#// but not because he deserves them more but rather because they're like wounds

[fen-dwxller]

wholsumvalues quiz !

tagging: anyone that wants to do this ! <3

[bi-writes]

it took the end of the world to bring you to where you were supposed to be. (18+, 5.5k words) ghost (+ johnny) x fem!reader (apocalypse au -> dark content ahead)

you know it is luck that you are still alive. in times of anarchy, it isn't the soft and weak hearts that remain. only the unfeeling stay alive. the ones that are willing to do what others are not. the lot that know what isolation feels like. the ones familiar with survival and everything that comes with the wounds it leaves behind.

the loneliness. the paranoia. the heat of hunger and the impossible itch of thirst, on top of the fact that running for your life is second nature to you now.

if it wasn't the sick and dead lurking in the shadows, it was the live ones that would take you. and you have seen what they can do, and you have watched what the opportunities of the unbecoming have given them, and you vow that you will kill yourself with your own dull army knife than let yourself succumb to that kind of death.

you'd rather be eaten alive by the things that don't understand than the ones that do, because they don't know any better, and the others do, and they know what they are doing isn't human, but they don't care.

whether they eat for survival, for pleasure, for power, it is becoming more and more difficult to discern between the sick and the healthy, and in that in-between, you've decided to be on your own.

you know the loneliness will eat at you from the inside. but you are comforted by the fact that you are not being eaten from the outside.

you sleep in the trees tonight. you climb, high enough to be out of sight, and then you use the rope in your pack to anchor yourself to the trunk. as soon as your head falls back, you fall asleep. you have been walking for days now, you think, and with nothing in your belly except for a few scavenged snacks, sleep comes easy.

when you wake up in the morning, you feel the crisp edge of the sky against your face, and you know it will rain soon.

if there is a god above, they will wash you away with it. you hope, at least. you don't know if this is how you imagined noah's ark--the cleansing of the earth, a flood great enough to wipe it of what they deem ugly and unimaginable and irredeemable. and god must be a man, because only a man would unleash something like this that comes with consequences he never intended--the fact that it didn't fucking work. in his effort to eradicate the fucked up pieces of shit he supposedly created by his own hand, he unleashed them.

he set them free.

and like a man, instead of fixing his fucking mistakes, he turns a blind eye. he forgets. he allows it to manifest, and now that it is out of control, he will blame the sins of what he's done on someone else, someone like you. the innocent. the unknowing. the small and the weak, the ones who he said would inherit the earth, where is he now that there is nothing to inherit? how come he's allowed to go back on his promises, and i'm not? what have i done so wrong that this is the lifetime you gave me?

you don't know why you care. you don't know why you've survived and why you keep trying to. you don't know what drives you forward, but there must be something. there has to be something waiting for you, because you don't think your life can fall any lower than this.

but fuck, there are other plans for you.

there's no one to hear you scream. they cut the branch, unravel the rope, and one of them has gotten ahold of your legs, and they're dragging you. you cry, you scream, you thrash, but all your clawing hands do is leave sporadic trails in the dirt. they laugh, you think, but you cannot hear them over the blood that rushes in your ears.

your nails are raw when they flip you over onto your back. they bleed from how you scratched to be let go, and you don't know why you fight this, but you just have this voice inside you that screams that this can't be how this ends. this can't be the way you go--this isn't the what you deserve, this isn't fair--

you vow to leave your mark. when they come closer, you don't let them come easy. you claw at their faces, rip out chunks of their hair, and when another comes close, you use your teeth, biting off chunks of their flesh, tasting blood, because i won't make it easy for you, i won't go silently, i'll leave you worse than you leave me, i'll take you with me if i fucking have to.

and when it stops, you sob. suddenly everything is still, and there are no hands on you anymore, and all you can see through the blood in your eyes is the sky above you, and how it is early morning, and there's a flock of birds passing by overhead. they fly peacefully. they have no idea what they're observing--the struggle of being alive, the humanity of your will to live, the defiance of dying at their hands, they have no idea that they are witnessing the death and rebirth of something fragile, something so delicate.

you sit up on your hands shakily, and you swallow hard as you look around. to your horror, your savior is a man.

bodies surround you. there's blood staining the dead leaves along the forest ground, trickling from sickening wounds in heads. in one hand, the man in front of you holds a dirty stone, large and jagged, and the sharp edge of it is darkened with red and drips on the tips of his boots. he has wild blue eyes, and while his hair is grown out, it is carefully cut along the sides. his dark hair falls in effortless curls along his forehead and at the base of his neck, and when he meets your eyes, he smiles, wickedly.

he wields other methods of killing people, but he chose a fucking rock. and you think he must be crazy.

you shake, and you find your balance, crawling back on your hands to get away from him, but you're only able to crawl a few feet before your back hits an imposing wall.

you gasp, jerking to the side, and you bow your head to cry when there is another man behind you. this one towers, broad and big, and he wears a sickening skull mask that shadows any human part of him. he might not even be human--maybe he's as dead as everyone else.

you hiss when your hair is pulled. crouching at your level now, the one that wears a real face stares down at you, still smiling. he's chuckling now, licking his lips, and you lean forward and spit at him. it lands on his cheek, a mess of saliva and blood, but his eyes seem to only sparkle. his smile widens.

"what do we have 'ere, LT?" he snickers, and you gather the saliva in your mouth and spit it at his feet this time. there's more of a mess of cartilage and blood and spit, but instead of disgusting him, he just grins up at the ghost behind you. "with a will ta live. ever seen anythin' like it?"

"she's dead fuckin' weight." even his voice has you shaking, low and gravelly, and you hold back a whine when you're let go of. the scottish one is yanked backwards by the scruff of his hair by his superior, who bends to growl in his ear. "she'll only hold us back. dunno why y'even had to intervene, she'll not make another fuckin' day."

"fuck you," you snap, wiping at your face with a trembling hand. you wipe at the tears under your eyes, coughing, and you stare back up at him. with the sun in his face, you can see his eyes. they are dark, and they are unforgiving.

he is one of the ones who is free. he is one of the ones that god intended to kill, and yet here he stands, stronger than ever. and even though you know he's a murderer, an undeserving, broken inside and scarred on the outside, he'll outlive you because he thrives in the anarchy of what is left behind, and you are consumed by it all.

"let's go, johnny," he spits, and you close your eyes. you don't know why you were spared your life. you don't know why luck has been on your side, you don't know why men are what punish you and save you, but you cannot escape them. they send you to slaughter, and then they pick you out of the pen, and you wish you had more control.

you want to be more than this. you want to be more than whatever it is you're made of. you are not meant to be here, you're not meant to be alive, but you are, and fuck, you're so tired of it.

johnny belongs to him. it's obvious, in the way that he lets that man pull on him and order him around, even if they are adorned in military fatigues. you imagine there is no authority anymore, but he listens to that beast anyway, because he's getting up onto his feet, letting it guide him away from you.

if you want to live, you'll have to tame that beast.

"i-i can be useful," you say softly. your eyes are wet and big, and you look up at them as they stand over you. johnny turns his head, looking at his handler, who tilts his head to the side and glares at you. he does not believe you, at least that's what it feels like, but you look right into his eyes and take a deep breath. "you'll just kill me if i'm not. w-what do you have to lose?"

the hum he lets out isn't an agreement, but he doesn't say no either. so when he turns to walk away, you stand, brush your bloodied jeans off, and you follow them. johnny trails, putting you between them. you're pretty, but he doesn't trust you yet, but you're also aware of the eyes you feel on you from behind. when you catch him staring at your ass, he doesn't pretend to look anywhere. he simply giggles.

they are a unit. they can speak without words. johnny tells you his handler's name is ghost. his lieutenant, a man of many talents, and you refrain from rolling your eyes at his sergeant's praise. but instead, you look up at him, and you smile, and you nod, and you give him those doe eyes that you can tell make him a little dizzy.

at night, they alternate keeping watch. they carry lots of gear, and while one guards in his sleep, the other stands in the shadows and keeps their head on a swivel. they take efficient rounds of sleep, getting their rest in while keeping their senses on alert. the first night, you aren't able to sleep. you are too afraid of johnny and how he smiles, because he's a dog, and you don't know when ghost will let go of his leash.

and you are too afraid of ghost, because he looks at you like he wants to kill you, and when he does, you'd like to look him in the eyes for it. you want him to know that you might not be strong like them, might not be the kind of survivors that they are, but you aren't a coward.

you aren't a man, and you'll die the way a woman should--with her fucking dignity.

the days pass easier. ghost hunts, and johnny cleans. ghost scavenges, and johnny kills. and when there is food, johnny feeds it to you, and you put on your best face, opening your mouth, letting him spoon you a mouthful of something that warms your belly. johnny eats your lies right up, but one look at ghost, and you know he sees right through you. with each lick of your finger, he snarls, and with each foot you step closer to johnny, he growls.

he doesn't believe you. you need to make him believe you.

you see your opportunity. it crawls towards him on soft hands, flesh spongy and quiet from the weeks of decay and rot. you see its mouth, black teeth sharp and ready to sink into the meat of his calf, and you lunge, pushing the vase off the table and watching the heavy clay fall until it squishes the head into a heap of rotten matter and dead meat.

ghost turns, looks down, and when he looks back up, he sees you gasping for breath, heaving. there's a desperation in your eyes. it trickles between panic and worry, and you don't know how it is you wear it so well, but it manifests into wet tears that gather at the corner of your eyes.

he's not a beast. he's just a man. and when he passes by you, he reaches up and grips your face hard, nearly shaking you, but it isn't like any other time he's touched you. he glares down at you, right into your eyes, and you melt, stepping just that much closer, sinking your nails into fabric of his tactical vest and gripping it tight.

i can be useful. it rings in his ears as he looks down at you, the burden he has been carrying with him, and suddenly he drags you that much closer, until your open mouth touches the front of his mask.

even your determined conscience can't stop your legs from squeezing together when you feel the warmth of his breath.

i can be useful. i can be useful. i can be useful.

you can be the thing that wakes what is dead inside of him. you can be the virus that infects his veins, the dagger straight through his heart, the heat of the sun, the thing that builds back up what he's buried so far down. johnny keeps him human, but you'll keep his blood pumping. johnny satisfies the itch of authority that ghost needs to keep, but you challenge the fire he keeps under his tongue, and fuck, those eyes.

you pretend with johnny. you play the damsel in distress. you fawn, let him coo over your soft eyes, keen at his touch, but it is a game you play, and he sees it, he sees it, but this time, it doesn't make him angry, and he likes it, and fuck, have you always been this pretty?

you swallow your smile. his grips tightens, and you know you have him.

he's yours. and he's going to keep you. the world ends, god doesn't answer your prayers, the salt of the earth runs free, but it doesn't have to be the end for you. you will learn the hymn of what makes monsters move, and you will sing that song until you can't sing anymore.

you will learn their language, and you will convince them of what you are not, and keep what you really are a secret.

the good, the easy, the soft, you'll keep it inside, because that isn't who lives at the end of the world--it's ghosts that remain, and this one belongs to you.

this one belongs to me, this one is mine, this one you can't fucking have.

and maybe it's selfish. maybe it's wrong to think this way, to take from your saviors this way, because that is what they did, they did save you, but this is the only way you can make sure you make it out of here, that you live. a man takes, and a woman gives, but wouldn't it be nice if it wasn't always this way?

because the dead are still moving now, and there isn't humanity in the living; this is what you are owed.

you think it will be difficult to pretend. when it is night again, and you are staring up at the blue of johnny's eyes, you think it will be difficult, but it isn't. despite what you know he doesn't have, even though you know there isn't anything good in him, he still smiles, and he's so pretty, and you let him kiss you.

it's easy because he's warm. his voice low, his breaths heavy, and it feels like love, and it isn't hard to imagine yourself somewhere else. in another place, meeting him in another time, falling in love with him because it is the only thing you really have to worry about. if you lived another life, you wonder if you still end up here.

you wonder if he would eat your cunt this way in that other place. like he'll never have it again. if he's just as aggressive, spreading your thighs, trapping himself between them, slurping at your folds until you are nothing but a wet, leaking mess underneath him. you wonder if he would groan the way he does, gripping you tight enough to bruise, taking his fill because everything that begins has to end, but maybe if i keep making her see fucking stars, she'll let me stay here forever--

johnny's so much easier to control when he's pussy drunk. anything you whisper in his ear, he just nods, licking into your mouth, mumbling incoherently. he'll say yes to anything you say, and when the gruff call of his name pulls him away from you, he struggles to leave. it isn't obvious, the power you have over him, not to him at least. but it's real, and because he watches you even as he goes, you know he'll do anything for you.

he'll do anything for me. he'll live for me. he'll kill for me. but will he do it even if ghost tells him not to?

because that is the only question that matters. if you and ghost stand on either side of him, who will he go to when his name is called?

if i call both of their names, will they come to me?

if he calls my name, will i come to him? am i just the same? do i wear the collar, am i the puppy, is it me that fell and not the men i hate so much? how do i tell the difference between what the fuck is real and what isn't?

you don't know what time it is. it's dark outside, it must be the middle of the night, but you can make out ghost's silhouette in the doorway. you've been holed up here for some days, and he takes turns with johnny covering the perimeter. your legs are tired, and so are they, and the bed in this house gives way to a comfort and peace that you haven't felt in a long time.

you tilt your head to the side as you watch him there. you sit up, your hair falling around you, and you watch the shadow of him shift in the hallway there.

"scared of the dark, ghost?" you ask softly, and the way he stills tells you he didn't realize you could see him. he steps into the room, and the candle that flickers in the corner deepens the shadows that dance along his masked face.

"nothin' scares me," he murmurs, and you find his eyes in the dark. it unnerves you every time you stare at one another--his gaze is always so intense. he always looks in between all the layers you hide, and it's hard to remember what you are doing here when he looks at you this way.

"i don't believe that," you counter, and he narrows his eyes, shuffling closer, and you tilt your head back to look up at him. "you're terrified."

"not of wot y'think," he pushes back, but you shake your head.

"don't lie, simon," you whisper, and at the sound of his name, he reaches for your face--cups the underside of your jaw, grips the base of your throat, bends down to growl against the skin of your cheek. "are you jealous? is that what it is?"

"of wot?" he mutters, and you hold your breath when he grips your neck firmly. "of m'pet 'n his little lamb?"

"yes."

"nothin' to be fuckin' jealous of," he laughs, but it holds no humor. "what's his is mine."

"says who?" you breathe, and he pulls back to look at you again. there it is--the thing in your eyes that he cannot escape. he doesn't know what it is, but there is something there, and he craves it. he wants it more than anything else--more than food, than water, than survival, he wants to have it, to own it, to command whatever it is there because it's what he thinks he deserves.

he saved your fucking life, and this is the price for it--he gets to have the thing that lives in you that makes his fucking head spin, and you will give it to him, so help him god.

you kiss soft. he hasn't taken his mask off in a long while, but you move it up easily and without resistance, and now you're kissing him, and he moves without thinking. he hasn't even let johnny this close--he hasn't let him underneath his skin, not this way, and here you are, sighing against the scars he wears and kissing them anyways.

the ugly and the irredeemable, that is the skin he wears, and you love it anyways, and the ringing he always hears is gone because you don't seem to care. you caress his face, and you tug on the front of his vest, and then he is with you, and--he doesn't know if this is real.

when you pull away to look at him, his eyes flutter open. you don't say anything as you climb into his lap. the look you share, you don't know how to explain it, but you are almost afraid that it is understanding.

because it's the end of the fucking world, and he isn't capable of love, and you are only here to survive, and yet there is something here that you can't explain. god isn't real, he's just a man, but you think for a moment that that man might be simon riley because what the fuck is happening to me?

"simon--"

he kisses you this time. hungry, all-consuming. if there is anything you've learned about him in the weeks you've spent beside him, it's that he does everything with purpose or not at all. he has a will, a will of what you don't know, but of something, and he does everything with his entire chest. you've heard him talk to johnny when they think you're asleep, the pillow talk that you aren't supposed to be privy to, and suddenly you wonder if this is what johnny feels like--like the only person left in the entire world. because to matter to someone like lieutenant simon riley means you must've done something right, because he doesn't care about anything, and he doesn't love anyone, and--fuck.

he fucks like it, too. he fucks like he won't live another day, and maybe he won't. he fucks like it's the last time he'll ever see you, and it could be, and maybe that's why you're crying. you're sweaty, naked under him, and he can't stop kissing you. he breathes you in and swallows your breaths like it's what keeps him alive, and maybe it does.

"simon--" you cry, because it feels good, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. your hand rises, slipping under the mask, and your nails scratch over his shaved head underneath. god, it feels sacrilegious to feel him this way, to know what's under it, but it doesn't matter.

"know wot y'r doin'," he hums, and you claw at his back when he slows down. your knees try to widen to accommodate the width of him, and he puts two big hands on your thighs and pushes, nestling himself deep and pressing himself right up against your pelvis. "know y'r playin' tricks on johnny, on me--" you cry, and he tsks, shaking his head, "'s pathetic, luv...thinkin' y'could fool us both."

"i-i--"

a particularly rough thrust shuts you up, and you arch your back, pebbled nipples hard against the warmth of his chest as he chuckles, laughing at you, so mean.

he leans down, and all you can do is whine as he mutters into your ear. "johnny's so fuckin' distracted by y'r cunny, swee'eart. and fuck, i get it, 's such a sweet pussy, luv--" you whimper, grinding up against him, needing him to move, but he puts both hands on your hips and squeezes, holding you still. "--such a nice cunt, make a bloke forget all his fuckin' troubles, but i know--"

you yelp when he reaches up and grabs your face. his palm cradles the lower half of your face, squeezing your jaw, and he squeezes your cheeks as he looks down at you and snarls.

"i know wot y'are. wot y'r here for."

"you--" you sob. "'m here for you--"

"can lie to johnny all y'like, luv, but don't you ever--" you whine as he shakes you gently, "--don't y'ever fuckin' lie to me. y'r usin' us. known since we found ya."

you let out an exhale, a deep one. you find his eyes, and he looks down at you, and you swallow hard. because it's true, in a lot of ways--you could never love them, right? this could never be a real thing. the only men that are left are god's mistakes. when man broke off his rib to make a woman, he didn't know a beast like this would come from him someday, did he?

did he know his sons would try to kill each other? in each and every generation? is he watching the dead roam the earth and wondering why those ones died and ones like this one are still living and breathing?

the thing that you don't understand yet is that nothing will kill ghost. his father couldn't kill him, the dark couldn't kill him, the earth he was buried in couldn't kill him, and every bullet that scarred him had missed the vulnerable places of him by just that much. the virus couldn't kill him, and he has an inkling that even if he was bitten, somehow, he would still live because that's his fucking fate.

his fate is to live, to endure, to grieve, no matter what happens around him. the world collapses, and he watches, and he picks up pieces as he goes hoping they will last, but he knows they won't.

he doesn't know how johnny will die, but he will. he doesn't know how you will die, but you will, and he'll be there to watch. for some reason, there's a little comfort, because at least this means they won't be alone. johnny wouldn't handle being alone well, and neither would you, because johnny is a mutt, and you are a leech, and neither survive without a keeper and a host, something else to keep them alive.

"'s olright," he licks over your bottom lip. "'m keepin' you, luv. but let's get one thing straight, aye?" you grunt when he turns you roughly under him, forcing your face into the mattress and caging you underneath him. you can't move much, all you really can do is sit up on your knees a little and push back against him, burying him deep inside you again as he presses his hips flush against your ass. he tangles his hand into your hair, pulling your head back, and he plants a chaste kiss against your throat. "y'r not above me, pet. you can order around m'mutt all y'like. bet he'll like that..." you hum when he cants your hips, the tip of his cock hitting a nice, warm place inside you, "but y'r gonna do as i say. and be a good girl."

you open your eyes, looking up at him over your shoulder. you plant your palms against the mattress and push back against him again, moving just enough to encourage a few slow, wet grinds.

"anything you want, simon," you whisper, pressing your face into his neck, and he grunts as his hand disappears underneath you to cup your mound, hissing as he feels the place where his cock is moving inside you. "can have whatever you want, please--" you whine in his ear. "i won't lie to you! i-i...i won't lie..."

with his other hand, he cups your breast, squeezing, his thumb circling your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"gonna be a good girl?" he asks. "gonna let johnny fuck ya? let my mutt have his fill?"

you nod, panting.

"are--" you sniffle. "--are you gonna take care of me?"

ghost laughs, as if it's a stupid question. he maneuvers you onto your knees, and as you start to push back against him more eagerly, you start to hear the jangle of the dog tags he wears. you want to turn around and pull on them, want to see his face when he comes, but you tell yourself that's for another time--that right now, you need to get him cumming and agreeable.

he leans over you, picking up the pace, punching his hips into your ass. the sound of your skin against his is wet and quick, and as you press your chest into the mattress, he starts hitting you so deep, the air feels tight in your chest.

"need to see you--!" you gasp, and when you're on your back again, you grab for his face. your knees spread again, welcoming him deep, and you force his eyes to stay on yours as you feel the rough grind of his hips starting to build up that sweet, soft feeling in you.

fuck--he's so big. every part of him, it swallows you, and this isn't any different. you come when you feel him, so much of it that it's leaking down your thighs because he stuffs you so full, and there's tears in your eyes, but he isn't sorry.

looking at him this way is jarring. you have really only ever seen his eyes incredibly dull, nothing in them except a void that you aren't able to understand. but you are using him, and he is using you, and you smile, because now you can read him, read what's reflected there.

when ghost shoves his cum-soaked fingers into your mouth, you don't fight it. you keen, arching your back as you let your tongue swirl around his thick fingers, and he tilts his head to the side as he watches you. he's making sure you're doing as he wants. he's making sure that you will be pliant and good, that you will do as you are told and nothing else because that is what he asks of you.

he's making sure that even though he knows you are not the submissive puppy you pretend to be, that you will be it anyways because if you don't, you won't like how he bites.

you and ghost are the same. you are equals, even if he will never admit it. you trade different parts of yourself, but this isn't about preservation, it's about survival, and you are willing to give yourself for it. you are willing to say yes, ghost, of course, whatever you want, because you aren't supposed to be alive anyways, but you might just have a chance if you hide in his shadow.

you're still on the bed when he dresses himself. he straps his vest back on, zips his pants, and you watch him lick his fingers clean before putting his gloves back on. you reach down, your mouth falling open when a glob of his cum slips out and dampens the sheets, and ghost has a hint of a smirk on before he rolls the mask back down.

"don' worry, luv," he mutters, reaching over and gripping your jaw rough. you pucker your lips, and he snickers. "soap'll fix you right up."

"soap?"

"mmm. the fuckin' thing is useless unless there's a mess to clean up, yeah?"

will you take care of me? will he take care of me when it's time? will he keep the dead out of my eyes and my blood inside?

he never answers your question. and deep down, you're certain it's because he would kill you, and maybe johnny would, too, because johnny does whatever he says, even if it isn't good for him. and you aren't sure if it's because this is his lieutenant or because saying yes is the only thing that make's sense anymore.

i can be useful. i can be useful. i can be useful.

when you are not useful anymore, you'll need to be the first to strike then. because maybe you don't deserve to live, but neither do they. god is a man, and he makes mistakes, and ghost is one of them, and he's eaten johnny's soul, and if you go down, you will take them with you.

god is a man, and he was a fool to think he could've cleansed the earth by himself.

it was the flood that cleansed it the first time, and mother nature always does her fucking job.

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

Akai Shuuichi isn't afraid of heights. Like any sane person, however, he dreads the fall.

Though he questions his sanity. Because try as he might to stay away from the edge, it calls to him. Staring into sweet oblivion sends shivers down his spine, the uncertainty of his fate a thrill like no other. Most days he trusts in himself, his ability to walk the razor's edge, but he's fallen before. And it hurt.

Of course, pain is just a part of life he's learned to live with. In his line of work, people get injured all the time. And if you can't handle that, you have to be very lucky to make it out alive. For the longest time, death wasn't an option.

(Now, it wouldn't be so bad.)

So he steadied himself, got smarter, hardier. Better at avoiding situations that result in pain. And better at shutting it out, too, when it did appear, in order to keep going.

Why, then, does his chest ache and burn?

It's quite simple.

Layers and layers of ice, degrees of separation in place precisely to protect him from pain like this, melted through by Rei's blazing heat.

What a stupid thing he's done, to get attached again.

He could've tried to resist, at the start. Before things had gone too far. Before he got to know Furuya Rei.

But maybe, by then, it was already too late. In truth, he probably doomed himself years ago, when he accepted Scotch's offer of companionship. It brought Bourbon into his orbit, and the man's never been any less than doggedly persistent. Once Shuuichi let him in, he was never going to escape unscathed.

Shuuichi let him get too close, and got burnt as a result. Could see it coming, too, for the longest time. But how was he supposed to escape Rei's brilliance? His touch, devastatingly kind? It would be like trying to block out the sun - an exercise in painful impossibility.

So he's stopped trying, and embraced the wildfire that is Rei. Of course he burns, it's his nature.

(There's some things Shuuichi will need to reevaluate about his own, now that he has time. Because he certainly never thought of himself as a masochist, and yet, despite the pain, he knows one thing for certain: he wouldn't want things any other way.)

(Not one that is available to him, at least.)

Thus, he resorts to clinging to the vestiges of patience and composure he has cultivated for years to keep working through the situation with a cool head.

To do what is right.

He's putting back together what he tore apart, unwittingly, some three years ago now. Their struggle is over. They deserve to rest and recover, nurse their wounds - together.

It doesn't matter that he feels like he's bleeding out. He's used to patching himself up, after all.

And he's glad that he can do this for his... friends. The term invokes a foreign, gentle joy. They're no longer team mates, no longer allies, no longer forced together by circumstance. That's in the past, now. They stick to each other by choice, these days. That makes them friends, right?

He's happy for his friends.

Shuuichi pours himself another glass of scotch.

.

He should've picked a different hotel than his family.

Rather, his family should've really looked into a permanent residence already, considering Masumi has decided she doesn't want to go back to Britain. It's not like mother could refuse, after all the things his little sister did for her - not least of which, coming clean to Shiho and convincing her to share the APTX antidote, when all was said and done.

They're certainly not lacking in money, and Shuuichi's sure the Hanedas have connections that would make finding a flat, or even a house, possible, even on short notice.

Then again, Masumi told him they've been living in a hotel for more than half a year - maybe they've simply grown used to the comforts. It's not for him, but he's rarely seen eye to eye with mother.

Regardless, none of this excuses banging at his door at seven in the morning, on the dot.

"Shuu, are you up yet?"

Well, if he wasn't, he surely would be, now. Years undercover have left him a light sleeper out of necessity - it's a habit he won't be able to break for quite a while, even if he wanted to.

Still, the splitting headache and nausea make him consider playing dead. He doesn't feel much better than it, in any case.

Another set of knocks shakes his door. He loves his sister, and her determination is one of her best traits. But some of these days, it's also highly inconvenient.

"One moment."

He drags himself off the barstool, checks the mirror. Can almost hear Rei telling him he looks like death warmed over. Roughly two hours of sleep half-draped over the hotel room bar certainly didn't do him any favours.

He buttons up his shirt in an attempt at modesty, combs back his hair roughly. Part of him wants to send Masumi away - she's idolised him for too long. His little sister doesn't deserve to have the illusion of composure shattered, shouldn't have to see him, like this.

But she told him, at her birthday party, trying alcohol for the first time in their family home, under his watchful eyes. Always direct, but, as it turned out, even more so when tipsy:

'When all of this is over, I want my brother back. Just...you, however you are.'

If Shuuichi waits for a time where he feels ready to talk to her, won't stain her merely by existing in proximity, they'll never get to meet at all.

(He can't have that. He's missed too much, already.)

So he drags himself to the door, dishevelled, morning breath and all. Opens it a crack.

"Morning." If his voice is a little rougher than usual, there's nothing he can do about it.

Masumi pushes the door wide open so she can step in, giving him a wide berth. Inspects him head to toe, worry clear in her scowl and the wrinkle of her nose.

"...is this a bad time?", she asks, a glint to her eyes as she notices the half-empty bottle of scotch on the bar's counter. She can't help it - a detective through and through, and not good enough at feigning nonchalance yet. The evidence at the crime scene is surely forming a rather damning picture - he really should have put the bottle back into the bar before letting her in.

She plops down on the small sofa, makes herself comfortable while he opens the window. That should at least give them some relief from the smells accumulated overnight in the room.

"No. You're just here early. Is something the matter?"

He doesn't bother with pleasantries on principle, but at this hour he finds himself even less inclined. Besides - she wouldn't be here this early if it wasn't important. At least Shuuichi dearly hopes she has more sense than that.

Masumi looks down at the floor, a little guilty. He settles on the barstool and waits for her hesitation to blow over. Must really be looking like shit, if he's managed to curb her usual enthusiasm.

"I was going to ask for a favour, but I'm really not sure-"

He gives her an unimpressed look, from up upon his perch. It's a little too early to beat around the bush.

"Masumi." A single word, aimed to cut her off with calm precision. "How do I help?"

He might not be feeling well, but he's a professional - he's worked in worse conditions, for less important reasons. He'll drag himself out of his slump, if she needs him.

"You don't have to. It's silly." She gives him a sheepish smile, fangs and all.

"That's for me to decide, once you let me know what you need. So?"

She steadies herself, looks up at him, and sighs.

"For context, it's been months now, but Ran's still down about the whole Shinichi fiasco. So, we've decided to surprise her with an outing, tomorrow night."

So far so good, although he doesn't see where that concerns him.

"It was gonna be just us girls, and I'm confident that between Ran and myself, we can handle anyone stupid enough to try and cause trouble. But you know how it is in Beika. There's always a risk."

He does indeed know how Beika has somehow overtaken Osaka in every single criminal statistic there is. If she didn't have friends here, he would suggest moving elsewhere. He hears Nagano is very lovely, all year 'round.

"So we were discussing if there's anyone we could bring for company. And, well-"

"Go on."

"Sonoko somehow - I'd really like her resources - caught wind that Okiya Subaru is back on 'vacation'. She might have suggested asking him to accompany us?"

Not entirely unexpected - miss Suzuki had taken something of a liking to him, for whatever reason. It's a testament to the improvement of his acting skills. Engaging with kids and teenagers is a far cry more difficult and involved than his cover as Rye, somehow.

"...she may also be under the inaccurate impression, you, well, he could be a potential match for Ran."

At least his sister's on the right page there. That's not happening, never in a thousand years. Even if Ran wasn't barely more than half his age, she's too innocent, selfless, kind. If something like love exists in his heart, it couldn't ever be for someone like her - not again.

"You want me to decline the offer, then?" Simple enough.

Masumi shakes her head.

"No, Sonoko's right. It's always good to have an extra pair of eyes, and I'd love to have you with us. Been too long since we last spent time together. Besides, I don't think Ran is even interested in you - or anyone, really, after that disaster..." It takes him a moment to place the bitterness in her voice, uncharacteristic as it is.

"And that is unexpected?"

"No. I get it, she needs time. But she's miserable, and I want her to cheer up already..." Masumi mumbles the latter half to herself, subdued. Shuuichi's not sure he was supposed to hear that, but, well. He did.

"You'll get through to her eventually."

Good back-up gets one out of the toughest of scrapes, he can attest to that. If his sister is determined to get Ran to feel better, her persistence will make it come true, eventually.

"I sure hope so." She smiles up at him.

He finds his lips quirking up in response. "You focus on helping her. I'll cover your back."

He's sure he'll manage not to indulge miss Suzuki's delusions too badly. Rei often let him know how off-putting he can be, after all - finally a good use for his skills.

"Thanks, Shuu."

She gets up. Stops a couple of steps away from him, hovering uncertainly. When he raises an eyebrow, he can almost see the 'ah, fuck it', and then she's hugging him. Shuichi pats her back, a little awkwardly.

"Any time", he says and means it. "If there's anything else..."

She tenses next to him, but shakes her head.

"No, it's...I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

Well, now he is a little worried. He'll need to keep an eye out for whatever's troubling her.

"Alright." He won't push her; she'll tell him if she needs to.

Masumi lets go and scurries off, fleeing for the door.

"Text me the time and place, I'll be there."

"Will do. See you tomorrow." She nods and waves her goodbye. He follows to lock the door behind her, the bolt sliding shut with a satisfying clack.

There's just one small problem. He currently doesn't have Okiya's get-up. And Okiya doesn't live in this hotel.

After dropping him off yesterday, Shuuichi had planned not to bother him for a couple of days. Well. That plan has just been tossed out the window rather unceremoniously.

It can't be helped. With a bit of apprehension, he calls Scotch.

.

Under the cover of darkness, Shuuichi scales the garden wall, dropping into the Kudo's backyard without issue. The alarms have been disabled according to the schedule he provided.

He slips in through the unlocked backdoor, shutting it behind himself. The security systems of the place are too familiar; he reactivates them on autopilot. Better to avoid unpleasant surprises, wherever possible.

Clearly, Scotch had a similar idea - Shuuichi can barely see his outline in the darkened kitchen, but the revolver he gave to him gleams in the dim light. It's nice to see he's making good use of it.

Sharp blue eyes scan him.

"The passphrase?"

Nostalgia steals the air from his lungs. Between unsafe safe houses, a trigger-happy Bourbon, and working with people best described as shapeshifters, they needed a way to identify themselves, and quickly, when they returned home.

It's been years since he's last spoken it, but the passphrase comes to him as easily as breathing.

"Eat, drink, and be merry..."

Scotch had suggested the words, years ago. The motto he lived by, when not on the job, in order to not lose his sanity. The motto he'd imposed on Rye, as well, when they became partners.

A cheshire grin in the night.

"...for tomorrow we die." Scotch finishes their creed, lowers the revolver.

"Welcome home, Rye."

.

It's always been easy to find comfort by Scotch's side. Between the greeting, making gyoza together - which goes much better than their attempts years ago - and watching mindless action movies with a glass of bourbon, ripping apart impossible stunt work, it's difficult not to fall into a simulacrum of the fragile peace they'd carved out for themselves, away from organisation work.

Only this time, the peace is real.

Despite his apprehensions about meeting Scotch, Shuuichi's glad he's here - travelling with him is one thing, but he didn't realize just how much he's missed downtime with his ex-partner. Scotch's sharp intellect and easy-going attitude make for pleasant company.

It's exactly what he needs to unwind.

Which is why he doesn't see how Scotch has him cornered until it's too late.

.

The neighbourhood of the Kudo manor is quiet, at night.

As they head out onto the balcony for a smoke in the moonlight, their conversation turns to hushed whispers. Mellowed by an evening of pleasant company and several drinks, the world sharpens into focus between them, illuminated by the glow of their cigarettes.

Standing would be too visible, so they sit on the stone floor, side by side, like so many times before.

"Hey, Akai?" His name, not his monicker. A chilling sense of dread creeps into his chest. Please, no.

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

Shuuichi closes his eyes. He can take a good guess where this is going. Thus, he takes a deep drag from his cigarette, and braces himself.

"You know. For letting me meet Zero."

He'd been hoping against hope they could avoid the topic altogether. After all, they've made it several hours without addressing it. But unfortunately, it seems his luck has run out.

(Still, having seen Scotch in good spirits all evening makes it worthwhile, just a bit.)

Maybe they can just move along quickly.

"Think nothing of it."

"No. Akai, listen. I know you had to pull some strings to make it happen, and I want you to know I appreciate that. We appreciate that - even if Zero is pissed. First thing he did was slap me; told me I was late."

Scotch laughs, low and sweet in the night air.

They both know he let himself get slapped - Rei tends to telegraph too much, when he's angry, and surely it's even more obvious for someone so intimately familiar with him. The thought stings. And yet, through it, Shuuichi can't help the help the small smile creeping on his face. That sounds like Rei, all right. He would've liked to see it - someone else the target of his anger, for once.

Scotch seems happy to just bask in the memory, but Shuuichi's curiosity has been piqued.

"Did you manage to resolve your issues?" After all, that was the goal. If they didn't, none of this was worth it - several hoops he jumped through, bureaucratic and personal, for nothing.

"It's tentative, so far, but I have faith we'll get there. We've been through too much, together, at this point. This won't break us... I hope."

Shuuichi is reminded painfully of the bits and pieces he's heard of their childhood adventures. Fishing and fighting and being friends. It must be nice, to have found love so early in life. To get to keep it, too.

"I don't think so, it's clear how much he missed you. I'd be surprised if he ever let you go again." It leaves him a little cold, to no longer be the focal point of Furuya's burning determination. Chasing him was always just a means to an end for getting to Scotch. And now his wish has been granted. Shuuichi hopes it's worth it.

When he smiles, Shuuichi is sure this is Hiro, the person closest to Rei. It burns, but at the same time he finds himself glad that Scotch shines with such utter fondness when he talks of Zero. That's what Rei deserves, after all.

"I hope so. I don't intend to leave again, anyways. Every single day when I was hiding, I missed him."

It's a quiet, gentle admission Akai isn't sure how to handle. All these emotions are a bit too much - he's not used to being thanked, unless it's with useless medals, and he's not used to being confided in. He supposes it's nice that Scotch trusts him enough to lay himself bare like this, nowadays. Still, he can't help but wish for the old times, when they were much better at keeping their feelings out of his face. He's already happy for them; isn't that enough?

Scotch turns to look at him, blue eyes burning bright in the moonlight.

"And I missed you, too."

Cold wind tousles his hair. Shuuichi stares at Scotch.

If he didn't know what to say before, he certainly doesn't do so now. How can Hiro say that so easily? It's too personal. It's one thing to have his little sister say it, who only ever saw an idealized version of him to look up to. For Scotch to say this, despite knowing what he did, who he is - it makes Shuuichi nauseous.

Because he can tell Scotch is being painfully genuine.

'I missed you too', burns in his throat. But too many conflicting emotions keep it tightly sealed. His breathing becomes difficult, requires a conscious effort to take air in, hold, breathe out. Repeat.

And Scotch isn't even done yet.

"Akai. I have to get used to that name now, huh? Feel free to call me by my name, too, if you want."

With how his mind is spinning, it's difficult to figure out what he wants at all, besides for Scotch, no, Hiromitsu to stop. He's ripping apart the bubble of warm nostalgia that was enveloping them so nicely, leaving them exposed to the present. The night is cold and uncertain, without its protection.

"...you haven't been meeting my eyes all evening. Please, Akai - let me know what's wrong. We couldn't, back then, but I'd like to be your friend, now."

It's the kindest smile he's seen on Sc- Hiromitsu yet, and it's too much. Shuuichi has to avert his eyes, can't keep looking at his former partner, all earnest focus placed on him. A shiver runs downs his spine.

There's few things he wants more, in life.

"...we are", he manages to tear from his aching throat, choked up with emotion. This is a bad idea. He's not supposed to get attached. He's just making the same mistake, over and over again. He should've kept quiet.

(If he'd told Akemi how he truly felt, would it have mattered?)

"Then why do you seem miserable, whenever you look at me? Why do you try to avoid me? Don't think I didn't notice."

Of course he did, always too sharp. So helpful, on a mission, and occasionally in private too; he'd know they were getting sick before they really felt it, start treatment with soup and tea early. Taking care of them, even then.

"It's got nothing to do with you, it's-" 'me', he wants to say. Fear and bitter envy, the brunt of which Hiromitsu really doesn't deserve to face. So Shuuichi's been trying to avoid them, and, by extension, his former partner.

He manages to catch himself in time, before he gives voice to feelings that can't be unsaid.

"Yes?" Hiromitsu's voice is calm and patient and Shuuichi hates him for the attention he's paying to him.

He manages to correct his course in time, if barely.

"You and Rei deserve some time alone, now that you're finally back together." It's close enough, only a partial lie. They're so important to each other, and he truly wants them to make up. He'd only be in their way.

"Rei, hm?" Hiro smiles at him. Of course he picked up on Shuuichi's blunder.

He's had just about enough of being cornered. Gets up and is about to head inside and maybe hide in the attic for a while. The door can be barricaded from the inside. Hiromitsu rises after him, puts a hand around his wrist in a vice grip.

"Let. Go." It takes all his patience to not just break Scotch's arm and leave.

"I'm sorry for pushing you, Akai. Please, give me half a minute more."

Unfortunately, his best glare stopped working on Scotch several years back. Shuuichi looks at his wristwatch, starts counting down. As soon as Hiromitsu starts talking, he knows his time is better spent focusing on what he has to say, instead.

"Look at me, Akai, and listen up. You can't get between the two of us. I've offered you a place at my side years ago, and Zero... well, he's come around. The offer still stands. It wasn't conditional, but if it was, you would've earned your place easily, by now. I owe you my life, and so does Zero, several times over."

"We did what we had to, and you did the same for me." For the longest time it was that simple, their relationship purely transactional, because Bourbon could only ever deal in exchanges. A favour for a favour.

It's long since stopped working that way, and Shuuichi knows it.

"Oh, please. None us had to do anything more than cooperate on missions, and yet we all chose to do so anyways. You're one of us, Akai. Stop fighting it."

And he wants to, desperately so. The thought of spilling his rotten insides for them to see has him sick to his stomach, and yet, how much worse could it be than what they've already witnessed?

Hiromitsu squeezes his arm, a burning brand of human connection. It staves off the cold, just a little.

When he speaks again, it's soft, but firm.

"You should've joined us for dinner, yesterday. Both of us missed you."

Shuuichi doesn't know what to say to that, too busy fighting his internal battles, but surely something shows on his face, because Hiro laughs at him.

"As amusing as it is to see you flush, no, that wasn't an invitation to a threesome."

...he isn't quite sure whether he's supposed to be relieved, or crestfallen, at this.

"I didn't think-"

"Yeah, I'm sure you didn't." Hiromitsu's smile is too sly and knowing. It's a testament to the fact Shuuichi's spent too much time with Furuya, because wiping it off his face in a fight sure sounds appealing, right about now.

He's always been better at expressing himself through deeds rather than words, anyways.

"Otherwise, I wouldn't need to set the record straight. Zero's furious, by the way. Count yourself lucky that I'm the one breaking the news to you. He doesn't appreciate being set up on a date with his best friend."

Hiromitsu pauses, presumably to let that sink in. Shuuichi stares him down. That is supposed to be new information, how?

"Let me be perfectly clear: I love Zero."

He says it easily, with a sweet smile. It stings fiercely in Shuuichi's chest. By now, he thinks he knows what Hiromitsu is playing at, but unfortunately that knowledge doesn't prevent it from being an effective tactic.

(If this is how Hiromitsu treats his friends, he doesn't want to be his enemy.)

"He's my best friend, I love him like a brother. But he's family. Nothing more, nothing less."

There's a small pang of guilt at the relief that floods his system, but he needs it said explicitly to really believe it.

"You aren't a couple, then?"

Hiromitsu raises an eyebrow, as if to ask 'and why would that matter to you?' But thankfully he's done teasing, or Shuuichi really would need to break something, or rather, someone.

"No. I can see how you got the idea, but there's never been anything between us. Zero says you have a brother? Imagine we presumed the same about you two, just because you're close."

The confirmation lets him breathe more freely, even if it will need time to settle. His mind is still spinning, too many thoughts fighting for control. From this mess, of all things, his long-forgotten manners emerge as the failsafe. "Sorry."

Hiromitsu waves it off with a grin.

"I don't mind too much, we got excellent dinner out of it. Thank you for that, by the way. But do make sure to apologize properly to Rei."

Hiro winks at him, then straightens, looks him in the eye.

Squeezes his arm a final time, before he lets go.

"I mean it, Akai - you're our friend. And I hope you rest a little easier, knowing the truth."

Shuuichi does.

.

He's five minutes late to the requested location downtown - through little fault of his own, this time.

Masumi's text arrived a mere twenty minutes ago, and the things PSB liaison Akai Shuuichi might get away with, such as speeding, don't apply to the civilian Okiya Subaru (though that would admittedly be a very nice perk of the job).

He can hazard a guess why Masumi didn't send the details earlier as he drives past the building in question to find a parking spot - she probably didn't want to give him time to reconsider and back out.

Because she's dragging him to a goddamn karaoke bar, and, standing in the huddle of girls waiting for him, is Miyano Shiho.

His instincts tell him to cancel, to take up position on the rooftop bar across the street - it would provide easier surveillance options.

(But he's tried to protect Akemi from afar, and failed her, miserably.)

Besides, he promised, and he really does try to be better, these days.

So he smiles, all awkward and apologetic Subaru, as he joins them. It's going to be a long night.

(He's soothed by the smell of Rei's hypoallergic fabric softener clinging to the sweater he picked. Can't help but feel that there would be a certain appeal to sharing them, if Rei were open to the idea.)

.

The evening goes better than he imagined, all things considered, even if there's crying involved - as is often the case when he meets Mouri Ran.

It's a pleasant distraction, if nothing else.

He keeps an eye on Masumi all night to see what could possibly be bothering her, but as far as he can tell she's genuinely happy to spend the night with her friends. In fact, considering she told him how it had been too long since they'd last seen each other, she pays surprisingly little attention to him.

He prefers it this way.

(Although he would've liked to ask for her advice on how to apologise properly. Alas, this is probably not the right time, or place.)

.

Mostly he stays at their table, watching the girls' drinks and the crowd, occasionally giving guys who seem to consider chatting the girls up cheerful glares. Masumi made her wishes very clear, after all.

It's a good thing he talked to Scotch Hiromitsu yesterday. Enthusiasm permeates the bar, but unfortunately confidence doesn't equate to talent. Several of the loud, out of tune performances would've been torture with a hangover.

He finds himself humming along to the classics regardless.

As it is, it's almost pleasant. Sure, Shiho keeps ignoring him when it's just the two of them left at the table, but that's better than open hostility. Probably.

(It feels a little worse.)

.

Two hours in Sonoko ushers Ran to stay with Subaru rather conspicuously.

Smalltalk is stilted between them, lacking in common ground, and it doesn't really help that their connection is through the Kudo family, the memories of which she's here to escape for the night. She's polite as ever, but without the other girls as buffer, the conversation quickly runs dry.

Thankfully, the girls' singing distracts them soon enough. A cutesy pop song about moving on, dedicated to Ran.

She seems about ready to cry halfway through, and by the time they're done she's sniffling and trying to discreetly wipe her tears. Shuuichi gives her a handkerchief and pats her back rather awkwardly in an effort to try and soothe her. He hopes the girls will be back soon to take care of this. He's woefully underqualified to handle this kind of situation.

When they finally do get back, he plans to excuse himself, but before he finds a good time he's swept up in a group hug instead.

Turns out he might have misread the situation - what with Ran being overjoyed at her friends' continued support, and needing to express that, somehow. How exactly that translates into him also being included in their huddle is beyond his comprehension, but he's not going to struggle and cause a scene.

(It's kind of nice to see her smile again - gloominess doesn't suit her.)

.

It might've been a bit too much excitement for Ran, because around midnight she's almost falling asleep at their table. At this point, the rest of the girls declare their mission a success, and the focus shifts to trying to figure out how to get back in the middle of the night.

Shuuichi volunteers to drive them home.

It's crammed in his little Subaru, but the girls manage, and once he's dropped off Sonoko, things quiet down considerably.

Masumi makes him swear not to tell their mother how long they were out.

He agrees, of course, knowing he got up to much worse as a teen - back when he was still susceptible to peer pressure and living abroad in a fraternity, alcohol made him do very stupid things indeed to prove his worth.

If this is how Masumi chooses to defy their mother, he'll take it - she could be up to so much worse.

She's arranged to stay with Ran; thus, he's released from his services for the night. He watches as they help each other up the stairs, leaning in close, whispering and laughing to each other.

He would make an assumption, now, but Hiromitsu's words are still clear in his mind.

So for now, he refrains, and is simply glad they're supporting each other.

.

In the end, predictably, Shiho is the only one left in the car.

"Didn't dare to join us wearing your own skin, cousin?"

He shrugs. "Masumi requested Subaru."

"Well. At least you didn't creep on us from several buildings away. Baby steps." 'But progress, nonetheless', her small smile says.

He doesn't know why he says it. Maybe because it's late. Because Scotch Hiromitsu has chipped away at his protective tissue. Because it's Shiho.

"Staying away didn't save her." He doesn't need to say who - the same wound is carved into Shiho's heart, after all. And judging by the songs she chose to sing today, it still bleeds just the same.

She sighs, long-winded and too world-weary for a girl her age.

"No. No, it didn't. All it did was rob us of the time we had with her. Utter idiocy, in retrospect."

Shuuichi hums in agreement. Lost opportunities they'll never get back, all thanks to lies and the wish to protect her.

"I tried to push her away, you know? I was too involved - maybe, if she didn't know what I was doing, she could retain her innocence. Maybe she could even leave, one day, I'd hoped. But she clung to me stubbornly."

Never backing down from what she wanted, from those she loved. That's the women he fell for.

Shuuichi finds himself smiling, somewhat pained.

"She loved you dearly, to the bitter end."

He hands her the flip phone that has been his constant companion for almost a year now. Past the lockscreen waits Akemi's last message to him. With its P.S., asking him to protect her dear little sister, if the worst should come to pass.

He never got to reply to her, to promise that he would, of course he would.

It's short, so Shiho doesn't take long to read it. She attempts to hand it back, eyes glistening, but not crying.

Always composed, in front of him.

"Keep it."

It hurts to let go of it, but Shiho deserves to have assurance of Akemi's love, even in death.

(Unlike himself, who only ever lied to her.)

She looks up at him, uncertain, but what she reads on his face seems enough to convince her. She snaps the phone shut, cradles it to her chest.

Smiles grimly at him. "Thank you."

The rest of the car ride passes in silence.

They split up in front of the Kudo mansion.

"...I was planning to visit her grave on the weekend. You should come."

.

Shuuichi knows where Akemi's ashes have been laid to rest - he was the one to pay for her funeral, after all.

(Once upon a time, he'd dreamt of a future with her, of being family. Cruel irony, how that turned out to be true.)

Since her parents were never officially buried, and he hadn't been able to reach Shiho, he'd made the selfish decision to have Akemi's ashes stored in the Sera family grave.

He hasn't had the time to visit, yet - first, things had been too dangerous, then too busy, and by now, he's really just been unable to face her, alone. He's glad he doesn't have to, now.

Shiho sets down an incense stick, and some cut flowers - white gladioli. Shuuichi squats down next to her, puts down his flowers - lilies, also white - into the vase and lights the incense.

"Hey, sis. Look who I managed to drag along."

"Hello, Akemi." Sorry it took so long.

They stand, side by side, in silent prayer.

He's had days to prepare himself, to think about what he wants to say to her. But as he stands before her grave, all that's left is sorrow, a hollow in his chest where she should be.

(Filled with regret, and someone else. Jodie's right. He's a terrible partner.)

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the truth.

I'm sorry I left you behind.

I'm sorry I couldn't protect you.

I miss you.

The gentle smile when she talked about her little sister. The sweet blush when he'd kissed her hand. The way she'd awkwardly apologize for flipping the pancake she was making for breakfast into the sink. The ikebana arrangements she'd spend hours and hours on, decorating her flat. Her kind hands, mending his body and soothing his soul. The way the sunlight would turn her hair into gold.

A thousand small joys she gave to him, and all he had for her in turn were lies.

He doesn't remember the last time he cried - maybe as a child, when he fell and scraped his knee. It feels so far away.

His body doesn't remember how to, either - otherwise he surely would be, now.

How cruel. Even in death, he can't show her his honest feelings.

Shuuichi shows her cold comfort, instead.

Takes out a plastic evidence bag he requisitioned from the PSB, and places it on the altar as an offering. In it, the shattered scope of a rifle, splattered with its owner's blood. Gin's. It was found by his side, together with his Beretta, the instrument of his voluntary destruction. As the PSB forces had closed in on him, he'd chosen to kill himself, rather than surrender.

When Shuuichi lies awake at night, it irks him that Gin had a choice, at the end, where he took it away from so many others. He didn't deserve that kindness. A part of him is furious that he wasn't there to see his enemy's dying breaths, preferably through the scope of his rifle.

But it was probably for the best - if he'd been there, he's not sure he could've reigned himself in. Might've murdered Gin with his own two hands, and become the kind of monster he swore to hunt. (And if he's completely honest, there's another possibility: caught in a struggle with his enemy, he might have lost sight of his surroundings and slipped up. Facing Gin, that would've been a death sentence.)

Instead, and he's got the boy to thank for that, he was tasked with keeping their allies - Rei - alive and breathing. He can't help but feel like that matters.

I'm sorry I couldn't avenge you; you deserved better.

But he won't be making anyone miserable, anymore.

It's over, and they're still standing, in defiance of the bloodlust of their enemies. He's managed to keep one promise to Akemi, at least.

I'll continue to watch over her, if she lets me.

Shiho claps beside him, done with her prayer.

Thank you for everything.

The incense stick's stump turns to ash and scatters in the wind.

I hope your spirit can find peace, Akemi.

.

When he lights himself a cigarette to calm his mind, Shiho holds out a hand, wordlessly, expectantly.

He regards her with mild curiosity, but offers the pack regardless.

"What. You think I haven't done worse?"

She snatches his lighter, and with a hiss of flame, lights up her own cigarette.

"Akemi used to tell me to stay away from drugs, but I deserve this for bringing you here."

She takes a deep drag, managing not to cough. It's clear, from her posture and practiced ease, that it's far from her first foray into smoking.

"I hated you, you know? For the longest time. For playing with her, breaking her heart, leaving her behind, all alone. Leaving her to die."

It burns his lungs, to have his own thoughts voiced out loud, by Shiho of all people. But he deserves every cruel word dropped from her lips - she speaks nothing but the truth, after all. He needs to bear her judgement.

Shiho smiles, grimly. Doesn't look at him, focused on the grave instead.

"But not Akemi. She saw through you, and loved you still. Forgave you, even, because that's the kind of person she was."

A cold spring breeze plays with her hair. The sweater and cap protect him from the worst of it, but it still bites at his face, makes his eyes sting.

"I don't think I can ever be as forgiving as she was. You were, and still often are, an unrepentant jerk."

She turns to look at him, eyes as hard as steel. So familiar his eyes burn. He can't look away.

"But her death is not your fault."

It's cloaked in insults and pain. But it's an absolution he could never have asked for, one no one else could have given him. His breathing stops, then comes a little easier.

"Neither is it Kudo's. Did he ever tell you? He was there, watched her die. For the longest time, I blamed him for not saving her. He's brilliant when he puts his mind to it. Did he care so little, as to not even try?"

She shakes her head.

"It is a cruel thing to begrudge him for having witnessed her death. He was just a kid - small, powerless, afraid. Up against enemies that tried to kill him, too, only failed through sheer luck. I had to first be put into the same shoes to understand that."

As if she's not just a kid now, too. Neither of them should have gone through what they did, and yet it happened, has left them weathered and worn, tired beyond their years. They're still young - he hopes they can recover from the worst.

"I'm trying to tell myself it's not my fault either. She died for me, for us, trying to get us out of there. But I didn't know. She kept it from me, in case something went wrong. And I lie awake, going over conversations, wondering if I missed any signs. If I could've warned her or stopped her. If she could still be here, that way."

He's familiar with the spirals and hypotheticals, repeating the scenario over and over, to look for a way out. It never changes the facts.

"That kind of thinking gets you nowhere."

She gives him a sharp glare, a wordless threat to 'shut the fuck up'. He takes a step back, raising a hand in surrender.

"I know it's useless. Because she is dead, and no amount of analysing can bring her back. At least the one person who truly is at fault will not be a problem any longer. That's a small comfort."

She glares at the scope with barely concealed hatred in her eyes.

"And that's all there is. Akemi was proud and strong-willed - she chose her path. Not reaching out to any of us for help was a choice she made. I can't take away her agency in this matter."

Shiho smiles, pained and beautiful in the setting sun.

"The worst thing is that if she hadn't done what she did, I might still be a prisoner of the organisation. I'd like to think she didn't want to die to achieve it, but she'd be so happy to see me living in the sunlight, once more."

"She would be overjoyed." It's an obvious and simple truth he can't help but confirm.

Oh. Shiho's crying, now, quiet tears trailing down her cheeks, reflecting the sunlight in streaks of gold. It shaves years of her worn face, makes her look as young as she truly is.

He gives her a handkerchief, is glad to see her accept it. She wipes her face, smudging some of the make-up - he'll need to let her know before they return to the public. She doesn't usually like it when people can see past her composure. Shuuichi's pretty sure he, too, shouldn't be here to witness this.

But she doesn't hide from him, today, so he'll take all she gives to him, and treasure it.

"I brought you here because I'm trying to be better. I got a second chance at life, and I want to take it, all of it, for myself and for Akemi. But I won't be able to, if I hold on to useless grudges."

She looks at the handkerchief in her hands.

"You're a jerk, but you're not horrible. And you're trying to be better, too."

She holds out her hand.

"I want to get to know you, Akai Shuuichi. Maybe we could start with meeting for coffee?"

He waits for her to take it back, to reconsider.

She just looks at him expectantly, raises an eyebrow too when he doesn't comply immediately.

Shuuichi is many things, but he tries not to be a coward.

So he fights the vertigo, takes a leap of faith.

"I'd like that."

And shakes her hand.

.

Sweater Weather AU masterpost

[starlightshadowsworld]

Atsushi doesn't understand the Agency.

At the Orphanage no one had any expectations of him. He was to be neither seen nor heard, like a ghost that haunted the place.

Dazai grins when he'd spot Atsushi walking in and call him over. He always did, no matter how quiet Atsushi was.

He'd be pulled into a debate, or rather be stuck watching Kunikida and Dazai argue.

Atsushi didn't understand why they wanted him around. No one had ever wanted him around. The fact they smile at him too, like they're happy to see him.

It was strange.

Kyouka tugs on his arm when it was time for lunch. Atsushi never realised the time, he wasn't used to eating regularly.

The idea he could eat food every day was something he didn't think he'd ever get used too. And good food too, not leftovers thrown at his feet.

Lucy would give him a knowing look and push the plate infront of him. Atsushi never knew what to get but he trusted her choices.

He'll never forget the day he didn't like something and how Lucy had quickly swapped with something a lot more his taste.

Atsushi didn't understand that. At the Orphanage you were supposed to be greatful for any food. To complain would be to lose the luxury of a meal.

At the Orphanage whenever something went wrong, it was Atsushi's fault. No matter what, even if Atsushi wasn't around it was always his fault.

The Agency don't let Atsushi take the fall for anything he hasn't done.

Ranpo admits to leaving a case early to grab sweets before the words could even leave Atsushi's mouth.

A suspect got away and Atsushi was mid apology before Kenji said it was his fault for losing them.

And while all true, Atsushi doesn't understand why they didn't blame him.

They didn't get punished for it, that was a relief. In fact no one at the Agency gets punished. Unless you counted whatever Kunikida does to Dazai.

Which Atsushi didn't, it was different.

Fukuzawa always had the final say, but even on the rare occasions he was genuinely mad... Never did he raise a hand at anyone.

Atsushi didn't understand why no one punished him here.

Atsushi was only ever hurt during fights and even than Yosano always checked him over. She even told Atsushi to tell her if he was ever hurt, no matter how small.

Atsushi didn't understand.

Shouldn't he be trying to not be a burden? That's what the Orphanage would want, they didn't dress his wounds or care about his pain.

Pain was his oldest companion, to the point it wasn't so much punishment as it was what Atsushi deserved.

And Atsushi agreed even if he wasn't a fan of it.

But the Agency did not punish him, ever. They didn't even have a cage here. He'd asked about it once but Kunikida assumed he was joking.

Atsushi was not but didn't ask any further.

It all seemed too good to be true. Maybe it was, but Atsushi supposes he should enjoy it for however long it's lasts.

Because as much as he'd like to hope otherwise it won't.

His parents were kind once.

The Headmaster was kind once.

Shibusawa was kind once.

Atsushi only drags the people around him into darkness. He brings only misfortune, and to save themselves they abandon him.

And one day even the Agency with all it's kindness and strength will not want him either.

That, is the first thing about the Agency that Atsushi understands.

[sotwk]

I started reading a LoTR fic called ‘Song of the Witch Kingdom’ and someone commented under it “rereading bc sotwk is the best” or smth of the sort and that reminded me of you 🤭 Hi please will you drop a headcanon of the Mirkwood brothers’ dynamics maybe? Please share anything you like.

Hello Kind Anon! Was someone really randomly name-dropping me?? I would say they must have mistaken me for someone else, but Sotwk is an unusual name, so I'll just thank YOU for thinking of me! :)

I would happily provide you a fun overview of the Thranduilion Princes' dynamic right here:

BAND OF BROTHERS, THRANDUILION STYLE

My personal favorite headcanon and imagine about my Thranduilon Princes is how lethal and unstoppable they are as a military force when they act as one unit. I mean, you've seen both movie Thranduil and Legolas dominate every battlefield they were on. Now imagine FIVE such warriors (or six, if you include their Ada), all incredibly skilled, honed, and experienced, felling giant hill trolls (Damrod would have been toast) and cutting through ranks of orcs with the ease of water flushing out dirt.

But the reality is, Thranduil established a hard rule that all five of his sons should NEVER be present on the same battlefield at the same time. He'd lived through enough wars where entire Elven bloodlines were decimated in one battle, and he refused to let that happen to his family.

But the Thranduilions excelled working together as a unit, whether it was in battle, hunting, playing games, or anything that required teamwork and coordination. The brothers knew each other's strengths and weakness, and pride never got in the way of their respect for each other. This is not to say that they never disagreed, but when they were on task, they stuck to the agreed upon plan and always had each other's backs. Strongly bonded through ósanwe, they were also able to operate on a collective consciousness and move as one, like a glorious Elven symphony (or ballet?)!

Here is a general description of each brother's role on "Super Team Thranduilion", which each one of them understands and upholds whenever they work together. They're so settled in these roles that they could be dropped at the height of any bloody, hell-on-earth skirmish and they'd know exactly what to do. Thranduilions Assemble!

MIRION: The Commander

Eldest and most beloved and respected by all of his brothers, Mirion knows them well and is most tightly bonded to them as individuals. He can serve as a sort of conduit of their collective strength, and his one mind can coordinate all five bodies. Due to the whole-hearted trust his brothers place in him, they are willing to surrender themselves to his total control if asked. Mirion is more than deserving of this trust; he is not only unfailingly moral and kind, but his brothers know he would sooner sacrifice his own life than let anything happen to them. (Which is what eventually did lead to Mirion's death in the end.)

TURHIR: The Tank

Turhir would stand in front of a hundred arrow shots to shield his brothers, and when absolutely necessary, his brothers would even allow it--because if any one of them could walk off a hundred wounds, it would be Turhir. He is the hardiest, most enduring, and most indefatigable of the princes, to a level that rivals his father or even the legendary Elven heroes of the First Age. He is not just some dumb brute or punching bag, either. Turhir is an unparalleled fighter and cunning tactician, but he is willing to submit and take orders from an authority he respects.

ARVELLAS: The Healer

Arvellas gave up most participation in warfare rather early in his lifetime to dedicate himself to the highest and most advanced of Elvish healing arts, but he is still Thranduil's son and can wield a sword to deadly effect. His true value on the battlefield is his ability to pull fatally wounded fighters from the edge of death. His brothers all know--as long as Arvellas is nearby, there is hope.

There was a common saying in Eryn Galen that became even more utilized as the realm declined into Mirkwood's darkness: "No one goes to Mandos under the Master's watch." The title "Master" was an honorific given to Arvellas by the people themselves, as a mark of respect and gratitude for all the lives he had saved through his wisdom and healing abilities.

GELIR: The Rogue

Stealth, craftiness, and lack of scruples are Gelir's primary assets. He is willing to risk his neck and get his hands dirty for any cause he deems worthy of it, and his undying loyalty to his family means he would do just about anything for them, many times without requiring explanation. Enemies fear his ability to attack and get things done before anyone could see him coming. There is also this little thing about him being the finest archer seen since Beleg Strongbow (his great-uncle), making them right to fear him as an assassin.

LEGOLAS: The Support

Support might sound lame, but Legolas relishes his eternal role as an indispensible sidekick to great heroes he admires (see: his enthusiasm around Aragorn). And Mirkwood's Youngest Prince is FAST. In his adult prime, he could outrun any of his brothers in a race, and that says a lot. He could get from one end of the battlefield to the other in a flash and bring aid to whoever needs it. Legolas also spent his entire lifetime learning and picking up skills from his parents and each of his brothers, transforming himself into a living swiss army knife.

The Elvenking's Five Sons: (L-R) Legolas, Arvellas, Mirion, Turhir, Gelir

Art: Commission by hffhifjou

SOTWK CONTENT LINKS:

Introduction to SotWK

Main Headcanon Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

sotwk headcanon - This tag captures all SotWK headcanon posts, including minor ones that might not be on the Masterlist.

[threeshadesoflime]

limer's slendermansion au masterpost!

mostly made for myself and anyone else who wants to read/is interested! most of my fanart is built around this too ha ha. containing headcanons/a complete overhaul/fanon depictions of my fave creepypastas + the slendermansion au, because i think my brain deserves to think about them

(now illustrated!!)

tws in the tags but there's nothing too serious i think

the slendermansion/slenderman;

- bastard man you will never be a father figure in my eyes

- there is no such thing as any other variant of slenderman (we are not in a Dr Seuss book we do not need the rhyming quartet of evil white men)

- doesn't speak, probably leaning more towards the operator rather than slenderman tbh

- except this guy has exceptional situational humour (it's me I'm the humour)

- not explicitly abusive but like if you don't obey him when he sends you out to do proxy shit he'd probably kill you

- which is a problem especially with a house contained with not only agents/berserkers but also sleepers

- which actually thinking about it isn't that big of a deal except for the like 2 guys where they have DID and one alter is an agent and the other isn't

- the house is kind of like the monster house from monster house albeit a little more lowkey in it having a consciousness (so perhaps a little more alike to the house in encanto, just less friendly)

- you don't age in the house, but it's a situation where you don't really notice that fact until you really think about how the dates never really change properly

- wounds don't heal properly either, but if someone is fatally injured within the house slenderman usually blinks them out of existence for a couple hours before they're found again, perfectly fine, but lost around the woods surrounding the mansion

- the only time you'll actually see him is if fatal injuries happen or if a proxy has fucked up on a mission or something and needs immediate backup (kind of like alex in MH)

- missions are always posted through the letterbox once a month in envelopes along with the four weekly newspapers (maybe a magazine if you're lucky)

- possibly also how the proxies source their wanted posters info, which is usually contained in the paper. they have disputes and contests on whose criminal description is the best (slenderman interferes with cameras so no photo evidence exists of any of these people outside of the mansion, only eye witness accounts)

- only a certain amount of people are used to go out every month, typically in groups of threes/fours - less if the people he's sending out are older (responsible of him, I know)

- mansion is situated in a black void. please don't ask me where this void is because I don't know but it's probably a different dimension from the earth most of them are sourced from

ben drowned;

- the benjamin lawman kind of ben

- seemingly an infinite supply of pondscum he's constantly picking off of himself

- whenever a new zelda game comes out he's always excited because it's a new link skin to use + so when botw came out it was like the equivalent of a wardrobe makeover

- one of the few that doesn't have to share a room with anyone given his physical body is like, semi real and mostly spends his nights in his game cartridge which is in an overheating Nintendo 64 in the tower attic, which is too small for a bed anyway - but ben personalises it as much as possible (it's a pig sty)

- speaking of his body, it's in a weird liminal state of real and not real, because he can make it disappear/reappear but everyone can touch him, he can touch others, etc. i explain this away via slender mansion dead person magic

- he doesn't typically eat, and even though he doesn't need to he likes making his body breathe (as much as it can since it's waterlogged most of the time)

- Ben's body is mostly in a state of flux dependent on his mood, eg: if he's content/happy he looks less drowned, if he's upset/angry he looks more corpse-like

- can spy on people through any electronic within like a 50 ft radius of his console without him actually having to enter the device, so to say

- this has caused many an argument

- along with him being able to phase in and out of reality he can also appear in any digital screen

- constantly electrostatic and will constantly touch people to give them electric shocks to piss them off

- probably one of the youngest there, about 12/13. maybe even eleven - around the age when preteen boys become semi unbearable 364 days of the year and have like one day of emotional realisation

jeff the killer;

- just want to clarify that this jeff has hair and eyelids in this au i feel like that's important

- but he doesn't blink much to put people off so really it's almost as if he doesn't have eyelids anyway

- will not stop picking at his mouth wound & that shit has NOT healed and will not stop oozing plasma/rbc

- ptsd from an ambiguous house fire that probably happened but Jeff won't talk about it (read: I haven't decided on the specifics yet)

- I've seen in some stories jeff and fire are tight but I've always interpreted it as more of an adversion to it

- honestly my reformed fanon version of him is pieced together from a bunch of rewrites I've seen

- mentally ill asshole (emphasis on asshole, he sucks ass)

- like come on sure a few kids bullied him but your first instinct shouldn't be to kill them . that's at least step 27 on a bad day

- tbf he had neglectful parents

- but like so did liu and he only started being homicidal after his brother disfigured him

- killed his parents but was unsuccessful with fully killing liu because, funnily enough, killing someone you gaf about is hard even for dickhead jeff

- shares a bedroom with nina and jane because the house (me) thought it would be funny

- quite disturbed when he realised nina was there to stay and probably tried to kill her at one point (again)

- someone take away the bad graphic tees he wears it's almost a crime against humanity

- he cuts all his t shirts up but like. stylishly

- or as stylishly you can get especially when paired with massive fucking demonias he will not stop wearing . he's had them since he was like 12 the only reason they fit is through sheer force of will (no one talk to him about his feet blisters)

- he's like. nineteen at a push but probably the kinda guy to lie and make himself seem younger for pity points

- "i killed my parents when i was fifteen, god can we not grow from our errors anymore? cancel culture nowadays. [...] when was my hunt? oh yesterday ha ha it was a bloodbath"

-smokes

nina the killer;

- wow! i wonder who she likes the most in this household!

- (amongst other things) bpd, jeff is her favourite person and it's a pretty miserable fucking time for the first like, year she's living there he is so horrible

- on a bad day her preferred state of being is being at least within a six foot radius of him at all times (maybe he might learn empathy being around her, who knows)

- he went on a little killing spree post-woods family murder and killed Nina's parents, & disfigured her w the glasgow smile but before he killed her slenderman intervened (not to save nina but to make sure jeff himself didn't like die from his own injuries)

- she was his only survivor and saw it as a.. "wow... he saved me from my abusive household, i need to get to him"

- this didn't go down well with her case worker

- neither did her running away (which really wasn't a good idea with massive facial wounds but she did NOT want the hospital to heal them)

- (insert probably incorrect medical jargon) she now has a face which healed with big gaps, sometimes keeps the flaps stapled together for easier eating/speaking purposes but they won't heal back together now

- she takes out the staples when on missions though because she thinks it looks cooler

- her and toby probably go through those face staples like wildfire together

- she only killed one guy before being led (by the operator) to the mansion to try and get jeff's attention (unbeknownst to her jeff does not read or watch the news so had no idea of this copycat kill - she was quite distraught by this)

- one of the few that suffers quite badly with self harm

- her parents were awful and when her little brother died (when he was about four and nina was nine) from their neglect they blamed it on nina

- not necessarily unkind to everyone else but she also especially warmed up to ben because from her fuzzy memory she can see a vague resemblance between ben and her little brother

- scene queen +curly hair she flat irons like once a month on special occasions

- she's the one that does everybody's piercings and sticknpokes

- should she? not at all she didn't even google an online tutorial, just guesswork

- probably about. 15 ish? maybe 16. I don't like her canon age of 11 because the thought of an eleven year old going "i love jeff the killer i hope we jeff the kill together" is lame

- jeff is incredibly put off by her whole schtick and was not impressed upon finding out she was there for the long haul (wouldn't it be funny if this happens thrice)

eyeless jack;

- I've heard so many goddamn variations of his story so I'm just gonna riff and make my own

- 16 y/o kid, average in every which way, gets involved with the wrong people who basically feed him on drugs which make him have bad hallucinations, trips to the point where jack gets very fucking frightened while high and it ends up with the aforementioned wrong people unintentionally killing him

- everyone panics and dumps his body which rots for a while (eyes rotted out first)

- guess who picks it up! (unspecified) cult

- they use him for a ritual which goes awry

- jack's corpse proceeds to be possessed by a demonic force which revives him but he's... different now #emo

- kills cultists as his brain, as decomposed at it was, carried on the fight/flight instinct he initially died with

-but whoops! doesn't remember his life at all (as demon nor human) and almost ends up starving to death before like jeff or someone finds him and drags him back to the mansion

- seeing as jack is a (semi) demonic entity slenderman does not appreciate him in the house but the actual house itself does not gaf and provides him a bedsit anyway

- finds out his name when going through the paper with others and they see his missing poster printed on the front page of 2 of the papers (he's since been demoted to a back page story)

- his brain is a weird combination of demonic and human matter (but he's still just one person, just a hybrid now - leaning more human)

-the tar comes from something to do with the specific ritual and it stains like shit

- which was unfortunate to jeff and his previously perfectly white hoodie

- finds out he eats kidneys after being force-fed by jeff and toby the left over meats the house provided for them that no-one else wanted to eat

- so basically take a human corpse with no eyes with tar for blood and stuff in a demonic entity and give both the host and entity amnesia

- atp he's older than 16 but he doesn't know how long his body was dead for + how long he was in the real world so really he just kinda guesses he's probably 18-19 now

- got his mask as a kinda shitty paper mache project from sally at one unspecified holiday (birthday or Christmas probably) and got it cast in a layer of resin to keep it lasting longer

tim wright/brian thomas;

- like maybe twice a month tim is let out to go shopping for everyone, if not for his mental health if nothing else (considering the house realistically could stock it's own shelves) like walking a dog

- never let out together because they will just run away (even if masky ends up dragging them both back it's still a hassle)

- everyone else is much more okay with this living arrangement than tim

- albeit the only reason brian isn't as uncomfortable with the situation is because he died, and has a lingering sense that this is his purpose now (that's the proxy in him, he doesn't actually believe that)

- they push their single beds together to create the most uncomfortable double bed on planet earth

- has a period where they kinda hated each other at first before realising getting over it and making out up

- it's okay now they love each other (i may have skipped a few chapters)

- (said chapters being arguably more than a little traumatic for both of them but it's. fine)

- tim arrived first, brian took a while as the operator takes longer to resuscitate corpses than he does to just guide a living person into his influence

- brian still looks a little fucked up though (one pupil larger than the other, bruising on his back from his blood pooling, + other related non-issue injuries now that he's been reanimated)

- masky is an alter of tim's , in which masky is the operator's agent and tim is not

- turns out the seizures weren't JUST the operators doing. is he allowed his anticonvulsants or antipsychotics though? well, the house doesn't provide them and if he manages to steal some from outside & he's too conspicuous about it they mysteriously disappear so there's a lot of untreated mental and physical illness going on here

- neither masky or tim know if there are any other alters because masky has never cared and Tim's only just finding out that masky isn't the operator's doing (albeit the operator is a front trigger)

- while unmedicated, tim comes to realise there's so much shit that makes him and masky a little cofront-y/switchy when before he just thought it was normal dissociation

- in my head brian is kind of a sleeper agent but remembers what he does when he is acting as the operators proxy, probably similarly to how alex was (oh how the turn tables) but he can snap back out of wanting to kill people where alex didn't/couldn't

- he is the meme "there are two wolves inside of you"

- tim is constantly stressing about everyone going out dressed like they're ready for a night out partying (especially jane and nina, they do not dress practically)

- brian and masky dgaf they're just here hoping to not keel over and die (again)

- probably about 24-27, part of me prefers them being on the younger side for comedies sake

- like the operator finally kidnaps a few adults to take care of these misfit teenagers and the adults have barely entered their 20's themselves

-peak comedy

"ticci" toby;

- hates being called ticci toby or any variant that isn't just his name

- this is of course exploited by his peers (cough jeff) to piss him off

- it really doesn't help that when he's agitated his tics get worse

- because of this he tends to lock himself in his bedroom to get away from jeff being a jackass

- the first proxy slender brought to the mansion

- which was a shit idea because who the hell decided that a kid with schizophrenia and multiple dead family members to hallucinate was a good option to leave by himself with a ghost (sally)

- especially with the issue that nobody in this household is medicated properly

- he has mild asthma that he keeps thinking he grew out of years ago (spoiler, he didn't)

- probably close with nina and liu but otherwise near the beginning he's very reserved

- because he can't feel pain + his bones are pretty weak the amount of times he'll come back home, take off his clothes to bathe or something and only then realise he's completely fucking mangled one of his joints (his left ankle is typically the victim)

- ergo he walks with a limp because the bones sit too awkwardly to really walk very well but running is less of an issue especially when adrenaline is pumping

- ...unless his knees play up and he kind of just crumples under his own weight . he always curses when he finds that he literally cannot get away with no bedrest

- the muzzle was NOT his idea and he is not impressed at being made to wear it like surely there are other options to him biting at his fingers

- eventually jeff becomes less antagonistic (sometimes) and they become closer

- they became pretty close after having to resuscitate jack together

- probably have debates on whose version of blade is better

- probably pretends to have a tic and launches his axe at jeff, who in turn literally never believes when toby's actually having a tic attack

- has this almost gotten them both shot out on the field several times? yeah

- refuses to believe he has cannibalistic tendencies as he eats from someone's liver, "just to try it"

- dressed like it's always the thick of winter

- keeping his canon age of 17 because it fits well with the late teenager aged up situation i got going on

jane the killer;

- holy shit it happened twice

- i kinda dig the original story of jane just hating jeff so much she goes around killing people (specifically men in my mind #misandristqueen) pretending she's killing jeff

- in my head though it wasn't jeff who attacked her, but a copycat instead (not nina, just some other male serial killer)

- hates her face now and the mask is specifically a fitted prosthetic

- by the time she was getting over her hatred slenderman brought her into the woods and got her to the mansion

- she was not happy and neither was jeff

- incredibly hostile the first day before jeff finally stopped antagonizing her because she would have just killed him

- finding out that it wasn't actually jeff who disfigured her caused some conflict but in the end she still settled on hatred

- real

- hardcore goth 40% of the time the other 60% she literally looks unrecognisable

- eventually stops wearing her prosthetic in a casual setting but still uses it while hunting

- probably 19-20 ish, but she acts so much older

characters I've put less thought into:

alex&jay as skully

since the operator took so long to start bringing their bodies back from the dead, when he uses either of them as a proxy there's not yet human life within them, currently 100% operator. As time moves on, this decreases, and they may join the ruckus of the mansion one day. For now, glances of the familiar mask unsettle both Tim and Brian.

sally

corpses when brought back to life still will forever look pretty fucked up ( as mentioned with brian having injuries from his fall + prolonged time being dead)so the reason sally is covered in blood is due to this fact. She was one of the first (after toby) for slender to house and literally no one can find out why tf he's housing a stressed seven year old ghost-corpse - because really she acts more like a ghost, and typically avoids the more masculine newcomers until she can get a good feel if they're okay from everyone else. doesn't necessarily avoid all men, especially if said man is pretty typically feminine (long hair, no facial hair, etc). has taken a liking to hanging around jeff who is probably the quickest person he stopped being fucking horrible too, because she's literally seven and he is a villain not a monster ok

homicidal liu

probably one of the most violent/reactive towards fellow proxies because of his brother (LOL) but if you're chill, he's chill, which is probably why he gets along best with toby who also mostly kept to himself at the beginning. doesn't have DID because i don't think it fits his character (given his main trauma was in his teens) but did probably cause serious fluctuations in mood, being able to go from 0 to 100 quickly. had a grand entrance to the mansion where he tried to kill jeff upon first seeing him (reasonable reaction)

to conclude, i made this all for me but also for anyone who has interest in my au! any and all creepypasta/marble hornets drawings are probably part of this au (whether the art takes before the characters were part of the slendermansion or not ha ha)

[fuckthemforthis]

And what if... Ne Bi Smel isn't about the kind of cheating we think? What if it's actually about "cheating" the band and especially Kris?

We know the second album consists of more authentic Bojan's experiences, but we also know he once emphasised he never cheated. Yet the song feels highly personal, so...

Rad bi vedel kaj lahko nardim

Da mikro kozmos tvoj nazaj dobim

(I would love to know what I can do

to get your microcosm back)

-> We've noticed, especially lately, Bojan singing these words to Kris directly. We also know it was their creative differences behind pausing the band, and that the band "wasn't really cohesive and harmonious" before the pause. Hence the wondering how to get their little universe back. Both the band's, and Kris'.

Ni besed pravilnih, celo noč sem jih iskal

Razen, da iskreno rečem da neskončno mi je žal

(There are no right words, I've searched for them all night

Besides honestly saying that I'm infinitely sorry)

-> When talking about it, he looks serious and melancholic. And I can imagine him tapping his pen all night when realisation hit him, just to write this, because really, what else can he say? Even with this song, he can't find a way to take away the pain he feels he caused. And he still looks at Kris while singing this part, because again, it was their creative differences and he's possibly putting most blame on himself. Even though it's behind them now and they're stronger for it, it's probably one of the hardest experiences they shared and that bond makes him look at Krisko with all the love.

Čez resnico sem potresu svoj pepel

Večno kriv, nikoli cel

(I sprinkled my ashes over the truth

Eternally guilty, never whole)

-> He repented privately and publicly, maybe even through this song. Without getting back his band and the full depth of the relationship he shared with Kris and the rest, he could never feel whole. Like he said, he realised loneliness and solo career weren't satisfactory for him and repentantly came back.

Vem da ne bi smel, a drugače nisem znal

Ugasniti tišine, bežati od bližine

(I know I shouldn't, but I knew no better way

To turn off the silences, run away from closeness)

-> Even while writing "solo artist appropriate songs", he knew he shouldn't have been doing that. But instead of music, the band's unsynchronization provided silences that haunted him. He needed to turn them off, and rather than working on getting back their mojo and closeness, he chose the seemingly easy way out and ran away from trying.

Rane puščam si odprte, da jih objame sol

Če ne vrneš se domov

(I'm leaving my wounds open for salt to cover them

If you don't come back home)

-> He chose to not only accept - but invite the pain if he doesn't get his band back. The safety of their bond and mutual understanding prior to these mistakes felt like home. His weird ass dynamic with Kris felt like home. And if he somehow couldn't get him to fall back into what they shared, get him to forgive and come home, Bojan wasn't going to try to heal, because he believed he would deserve to suffer.

Izdal te za trenutek lažne sreče

Zdaj pa spet me k tebi vleče

(I betrayed you for a moment of false happiness

But now I'm drawn to you again)

-> He betrayed the band, and most of all Kris for what he though would be his big break and make him happy, but he realised quickly enough it was the opposite - very superficial and not doing it for him. And that is when he was drawn back to where he belonged. Kris playing Gola for him only helped cement it. Their creative differences may have helped put the band on pause, but it was probably only them that also could've - and have - resumed it.

So yeah. This is my headcanon now. Anyway...

[astroturf-enthusiast]

Here's the Ninjago timeline as I personally think of it;

- The Pilots and first 2 seasons take up roughly 1.5 years (Lloyd's 2020 if you will) mostly to give a semi-realistic measure of training requirements

- Rebooted (s3) starts a year later due to the insane technical development and that they've been teachers for a bit

- ToE (s4) starts 8 months later given they all left to grieve Zane and Jay has an entire game show thats got returning contestents

- Possesion (s5) i think is about 3 months after season 4. Shadow of Ronan takes place during this span so it fits that he stole about 2.5 years from them. Tbh I think that museum visit was the first or second mission Lloyd went on after leaving to grieve Garmadon

- Skybound (S6) technically doesn't matter ayoo!! But I think its another 4 months after S5

- DotD is 7 months after Posession, to make space for Skybound and potential post-skybound happenings

- Hands of Time (S7) is like a week after DotD at most- they're literally cleaning up after it. I also think it takes about a week to play out

From here on out there's a wrinkle in the timeline so things may be soft rebooted or altered

- Sons of Garmadon and Hunted (S8/9) start I think 6-8 months later because the Ninja deserve more time to have been on their own without a mentor- and Ninjago city gets some major changes (royalty?) And Lloyd gets on Testosterone and it goes on i think for 3 months

- March of the Oni (S10) is a few weeks after Hunted ends and only lasts like a few days

- Forbidden Spinjitzu (S11) canonically a few months after MotO so I'm going to say 3-4 since that's reasonable for them to slack off before Wu gets pissy about it. I also think these two parts are actually a rather long time frame- not only because of the 70ish years of Ice Emperor rule- but between searching for Aspheera and beating her, then grieving again and traveling realms and THEN they're there for a long while? All in all I'm going to say start to finish its like 3 months

- Prime Empire (S12) about a month after returning from the Never Realm- they've healed wounds, Kai re-masters fire, and Zane has erased 3 Terabytes of SSD data- all is well

- Master of the Mountain (S13) I think is roughly 2 months after S12 because again there's no real basis for why there's time between but I can't imagine one week your Kirito from SAO and only like a week later your in the Elven lands-

- The Island/Seabound (S14) i think this one is a few weeks after MotM because it starts off as a rather "small scale" job about busting a smuggler and thats what I figure they do in the months between big seasons. It just so happens that expands into a much larger plot.

- Crystalized (S15) 1 full year exactly after Seabound ends. Can't elaborate because this ones actually canon

- Dragons Rising I think the merge is about half a year or so after Crystalized and the jump from Merge to current story I think is 3 years but my girlfriend says 5 years so we'll see if either get confirmed or elaborated on

If you think they're about 18 in the pilots, that'll make them around 23 at Crystalized and between 26/28 during Dragons Rising

[brainr0t-landfill]

🌃Mercurial

ghoap x male reader

Chapter Five: Restless

"It can't be unlearned I've known the warmth of your doorways"

-Hozier, It Will Comeback

Running brings about a sick kind of fun.

It's like the allure of sticking forks into power sockets, like the charm of placing thumb and index finger on each side of a wound, gently pulling to see how deep it goes, how much it will hurt.

it's late at night when Johnny shakes you by the shoulders, ripping the blanket off of you. You're awake laying in the bed by yourself face stinging in the places you picked at your brows and skin you're cold and worse, you're guilty. 

"He's 'ere!"

His sounds relieved like the world has tilted on it's axis and sat just right.

Johnny looks at you again and again, runs his rough hands over your body, presses on your ribs and feels your pulse before you can even speak.

"Wha's goin on?"

You ask trying to feign being sleep drunk. Simon's comes into the room and drops the keys you had left on the coffee table on your bare chest.

"Windows wide open! Front door unlocked! What the fuck were ya thinking?!"

He rips his mask off and tosses it somewhere in the room, his face is sunken ,a butterfly stitch on his cheekbone, eyes like the dead pinning you to the still-cold bed.

"Ya could've been robbed! Kidnapped! Have you lost your damn mind?!"

He growls and it finnaly clicks that they're both swinging, drifting between who they had to be just a few short hours ago and who they can be here, now. It feeds a certain part of you that takes pride in being yelled at, being scrutinized because it means you're noticed, it means you enrage. But you understand that the tension in the room doesn't come from a place of hate or judgement but rather concern, care. It makes you feel awful for neglecting something that had been so important to them since before you were even a thing; your safety. On the other hand it's nice to get a taste of Soap and Ghost every once in a while.

You live on the run, money drains quickly and health declines quicker but it keeps you almost guilt-free and always on edge. Razor sharp, summer coat shedded and winter coat thicker than ever.

Just now do you realize how comfortable you were when you lived with Simon and Johnny because you seek out fear like your life depends on it, you get up and check the door everytime there's a noise, you go through your belongings every time you come back from work to see if they've been messed with. You know full well you're not worth chasing for this long, it's been a weeks, your burner phone doesn't have a calender but you have a vauge understanding that it's been that long, they should be home by now, you hope they're well.

You make a point of not thinking about their reactions when they came home and you were nowhere to be found, phone dead and all your belongings in place, you don't want to imagine the recycled heartbreak in Johnny's face, you don't want to think of Simon seeing what your not-so-recent well behaved behaviour for what it truly was a ploy, an act.

Which feels false when you know you enjoyed those months of peace much more than any period in your relationship, when they got you back from the cabin and slowly got you settled back home, restrictions erased the more trust-worthy you were, bounderies thought over and re-establised. İt granted you ample space to be you in the realtionship, to be demanding, aware, equal.  The pain of hurting them eased by them hurting than healing you. The temporary peace period where you let yourself have the comfort, the warmth of their love in bulk for you'd be without it, for years to come if you were successful.

You don't deserve warmth, and you foolishly though you could just take a peek through the door.

You wonder if they think you've been kidnapped, you wonder if they finnaly accepted that's it better for them if they cut ties with you, you wonder if your belongings ended up in the trash or the local goodwill or if Johnny's wearing your old band tee to bed, you wonder if Simon's gotten himself a new mechanic to maintain his car, you hope he has.

Sometimes you think about settling ,about finnaly accepting that you're not worth the work it takes to hunt for this long, sometimes you want to relax and stay for a bit longer and sometimes -shamefully- you dream of being found again, brought back home; because that's what it is and that's what it will always be. It's easy to convince yourself that the road is your home when you're living like this, untethered and nihilistic but you can't help the longing you have for the music Simon would put on before bed, the framed happy pictures on the walls, Johnny's cooking after a hard long day at work, you know the orange light spilling out of the windows now through the crack between patterned curtains, of the warmth when the three of you lay together.

It's nothing but longing you remind yourself , you don't have a place there anymore, you never did.

You hop from town to town not thinking, not feeling, not hurting or at least you try to and you press salt on the fresh wound by conjuring up images and phantoms of them when there is none.

[mrsnancywheeler]

Ok I’m back with the songs 🫡

I can’t remember if anyone else has mentioned this, but finnick/sweet girl are very much giving this is me trying by miss blondie herself

—————— 

I've been having a hard time adjusting. I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting” “And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad. I have a lot of regrets about that”

This reminded me a lot about their recent argument at the end of chapter 6, where sweet girl called him a liar and accused him of purposely playing mind games with her :(

—————— 

“And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound. It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you. You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town”

THIS MIGHT JUST BE FINNICKS ENTIRE INNER MONOLOGUE AFTER THEY BROKE UP #IDK !! OR !! HIS THOUGHTS DURING READER’S GAMES! How he has to keep up appearances and his playboy persona to make sure his sweet girl gets sponsors, but he’s actually feeling so much grief and stress. 

—————— 

Another song they remind me of is  Wasteland, Baby! But specifically:

“I’m in love, I'm in love with you. And I love too, that love soon might end. Be known in its aching”

Just reminded me about how they’re meant to go through tragedy :(( 

—————— 

BONUS SONGS!

we can't be friends (wait for your love) by Ariana Grande’s SCREAMS young!reader going through the breakup with Finnick :((

—————— 

“We can't be friends, but I'd like to just pretend. You cling to your papers and pens, wait until you like me again. Wait for your love”

Just her initial reaction to the breakup and how she still loves him :((

—————— 

“I don't like how you paint me, yet I'm still here hanging”

“Me and my truth, we sit in silence. Baby girl, it's just me and you. ‘Cause I don't wanna argue, but I don't wanna bite my tongue, yeah, I think I'd rather die. You got me misunderstood, but at least I look this good” This reminds me of when Finnick was saying all those things he didn’t mean about his sweet girl, and although she’s hurt by it she still loves him (and deep down she knows he doesn’t mean it!)

—————— 

And Comfort Crowd by Conan Gray is so them coded like PLEASE mainly about how reader keeps rejecting any comfort because she doesn’t feel like she deserves it + how she was afraid to voice that she wants said comfort during her hijacking

—————— 

“Wellin' up in tears as I lay upon your belly. Telling you, ‘I’m fine I don't really need nobody,’ But you say through a sigh that I said that lie already”

Need I say more. 

—————— 

“And even if I cry all over your body. You don't really mind. Say you like your shirt soggy.”

This could go for both Finnick and Reader! About how they both feel guilty for receiving comfort from the other person (Finnick bc he wants to give comfort too, and Reader bc she feels like she doesn't deserve it)

—————— 

I hope this isn’t too long hehe but these were my #thoughts. I’m a yapper at heart <3 lmk what you think!!

BUT SIDENOTE I SAW HADESTOWN FOR THE FIRST TIME LAST NIGHT W JORDAN FISHER AND !! His performance was fr giving me finnick vibes bc he was really giving that obsessed yearner vibe IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT LOL but it was so good!!

-🦅

buckle up folks because I love a lot to say 🫡❤️

this is me trying is so them, like very heavily

they're both really at their core such sunshiney people who've been so broken down and used by the world that they've really been dulled. and reader is always quick to bite back, especially when she's scared or frustrated or doesn't want to reveal her emotions, she doesn't have a complete grasp on reality yet, she's scared of being left behind, scared that finnick will die, scared of being alone and frustrated that he broke his promise to her so she lashes out.

110% to both of those, like he's so broken up, aching for her, in pain, blaming himself for everything, but he has to be what's expected of him. some drinks, laughing, flirting, smiling, when all he wants to do his curl up in bed crying as he holds into some remant of hers that he held onto all this time.

in the context of the most recent chapter "I just wanted you to know that this is me trying" is so very much both of them for different reasons

finnick says the things he does and does what he does because he wants to help her get better, to be delicate with her, keep her safe, keep her protected from the dangers of the time and her mental state. he's trying his hardest even if he doesn't always handle it in ways that bode well.

reader is trying to be herself again, she just wants to be treated normally regardless of how that affects her. once she's her she'll be less paranoid, more trusting, she's trying so hard to replicate that so she can get there and feels like he's not letting her. that her attempts are being shut down.

they are the tragic lovers, so in love, so obsessed, and constantly fated for hurt after hurt. all I'm saying is to watch moulin rouge and think of them because it's so finnick and his sweet girl in another life.

LITERALLY THOUGH if she could've she would've followed him around like a lost puppy dog, it would have fed into the narrative about her, but she's so desperately in love that she would have waited so patiently. in a way she did, but if he'd told her he was breaking up with her for other girls she was so young and so already achingly in love with him that she would have kept trailing around waiting for him to come baxk

(side note, finnick is really the love sick puppy, but reader reminds me of a stray cat who picks someone to love, always waits to be fed by them. given a little bit of attention and now will be attached for the long run. I thought googles description was really funny because it's just so her "With time and patience, a stray cat may trust you and want pets consistently. If you have grown close to a stray cat, it may feel upset or distressed if you suddenly leave it." so yeah she's a stray cat who finally got some love before being suddenly stranded again)

ANYWAYS yes, the way he talks about her and paints the portrait of their relationship is so hurtful. she totally cries about it consistently because to her he's perfect, and although she largely wants to believe what he said when they broke up and trust he still loves her, a part of her can't help but feel so stupid for letting herself be lead on by someone who's been said to be a playboy anyway. it makes her so insecure, so much more guarded, but she doesn't hate him, no she could never. she's in love with him. no matter what he says or does she's long placed her roots and won't tear them up.

that's literally the most them interaction to have never ever interacted, some of her tears have welled up, she's choking on pushed down sobs, and insisting that she's okay even though Finnick can read her like a book. he's softly scolding her for lying while she continues to try and insist until she's completely broken down into sobs.

reader could have the roughest day ever and still insist that she's fine, comfort finnick, love on him, hold him, and he spends the time hating that he's enjoying the loving when she's so obviously lying, masking everything. it's such a paradox. meanwhile she feels terrible for aching comfort because of things she does, she wants to suffer, but the lure of giving into finnick's arms is too much sometimes. especially knowing that he loves her so much and so well. she just has to let herself take what she needs even if she hates herself or it later.

ofc this isn't too long pookie, I love hearing y'all's thoughts no matter how long, yap to me endlessly pookie, I'm a yapper too. ❤️

YAY EXCITING I would love to see Jordan Fisher as Orpheus, he's so talented. I'd die, and yes it's just so Finnick 😭💕

[the-final-sif]

Finally, c!Drunz like we all deserve.

Dream felt a hand gently touching his shoulder, it was a light push, just enough to rouse him before an instant retreat. A familiar gesture, but this time, a comforting one.

Or, well, the person was comforting. Their presence in this moment was concerning. Still, his body was too tired to provide him with any kind of panic. Not when it recognized those hands.

Dream groaned softly. His headache wasn't quite gone, but his ears did feel better. He could at least turn his head with only a moderate stab of pain.

Slowly, he roused himself, pushing himself upward and rubbing at his eyes before properly taking in Punz in front of him. The bedside lamp was still off, but Punz had a small redstone lantern that lit up enough for both of them to see.

Taking a quick sniff, Dream determined that Punz wasn't hurt. That was good. It didn't explain what he was doing there though.

Punz waited for Dream to settle in an upright position before carefully moving to tap his communicator in an obvious signal.

Rather than grab his own communicator, Dream checked the time and tested his hearing. It'd only been a few hours since his ear drops. And his ears felt better than they had in days.

"Talk. I think I'll be able to hear you. Just, slow."

Punz nodded, and thankfully raised the light just a bit so his lips could be clearly made out.

"Sam's asleep, I've got invis if I need it. Needed to make sure you were okay."

The unspoken 'because of what happened last time' was loud and clear, regardless of Dream's hearing issues.

As much as Dream wanted to be annoyed, one look at the dark circles under Punz's eyes quashed those feelings. Guilt prickled at his chest.

Punz had seen almost all of the... aftermath of the prison. Had helped Dream through the worst of it. Dream could hardly fault him for worrying.

"I'm-" and he cut himself off from saying fine, because it would be a lie and lying right now would only put Punz on edge. "I'm recovering well." Better. "Ponk did a good job. If Sam was going to try something, he would've done it when I was weaker. My ears are getting better. Ponk should be back in a few days."

While Punz didn't look entirely convinced, he still nodded, before reaching out a hand in a silent request. One Dream didn't mind complying with.

Dream shuffled out from under the blankets. He was only wearing a t-shirt and shorts, so there wasn't a need for him to remove anything. He gave a single instruction before letting his eyes slip shut, "Be careful with my ears, they're sore."

He didn't need to look to know Punz would listen. Punz always listened.

Gentle hands reached out, starting with Dream's fingers and working slowly towards his shoulder. Checking old wounds and searching carefully for new ones.

When Punz finished with Dream's arms, he moved on to his shoulders, lifting his shirt carefully to check for anything new, making his way down in a familiar motion.

Dream's legs were new, at least in this state. That was evident in how Punz's movements got hesitant once he reached fur. Still, he persisted. Carding his fingers through the soft texture to search for any lingering injuries.

He paused on the left leg, hovering, and Dream answered the unasked question.

"Warden got my leg. Hunters threw a net at me, so it got a hit in. Ponk set it already and it doesn't even hurt anymore."

"Got it." And the inspection continued.

Dream found himself almost drifting off at the familiar and comforting motions. The two of them had built a habit of inspections up after the prison. Dream's own pain threshold had gotten so fucked that he failed to notice infections and new injuries until they escalated to a dangerous degree. Having an outside check prevented that situation.

It took several more minutes for Punz to completely go over Dream's legs, and Dream found himself half asleep. He had to shake himself before tilting his head forward to allow Punz access.

When Punz touched his head, he carefully skirted Dream's neck, instead moving to smooth out the tangles in his hair and gently feel for any sign of blood or trauma.

Dream's ears were moved incredibly gently, it still sent a soft ache through his head, but it was tolerable. He could feel the warmth from the redstone lantern and the soft puffs of breath from Punz as he carefully took in the damage.

Eventually, Dream passed the test. Punz let out a sigh of relief that he felt more than he heard. Then the other man was flopping down on the bed next to him. It was risky, it was stupid, but Dream was too tired to argue. He just let Punz pull him down into a protective embrace.

Punz would be gone when he woke up, Dream knew he would be, and that was fine. Even if Punz wasn't there physically, Dream knew his loyal friend wouldn't be far away, and he knew for a fact Punz wouldn't let anything else happen to him.

For the first time since he got grabbed, Dream felt himself relaxing and falling into a proper sleep, feeling safe enough to let go.

[chipen]

 THOSE  WHO  HAD  KNOWN  DABI  -  THIS  PAST  ITERATION  OF  himself  that  had  burned  up  like  a  collapsing  blue  star  -  would  be  eager  to  comment  on  both  his  theatrics  and  tendency  to...  monologue.  as  a  villain,  he'd  been  nigh  on  shakespearian  at  times  much  to  compress'  chagrin...  but  as  a  civilian,  as  the  man  who  had  been  caged  in  that  iron  lung,  body  knitting  together  piece  by  painful  piece  with  nary  anything  to  take  the  edge  off...  he  was  silent  as  death  itself.  as  first  -  it  had  simply  hurt  to  talk,  and  when  he  did  produce  wry  words  -  it  was  to  the  expense  of  his  family,  bitterness  raw  in  a  single  enflamed  lung  and  every  word  tasting  like  ash.  it  went  on  like  that  for  months,  until  one  night  -  with  his  little  brother  reading  at  his  side,  dabi  decided  to  die.

it  had  been  touya  who  asked  his  youngest  sibling  about  the  weather  a  moment  later.

now,  nearly  two  years  and  some  change  later  -  he  is  flesh  and  bone  again,  scarred  and  grotesque  with  the  glowing  blue  heart  of  him  almost  always  on  display.  perhaps  it  was  a  testament  to  their  work,  but  touya  todoroki  thought  less  like  a  villain  -  and  more  like  a  man  that  was  tired  of  being  an  invalid.  his  care  involved  a  lot  of  work,  would  always  involve  a  lot  of  work,  and  though  he  lived  with  his  mother  and  siblings,  the  damage  he'd  done  as  dabi  had  left  them  all  with  wounds.  and  touya?  touya  was  a  walking  grocery  cart  of  medications,  bandages,  dietary  restrictions,  activity  restrictions...  living  was  high  maintenance,  and  he'd  considered  simply  finding  himself  a  program  to  be  admitted  to  when  the  president  had  taken  over  his  care.

in  the  hospital,  touya  had  not  spoken  to  him,  and  only  recently  -  had  he  been  willing  enough  to  utter  words  to  the  beleaguered  looking  (  former  )  bird.  if  touya  was  honest  with  himself  -  keigo  took  good  care  of  him,  hands  gentle  and  touch  kind,  patient  when  the  pain  became  too  much  and  despite  his  vitriol  -  he'd  slump  into  the  younger's  side,  scarred  fingertips  fisting  his  snow  white  hair  and  blood  leaking  down  his  cheeks  because  he  still  couldn't  cry  quite  right.  touya  didn't  think  for  a  second  he  deserved  any  of  it  -  because  he  could  catch  the  glimpses  of  keigo's  burn  scars,  see  the  outline  of  a  fingertip  on  his  neck.  the  problem  was  -  he  was  angry,  and  touya  would  be  the  first  to  admit  that  he  knew  fuck  all  about  apologizing.

perhaps  it's  the  look  in  keigo's  eyes  this  evening  -  when  he  returns  to  the  small  suite  house  they'd  begun  sharing  upon  the  second  todoroki  estate.  they're  tired  -  older,  no  chipper  golden  mirth.  perhaps  it's  the  slurred  exhaustion  in  his  voice,  or  the  way  that  his  suit  (  fits  nicely,  dabi  would've  burned  it  off  him  and  gotten  down  to  business  already  )  is  sopping  wet  -  stuck  to  his  frame  from  the  cold  winter  rain  that  patters  against  the  window.  regardless,  it's  touya  that  finds  himself  in  front  of  keigo  now,  a  fluffy  red  towel  in  hand  as  he  rather  aggressively  goes  to  town  at  his  head.  ❝ i  told  you  it  might  rain  this  morning,  birdbrain. ❞   he  bites  out,  rasping  across  the  words.  it  had,  in  fact,  been  all  he'd  said  this  morning  -  as  opposed  to  'thanks  for  breakfast  keigo!'   ❝ and  you  still  didn't  bring  an  umbrella? ❞  he  rubs  at  his  hair  a  bit  harder,  startling  blue  eyes  narrowed  in  displeased  intensity.  ❝ go  -  use  the  hot  water  for  a  bath  for  yourself. ❞  it  is  possibly  the  most  touya  has  spoken  to  him  in...  a  very,  very  long  time. / @soulspun

[nnnyxie]

if tumblr eats this, i will personally get Very Serious. (threat)

here's raphala's role in the saga through my brainstormin'! i hope you do enjoy my little poetic tidbits here n there - - i'm unfairly (/lh) hooked on the dumpster child contatenation jsjsj

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

raph ❤

Raph, who worries that his hulking stature will frighten you even further when you arrive at the Lair and into their lives.

Raph, who has to subdue his quickly surfacing anger when he spots all the wounds you're mottled with; not just physically, but mentally. No child's eyes should be so dim.

Raph, who swears on all that he is, has, and will ever be that he will protect you.

Raph, who has the final decision in what to do with you; he wanted to take you in just as much as his siblings did, no doubt about it! But ultimately, it was your choice. So, with crossed arms and a set expression, he resolutes the discussion. All they had to do was wait for you.

Raph, who glares at Leo and Mikey arguing over preparing your meal in the kitchen as April and Donnie lead you into the living area, and snips at them to cut it out and hurry it up, they're COMING!

Raph, who gives you one of his stuffies in hopes that it will bring you a comfort they somehow wouldn't be able to provide, and grins brighter than the sun when you accept it with a small "thank you, mister" instead of cowering away from him like he half-expected you to.

Raph, who doesn't try to hide the thumping of his tail behind him, the sound of it echoing through the living area when you agree to stay with them, even if you seemed hesitant — that just makes him want to protect you all the more.

Something in his chest warmed as he gazed at your small figure, something like pride and recognition. His ninpo seemed to glow for just that moment. Whatever this was, it ran deeper than all of them primarily recognized. You ran deep past surface level. And despite everything, he was okay with that.

Raph, who – even when you're fairly settled in – walks on eggshells around you, on-edge at the intrusive thoughts that he may somehow hurt you. Always treating you gently, as if you were made of glass. You were a barely sprouted flower bud, a lot like one of his more delicate plushies. Something— someone to be treated with care.

Raph, who positively blanks and sputters at your upfront [yet wonderfully respectful] attitude when you confront him out of the blue one day about this wrong, to right. You make him realize that he's not going to hurt you. 

The whole clan is remarkably gentle with you but Raphie's really the only one who treats you as significantly fragilely as he does— maybe it was more significant given that he was an actual giant but. To you? It was no different from the way your own father used to hold and protect you. Protect you from every bad thing if he could help it. But he protected you from other things. Outside dangers. Ranging from the monsters in your closet to the sketchy dudes that hung around too close at the park and falling debris caused by rampaging evil chewed-up bubblegum robot aliens. Raph? Raph was 'protecting' you from himself. Raph wasn't a monster. —and in your young, passionate eyes, it isn’t fair! Not to you, and certainly not to him.

Realistically, you know he’s just being cautious; you weren’t stupid. Far from it, incidentally. And maybe you were a little more wary around him first time round, but then. You got to know him. You spent time with him. He was so, so kind to you. He made you feel safe. They all did.

–but Papa Raphie was different too. Just that little bit.

He deserves to take up space, you rant on —arms gripping the very plushie he had gifted you the day you met— he's just fine the way he is, he can relax. He was here long before you came around, so. So- so he can do whatever he wants! He doesn’t have to act like that! You want him to be comfortable, whether it be around you or not, and you’d rather not see him finally keel over backwards just because you decided to stand close to him! He was just right and needed to act like it! … Please?

Raph may have given you a wobbly smile and hearty laugh, rubbed your head and agreed wholesomely, if only a bit taken aback, before taking you and the rest of the gang out for pizza. But don't be fooled! He wept real crocodile (BAHAHAAAA ) tears that night.  He didn’t know who you were or where you came from quickly remedied by Donnie’s nosy techie self and his myriad of specific tracking apps, more of less which would be considered illegal in most places , but he felt it.  You were just right too. Here, with them? It was just right.  And he was mighty fine with that. 

Raph, who carries you and will let you lead him around whenever and wherever you please!!; he'll read you bedtime stories while you rest on his chest because the deep rumble of his voice lulls you to sleep; he immediately recognizes if/when you (are) get(ting) overwhelmed and takes charge to ensure your comfort so you can have a moment to yourself; needlessly said— he spoils you absolutely rotten.

. . . but he also gazes on with pride and fondness as you stay true, humble, and respectful to a fault. You truly were a good kid.

Raph, who is just about ready to utilize any and every dangerous aspect of his mutated being when you're put in the slightest compromised situation. He'll snap and snarl and roar at any and every potential threat, then when all is said and done, will turn back to you with a warm smile and serene gaze. Head pats and snuggles galore.

He's terrifying. Try him. He dares you.

But what's so great about him is that he can do both. He can turn and defend you from every evil thing (and teach you how to hold your own as well! He knows he won't be there forever) just as well as he can scoop you up in his arms and cradle you in an all-encompassing hug, murmuring sweet comfort and promises all the same, if only to lift your downed spirits. As much as the thought that he won't be around to shield you from everything forever pains him, he knows it's inevitable, and he knows just how brightly you shine. You will thrive, with them and then all on your own. He doesn't want to stifle that.

He'll always be with you, he murmurs into your hairline. Papa will always be right here for you. Your family will always be here for you, okay?

Raph, who cries and squeezes you in one of the safest, tightest, warmest, biggest hugs of your life when you surprise him with an adorable plushie that you sewed all by yourself for the holidays! ((Father’s Day, Valentine’s Day, or his Birthday/Mutation Day - you pick whatever you like! ;3 ))

… Well, the others might have helped a bit a ton but it was your idea! He loves you so, so much.

Raph, who's prime Mama Bear material when it comes to you. You're his precious cinnamon bun who could do no wrong!! . . . But when you do make those oopsies from time to time because we’re not perfect and make mistakes and that’s okay 😌, Raph’s the one you think of right after April.

He instills very strong principles in you early on; you already have such an unshakeable sense of justice with a nigh-unbreakable spirit to match, so he doesn’t have to do much. He's there to gently but firmly correct any minor misbehavior and give you that strong shoulder to lean on when you need it.

Arguably, he's one of the main reasons your sense of justice is even more solidified, and you carry his lessons long after you grow up and venture out and become your own person. He adores how strong you are. Tough, playful, and unique, you never fail to make him proud. And yet you're never too old or "cool" (as they like to gently tease) for Papa Raph to love and dote on.

You love and dote on him too, and he tears up at the wonder of how they were blessed with a miracle such as you.

"Raphie loves you, little one. You know that, right? . . . Yeah, that's what I thought. Cheeky little slugger."

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

*bawls in desperate need for a bear hug from raphie*

₍ᐢ . ̫.ᐢ₎♡₍ᐢ. ̫ .⑅ᐢ₎ CEEEJEEEE BAEBAYYYYY I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!! tell me your thoughts i need them like a good piece of buttered toast :3 (/hj)

ITS THE WAY I CRIED WHILE READING THIS /GEN

raph would treat you as if you were a piece of expensive art work !!! he’d treat you as if you were the mona lisa (hahah see what i did there) and protect you with all his might !!!

he keeps the plushy you made him with him at all times. he carries it with his weapons and always gives it a light squeeze before going out on patrol or fighting.

raph is just the best father figure to you and you utterly adore him !!!

[mynonclicheblog]

After seeing the first 5 minutes, it's VERY clear that both Ben & Devi's actions post-boink are very much (virtually 100%) being driven by fear and insecurity. They both feel awkward that it wasn't some epic fairytale First Time (because that happens sooooo often to teenagers in the real world, right?) and they're overthinking each others' behavior to the point that it's clouding their judgement.

I'd like to talk about them both, but I'm going to focus mainly on Ben since he appears to be our little troublemaker this season (compare w/ Devi's season 2) - and also, I think I have a better idea where his emotional/romantic development arc is going this season. To start off:

I'm sorry to the dxtons who tried to relay this scene in the most disparaging and anti-ben way possible, but this is the face of a boy who WANTS to talk. A boy who was surprised and excited when Devi turned towards him because he really really likes her and it seems like she's actually initiating communication- for real this time! All he's ever wanted was for them to talk candidly about their feelings!

...But then, like a teenage dum-dum (who is still nursing the wounds from two years ago), he hits the panic button. I, uh- I should probably hit the hay.

This swallows up the crumb of hope Devi was clinging to that maybe, just maybe, the whole thing wasn't as bad as she'd thought - and as we see in her following scene with Elfab, sure enough, she has been drowning in fear that she didn't measure up.

Girl... no he wasn't 😂 you were embarrassed for you, and Ben was embarrassed for Ben! [John McEnroe voice] That's how this works!

But it's just a great example of my very first point: that all of their thoughts, actions, and perceptions are based in insecurity right now. Fortunately for Devi, she has two supportive besties who know both her and Ben, who are here to talk and help her work through what to do next.

But as Ben tells Dwight Howard... he doesn't have any friends. So he resorts to a complete stranger.

I want to quickly point out the parallels between Ben & Devi's dialogue here (Devi in the last section and Ben in this one). They are both thinking about themselves. They're worried/making the assumption that the other person thought they... ehm... performed badly, and now they are confiding in other people rather than clearing it up with each other (because they're idiots [affectionate]).

Devi makes a great first step by inviting Ben out for coffee, and can I just say how PROUD I AM OF HER? Like, yes, love! Open up that avenue of communication! Talk it out! There's nothing to be afraid of!

But across the valley, Ben tells Dwight Howard that after having sex, Devi "didn't say anything, she just got up and sprinted out"... but that's not really what happened, is it? Ben fumbled the ball when he offered to call her an Uber, and Devi took that as her cue to leave. We (and Dwight) are listening to Ben's inaccurate retelling of events, skewed by the post-boink anxiety he's been stewing in. This boy who was once delighted that Devi turned over in bed to talk, has since repressed the mortifying moment that followed wherein he blew her off. Now all he remembers is her darting out the door.

In accordance with spoilers, it looks like Devi's Starbucks text comes through while Ben is still talking with Mr. Howard - and since Ben provided him with a misleading picture of how things went down, Dwight is going to tell him that Devi doesn't really love him. That she's just going to hurt him again. That he deserves someone who brings out the good in him. (All of this coming from a man who doesn't know Ben, has never even met Devi, and has no insight whatsoever into the relationship he's advising.)

Unfortunately for Devi (& us), this is Ben's biggest fear, so he listens. He takes the easy road yet again and pursues the less scary option... but she's still not Devi.

I truly believe that in the first few episodes when Ben talks to Devi, he is doing nothing more than basically parroting what others have told him. Why? Because those words will justify his urge to continue retreating to safety; they will enable him to avoid confronting his biggest emotional truth, something he's been running from for two years. As much as he obviously, clearly WANTS to give into his feelings for Devi, he's still afraid. And even though she's the one who hurt him, he still thinks she is incredible (which she is!!!), and that he couldn't possibly live up to what she deserves. There's so much to unpack here and I think this is a great way to make the events of season 2 a relevant topic again without being contrived.

Similar to Devi in seasons 2 & 3, I think Ben's arc is going to be about gaining the self-worth to stand on his own rather than passively agreeing to what others think he should do (i.e. Dwight and Margot).

The back half of the season will be Ben not only overcoming his greatest fear by talking with Devi and learning how deeply and genuinely she wants him this time around, but in doing so, he's going to become more confident in his relationship with her and learn to make his own decisions regarding it. He will learn that he can trust his own instincts again, no longer paralyzed by heartbreak or feelings of inferiority. He can trust Devi with his heart now. She's all in.

[cherubchoirs]

I feel like Ferryman should be allowed to be involved with the (or a) Mike pummeling as a treat in a support role (I dont see them wanting to actually fight Mike) so that they can get their holy cloth back, look at the pummeled Micheal, and start tearing the cloth into strips to bandage Mike's wounds because the Ferryman has always been the better person and Micheal's condemnation will not change that.

OUUUGHHH I LOVE THIS....it would be an extremely eye-opening experience for michael, but he would be overly stubborn about it's ramifications because for the life of him he cannot accept that a single one of the damned deserve anything more than what he believes they chose. when the ferryman comes accompanied by gabriel and v1, to him it seems like an obvious affront to his authority - they've returned to get revenge for his actions against them, showing clear contempt for god's law as he enforces it. the sinner should accept their punishment, should accept his rule, yet that assumption can't even hold water within the first moments of the confrontation as the ferryman is quick to show their deference to him. they bow low again and do not speak a word to him, his own arrogance only deeming fit to address gabriel rather than the ones beside him. and gabriel is quick to tell him all that he asks for: the holy cloth, the one michael stole from the ferryman. in his words he makes it clear he has come to collect it of his own accord, but michael is incensed at the accusation - the cloth is of heaven, under his property as its prince. he cannot steal from a sinner's own wrongful gains. the ferryman wishes they could speak, but they want nothing less than to invoke michael's ire on them once more...and he has not spoken to them. so a fight is inevitable, but they refuse to do any harm to one of god's servants, especially one so exalted.

because the ferryman didn't exactly...want this. they want their holy cloth back, they are endlessly grateful that gabriel and v1 were willing to seek michael out for it, but the confrontation isn't at all their wish. still they came, because they couldn't allow gabriel or v1 to risk themselves for their sake - they would do all they could to assist, but made it clear they would not engage michael whatsoever. the two understand the ferryman's position, allowing them to stay on the backlines and offer what support that they can. and it's immediately obvious to michael that they abstain from attacking him even if he targets them directly. fair enough, as gabriel and v1 quickly mount a defense for them, but it rattles him enough that speaks out a single word to them - "coward". finally in return the ferryman's thin voice can answer him, that they wish nothing but peace and healing upon st. michael. it seems they can say nothing right to him though, not even their blessing, as there's just a single beat before michael is infuriated by the remark. to be pitied by a sinner, for the damned to pray for his health, makes him acutely aware of every inch of rot now on full display. he's something miserable, even to the one who tore their own flesh from their body for the grief they felt. and gabriel knows this means they'll have to fully kick the shit out of him before they can recover what's been lost.

it's a grueling fight, but the ferryman remains steadfast, only watching their backs to block incoming attacks and assisting v1 with blood from time to time (since michael's does so little for it) but when michael falls, when he grudgingly passes the cloth back along to gabriel, the ferryman is struck by him collapsed onto the ground. he's suffering, deeply. god's highest angel, wings crumpled up in exhaustion as sticky, too dark blood clings to exposed bones and wounds litter decayed skin. they're sure every battle speeds the process, that he loses pieces of himself and so expedites his wasting. a wave of sadness rolls over them, unspeakable grief shaking them even as gabriel returns their cloth to them. michael is the leader of god's army, the slayer of lucifer who stood in defense of all the meek flock, and the ferryman can't stand to see him so weak, so vulnerable. in spite of everything, they move past gabriel and bow down again to michael before cautiously moving to tend his wounds with strips of their own cloth. michael moves to hold a hand against them, but freezes as the ferryman sees to him. he tells them he needs nothing from the damned. the ferryman knows this. he tells them this will earn them no favor in heaven, their regard is lost. they knows this as well. so why? it does them no good, and it is presumptuous, offensive.

and i THINK the ferryman gets the chance to repay michael JUST a bit by quoting luke 6:27-36 right to his face: "'but i say to you that hear, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. to him who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from him who takes away your cloak do not withhold your coat as well. give to everyone who begs from you; and of him who takes away your goods do not ask them again. and as you wish that men would do to you, do so to them.'" fine. ok. he KNOWS. but i think they continue, because he needs some impressing: "'if you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? for even sinners love those who love them. and if you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? for even sinners do the same. and if you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. but love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return; and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the most high; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the selfish. be merciful, even as your father is merciful.'" which is a HARD hit directly into his ego. they expect nothing from him, but they will serve him as he deserves as the angel he is...or perhaps once was. they adhere to the teachings, they keep the faith without hope, but they are essentially indirectly implying that michael needs to look inward now. he is full of hatred, trying to prove so much to so many instead of just...doing the work. keeping his faith. the ferryman knows it is difficult, they understand the pull of anger (they are in wrath too, after all) but he has their sincerest prayers, however little they mean, that he too can heal.

michael is shocked silent, retreating into his stoicism when anger can't serve and he has no choice but to swallow his pride as the ferryman treats him with gabriel watching on. he feels. weak under their gaze. it's unbearable to him, but he must bear it. soon the ferryman finishes their work and a silent pause passes between them before they thank michael for all that he's done. he has been all of their great shield, he completed a wonderful service to god and the whole of humanity, and the ferryman is forever grateful to him for his tireless work against all the evil they have seen in hell. if nothing else...their place here makes them understand just how much michael truly did for god's kingdom, and so they are thankful for that. they bow once more before departing, and michael is left to think on all they did, the little they spoke. he shouldn't care, he shouldn't give a second thought to the damned, yet this encounter would absolutely sit with him like a stone for a long time.

[hsmtmts-arrows]

it just takes ashlyn a second to slide onto her knees in front of maddox, looking at the wound. "christ." she hisses, noticing how big the blood splotch is.

"you should save the cursing for when we're in be—what are you doing." maddox says, deadpan, as ashlyn rips part of her shirt away, and sucks in a sharp breath when she presses it against the wound. "fucking ow????"

"now look who's cursing." she snarks, before returning to a serious tone. "and what does it look like i'm doing, i'm saving you."

"i'm a pain in your ass."

"and you don't deserve to die." she replies simply.

maddox smiles at her, but there's something dark about it. "so, you're gonna save me and throw me into the slammer?" she stretches a little and winces, a bit of pain showing on her dumb cocky face. "that's so nice of you."

"i don't know yet!" ashlyn shouts, and maddox flinches, a flash of an old—something in her eyes. ashlyn squashes down her pity and scowls. "i don't know," she repeats, heart beating loudly. "are you working with lily and the Northern Heights?"

ashlyn doesn't know why she desperately needs maddox to say no. she tells herself it's because she has enough to deal with already.

"no." maddox has the gall to look hurt. "they're the scum of the earth—i'd rather die than work with them." she winces again. "which i nearly did—ow."

ashlyn pauses. "...Northern Heights did this?"

"i had the pleasure of getting shot by lily herself." she replies dryly.

something in ashlyn shifts at this news. fuck it was only maddox curda. why the fuck would she care so much if it was her?

there's a long line of silence between them before ashlyn speaks up, "they took ricky with them. i don't know where to."

"the northern heights?" maddox confirms, "they took... richard?" why did maddie care? she's only ever been a pain in his ass, too. but he was funny, and still had a good sense of humour. to her, it was like a golden retriever but if he knew how to fire a gun and ride a horse really badly.

"yeah." more silence as ashlyn just continued to apply pressure to the wound. when she pulls the shirt away to look at the wound, maddie hisses at the loss of contact and the sudden contact now with the air. fuck that hurt. "you okay?"

"yeah." maddox mutters. "i just got shot, that's all. what 'bout you? having a fun time?" she sarcastically comments, turning to look at the other girl. ashlyn hated that she didn't want to slap maddie or something. she hated herself that she didn't also have a remark ready to say in return. instead she finds herself staring at maddie, then at her lips.

their faces were close. like. so close ash could've sworn she could smell a scent of lavender on maddie's neck. and wow, she was pretty. why has she never noticed this before?