine without you over my head every fucking minute of the day.”

“Oh, is that so?” You asked, expressionless.

He hurt you, but by his anger still present on his features, you realised it’s all pointless. You’re not going to see eye to eye tonight.

“Do you want to break up?” You let out, the words burning your tongue, and Chan’s eyes widen.

“What? No! Fuck, you twist my words.” He sighs, exasperated. “Just leave. Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, you let out a shaky breath and watch him put his headphones back in.

“Oh, and this?” He starts, pointing to one end of the headphones. “Never do this shit again.”

You watch silently how he turns his chair to look back at the damn screen, without caring that you’re still there in the room.

The discussion is over.

“I see. Fine. I’ll go.” You let out, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks. He didn’t see them, and it felt like he didn’t even care that he’s made you cry.

You quietly made your way out of the room, your sight too blurry to see anything, and you headed home.

---

Denial

---

Chan’s eyes are beginning to sting painfully, and after rubbing them and checking the time, he figures out why.

It’s way over 5 AM when he decides to finally leave the studio, and although it’s still dark out, the streets are already starting to get filled with people hurrying to whatever painful morning shift they are scheduled for.

It takes him about 20 minutes to get back to your shared apartment, and when he does, nothing seems unusual at first.

The house is expectedly quiet, it being so early in the morning, and he already imagines how deep in sleep you must be by now.

He feels guilty for how he treated you, that he let the anger consume him once again, and he regrets it. He always regrets it when he lets stress get the better of him.

As he heads towards the bathroom to wash the harsh day off his skin, he starts thinking about how he could make it up to you. Should he buy you flowers and bring you breakfast in bed in 4 hours when you’ll most likely get up?

Although he hasn’t slept at all.

Should he take you out on a date after he’s well rested? There was this restaurant you mentioned a couple of times that you wanted to try, but he didn’t have enough time to take you there to eat yet, not with all the planned comebacks and the work that keeps piling up.

Maybe tomorrow is finally the day.

He finishes his shower and rubs his eyes again, and God, how tired he is, just as usual when he pulls out all-nighters. Everything seems ordinary, but as he opens the bedroom door, however, something is unusual.

You are not there.

Confused, he takes out his phone to check for any messages you might’ve sent him, but upon noticing there’s no new notifications, he throws the phone on the bed, screen down, defeated.

Did you really think he wants to break up? Did you finally have enough and left him?

He knows he treated you badly tonight, but he thought it’s just a small drop in an ocean of happiness. Arguments are unavoidable, unfortunately, and he can’t always be the perfectly composed man he’s striving to become.

Would you really leave after a couple of cruel words he didn’t even mean? He starts asking himself as he gets into bed. Surely you know how much he loves and needs you there for him. It was just a bad night, that’s all.

Maybe you just wanted some space, and decided to head to a friend, or to a hotel or something.

He thinks about calling you, but with how late it is – or rather, how early – he knows he’d just disturb you or any of your friends you would’ve gone to if he were to call.

He decides to go to sleep instead and figure it all out tomorrow morning, when his mind is clearer, and when you’ve both had enough time to cool down.

~

His head is pounding with pain as he opens his eyes and feels multiple pulsations against all sides of his skull.

This is the worst migraine he’s ever had, and he realises how right you were when trying to convince him to go to sleep early. He really needed more sleep.

He grabs his phone to check the time, and when he does, he sees it’s flooding with notifications. His manager called him about a dozen times, starting at 8 AM and continuing up until 15 minutes ago, and he has multiple missed calls and messages from all the members.

Ugh, it’s only 10.

Did I have a schedule I’ve forgotten about? He wonders, rubbing his eyes confused, but checking the date, he knows it’s his day off.

He decides to head to the bathroom and freshen up, while picking up his phone and dialling his manager’s number.

He reaches the bathroom and puts toothpaste on his brush, and by the time the phone rang two times, his manager picks up.

“Chan! Where are you?” He asks, his voice hurried. “Why haven’t you picked up?”

He begins lazily brushing his teeth and checks the date again, and sure enough, it’s his free day. There’s nothing in his schedule.

“Huh? What do you mean?” He asks, his voice still ridden with sleep, still tired from the lack of rest. “It’s my day off.”

“Are you at home?”

“Yes. Where else?”

“Good. That’s… okay. Have you talked to anyone yet?”

“No…? You’re acting weird. What’s going on?”

“Listen, Chan. Something… something bad happened. I need you to sit down for a moment, okay?”

“Okay...?” Chan nods absent-mindedly, continuing to brush his teeth, oblivious about what’s coming.

“Last night… God, I don’t even know how to break this to you, so I’ll just say it. Do note that the company will do its best to assist you and-”

“Cut to the chase. What’s wrong?” Chris asks, starting to get worried. He finishes brushing his teeth, and just as he prepares to put the toothbrush down, his manager’s next words make him drop it to the floor instead.

“Your girlfriend passed away last night. She was hit by a drunk driver on a crosswalk, and although an ambulance got there in less than 2 minutes, she was already… I’m sorry.”

The line falls silent as Chan tries to process what his manager just said. The only sound in the room is made by the toothbrush hitting the bathroom’s white floor tiles.

Chan heard wrong. There’s no other explanation.

“That can’t be.” He dismisses his manager completely. “She was just with me in the studio last night, and then she came-”

Home. But you weren’t home.

“She must’ve gone to a hotel or something.”

“Chan… I’m truly, truly sorry. As I said, we’re going to support you through this tough time with everything we’ve got.”

What tough time? Chan wants to ask but stays silent instead.

He picks the discarded toothbrush from the floor and throws it away. How careless he’s been, dropping it.

He wants to chuckle at his stupidity, and he can’t wait to tell you about it. You’re going to nag him again for being careless and dropping things. This is the 3rd toothbrush he’s changing this month.

“Oh, God! Again?” He can already picture you with an amused expression on your face, your arms crossed. “You’re always dropping stuff on the floor!”

The thought brings the ghost of a smile on his face, and he starts wondering again where you might be. Surely your manager is mistaken.

“Her parents tried getting in touch with you, but they said you didn’t pick up. You should give them a call.” His manager continues to say. “From what they’ve told us, the funeral will be held tomorrow morning. JYPE offered to pay for all expenses. Anyways, this must be too much information to swallow for now, so I’ll come pick you up in 20 minutes and we can go to the company together. The rest of the boys are already here.”

“Okay, see you in 20 minutes.” Chan replies, not really understanding what’s happening.

He ignores the countless missed calls and messages and opens his call history to dial your number instead.

It goes straight to voice mail.

~

“Hello! You’ve called… wait, am I doing this correctly?”You chuckled, asking him with an unsure look on your face.

“Yes. The beep-”

“Oh, right! Thanks for calling, please leave your message after the beep. Okay, bye~!” You cheerfully said, ending the recording with a small laugh.

“Are you going to keep it like that?” He asked amused.

“Why not? It’s straight to the point!”

“You left my voice in it, though.”

“Oh, does it bother you? I can record again if you want me to.”

“No, no need. I just – isn’t it a bit weird?” He chuckled. “You even forgot to say your name.”

“Whatever.” You waved a dismissive hand in the air. “If they called my number, they know who they’re calling.”

“Fair enough.” He laughed.

~

‘Hello! You’ve called… wait, am I doing this correctly?

Yes. The beep-

Oh, right! Thanks for calling, please leave your message after the beep. Okay, bye~!’

He chuckles absent-mindedly at the memory of him teaching you how to record a message redirecting your callers to leave a voice mail. You’ve never been good at technology.

“Hi, babe. Can you please call me? I need to talk to you.” He says, deciding to leave a message, even though he isn’t convinced that you’ll get to hear it. You usually forget to check your voice mail.

He tries calling again, just for good measure.

‘Hello! You’ve called… wait, am I doing this correctly?’

Yes. The beep-

Oh, right! Thanks for-‘

And again.

‘Hello! You’ve called… wait, am I doing this correctly’?

Yes. The beep-‘

And again.

‘Hello! You’ve called… wait, am I doing this correctly?’

Yes.’

‘Hello! You’ve called…’

‘Hello!’

He throws his phone on the bed exasperated. Why aren’t you picking up?

You didn’t even come home last night, why is your phone turned off?

Do you want to somehow punish him for being cruel and make him worry?

He shakes his head confused and begins changing his clothes from the comfortable pyjamas to an appropriate enough outfit to go to the company.

It should be a crime to have to go so early in the morning anywhere on your day off.

When he’s done and he looks somewhat presentable, he picks his phone back up and dials your number again.

‘Hello! You’ve called-’

He cancels the call just when he hears a knock on his door, and opening it, his manager is looking at him sombrely.

“Hi.” Chris speaks first, but his manager doesn’t say anything. He just pulls him into a hug that lasts way too long, Chan thinks.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” He finally says after pulling away.

Chan doesn’t know what to reply, so he opts to just stay silent. His manager’s words don’t register in his head anyway; maybe he’s still tired.

He did go to sleep way too late.

They head to the car, and although the ride to the company only lasts 20 minutes or so, the 20 minutes feel like an eternity.

It’s just as his manager said, and everyone else is already at the company. When he sees the boys, they come rushing to him, their faces tear-stained and their clothes black.

“Oh, Chris…” Felix hugs him tightly and starts crying, and Chan starts comforting him by patting his back a few times.

A few tears escape past his eyes as well by seeing all the boys so gloomy, but he still doesn’t seem to be able to wrap his hand around it.

“Her parents said the wake is taking place at their house, so that’s where we’re headed now. I thought it’s better for you to not go alone.” His manager blurts out.

Chris looks dejected for a few seconds, before taking out his phone again and dialling the familiar number. This time, he types it himself. He knows it by heart.

With a shaky hand, he puts it against his ear and waits to connect.

‘Hello! You’ve called… wait, am I doing this correctly?

Yes. The beep-

Oh, right! Thanks for calling, please leave your message after the beep. Okay, bye~!’

It makes no sense.

You couldn’t possibly… have died.

You are so young. You have so many plans and so many things you still want to do.

He is supposed to apologize to you and pamper you the whole day just to make up to you for being an asshole last night. He is supposed to take you to that restaurant you’ve been bugging him about for weeks.

You can’t possibly be gone, just like that.

~

Your parents embrace Chris as soon as he steps through the door. They’re sobbing loudly, and there are so many people present – some, he recognises: old friends from middle school you’ve shown him pictures of, some other colleagues from university, some coworkers he had the pleasure of meeting at the last Christmas party held by your company, a few family members…

There are also many people he doesn’t recognise; people your age, and Chan gets reminded once again of how young you are, with your whole life ahead.

He shakes his head once he notices a coffin on the large table in your parents’ living room; the same table you’ve both ate at just two weeks ago when you’ve last visited.

“My baby, Chris is here to see you.” Your mother cries, approaching the coffin and pulling his hand to guide him towards it as well.

It’s closed shut, and on top of it, your picture stares at him with a happy smile. You are so beautiful; he’s always loved this picture of yours. He’s the one who took it, just after you’ve graduated Uni and he handed you a big bouquet of your favourite flowers, rose peonies. You said your eyes wrinkled in a weird way, and never liked it, but he absolutely adored it. It’s been his wall screen ever since.

The coffin is made of dark polished mahogany, and its lid is adorned with golden handles.

You can’t possibly be in there.

Although beautiful, how could such a small coffin hold the large essence of your soul?

It makes no sense whatsoever.

Your parents’ cries seem real enough, though.

He touches the top of the coffin and wonders why it’s closed. Why would it be closed, when you are so gorgeous? People should see you, not a simple picture.

He decides it must be because you’re simply not in it. Or if you are hiding in there, maybe it’s all a joke and you’re going to open it from the inside and yell Surprise!, shocking everyone in the room and making your mother faint. It’s something you’d do.

So, he waits.

He waits, and waits, and waits, and his feet grow tired and his back starts aching after so many hours on his feet. People come and go, paying respects, patting his shoulders and trying to make some small talk, talking about you in past tense.

“She was such a wonderful person.”

“She was so full of life.”

“Her laugh was so intoxicating.”

“Her work ethic was admirable.”

“She was so smart.”

He listens and nods to each of their words. They are right. You are a smart, wonderful person, you are full of life, your laugh is the best thing he’s ever heard. He’s wished more often than not to record it and put it in one of his tracks, but every time he’d mentioned it, you called him silly.

By the time your father brings him a chair and places it next to the coffin so he can sit down instead of standing, it’s already night out.

“You should get some rest, Chris. I’ll stay with her.” He tells him, placing his strong hand on Chan’s shoulder as to attract his attention, but Chan just shakes his head.

How could he go sleep when you might decide any time to wake up?

Would you panic, with the lid closed and all? You’ve always been claustrophobic. Why is it closed, anyway?

~

It’s already morning when one of your relatives approaches Chris and urges him to get out of the living room to change his clothes.

They’ve brought him a white suit at the request of your father; wedding attire, since you didn’t get the chance to get married before you passed.

He is reluctant to put on the white pants and uncomfortable suit jacket, but he does it anyway. Your mother cries when she sees him, and your father pats his shoulder and thanks him for doing this.

The priest comes, and a lot of your friends visit your home again, to lead you on your last journey, apparently.

It takes the priest about half an hour to finish praying for your soul, and then your coffin is loaded in the back of a hearse. The car moves slow enough for everyone to be able to follow, and Chris is walking right behind it, next to your parents. Felix is behind him with Lee Know and Changbin, and the rest of the boys are somewhere far back. He sticks out like a sore thumb, dressed in all white while everyone else is wearing black.

Each time the car passes next to important places in your life, the hearse stops and people throw coins on the ground. They pass by your kindergarten and your old school, and with each step, your mother cries harder. Your father tries his best to stay composed, but even he bursts into tears when your mother starts talking about your life and what a happy kid you were.

Chris doesn’t shed a tear. He follows the hearse blindly, and when it reaches the cemetery, he watches as his members take out the coffin and place it on the ground next to a large, freshly dug hole.

The priest begins a final prayer, and soon enough, he watches how the coffin disappears inside the hole. People start throwing soil and flowers. He doesn’t know how a couple of roses get in his hands, but he begins throwing them one by one on top of the coffin that keeps getting lowered down.

You’ve never liked roses that much. You like peonies. Why did someone hand him roses?

There is also some music – hymns, or the sorts. Something you wouldn’t like. He doesn’t like it either.

A few moments later, some people begin covering the coffin in dirt, and he watches the scene expressionless. It gets covered fairly quickly. People start crying even harder, and his ears start ringing.

He feels sick to his stomach, so he decides to take a few steps back as soon as the whole gets filled to the brim with the freshly dug soil.

“I can’t believe she’s truly gone. She was so young!” He hears a woman say from somewhere behind him. He doesn’t bother turning his head to check if he knows her or not.

“Right? We were talking just yesterday morning at work about going shopping this weekend.” Another woman replies in a quiet tone.

“They didn’t even open the casket.”

“How could they? Didn’t you hear how she passed?”

“No! What even happened?”

“She was apparently crossing the road and a car came out of nowhere, hitting her with more than 200 km/h. It threw her like 30 metres in the air.”

“Oh my God! I heard it was a car accident, but this…”

“Yeah! It’s insane. There was barely anything left of her… only shattered bones and flesh, nothing resembling a human.”

“Shh, what if someone hears you say that?!” The other woman tried to silence the first one.

After hearing these details, Chris feels even sicker.

He wants to throw up.

“Son, we are going to the reception now. Do you want to come with us in our car?” Your father approaches him, and Chris simply nods.

He hugs him for a few seconds, and then they wait for your mother to come, and the ride to the restaurant is filled with her sobs while your father and Chan remain expressionless.

~

He sits at a table next to your parents. Felix is on his left, and the rest of the boys and other members of JYPE are sitting nearby.

There is an empty space to his right, and in front of it, the table is full of your favourite foods, snacks and drinks.

His eyes are stuck on that empty seat.

“Wow, they really brought me a lot.” You chuckle, looking at Chris with your head supported by your right hand, your elbow against the table. “How am I supposed to eat all of this?”

He watches the scene stunned.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why the long face?” You ask, the smile on your face wider, raising a hand to caress his cheek.

The next time Chris blinks, you’re gone.

The seat is empty.

~

The boys insist that Chan comes with them to the dorms, or that at least some of them come home with him.

“It’s not good to be alone.” Hyunjin says sympathetically, and Chris simply shakes his head.

What if you come back home tired and want to rest, but the boys are there visiting? He asks himself. It wouldn’t be fair to you.

So, he goes home alone, after much bargaining with them that he needs some time on his own.

The silence that greets him once he opens the door to your shared apartment is deafening.

He first goes to the bedroom to check if you’re back yet, but the sheets stay as empty as when he woke up two days ago, so he pulls out his phone to dial your number again.

‘Hello! You’ve called… wait, am I doing this correctly?

Yes. The beep-

Oh, right! Thanks for calling, please leave your message after the beep. Okay, bye~!’

The beep sound follows soon after, and he begins talking.

“Babe, I know you’re mad at me. I was wrong. I’m sorry. It’s time to come back home now. Please?”

A second beep follows, signalling that the time to record his message is over, so he ends the call. He ignores the countless notifications piling up on his screen, all the Condolences messages he’s been receiving, and he places the phone in his pocket and starts making the bed.

“Wow, well done, Channie! I’m impressed!” He can almost hear you chuckling, and turns his head towards the door, fully expecting you to be there laughing at him and praising him for doing the bare minimum, but there’s no one there.

Once the bed is made, he heads towards the living room. A half empty glass of water is on the table, its margins stained by your lipstick, next to a plate full of breadcrumbs.

Tsk, how messy. He rolls his eyes, knowing exactly why you haven’t cleaned up. You must’ve eaten in a rush again, this bad habit of yours.

You’re always complaining about stomach aches, but you keep eating on the go while getting ready for work in the morning, and never enjoy your meals.

He takes a picture of the crime scene and opens his phone again, shooting you a text.

“Forgot to clean up?” He asks, then attaches the picture of the plate and glass.

He knows you’ll probably laugh and start excusing yourself once you see it. If he were to check his gallery, half the pictures are surely of the dirty plates you simply forget about on the table.

Chris always washes them, but never fails to remind you of it.

This time, too, he takes the plate and glass to the sink and turns on the hot water. He rubs the plate with a dish sponge with way too much dish soap on it, and he hears your voice in the back of his head again:

“My, Channie! You’re so wasteful! You only need a drop. A single drop!!! What are you using so much dish soap for???”

He starts laughing as he grabs the glass and throws the half-drunk water out, but before washing it, he notices the lipstick stains again. He smiles to himself and sets the glass aside, wiping it off with a napkin, careful to not accidentally remove the stain.

Your lips left such a pretty mark, he doesn’t want to part with it yet, even if you are going to give him an earful later for not washing the glass properly.

When there is nothing else to do around the house, he opens his laptop and starts sorting out his emails. All of their schedules for the month have been cancelled, and their upcoming comeback postponed indefinitely.

He doesn’t think it’s necessary, but at the end of the day, the company’s rules must be followed. You’ve complained about him working too much anyway. Maybe this is the chance for you two to spend a bit more time together.

All he has to do now is wait for you to come back.

~

He waits.

And waits.

And waits…

Felix visits with Jisung and Seungmin the next day.

And then the next, Jeongin comes with Changbin and Hyunjin.

Minho drops by every morning with enough food to last Chris the whole day.

His manager comes once a week and makes sure to call him daily.

Whenever he’s on the phone, he paces around the empty apartment and looks around. He sees the jewellery you left on the coffee table; your sports shoes are still on the doormat in front of the door, your face creams and serums stay untouched in the bathroom, your hairbrush lays by the sink filled with loose hair, and there’s a half-ironed shirt on the ironing table in the dressing.

You don’t like other people touching your stuff, so he leaves everything just like that, waiting for you to come back and fix it all.

The glass with your lipstick stain on it is still there on the counter, next to the sink.

He’s texted you about a dozen of times since he first messaged you about it and the plate that’s long been washed, but you haven’t replied to a single text. Your phone still goes directly to voicemail, but worst of all… no matter how much he’s waiting…

… you don’t come home, and the apartment stays empty.

~

‘Hello! You’ve called… wait, am I doing this correctly?

Yes. The beep-

Oh, right! Thanks for calling, please leave your message after the beep. Okay, bye~!’

~

‘Hello! You’ve called… wait, am I doing this correctly?

Yes. The beep-

Oh, right!’

~

‘Hello!’

---

Anger

---

It’s been more than a month, but Chris still sets the table for you each time he eats what Lee Know brings him.

He wouldn’t bother eating much, if Minho wouldn’t have insisted to tag along to practically every meal after he noticed that he’s barely touching the food.

He always places one more plate on the table, right in front of him, at your usual spot.

“Just in case she comes back and gets hungry.” He explains to Minho, but he’s had enough of this.

“Hyung…” Lee Know hesitates. “She… she’s not coming back. You know that, right?”

His tone is quiet, and he tries to approach the subject as gently as possible. However, it’s time for him to do something. You’ve died more than five weeks ago, but Chris hasn’t moved any of your belongings, not even to store them.

There’s a box of tampons on the kitchen counter, but he won’t even move that, for fuck’s sake. He keeps waiting for you to come home, as if he doesn’t realise the fact that you’ve passed away.

“No, she will.” Chris says firmly, daring Minho to challenge him more.

“Hyung… She… she died. She’s not coming back.”

“You’re wrong!” Chris shouts all of a sudden, hitting the table with his fist strong enough to make the tableware bounce. He knows Minho is right. After waiting for you for weeks on end without you coming back, after dialling your number about a million times, after sending countless texts with no reply from you… he knows. But…

“Chris…” Lee Know stares empathetically.

“You’re all wrong! She… she’s coming back, goddamit!” He shouts again, this time grabbing the table’s edges and flipping it. The empty plates fall to the ground and shatter in the process, and Minho’s pot spills on the carpet, staining it.

Chris tries to cling to the last bit of hope he has regarding you, but he knows you’re dead. Everyone else was right, and he was wrong. You’re really gone.

“I’m sorry, Hyung. You… you need some help…” Lee Know continues with a shake of his head, bending down to grab the broken pieces of glass.

When he’s done cleaning up the carpet and the floor to the best of his abilities, he takes one more look at Chan. He looks like a ticking bomb, ready to explode again any second now.

Lee Know doesn’t know if it would be good to give Chan space, or if he should insist again that he comes with him to the dorms.

He decides to ask him anyway, and to his surprise, Chris nods and packs a small bag with clothes and hangs it on his shoulder.

They made their way out to Lee Know’s car, and once they’re at the dorms, they say goodbye as each goes to their respective apartments. Chris used to live with 3RACHA and Hyunjin, so that’s where he’s headed.

The dorms are as messy as he remembers, but they bring him comfort nontheless. His old room brings him solace as well.

There are a few pictures or you on the small desk in his room, and he looks at them fondly. You’re smiling beautifully in all of them. It’s the you he remembers. You, at your first date; you, the first time he took you to an amusement park; you, when all your fingers were coated in chocolate after you attempted to bake him a cake.

It’s you.

God, how he misses you.

How dare you leave him alone?

How dare you?

Why didn’t you fucking look to the left before crossing the road? Even if the traffic light was green, you should’ve fucking looked.

You’ve always been careful to look, so why…?!

Watching the pictures no longer makes him happy. It makes him angry, and out of anger, he punches the wall behind the desk with all his strength.

It makes no sense, really, but the pain in his fist takes away from the pain in his heart, so he punches the wall again.

He decides to try and calm down after hitting the wall two more times, and he hops into his old bed, shutting his eyes tight and thinking about the night you died.

‘I’m really fucking done with how overbearing you’re being. I was doing fine before I met you, and I sure as hell do just fine without you over my head every fucking minute of the day.’

Those were some of the last words he’s said to you.

Since you’ve died a few blocks away from the JYPE building, it happened right after you left.

You died thinking he doesn’t love you.

You died thinking he doesn’t need you.

He does.

He needs you.

If only he’d gone home with you that night, as you asked him, you would’ve never died.

It’s his fault.

It’s his fault you’ve died.

He killed you.

He lashed out on you and blamed all his stress on your attempts to take care of him, and he killed you.

Fuck, it’s all his fault.

For the first time since the funeral, he bursts out in tears, and he is unable to stop. It’s like all of his repressed feelings for the past month and a half come biting him right in the ass.

It’s so hard to breathe. He’s getting suffocated.

He can’t.

He can’t breathe anymore.

You’re on top of him, suffocating him.

“You killed me.” You say, blood running down your face.

He can almost feel the drops hitting him, with your face so close to him.

“It’s your fault. “You knew what you were saying. You killed me.” You say again cruelly, and Chris shuts his eyes even tighter.

His cries soon turn to wails, and he’s being loud enough for Changbin to hear him and get alerted. He opens the door without knocking, and upon seeing Chris, his heart breaks.

He just goes to the bed and throws himself on top of Chris, as if to shelter him somehow from the intense grief he’s feeling.

When his cries quiet down, Changbin takes a look at his friend and sees his injuries.

“Holy fuck, your hand is bleeding. Are you okay?” He asks in panic, standing up quickly to grab the first aid kit to bandage his fist.

“It’s all my fucking fault!” Chris screams at the top of his lungs, and his destructive mood comes back. He stands up, wanting to destroy it all. Every damn picture, every fucking thing in this room.

He wants to set it on fire and let it it all to pieces, letting himself burn as well. It’s what he deserves for killing you.

Sure, the drunk driver that hit you was directly responsible for taking your life, but the way he acted that night… nothing would’ve happened if it weren’t for him.

He killed you.

Changbin sees right through his erratic behaviour and anticipates his moves, throwing himself once more at Chris, holding him tight and not letting him move, no matter how much Chris lashes out. He doesn’t let go until his friend calms down again, and even after he does, he decides to camp in the room with him and keep him company.

---

Bargaining

---

It’s been three months, and Chris still has some difficulties accepting that you’re truly gone.

He probably shouldn't be here so soon, but it’s like he has to make sure again that you’re… that you’re dead.

Your parents did a great job with your grave; your gravestone made of marble stands tall , centred right in front of the ground you’re buried deep within, and the intricate designs of sculpted vines and flowers reminds him of you.

Oh, right. Flowers.

Chris remembers he brought a bouquet of pink peonies with him. He’s been holding onto it tightly ever since he bought it and stepped in a taxi to come here, but as soon as he got to your grave, time stopped, he couldn’t breathe anymore, and he forgot about the flowers in his hands.

It’s not like you need any more; there are so many fresh flowers all over and around your grave. Your parents also planted lots on top of the soil above your coffin, decorating your rest place beautifully.

You’ve always said you wanted a garden, and now, you have one: your little space in the uncomfortably large cemetery at the edge of the city.

“My favourite flowers. Aren’t they pretty?” He swears he can hear your voice, and turning to his left side, his breath hitches in his throat, choking him.

There you are, holding the bouquet of pink peonies he bought with a large smile on your face, but just like last time, he blinks, and the bouquet is in his hands, as it’s been the whole time, and you’re nowhere in sight.

A tear rolls down Chan’s cheek. He wishes he would’ve bought you that house and garden you’ve been dreaming of, instead of the convenient apartment in the city centre.

He wishes he would’ve proposed, and that you’d build a little family together. After all, you were his solace in the midst of all the chaos of his life. The sole person bringing him purpose and comfort.

But now you’re gone.

He wishes he wouldn’t have always put his job first. Especially now, as his schedules stay empty due to the company fearing for his well-being, he realises how much free time he could’ve had if only – if only he’d listened to you.

He regrets all those late nights in the studio when he could’ve been home sleeping next to you.

He regrets every breakfast, lunch and dinner he’s missed because he was too busy with making a new song, learning a new dance, or preparing for a new comeback. Now, none of it matters. You’re gone.

He could’ve postponed all of them. He could’ve done so much differently, and he regrets it all.

You’re gone.

He places the peonies in a little vase near your gravestone, next to some daffodils someone must’ve brought you a few days ago.

Then, he raises his gaze and reads the inscription in the headstone’s marble. It’s your favourite poem by Clare Harner.

Good choice, he thinks, as he goes through the lines of Immortality and traces each engraved letter with his fingers.

~

‘Do not stand by my grave and weep

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am the thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints in snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle, autumn rain.

As you awake with morning's hush,

I am the swift, up-flinging rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the day transcending night.

Do not stand by my grave, and cry--

I am not there, I did not die.’

You stopped reciting the poem and took a deep breath, looking expectantly at Chan.

“Isn’t this poem beautiful?” You asked him, your eyes sparkling.

“A bit morbid, but yes.” Chris chuckled as he placed the freshly made pasta dish in a large plate and served you dinner.

“Aww, thank you. Smells so good!” You grinned in delight, your eyes closing into crescents, as they always did whenever you smiled brightly.

He couldn’t help but press a quick chaste kiss against your lips before he sat down as well.

“So, pasta master, show me how it’s done.” You encouraged him, nudging his elbow and handing him your fork and spoon.

“Tsk, you’re so spoiled.” Chris tutted jokingly, but complied nonetheless and started twirling the pasta with the fork. Once it became an appropriate bite-sized portion, he raised the fork and supported it with the spoon as he brought the food to your mouth.

“Mmmm, so good!” You exclaimed with a few quick, excited small claps, as soon as you started feeling the flavours.

“Of course, what were you expecting?” Chris chuckled.

“Only the best from you.” She praised, petting his head fondly. “So, about the poem. Do you think it’s good enough for my presentation?”

“For Uni? Yeah, of course. Anything you’d pick is good enough, babe. You have your way with words, and you recited it very beautifully.”

“You think?” You beamed at his words, and he nodded. “Thank you, Channie. I really really like it, but I was afraid it wasn’t appropriate.”

“No, it is. You can use it.”

“If the lyrical genius says so, it must be true.” You stood up briefly and kissed his cheek, before returning to your seat and starting eating the pasta.

~

God, how many years ago was that?

Chris bursts out crying for the millionth time this month, and grabs the headstone with both his hands, feeling his knees grow weak.

On the brink of collapse, he uses your gravestone for support as he weeps louder.

“Can’t you come back?” He asks, his voice shaking. “Please. Please come back. Please. I… I promise I’ll do better, hm? I promise I’ll no longer stay as late in the studio, so please… please…”

The headstone can’t support him enough when his hands go weak as well, and he falls to his knees right in front of the poem.

“If only – If only I’d left with you that night. If only we hadn’t fought. God… please, please come back. We still have to make up.”

He cries for what feels like hours, and his body grows cold.

“Please… please…” He forces out again. “Come back… come back… we have so much we want to do… come back… I need… I need more time with you, please. Please.”

And he cries again.

And again.

And again, until he feels a hand on his shoulder a while later, and he turns his head around hopeful, thinking you might’ve somehow heard his pleas and returned to him.

His expression falls as he sees Seungmin looking concerned at him, and then he frowns even more noticing the pathetic way he looks in his eyes’ reflection.

Seungmin falls to the ground next to Chan, hugging his side tightly. Then, he helps him stand up and balance on his feet.

Chris is grateful for Stray Kids being there for him, but he just wishes… it would’ve been you standing next to him instead of Seungmin.

---

Depression

---

Chris has never experienced such an intense fatigue before. Every part of his body hurts, and it’s like his muscles are screaming at him each time he stands up. He is lethargic and looks haggard and in desperate need of rest, but rest doesn’t come by too easily as of late.

It’s 5AM and he’s in the studio again, but instead of doing anything productive, like finishing up that song he’s started working on two months ago that he keeps beating himself up for, he watches how beautiful you looked in the picture on his desk.

You used to be so full of life and so gorgeous. Your smile could make anyone happy, and your laugh – God, how much he misses your laugh.

He misses your voice.

Sometimes, he can’t even remember what it sounds like, and he thinks it’s absurd; it hasn’t been that long since you passed. Only about a year. He shouldn’t forget it so soon.

He grabs his phone and manually types the digits to your number. He still hasn’t forgotten it, and with how deep it’s been ingrained in his memory, he doesn’t think he ever will.

‘Hello! You’ve called… wait, am I doing this correctly?

Yes. The beep-

Oh, right! Thanks for calling, please leave your message after the beep. Okay, bye~!’

He hasn’t cried in some time while thinking of you, but now, he’s on the verge of tears again. You used to sound so carefree.

You used to be so happy.

He doesn’t know when he started referring to you in past tense, but as soon as the realisation hits him, he lets a couple of tears stain his cheeks.

Chris is tired. He hasn’t slept in… God knows how many days. He’s always had trouble sleeping, but nowadays, his insomnia has been getting worse and worse. His doctor prescribed him some pills that are supposed to help, but he can’t even be bothered to take them anymore. They don’t help him rest anyway. If he takes them, he wakes up confused, disoriented, and with an even worse headache.

His phone is still in his hand and his finger brushes over his screen. He didn’t have the heart to change his lockscreen picture. It’s still you.

He hasn’t seen you in what feels like years. The first few months when he’d been haunted by your ghost were tough, but now that he hasn’t seen any glimpse of you in months, day to day life is getting harder and harder to navigate.

You don’t even visit him in his dreams anymore, on the seldom nights he sleeps. If he takes the small white pills, he doesn’t dream of anything, and he so desperately wants to see you again, to touch you, that he refuses to take them. That’s the other reason he doesn’t.

Fuck, this is hard.

Are you supposed to feel so devastated after a whole year?

Back then, years passed by so quickly – it meant comeback after comeback, work, work and more work, and time with you was scarce but very appreciated. Time used to fly, and without him knowing how much time passed, you’ve celebrated your 5th anniversary. He was planning to propose to you soon. He was looking at rings, but then you…

Time doesn’t pass by as quickly anymore. This year stretched for so long, it felt like a decade instead of barely 12 months. With each passing month, it was like nothing was changing at all for Chris, but now, looking back, everything feels different.

He’s a completely different person than the one that was staying in the studio up until 5 AM last year, and he blames himself so, so much for his unchanging bad habits.

He blames himself for your death still. It’s his fault, and this thought only makes him more hopeless and more depressed.

He’s lost weight. A lot of it, to the point where the company had to have an ‘intervention’. Whereas last year his body was toned, his abs perfectly sculpted and his form admirable, he now looks like a ghost of himself.

If he eats, his stomach immediately starts hurting. He threw up 3 times this week alone.

Your death still has such a big emotional toll on him, and he’s tried it all. He went to therapy. He still goes four times a week at his company’s requests. He’s on medication that makes him groggy and unable to think, medication that shut down all his feelings – not just the negative ones. He is numb, and when he isn’t, he feels utterly devastated and lost.

What is he supposed to do now, without you?

How come a year has already passed without you by his side? He’s even contradicting himself. Sometimes he feels that the year passed by slowly, and sometimes he looks back and doesn’t understand how he was able to live a whole year without you.

He needs you.

Fuck, he needs you so much, he still can’t believe he even insinuated that horrible night that he didn’t.

Life no longer has any purpose, and everyone around him is growing more concerned by the day, as this once optimistic man has left together with you, leaving in his place only a pessimistic, desperate person.

He realised how badly he wants to die exactly 6 months ago, when your sudden disappearance finally started sinking in for real. When he stopped bargaining with God or with whatever cruel higher power there might be in the sky to let you come back, even if just for 10 minutes, for enough time for him to kiss and hug you and tell you how much he’s missing you.

6 months ago, he started decorating his thighs with unsightly marks, some of them faded, other fresh. He can’t do it anywhere else, no matter how much he’d wished to cut his wrists open, for fear of anyone else noticing.

So, he takes his despair out on his poor thighs, pressing the small blade against his skin until he feels something, anything. Until blood starts pouring down and the shower’s water pools down at his feet completely red.

He winces in pain every time he does it, but at least he feels something different than the numbness that grows bigger and bigger in his heart, consuming everything in its way. His whole soul feels absorbed by it, crushed under the pressure.

On the rare occasions he’s not numb, he feels the immense grief your absence left. He now knows that you’ve not only taught him how to love, but also how it is to lose what you love, and it hurts. It’s excruciating, and his heart is being ripped apart still, each and every time he thinks of you, and your absence is tearing him apart from the inside out.

He is physically sick. His headaches are worse than ever. He can’t sleep. He can’t eat. He can’t do anything anymore. He doesn’t want to, either.

The only thing he wants is to die, but even this wish feels selfish. He sees the way his friends look at him, how they’re walking on eggshells around him, to not somehow mention anything that could trigger a bigger depressive episode than what he’s already going through. He only pushes through it because of them, because he knows how it feels to lose someone you truly love, and he doesn’t want them to have to live with this black hole in their chests.

But… the loneliness he feels is simply merciless. It’s pouring down on him like unyielding unforgiving rain, not showing him any pity, and so he tries to fills his days with something that would make him forget about the gap in his soul.

The company let him come back to work a while ago, but they didn’t plan any comeback for Stray Kids for the time being, nor are they planning any for the near future. He’s grateful they’re giving him time, because he’s in no shape or form ready to do anything, not when he’s withdrawn himself so much from everything he used to love.

It’s difficult to compose any up-beat songs, or any song, for that matter. It used to come naturally for him, but not anymore. Changbin and Jisung are doing their best to support him and make up for his lack of concentration, but it feels like he’s not bringing anything to the table anymore.

He’s missed practice over and over again. The Kids meet up every two days to dance to their older songs, and as they don’t have anything new to work with, they even started learning the dances of other popular songs, or creating choreographies that would fit western music. Chan never went. He stopped dancing 12 months ago, and he hasn’t even stepped in the practice room since you died, not even once.

He hasn’t sung since you died either, and no one said anything about it. No one blamed him at all. Not even his company, who he was sure was going to fire him in the first 6 months after your death.

They said they trust him, and that they’re going to give him as much time as he needs to recover. They talk about him like he’s sick, but he’s not sick. They don’t seem to understand that.

He’s not sick, he’s just devastated, and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to live again, to sing and dance on stage and to work hard, because this is no longer his dream.

He only dreams of death, and the thoughts of it are the only ones bringing him any solace. His therapist said he needs more time, and he quoted Lois Tonkin more times than he can count. He said that life will soon begin to grow bigger around grief, and that the intense sadness he’s feeling is just another expression of love for you. One that is permanent, but that will diminish as time passes and as he starts enjoying life again.

He doesn’t believe any of it, though.

How could he begin to enjoy life again, with you not there by his side?

---

Acceptance

---

He met someone.

For the first time in years, he felt genuine happiness again.

It took him one more year to start reengaging in some of his older hobbies and in his work. He started gradually going to the gym with Changbin and Lee Know, and eventually felt ready to start dancing and singing again. Another year later, he was ready to get back on stage and face all his fans, who’ve thankfully shown an unwavering support of his journey with grief.

He started feeling a bit better, and even though you were on his mind all the time, he was no longer dwelling on the pain of the loss of you. Your memory started bringing him more happiness, and he started looking fondly at all the sweet moments you’ve both shared together.

He started appreciating being able to have met you, to have lived 5 beautiful years next to you, and even though he still feels it is unfair that you’ve been taken away from him so cruelly and way too early, he no longer blames himself.

He still regrets the argument you had on the night you passed away, but he started slowly coming to terms with the fact that there was nothing he could do about it anymore, no way to take his words back. He started accepting that this is the one regret he’s going to have to take to his grave with him.

It took him one more year to start embracing life again, to start looking forward to his future with Stray Kids and to start actively making plans. He realised there was so much more he wanted to accomplish, and his dreams started coming back to him little by little, with the support of his friends and family.

He’s met her two years later.

When it happened, he was still not ready to give love a second chance. He thought it was way too soon, that he was disrespecting you by catching feelings for someone else. He felt like he was emotionally cheating on you.

He decided it’s time to join a support group at the recommendation of his friend, and he’s met a lot of people of all ages: some younger than him, some way older. The way they spoke about their former partners warmed up his heart, and they made him realise that loving again is not an affront to your memory. He can still keep loving you while loving someone else as well. He can still honour your memory.

He opened up to her, and he’s told her all about you. She wanted to know who you were, and she even visited your grave with him, holding his hand and talking to you at your gravestone. She told you she loves him and thanked you for being there for him while you were still alive, for giving him precious memories to hold onto.

She apologized for life being so unfair and taking you away from Chris so abruptly, and she assured you she’s going to take care of him to the best of her abilities.

She was really patient with him. She gave him as much time as he needed to come to terms with his feelings. He let him set the pace on what he was comfortable with doing. The first time they slept together was after more than one year of dating, but she didn’t mind waiting for as long as he felt necessary.

She loved him, and he loved her.

He proposed to her almost two years later, and they welcomed a child one year after their wedding.

He visited your grave on your 10th death anniversary with his son in his stroller, a baby boy he’s given your favourite name. You were still present in his thoughts, and his love for you never subsided.

He now simply has additional people to love and to grow old with, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss you still.

~

He decided to visit your grave again, even if walking has become a bit too difficult. Still, he manages the way from the car until your grave just fine, even if he has to support himself with a crane.

He is now old enough to be called ‘grandpa’, and not just as a joke between him and his friends. His hands are shaking, and his legs are a bit wobbly; his face is adorned with deep lines and creases, his forehead is wrinkly, and each fine line contributes to his now years-long life and experiences. The skin dropped around his cheeks, but every lady in the nursing home assures him he’s still a handsome man.

Your grave is no longer as tidy and beautifully adorned with fresh flowers. The soil has been overtaken by weeds and is in dear need of cleansing. He hasn’t visited in a while, unfortunately, his health issues making it a tad too hard, and with your parents long gone, there is no one else to take care of your resting place.

He makes a mental note to hire someone to clean it up and plant some flowers, but for the time being, he simply sets the bouquet of rose peonies in the small, chipped vase next to your headstone.

The inscription in the once immaculate marble is no longer as visible, but he doesn’t need to read it in order to recognise Immortality by Clare Harner. He still remembers the poem by heart, and also all sorts of other small, insignificant things, like your old phone number that’s been disconnected decades ago.

He looks at your smiling picture, the one he took when you’ve just graduated from university, and he realises as if for the first time how young you were.

He’s grown old; he has multiple wrinkles, his skin sagged everywhere, and his body went through each transformation it was supposed to when advancing in years.

But you?

You’ve stayed young. You’ve stayed beautiful, cheerful, smiling. Your face stayed clear of any creases.

You’ve remained just as he remembers you.

You are immortal.

“I’m sorry for not coming in a while.” He speaks with a soft smile on his face.

“That’s fine. You are probably very tired.”

He swears he could hear your voice. Maybe the poem is right, and the whispers of the wind transform in your saccharine voice he’s so dearly missed.

“I’m truly sorry for what I’ve said.” He continues, feeling the need to apologize again for his harsh words that night. No matter how many years have passed and how many time he’s already apologised, he’s never forgiven himself.

“But I’ve forgiven you long ago.” The wind whispers, and he closes his eyes and nods his head.

“I still love you. I’ve never stopped loving you. I hope you know that.”

“I know.” The sunlight caresses his back, warming him up as the wind strengthens. “And I’m waiting for you, whenever you’re ready to meet me, my love.”

~The End~

---

(A/N)  Obligatory song: 11 minutes by Halsey and YUNGBLUD.

When my best friend showed me this song, I immediately fell in love with the concept of the music video, that’s based on the five stages of grief. I thought to myself that I simply must write a story like this, but of course, that was months ago and I’ve completely forgotten about it, as I usually do with most random ideas that come to mind that I don’t write down lol.

I couldn’t really sleep for the past few nights, so my mind kept brewing ideas and scenarios to keep me busy and hopefully lull me to sleep.

It didn’t work, because the five stages of grief came to mind and I knew I had to immediately write a story about it and not let the idea go this time, so I got out of bed at like 6:30 am and wrote and wrote on and off for a total of 13 hours, until this 10k words of pure despair have been created.

I hope you enjoyed it even though it probably sent you spiralling into depression. Thank you for reading nonetheless!

Love,

Storm

#stray kids #straykids #stray kids masterlist #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids imagines #bang chan #bang chan imagines #stray kids angst #stray kids scenarios #skz stay #stay #changbin #skz #han jisung #wattpad #ao3 #ao3 writer #fanfiction #fanfic #bang chan angst #angst #hurt/comfort #hyunjin #jisung #lee know #seungmin #felix #no fluff #no comfort #pain and suffering

[leonsliga]

I have no feeling for this result. I’m serious. To leave Leon there for 100 mins. Which at least means u haven’t seen this as ur final chance. U haven’t used all ur strategies to fight with ur enemies. Leon carries his experiences with Real Madrid since Schalke time. And he trusted ur decision for starting XI. That’s what Tuchel had shown us. Leaving him on bench for an entire game lmao.

I totally get that. And I love how all of us on bayernblr are experiencing the five stages of grief together rn 🫂😂

I think what gets me is knowing Leon would’ve fought to the bone against Real Madrid last night if given the chance, especially considering that his performance wasn’t the best against them in the first leg. If anything, he would’ve been even more desperate to prove himself. For Tuchel to leave him on the bench when he could’ve helped and would’ve done anything to must’ve been absolutely devastating for him. It’s like you said as well; Leon has plenty of experience with Real, even dating back to his Schalke days. Why not tap into that? Why not give him a chance to prove himself? Leon does some of his best work in the face of adversity. Let him show that resilience we know and love him for.

I think to some extent, Tuchel got comfortable. We saw that after Bayern scored, and this is the worst thing you can do when you’re facing Real Madrid—they thrive off the opposition’s complacency and fear. Tuchel replaced Sané with Minjae, opting for a more fortified defense instead of pressing the advantage while we still had it. They exploited us in the midst of that transition (though I still have it in my head Real got a lot of help from the refs), and the rest is history. I don’t know…I’m still kind of reeling from it all to be honest. All in all, this is a really tough one to swallow, not just in a tactical sense. To lose the way we did is soul-shattering. In every sense of the word.

#anon 💖 #leon goretzka #fc bayern #fc bayern munich #fc bayern münchen #my asks

[jenowithjaem]

Word count: 766 | warnings: a little bit of toilet action, but nothing too graphic (it’s crucial to the story, I promise), crying, reader goes through the five stages of grief in like ten minutes, Seokmin is trying, okay? It's the thought that counts

You sigh and close your laptop, standing up to stretch your arms above your head. The hoodie that you're wearing rides up your stomach a little bit, only falling back in place when you lower your arms. You quickly swipe your phone and headphones up, shoving them into the pocket of your hoodie.

You make your way into the bathroom, lifting the toilet lid and taking a seat. After you finish your business, you lean over the bowl and press the shiny metal button on the lid to the tank. When you lean over, you hear a clink and then a quiet splash.

Looking down, you realize that your headphone case has fallen into the toilet bowl.

A loud yelp escapes you and you have all but two seconds to consider sticking your hand in the toilet bowl to try and save them.

But before you can even think about it, the little white pod is forced down the drain by the water’s current.

“No, no, no, no!” You cry out and fall to your knees. Tears threaten to spill as your hands grip the side of the toilet seat. You just stare blankly into the toilet bowl for a solid five minutes before standing up and letting out a defeated sigh.

You walk out of the bathroom, head hung and eyes cast downward. You drag your feet across the floor, all the way to the kitchen where your boyfriend is. He immediately notices your gloomy state and is quick to ask what happened. You walk into him, pressing your head to his chest.

“Baby.” you say quietly, still in denial. “The worst thing just happened to me, and I need you to promise me that you won't laugh.”

Seokmin pulls you away from his chest and holds you by the shoulders, frowning. “Of course I'm not going to laugh at you! What happened?” His eyes are big and full of concern. How could he laugh at you when you just said that something terrible happened??

Those pesky tears prick at your eyes again, and this time, you let them slide down your cheeks. Seokmin starts to panic a little. “What happened?” he says again, a bit more concerned.

“I just-” you sniffle, covering your face with the palms of your hands. Your tears soak into the cuffs of the hoodie, and you press harder into your face. “I just flushed my headphones down the toilet.” You cry.

“What?” Seokmin shrieks. You remain quiet, quietly crying into your hands. A laugh starts to bubble up, and he can't help but let out a chuckle.

You cry harder, taking his laughter as him making fun of you.

Upon hearing your cries get worse, his chuckles die down a bit. “Why are you crying?”

“Why are you laughing at me?” You say, wiping your tears. “I just told you not to laugh at me!”

The hurt in your voice causes him to stop laughing completely. “I'm sorry, baby.” He frowns, tugging your hands from your face and pulling you into him again.

Seokmin holds you against his chest, the warmth of his body and his scent managing to calm you down a little. “I'm not laughing at you, I’m just wondering how in the world you managed to flush your headphones down the toilet. Dropping them, yes. But straight up flushing them?”

“I don’t even know!” Your voice comes out a bit louder than you intended, but you didn't sound mad– more like you were in disbelief.

(Which, to be fair, you were.)

“I used the bathroom, and then when I leaned over to flush, I heard a plunk! and when I looked down, I saw my headphone case in the bowl being swirled around. My poor headphones, I killed them.” You frown. He chuckles again at your choice of words.

Seokmin’s hand comes up to pat you on your head lovingly.

“It’s okay, we can just get you some more.” He tells you.

“But you got me those ones for Christmas!” You pull away from him and look at him like he’s crazy.

“It’s okay. I’ll get you a replacement pair.” He says again.

“Okay..” you say in defeat.

But then he speaks up again, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Just promise me you won’t flush this pair.”

You playfully hit his chest and pout. “Seokmin!” You whine, but then you laugh at how ridiculous the entire situation is.

To be fair, you shouldn’t have brought your headphones into the bathroom with you, and you’ll make sure that this lesson gets remembered for a long time.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging! It’d help me out a lot. Thank for reading and I hope you all enjoy the rest of your day. (Don’t flush your headphones down the toilet like I- I mean.. like reader did……….)

#lee seokmin x reader #lee seokmin #lee dokyeom x reader #lee dokyeom #seventeen x reader #leigh writes

[blogger360ncislarules]

No one was dreading the death of Young Sheldon patriarch George Cooper more than Lance Barber‘s TV daughter, Raegan Revord.

“I held off on reading [the script for Episode 12],” she tells TVLine. “It was probably 10 pm, the night before we were going to start filming the episode,” that she finally read through the last scene. “I’ve been very fortunate that I haven’t had a major loss in my life, so losing this beloved character, and losing the show as well, was like two losses at once, and it was rough.

“We filmed the scene where we find out that George died in two parts,” Revord explains. “We filmed up to the knock, and that was fine. We were having a blast. Then we did rehearsal for the second half, and I was weeping; I could barely say my lines. In that scene, [Mary, Missy and Meemaw] get to the door. They’re not bawling, they’re just wary, and I’m at the door, full-on shaking, sobbing…. You can tell that you’re seeing real, raw emotion in that scene.”

For TV brother Iain Armitage, openly sobbing wasn’t an option. “The thing about Sheldon is, it’s less of an external [reaction],” he points out. “For other characters, maybe that stone facade is crumbling from the outside, in; for Sheldon, it’s from the inside, out.

“In one of the first takes we did, I sat down in the chair the way they wanted me to, and I started to let my face fall,” the 15-year-old recalls. “Not quite cry, but I kind of start to get emotional. [Series co-creator] Steven Molaro said, ‘Don’t even do that. It is 1,000 times more heartbreaking if we see that Sheldon can’t even begin to imagine processing or understanding that to the point where he simply won’t. His mind won’t try. It’s almost as if he’s just heard them talking about the weather.’ I really liked that interpretation.”

Thursday’s series finale (CBS, 8/7c) consists of two, half-hour episodes, the first of which takes place almost entirely at George’s funeral. Everyone is working through the five stages of grief, including Missy, who is more angry than anything else.

George’s widow Mary (played by Zoe Perry) is also faced with a new and unforeseen reality. Not only has she lost her husband, but she’s about to see Sheldon off to California, where he’s set to embark upon his Big Bang future at Caltech.

“I don’t know that [Mary] is coping well,” Perry tells TVLine. “It’s a real struggle. She is all of a sudden a single parent… and as we talked earlier about her early crisis of faith [in Season 2], she has two directions to go, and I think we know where Mary ends up on The Big Bang Theory, so you get an idea of where she’s headed.

“You see these fresh wounds,” she says of Thursday’s double-header. “I imagine there could be something cathartic [in that] for the audience because these remaining characters are going to be experiencing a great amount of grief simultaneously with [them]…. I know that, regardless of how people feel about [the finale], I’m just really proud of how everyone showed up and gave it their all. It’ll definitely be powerful.”

#young sheldon #💔 #Youtube

[whatevenisexisting]

The fact that there are people who want to have Epilepsy and read tips on it will never not disgust me. Like seriously. Y’all are fucking ignorant, ableist, and your identity is NOT in good faith.

Why? Because as someone who actually has epilepsy, it DOES hurt for me to see some people on tumblr want this damn condition. As I’m struggling to get through a work week, as I’m finally realizing I need accommodations, as I’m feeling frustrated because I haven’t had a seizure since April 19th, and I already had two this month.

Remember y’all, when you have a seizure, out goes your ability to drive for at least a few months. Put yourself in a small town with no public transit, rely on family to get literally ANYWHERE - and then tell me you’re “transepileptic”.

I wasn’t planning to ever drive again, but that decision DOES affect my life and let’s say I chose to drive once it was legal. Well, in my state I would have been able to drive by July but BAM. There it goes again.

Have a seizure, and you cannot drive. Now you have to find other ways to get EVERYWHERE you can’t walk to. And if it’s pouring like it is for me today? Yeah, your choice is either walk in the rain and get soaked, take an Uber for a ride that’s only 5-10 minutes and easy walking distance, or stay home.

Not everyone can rely on family or friends every single time they need to go somewhere, remember that.

And I know I’m focusing on this part but it’s just ONE aspect.

I mentioned I had a rough week at work and I did. Have fun dealing with post-seizure depression and just overall triggered depression as you work for a suicide hotline. Have fun not being able to tell 99% of your coworkers WHY you are struggling so much this week because you can’t even the say the name of your condition (and as a side note, your mom hates this and doesn’t understand - she thinks it just means you’re ashamed even though you aren’t), so yeah, they respect that and it’s your right but it would be easier to talk to them if they KNEW. But you don’t, because you barely accept your condition to begin with. (The five stages of grief? Yeah, apply them here and put yourself permanently in between denial and acceptance, also anger and depression, and have a jolly good time.)

Oh don’t forget needing time off work! Because if you’re lucky like me, you’re going to be exhausted the next day and will need to sleep all day! Which means using a sick day, and in America most people are LUCKY to get two weeks. My friend’s partner gets five days. Total. Of paid time off and sick COMBINED. So yeah, have a blast balancing what little sick time you get with needing to care for your body because sometimes you cannot recover quickly for them! You likely don’t know that tonic clonic used to be called grand mal (don’t worry most people without epilepsy don’t know this and you know you don’t have epilepsy soooo) but with grand mal, you might end up in the hospital because you can injure yourself! Any seizure that involves convulsions puts you at risk of physical (even mental, if you hit your head and get a concussion) injury, but I’m sure you haven’t thought of that part, have you?

Or maybe you have and you still want a condition that severely impacts people’s lives and can kill them, in which case you’re just ableist lmao, and insist that me being against people outright SAYING they’re faking a disorder is somehow transphobic or I’m “using the same talking points” as people against the trans community. Like stop stop STOP.

You know what the difference here is? Trans people didn’t choose to be trans, they can’t always come out of the closet because it’s NOT SAFE which surprise, might have a significant impact on their mental health. They don’t have a choice but to be closeted. Staying closeted STILL comes with consequences though. Coming out of the closet might come with consequences. There’s a reason trans people have such a high suicide rate.

As for the “talking points”…that’s just stupid because you people KNOW and SAY you don’t have this condition. You give each other “tips” for doing these symbols, or should I say FAKING the symptoms.

Me talking about the REALITIES of living with a disability is a desperate attempt to get you to stop romanticizing them. Me talking about the TRUTH of living with something like in my case epilepsy, is a desperate attempt to make you realize it’s NOT something you want.

I’M the one who didn’t have a goddamn choice for this condition. JUST LIKE trans people don’t have a choice to be trans and cis people don’t have a choice to be cis.

YOU fucking DO have this choice. YOU have the choice to get off Tumblr, out of this horrible echo chamber and ask yourself why the fuck you’re ASKING for TIPS FOR HAVING A SEIZURE.

Like for real, get off this hellsite and THINK about what you’re absorbing. This. Is. Not. Healthy.

And no, I don’t give a shit if you’re ~also disabled and okay with this~ because it’s not okay lmao. Like these are not good faith identities. Period. These people romanticize serious conditions, play into the idea that people with disabilities are faking theirs (especially if they suddenly become able to do things - “oh, jessy can do that, why can’t you?” Disabled people hear that enough already), and simply ignore the reality.

Ugh. I’m only writing this because Tumblr is a blog and a safe space to write, my therapist is sick today and can’t do a session with me, and I woke up still pretty sad and frustrated and then I thought of “transabled” people and decided to rant. Going to keep this public for now, might make it private later.

#personal #rant #exhausted #anti transid #tw trans abled #anti transabled #transid don’t interact #transx dont interact #tw transx #tw transid #epilepsy #transepilepsy #transseizure #ableism

[lovekz]

depression

synopsis ~   they warned you. on multiple occasions. “the haitani brothers settle for no one” “nothing you can do will keep him down” “he can’t be yours when he’s everyone’s” but you never listened, did you? now here you are, going through the five stages of grief

cw: depression, overthinking, thoughts of suicide,

masterlist~

~

ran helped you pack your things into his partial empty dresser in his room, noticing your unnatural silence.

“are you sure he didn’t hurt you?” ran asked, folding a shirt and turning to you.

you nodded, wiping a stray tear from your eye. ran sighed and put the shirt down, watching your hand.

“you gave him back the ring.” ran whispered, taking your hand in his.

you broke into uncontrollable sobs, letting ran pull you into his warm embrace.

“she was- she was there.” you sobbed out, nails digging into his arm.

ran blinked a few times, before understanding what you were talking about.

he had no idea rindou would invite his mistress over after fighting for his son and baby mother to stay. literally.

ran didn’t know what to say in response, only holding you and rubbing your back in soothing circles.

 he was beyond disgusted with his brother’s behavior.

when you finally relaxed in his arms, ran sat you on the comfy egg chair in the corner of his room, sitting next to you.

“she was so pretty.” you whispered, hugging yourself.

ran sighed and rested his head in his hand, keeping his free hand on your thigh.

“you know you look better, right?” ran said, looking up at you.

you finally spared him a proper glance, wiping your eyes.

“you don’t have to say that.” you whispered, playing with his fingers.

ran chuckled, before kissing the back of your hand.

“i’m aware, honeysweet.” ran muttered against the back of your hand.

~

it’s been a few months since you took some of your things to ran’s place.

today, ran had to work early, and stay late. so you and haru had the house to yourselves.

you sat on the couch, watching haru play with his action figures. he was having the time of his life in the small tent you made.

the bell rang three times, making you look over at the door. you didn’t want to open it, since you didn’t exactly live there.

you were just staying for a bit.

you looked back at the movie playing on the tv, playing with your fingers.

“so you are home.” you heard a familiar voice behind you.

you turned around and seen rindou, his mistress following behind him.

it was taking everything in you to not break out into tears.

even after months, you couldn’t get over how much better she looked beside him than you did.

“daddy?” haru said, peeking out of his tent ever so slightly.

rindou smiled at his son who, for once, didn’t share the same expression.

haru looked genuinely terrified.

“hey little man.” rindou said, squatting down in front of the tent.

haru hesitantly hugged rindou. he was still the boy’s father.

you watched the scene unfold before you, rindou rubbing his small back.

“are you and mommy done fighting now..?” haru asked, looking up at his older twin.

you and rindou nodded in sync, not wanting to break the little boy’s fragile heart.

“then.. we can come home?” haru said, eyes starting to beam.

“no.” “yes.” both you and rindou said at the same time.

rindou looked behind him to shoot you a warning glare. one that his mistress had missed.

“what mommy meant was..” rindou started, sitting on the floor next to the tent.

“you two have to pack your things to come back.” rindou said, cupping haru’s cheek.

“no. i think they should stay.” you shot back, sitting up from your seat.

rindou looked at you, before sighing and standing up.

“don’t you want to spend your pregnancy with me?” rindou asked, emphaziing the word pregnancy.

haru’s eyes twinkled.

“mommy you’re having a baby?!” haru said, running over to you.

you glanced down at haru, then at rindou. he gave you a smug look, before looking at his son.

“yes! which is why she has to come home!” rindou said with a fake happy voice, ruffling haru’s hair with a grin.

you let out a sigh, leaning back in your seat as rindou and haru shared a moment. you didn’t want to go back.

~

nonetheless, you went back for haru’s sake. your things still stayed at ran’s house, haru bringing his things back home.

you sat on the couch, as haru kissed all his teddy bears he left behind.

haru turned to beam at you, showing you the elephant plush rindou got you for your anniversary.

“aren’t you gonna kiss mr. trunks?” haru asked, holding him out to you.

you stared at the stuffed animal. you use to love it so much.

now you hate it. just like everything in this house.

you didn’t want to be there. at all. everything was disgusting you. 

had you really started raising a little boy in this home?

“mommy?” haru said, snapping you out of whatever thoughts you had.

“no.. i’m good. not feeling well.” you muttered, waving the toy away from your face.

you had to get out of there.

~

you stood on the shared balcony of the guest room and your old room, tapping along the railing.

you looked down at your fully grown stomach. you couldn’t believe you or the baby didn’t die. yet at least.

you stopped eating for a bit, but rindou would force you to give in and eat what you were craving.

it was tiring. carrying a baby you never wanted.

all the unneeded attention on you 24/7. it was suffocationg.

not to mention rindou having to help you shower, his mistress hovering over him at all times.

the other door to the balcony opened, short giggles could be heard before they died down.

you didn’t bother to turn around, you knew who it was.

rindou.

“what are you still doing up? she keeping you awake?” rindou asked, walking over to you.

she, as in the unborn baby. a few weeks back, you figured out you were having a girl. much to his pleasure.

as soon as you found out, you started crying. tears of anger.

‘how come he gets everything he wants?’ you ranted to ran at the time.

god how much you missed ran.

rindou was too suspicious of him, so he kept him away. rindou believed ran would try to help you get rid of the baby.

and he would.

rindou snapped you out of your thoughts by pressing a soft hand against your stomach, the baby reacting immediately.

“you should probably go inside. i’m about to smoke.” rindou said, looking at you.

“i’m fine where i am.” you said quietly, nudging his hand away from you.

rindou looked at you with a bored expression. he hated when you did that.

always claimed that he created the kid, he should be able to touch her when he feels like touching her.

“it wasn’t a question. go.” rindou demanded, shoving you towards your respectful door.

right. you should’ve expected that.

you opened the door and walked in, laying down in your bed.

as soon as you started dozing off, you felt a sharp pain in your stomach.

“not now. i’m tired.” you muttered, tapping your stomach as if it were a real child.

you felt a cool trickle of water run down your thigh, and your eyes widened.

you looked down in shock and horror.

you were not about to give birth right now.

you picked up your phone and called ran immediately, breaking into sobs.

“what’s wrong honeysweet?” ran muttered into the phone. 

you sobbed quietly, holding the phone to your ear.

“my water..” you whispered.

it was all ran needed to hear.

~

tagss ~ @geltears​ @horny-inarizaki-stan​ @no-signal @uwubby-1 

#ran haitani #rindou x reader #rindou haitani #tokyo revengers ran #Tokyo Revengers #tokyo revengers rindou #tokyo rev x you #the five stages of grief #depression