#(even just making it her Thing by accident)

[lucygraysboy]

“looked like seven when you woke up, too,” he agrees with a chuckle but then begins to pout, clutching his side and rubbing the very spot she just poked. he would be lying if he said that he didn’t like it, though, engaging in this familiar, playful banter with his childhood sweetheart. it’s like coming home after a long day. she’s his safe haven, his favorite person. “no proof ‘cause you disposed of all evidence. smart,” he laughs, but deep down wonders if she’d had more before the show, if it’s a habit now — they play and then she gets drunk and goes home with strangers. he’s not one to judge, but he’s concerned about her safety. “you look so beautiful, that’s why they’re lookin’ at you. they’re tryin’ to figure out what this disney princess is doin’ in nashville,” he whispers, leaning closer to her ear with a smile. their fingers remain laced as he refuses to let go. “alright, i’ll only ride it occasionally.” seeing how worried she is about him, he feels all warm and fluttery inside because it must mean that she still cares very deeply for him. he doesn’t know how easy changing his lifestyle will be, but he’ll do his best to choose other forms of transportation, especially once she’s living with him. “horses are beautiful, but they can be dangerous, too. then again, i could be walkin’ down the street, slip on a puddle and break my neck. accidents happen.” traffic in new york city is so bad that having a motorcycle can be life-saving. “i know, lucy gray. you’re the sweetest person in the world.” she’s proven time and time again that money doesn’t matter. he could own nothing but the shirt on his back, heat up a TV dinner and she’d still be grateful. she deserves a lot more, though. and now that he finally can, he wants to give her the world. “ladies first,” he muses sweetly, letting lucy gray step off the elevator first, his finger still clinging onto hers for dear life. maybe it’s childish, but he likes the little reminder that it’s all happening for real, that there’s still room for reconciliation. 

“whoa, it really is.” his eyes flickering to the floor-to-ceiling windows, mesmerized by the world outside. still, his gaze quickly falls back to lucy gray, more interested in taking in her reaction than anything else. she’s way more beautiful than any city, and her childlike wonderment is so infectious, so heart-melting. “we have to stay for dessert ‘cause imagine how breathtakingly beautiful all the city lights must look from up here.” the size of the restaurant is impressive, the air filled with mouthwatering scents that make billy’s stomach growl in anticipation. “good evening, we have a reservation. william h. bonney. a table for two.” the host smiles politely at them, notes something down and leads them to their table, wishing them a lovely time. billy catches a glimpse of the high ceiling, lined with gold and ornately painted. there’s a large, modern bar off the side. they get seated near one of the windows facing the west side, which gives them the perfect view of the leisurely setting sun. billy thanks the host and pulls out a chair for lucy gray to sit on. “secret hang outs are our kind of thing, right?”

“my bad, it felt like seven when i first woke up.” grumpily retorting, deciding to jab him in his side with her pointer finger as they mosey on through the lobby, “no proof anyway.” on how many she downed. catching a few of the heavy stares weighing down on them, the songstress stares back and gives strangers a big friendly smile. something they probably didn’t expect. but like her mama always said, don’t meet people with weird stares back— surprise ‘em and you might just make their day smiling back. something most people in this world have forgotten to do. “that’s interestin’. my mama’s a chatterbox too, so maybe they’ll become friends from that.” a soft laugh sounds from her, pinky still clinging to his. “alright, i’ll show you some more pictures later.” when they wrap up their dinner… that’s currently making her empty belly growl even hungrier now that her mind thinks about all the food she’s getting ready to be able to choose from. “well, you can’t always be in control of that no matter how good you are at it, billy. it’s just— those things are more dangerous than bein’ on a horse, in a car, in a plane. maybe don’t ride it very often.” she still worries, hating the idea of it— feeling scared something bad could happen to him when she’s seen too many motorcycle fatalities. “alrighty, then. i don’t mind waffle house or even a gas station— but i’m excited to try out a fancy meal with you. thanks for comin’ up with this idea and invitin’ me to it.” a happy grin has her face coming alive like a ball of sun, feeling grateful she is getting to be cordial with him again. thinking of how the scenario could be different, he could still be that person who doesn’t talk to her. it just annoys herself because she begins to wonder if there’s ulterior motives — like him just being lonely because him and his girlfriend isn’t working out. before she can sour her own mood with her worries, she counts down the floor numbers instead of dwelling. eyes occasionally flickering up on his rosy cheeks, then back on the numbers, stifling a laugh at why in the world he’s shying up. finally a ding! the doors open up and she steps out first… eager to see this place from way up high like he said. the windows are everywhere so immediately she sees parts of the city before they’ve even reached the host and guest check in. “wow, look at all that… that’s an amazin’ sight to see,” doe eyes lighting up, in awe and completely wowed, “and it’s all like a hidden gem. a secret hang out.”

[verdantwyrm]

On that topic though, I would like to touch more on the subject of Jimmy being also a victim to himself. I fear this might anger a lot of people, but Jimmy is an almost exact perfect example of someone with BPD (As someone with it myself) and how his spiralling is directly tied to Curly.

The game never once insinuates that Jimmy is like this because he's mentally ill, the line of him having it "hard" back on earth doesn't mean anything either, but it also means a lot coming from Curly. Curly is a representative of a Favorite person, and everything Jimmy did in the game, who he hurt, how he did it and the language he used, is very close to how real-life people with BPD sometimes treat their own FPs and the people around them.

They become erratic, jealous, driven by fear, apologetic, desperate and cling to everything and everything. Jimmy insults Curly, twists his words and makes him out the be the villain, he drives everyone away from him at the birthday party and spends months feeding lies to the others that Curly is the one that crashed the ship despite this lie not actually really benefitting Jimmy all that much in the long run.

Jimmy wanted to kill everyone on the ship, he could have lied and instead said that it was simply a fault of the ship, a miscalculation, an accident. Instead, he took every opportunity to make Curly out to be the one who ultimately decided that this was the best way to go about it, and then also blamed it on Curly's mental health dropping after being fired.

This is all extremely elaborate, and a very difficult lie to keep up with, as almost everyone on that ship has plenty of reasons to believe otherwise that Curly didn't crash the ship. What with Anya's psych eval of him being "the same as usual" and being sane enough to continue doing his job. Anya also trusted Curly enough to tell him about the pregnancy, and to also tell him about the gun. And even though it's not very well expressed in the game (possibly intentional since we are seeing through Jimmy's eyes.) She does trust Curly, and she probably continued to trust him even when all was wrong around her.

And Daisuke also has no real reason to distrust Curly, we don't know much about their relationship, but there was definitely a sense of trust and reliability between the both of them. This is also evident through Swansea and Curly, where Curly trusts him enough to hold onto the axe, despite being told to return it to the case as everything has to constantly run through him. He was taking risks, he was terrified of being abandoned, left behind in Curly's shadow. He was having fits of rage, outbursts of suicidal thoughts and harm to himself and to those around him.

Jimmy twisted and kept twisting that knife in an attempt to turn away everyone from Curly even when he was at his lowest to isolate and to make him cling to the only thing he had left; Jimmy.

This adds even more to Curly's eventual condition, being completely reliant on Jimmy, being completely subject to his will and power. And something that he even admitted to liking, he likes power. And he likes that the circumstances given, might not have turned out the best way, it gave Jimmy that power over Curly. Something he had been climbing for a long time, and something he so desperately wanted because he was sick and tired of hearing just how fantastic he was at something Jimmy wasn't.

And yet, despite all of this, Jimmy praised Curly. He hated how much he adored him, hated how much he idolised him. And even at the end of it all, his main focus was just Curly, making him out to be the hero of the story despite spending such a long time attempting to make him out to be the villain.

And then even further to make the situation out to be that he was also the hero of the story, that all of his actions were justified to some degree because it was all for Curly. He fixed it, he fixed everything for Curly. Because despite what he did to Anya, Swanse and Daisuke, his only real concern behind all of it was Curly.

Every hallucination leads to him, every goal, every path. He was so concerned with him, that even when it was directly in his face, the only apology he ever muttered was to Curly. Using Anya's words.

Our worst moments don't make us monsters.

Jimmy is a victim of only himself and the consequences of his own actions, and he is by far one of the better, unintentional examples of BPD.

[areyouwell]

Memento Mori

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Violence, slight body horror

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: Took me long enough. New long-fic comin' in from the left! i know i teased this around three weeks ago (ish) but here's chapter one. not sure this is gonna be as long as Phobophobia but i'm really excited about this one. it's a little darker (yeah i know) but i already love this MC. if anyone wants tagging in this pls lmk, i don't wanna assume everyone who i tagged in Phobophobia wants to be tagged again so i'll start a new list <3

Dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

“So, as detailed here, there have been a string of these… murders, I suppose.”

Logan sighed heavily. When he woke up this morning, the one thing he didn’t expect was to be called into Charles Xavier’s office so soon after having breakfast, let alone be greeted with grainy photographs of some of the most horrific murder scenes he’d ever had the displeasure of looking at. Entrails, bones, flesh, eyes. None of it was where it should be, which most of the time, seemed scattered around the floor rather than attached to whichever poor, unfortunate soul who’d had the shitty luck of running into their silent assassin. Charles pointed the telescopic stick towards the mangled jacket of one of the equally mangled victims. Logan couldn’t even tell what gender they were, their face nothing but a bloody pulp.

Almost as if it had been exploded from the inside out. 

“This symbol here is the only string that connects the murders, and after doing a little digging,” he nodded thankfully to Ororo, her white hair bobbing with her dip of acknowledgement. “We found they all belonged to the same company, here.” With a click of the remote in his hands, the projection flipped to the next slide, a map of San Fransisco, a large red circle drawn around a location Logan was only somewhat familiar with, only because he’d walked past it a few times. 

“It’s a warehouse,” he offered, several heads turning to look at him. “I’ve walked ‘round there couple times. Nothin’ special, s’always buzzin’ with life.” He shrugged thoughtfully, tugging a cigar from his jacket pocket and flicking the Zippo lighter open and shut with his other hand. Charles gave him a slightly irritated look, but he pretended not to notice.”So… What? Our killer’s just popping caps in the head’s underpaid workers? Doesn’t make much sense.” 

“That’s what we thought too,” Ororo continued, placing down a few pieces of paper and spreading them about the table. “Until we started to notice a pattern. They’ve been picking off specific shift workers, mainly those on the late shift. But it’s never new members of staff either. Always those who’ve worked there for at least two years. Lately, their security has increased, but once they leave work, they’re basically on their own.” Storm took the remote from Charles and clicked to the next slide, a list of names and hours flaring onto the screen, the names of victims having been crossed out, though their hours were still visible on the row of the rota.

“Ya don’t think this has anything to do with that orphanage incident, do you?” Kitty piped up, cupping her mug of tea in both hands, either for comfort or for warmth, Logan couldn’t tell. She had a good point. It must have been around a month ago now. A fire had started downtown in the dead of night. Officials had said it was a discarded cigarette from one of the employees, but that didn’t explain why all the windows and doors had been locked.

Everyone within burned. Children included. 

“It’s certainly a theory…” Scott mused, rubbing his hand against his jaw in thought. “A terrible accident sounded far too much like a cover story. Think this killer had something to do with it?”

Charles sighed heavily. “Ordinarily, yes, I’d have some kind of suspicion, if it wasn’t for the fact our killer was elsewhere at the time.” He nodded to Ororo, who clicked the remote once again. “This was taken not an hour beforehand, on the other side of the city. Unless the killer can teleport, there’s no way they could have made it across town in such a short amount of time, let alone take all the precautions and set alight to the building. Though I do not believe it was merely a terrible accident, I don’t believe they had anything to do with it.” Charles finished before Ororo leant over the pages she’d spread on the table, spinning one to face the rest of the team.

“Though we do have this. A pattern of all the attacks and locations,” Logan stood up to skirt around the table, standing between Kitty and Marie as he inspected the red pen. With every X, the attacks almost formed an exact circle around the warehouse, almost as if the killer could predict which ways those victims would take home. Especially after the first attack. “We think the next one will happen here,” Ororo pointed to a side street far between the locations either side. “The most recent one being here, it’s logical to think they’d take the opposite side. At least, that’s what we’re hoping…” She trailed off, and Logan returned to his seat, having an idea as to what this meeting was actually about.

“You want us to lay a trap, right? Trail several employees home and jump in before Killer McGee can get their hands on ‘em.” He clarified, and Charles nodded a little too darkly for his liking. 

“Exactly. Which is why I won’t be asking you all on this mission. We need to avoid detection and sending all of us would be too much of a risk. Whoever this is, we must assume they’re a mutant. These attacks happen quickly and viciously, and to cause such damage in such a short amount of time, we must assume they possess some sort of ability.

“Scott, Ororo and Logan, I trust you can handle this task? I will be in Cerebro with Jean on hand, and the rest I want you on standby in the Blackbird in case backup is required.”

“Wait, we’re doing this tonight?” Marie squeaked, casting a wary glance to Kitty who returned her expression. Logan was relieved neither of them would be actively on the mission, he’d come to care for them both deeply, and whilst that didn’t mean he didn’t care for either Ororo or, though he’d never admit it, Scott, he was glad the two girls would be on standby rather than active duty.

“The attacks seem random, as if they flipped a coin to see if they would head out each night, but when you look closer, they’re only on the days the older members of staff are on shift. We think they’re looking for something, or someone, specific.” Ororo explained, pointing back to the projection on the screen. “These three here have been working at this specific warehouse for three, four and seven years respectably,” she clicked the remote again for each of their work ID cards to flash onto the screen. “Scott, you’re tailing Alec,” she gestured to the string bean of a man, blonde hair styled into several spikes atop his head, two silver snakebite piercings adorned his lower lip.  

“Logan, you’ve got Manuel, he’s been there for four years,” Logan didn’t think they could have found such a different-looking guy to the previous one if they fucking tried. Manuel was built like a brick shit house, a buzzcut of dark hair dusted the top of his otherwise bald head, ears like fucking cauliflowers. Of course, that’s who he’d be tailing, probably because a punch from this guy would send anyone else across the damn room. 

“And I’ll be tailing Henry, he works in the office upstairs but is still very much a likely target. We’re hoping to locate and pin down the killer before their shifts even finish, but in the eventuality The Professor can’t get a lock on them, this is the backup plan. Got it?”

Both Logan and Scott nodded in unison. It didn’t seem too much of a problem mission if this killer was cowardly enough to be picking these guys off one by one, he didn’t think they had much in terms of fighting prowess. Taking an enemy by surprise was the coward’s way out, in his opinion, though he supposed not everybody could heal the way he could. 

And taking this killer by surprise was exactly the plan…

Maybe he should rethink his principles. 

“Be suited up and ready to head out at ten. Gives us at least an hour to locate and set up.” Ororo gathered the papers on the table, tapping the small stack against the surface before tucking them beneath her arm. “Right, I’ve got a class to teach, pretty sure you do too, Professor.” She turned to Charles who simply smiled and nodded, ending the meeting just like that. With a huff and a stretch, Logan stood from his seat, instantly reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thick cigar, earning himself a sharp look of disapproval from Xavier, the Professor glancing pointedly to the chilly air beyond the window. Logan knew what he was saying, and usually, he’d tell him to go fuck himself and smoke indoors. But he needed a breath of fresh air after that stuffy, slightly nauseating meeting, and if he could kill two birds with one stone, why wouldn’t he?

With an acquiescing shrug, he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel to stalk from the boardroom, shoving the door open with his shoulder and almost walking chest first into Jean. His heart skipped a beat or three, lips pulling up into a small smirk to hide the fact he was borderline giddy to be running into her outside the meeting. She’d been the object of his affection ever since he was brought to the mansion and she checked his vitals. He couldn’t help it. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to her the instant he was in her presence. He didn’t find himself thinking of her much outside their interactions, but when they were in the same room, all he could think about was her. It would be frustrating if he cared about anything said in those meetings. 

“Watin’ f’me now are ya?” He teased lowly, savouring the way her lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. There were times Logan thought she felt the same magnetic pull toward him that he felt toward her, times like this, where she didn’t look away from his gaze, and entertained his relentless teasing. 

“You know Scott’s still in there. We have plans,” she responded, feigning an attempt to look past him and back into the room where Scott was discussing various strategies with the Professor. Logan raised a brow as he followed her wavering line of sight, keeping that brow raised as he looked back at her. 

“Plans? Hope you don’t mean dinner, doesn’t look like he’ll be out anytime soon.” If she could just see how terrible Scott was for her. If he could just make her see how he would be so much better. Would suit her better. Would take care of her better. He wasn’t willing to change for many people, but if Jean asked, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d change himself for her.

“Yes, Logan, dinner plans before the mission. And you know this is a tradition because you comment on it every time.” She huffed, her hair bobbing slightly with every emphatic move of her head. Logan chuckled lightly, his eyes briefly glancing from her gaze to her lips, how perfect they looked, and how perfect they would look wrapped around his–

“Then we both have our little traditions, don’t we? C’mon, doll. Why don’t we stop this dance?” His fingers curled through a strand of her hair, feeling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Haven’t I shown ya I can be the good guy?”

Jean sighed, and Logan half expected her to move away, but instead, she just closed her eyes, shaking her head softly. Was she mournful? Disappointed? It was hard to tell. 

“Logan, I don’t–”

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Scott’s voice slashed through the charged atmosphere between them, and Logan found his hand falling away from Jean’s hair almost instantly. 

“We were jus’ talkin’, Scotty.” Logan shot back, trying to keep the defence from his voice. There was no need to let Scott know just how irritated the interruption made him feel.

“Yeah, like hell you were. Back off, Logan. I don’t wanna have to tell you again.” Placing his arm around Jean’s shoulders, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way she shrank slightly, looking almost humiliated. He tensed his jaw. If she hated Scott’s attention this much, she knew what he had to do. Logan didn’t know how much more obvious he could make his interest in her. All she needed to do was take the leap. “Yeah yeah, ‘stay away from my girl’, I know.” He mocked, sending Jean a wink before continuing on his path to the courtyard. Now he really fucking needed that cigar.

The city was so pretty in the twilight. Silhouetted buildings scattered with twinkling lights against a deep blue sky, it almost made up for the lack of stars. And there was nothing like watching the city skyline descend into darkness that had you more prepared than ever for your latest chosen victim. You hadn’t learned nearly as much as you should have by now, nobody you’d tortured knew anything about what you were looking for and it was starting to piss you off. But you didn’t bury those feelings. Instead, you harnessed them. Used your frustration to your advantage and honed yourself like a forged weapon. Every burn of urgent irritation sharpened your slices, focused your fileting, and pinpointed your precision. 

For the greater good, you reminded yourself as your watch beeped ten, and you spun the small knife in your palm before sheathing it in your boot. Your specific target of the night finished early every other week on Thursdays, hence your change in schedule today. In fact, a good few of them did. You assumed it had something to do with specific shipments on the warehouse floor but you didn’t bother yourself with the details. You knew his schedule now. You’d been watching for weeks. And you had every single detail of his various ways home. He was a bus-taker. Though, to avoid you, he’d been taking different numbered busses to other parts of town, before heading home. But the moron used the same three in rotation. There was no cause to wonder why he worked in a warehouse…

Although you had a good feeling about this one. You’d already scored one victim of the night, who was currently unconscious in your chosen location. You were one hundred per cent sure he knew what you were looking for, and you had a fantastic feeling about this one too.

Standing from where you’d been lounging against a rooftop balcony, you stretched your arms high above your head, listening to your bones and joints crack slightly before securing the steel mask over your features, cursing the phantoms of your past for providing you with such memorable makeup, and, shrugging the hood of your short-sleeved jacket over your head. Your hands dipped into the various sheathed across your waist, double checking the various blades in your belt. You were thankful you never needed to go through any kind of metal detector, because it would likely take you the rest of the night to remove every weapon dotted about your body, from the little holsters on your biceps to the sheathes in your boots, to the retractable blades in the bracers on your wrists. A wise woman once said you can never have too many knives.

A phrase you really should copyright before anyone else claims it. 

Five past ten. Go time. Taking a few steps back, you broke into a sprightly run, leaping like a dexterous cat across the rooftops, every step measured in surety. You’d done this too many times to start second-guessing yourself now, and it wasn’t like you were a stranger to the city’s rooftops and sketchy alleyways before you started doing this. With little effort, you crossed blocks in a matter of moments, skipping over crowds and traffic like it was child’s play before you landed with a deft roll above the side street tonight’s victim would take in a matter of five minutes. 

Like you said. Child’s play

You crouched low, removing the serrated knife from your belt, and flicking it in your palm over and over. It was a habit you’d developed when waiting in anticipation for something. It kept your hands occupied whilst your mind focused on the events to come, picturing exactly how you wanted things to play out. It was difficult. Capturing and torturing these assholes was like shooting fish in a barrel. 

“Fourth clear, no signs of our guy.”

You ducked low on the rooftop, an unpredicted obstacle walking into view wearing some shitty leather getup, fingers delicately perched at the side of his horizontal glasses. Though they weren’t exactly glasses. How would you describe it? Eye-guard? Some weird single glass as opposed to glasses? Whatever the fuck they were, you didn’t exactly want to find out what they did. He was holding them as if they were some kind of weapon. 

Shit, this really wasn’t good. If he didn’t move on now, you’d have to take him out and risk alerting your victim to your presence. Fuck, fuck and fuck again. And just as luck would have it, Alec appeared at the other end of the alleyway, nervously looking about before entering hurriedly. People didn’t watch enough movies. Did they really not know that entering dark alleyways with a killer on the loose was practically the same as signing your own death certificate? In any case, this actually worked in your favour. With Mr Visor patrolling the other end, you sliced open your hand, your blood humming as you pulled it from your veins to wrap around the metal drainage pipe before you swung off the rooftop, the crimson rope twisting and writhing as if it were alive as you descended, landing quietly a few paces behind him.

Now, if he wasn’t on such high alert, he would have most likely chalked the slight thud of your landing to the sound of a street cat, or perhaps a fox. But the way Alec jumped with a yelp, staggering as he turned to face you, didn’t exactly scream discreet. You held your hand up in front of you, contorting your fingers as your mutation felt for his pulse, slowing down the blood flow in his veins as quickly as you could. Not fast enough, a strangled yell flew from his now pale lips, and you swore viciously as your latest obstacle jogged back into view between the alleyway’s walls. 

“Shit, HE’S HERE!” He called to nobody you could see, and you barely had time to duck before a searing red beam of pure energy shot above your head, illuminating the dingy street in the crimson glow. You thought it slightly ironic, as your knife slashed through the palm of your hand, the colour of his mutation and who he was up against. Curving your arm in a wide arc, you manipulated your own blood cells into a wide blade, propelling it forward whilst you took a few steps toward your now collapsed victim. With Glasses now distracted by what you assumed was him discovering your own mutation, you felt around his veins for his heartbeat, tracing the blood flow back until you found the source, and you poured all your energy into slowing that one too. 

“He can manip… manipulate bl… blood.” Once again he spoke aloud to nobody you could sense, his knees giving out before he crashed to the floor. You huffed out a breath, fishing a small bandage from the pouch on your belt before wrapping up your hand and pulling the tie tight with your teeth. The one thing you found frustrating about your mutation was your inability to heal. How fucking helpful that would be, if every time you had to slash yourself open, you could just reseal the wound? Instead of running the risk of bleeding out. But you guessed everything had its drawbacks. Even blood manipulation. 

You bent to pick up Alec’s ankles, dragging him a few feet back the way he came, before you stopped, and looked back to the unconscious mutant at the alley’s mouth. You should kill him. Things would be easier if you did. And so, dropping your victim’s feet without much care, you strode over, finding a small gap in the wrappings around your palm, you extended a small spear from your flesh with the intention of jabbing it through his head and silencing what he saw here forever. 

But there were little voices calling out from a small earpiece nestled in his ear canal. You tilted your head, plucking the bud from the side of his head and holding it up to your own ear.

“Scott? Scott can you hear us?!”

“We’re tracking your location, hang tight!”

“I’m en route, stay alive asshole.”

A kaleidoscope of voices blended together, though the last one had you dropping the earpiece and crushing it with the heel of your boot. Someone was coming. A big someone. Someone whose voice you really hoped didn’t match his body. 

You should kill him. You really should kill this Scott guy, but something about the concern and fierce loyalty of those in the earpiece stopped you. This man was loved. He was cared for. Most of your victims didn’t have anyone. No family, very little friends, and all with some kind of penchant for criminal activity. Alec, for example, was finding himself becoming a little too familiar with the gates of a primary school. The more you watched him, the more you found yourself utterly repulsed by the way he would try and get the attention of those kids. Those children. 

But Scott had people who would care if he died. And so you let him be, pulling and pushing him upright against the wall before jogging back over to your actual victim and resuming your strained attempts to drag him off to your chosen location for the night. 

An ancient, local church, ironically enough. 

Logan raced through the streets, across busy roads and through closed parks, leaping over fences and gates effortlessly. He knew Scott’s location, Jean begging him over coms to do what he could. He was still alive, The Professor could sense it, but how the mission had immediately gone south, he had no idea. But at least Scott was still alive. At least, he was for now. 

“SCOTT!” He called, slowing his steps as he closed in on his location, his claws sliding from his knuckles. The metallic scent of blood flooded his senses, but it wasn’t Scott’s. He knew what Scott’s blood smelled like, having punched him in the nose a few times for the scent to be memorable. No, this blood was new, unfamiliar, and reeked of mutation. Which he supposed made sense.

Blood manipulator. That was the last thing Scott had said before he fell silent and before his channel died completely. And stalking up to the mouth of the alleyway, he could see why. Scott’s earpiece lay crushed on the concrete, little pieces scattered across the floor. Peering into the alleyway, Logan’s heart raced as his eyes cut through the darkness to find Scott himself lying slumped against the wall, his head hanging low. Logan bent to one knee, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel his slow yet strong pulse. The same pulse that would be associated with someone unconscious. But there was no head wound. Nothing to indicate he’d been completely knocked out. 

“Is he–” 

Logan looked back to see Ororo landing behind him, her hair slightly wild from the wind. She must have flown her way over, avoiding the nightlife altogether. 

“He’s alive. Unconscious, but alive. You heard what he said, right? Blood manipulator. I think our guy must have slowed his heartbeat or somethin’. There’s no wound anywhere…” Logan gently moved Scott’s head in search of any kind of blunt force trauma but found none. Not that he was expecting to find anything, since the only blood he could smell was unfamiliar. And it lead right down the alley and out the other side. “Gonna need ya t’stay here, Storm. Make sure Scott’s alright.” He kept his eyes focused on the darkness ahead, and the small sliver of light beyond. 

“And where’re you going?” Ororo asked, crouching beside him as if to physically demonstrate she’d stay with Scott. Logan sniffed the air again, almost able to see the blood trail the scent was so damn strong. 

“Followin’ our man. We don’t know if he bagged his victim, but if he was here with Scott, then he was after Alec, and I don’t see him anywhere, do you?” He asked, raising a brow to the woman by his side, who shook her head. 

“No. And I didn’t see him from above either. Alright, you go. But be careful, Logan. He’s unpredictable and now we have an idea as to how dangerous. If he can knock Scott out cold like this, he shouldn’t be taken lightly,” Ororo implored, watching as he rose from his crouch. Logan huffed an irritated sigh, having to restrain himself before he rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine. Look after Cyclops.” Was all he said, before taking off down the alleyway at a light jog, following his nose and turning left at the end. 

“Logan, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t charge into the unknown with no information other than blood-manipulator.” Jean’s voice echoed in his ear, and he once again felt his lips pull up into a small smirk. 

“Why, you worried about me?” He provoked, chuckling when he heard her deep sigh, pinching the earpiece between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll send up a flare if I need ya.”

“Logan don’t–” 

Whatever Jean was about to say was lost when he tossed the coms unit onto the ground, leaving it and all methods of communication behind as he continued on toward his target. He couldn’t believe his eyes when his nose led him to a looming church, stained windows dark from the inside, spires towering high into the night. This couldn’t be right. Either his nose had failed him, which was unheard of, or the killer had a wicked sense of humour. It must have been the latter, the stench of blood increasing tenfold as he crossed the neatly mowed lawn outside, taking the stone steps two at a time and up to the wooden double doors. 

His ears twitched as he caught distant screams from inside, deep enough that anyone passing by would be completely oblivious to any goings on within. Once again, he released the hold he had on his claws, razors slicing through his muscles and flesh as they slid from his knuckles. He took a breath, bracing a hand on the centre of one of the doors before he pushed slightly, the hinges’ echoing screech causing him to freeze, letting the sound settle before he moved. The screams continued, and as sick and twisted as it was, he used that to gauge whether or not he’d been heard. So far, remarkably, so good. 

Stealth wasn’t his strong suit. Never was, but he cursed every heavy footstep that bounced off the wooden beams and stone walls, even the stained glass seemed to be mocking him, some ridiculous depiction of a halo-wearing baby with the proportions completely incorrect, being carried by an equally disproportionate-looking woman who seemed to be bathed in holy light. Once upon a time, he may have found comfort in the frieze. Now he simply thought it ridiculous. How could there be a god when mutants like him walk the earth? When mutants like this killer were allowed to wander around completely free? 

He shook his head of the thoughts. Now was not the time to contemplate divinity. If he wanted to discuss religion, he’d have a conversation with Kurt. He followed his senses, down the aisle between the pews and up to the lectern, his head snapping to the right and through the door to the sacristy. Once again measuring his steps, Logan crossed the altar and into the shadows behind the pillars, that same coppery scent of blood lingering on the slightly crimson-stained doorknob, the faint smokey smell of mutation told him this was the killer’s blood. Had the victim fought back somehow? He assumed he’d done the same thing to them as he had to Scott, knocked them out before dragging them away. 

Shoving the door open, Logan took a moment to look around. Nothing much, other than a large closet, a chest of drawers and a small bathroom sink with a mirror. A rug covered a large portion of the floor, the patterns almost psychedelic in nature, but this was where the scent was strongest so far. Here, in this room. Then where the hell was all the screaming coming from? He could still hear it, in the distance, beyond several walls of stone, or deep beneath–

Logan paused, his eyes flickering from the bare walls to the rug on the floor, one corner ever so slightly raised from the ground. With determined curiosity, he tugged on the fabric, pulling it back from the ground before tossing it completely into a corner. There, now revealed, a wooden trap door. He couldn’t help but think it was a little cliché, to have a trap door leading down to some kind of torture chamber, but if the chosen location told him anything, it was that the killer had a flair for the dramatic. 

To hell with stealth at this point. Logan crouched, gripping the large brass handle and throwing up the door so it clattered loudly against the floor. He was glad he had excellent vision, as the darkness beyond would be enough to turn away even the bravest of souls. And yet, here he was, taking step after step down into the pitch black, his eyes reflecting what little light there was. Perhaps the setting was more fitting than he originally thought because it truly felt like he was descending into the pits of hell with each careful step. The scent of blood now fused with the acrid scent of urine, and the musk of sweat. It was enough to have him almost gag, but he kept on going, led by the sounds of broken screams. 

Until those broken screams were cut viciously short. 

Logan stopped in his tracks, bracing a hand against the damp wall, a crippling sense of failure weighing heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now Alec was likely dead. He couldn’t think of another reason why the killer would just cut off his screams like that. But what unnerved Logan further, was that now one voice had been silenced, another was rising up the dark, dank tunnel. There were two. The motherfucker had managed to grab two victims in one night. What the fuck was he using them for? Why torture them? What was he looking for?

A pinprick of flickering light teased him from the distance, the literal light at the end of the tunnel winking in the distance. How far down had he gone for the exit to only now be visible? Had this guy really dragged two bodies down these stairs already today? A picture was forming in Logan’s mind. He had to have some kind of muscle on him to be able to carry weights such as these. But he couldn’t let himself get comfortable in his predictions. That would only lead to chaos. So he kept his mind open, the only thing he was fairly sure about was the fact this killer was a man. 

Not that a woman couldn’t be capable of this kind of thing, but he’d seen the size of some of the victims. Either she was some kind of bodybuilder or a man. One seemed more likely than the other. 

He felt like he’d been in this stupid fucking tunnel for years by the time his eyes needed to adjust to the flickering torchlight, the steps levelling out to a long, claustrophobic stone hallway, the low arch of the ceiling barely high enough for him to stand up completely straight, the tips of his brushed up hair lightly brushing the damp brickwork. He continued creeping forward, a cone of more flickering torchlight illuminating a doorway ahead of him and to the right. 

The secondary voice gurgled another agonised scream, and Logan felt a decent amount of urgency fuel his steps, half jogging the remaining feet up to the archway, peering around the stone.

His stomach clenched, eyes widening. Well, that would show him not to make assumptions. The killer wasn’t a man. 

You were a woman. 

The two victims were strapped to chairs, back to back, a knife in the mouth of one, the other’s head– Alec’s head, hung limp. In the lap of the other, you held a map, blood dripping from both your palms.

“Point.” You spat, delivering a harsh slap to the side of his face. “And so help you, your answers better match up.” 

With shaky movements, your captive craned his neck down, pointing the quivering tip of the knife against a random point on the map you’d lay in his lap, tears flowing down his face as he whimpered in utter terror. Logan watched as you raised your hand over Alec’s head, contorting your fingers as he groggily returned to consciousness. He couldn’t see his face before, and Logan would spend a long time wishing he could return to that ignorance. Two dark, bloodied holes replaced the sockets where his eyes should be, tears of sanguine had rolled down his cheeks, staining his flesh until it bled into the exposed muscle of his cheek. 

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You took a step back, snatching the map from your second victim and drawing a circle with the bloodied tip of your finger. After so many deaths, the cacophony of screams that kept you awake at night, finally you had a lead. “And what is it exactly th–”

You stopped, your nerves alight with alert. 

Logan whipped back behind the archway, pressing his spine against the wall and keeping his breathing steady. He didn’t hold out hope you hadn’t seen him, and he was incredibly thankful for that, clenching his fists when your voice echoed in the expanses of the chamber. 

“I can feel it. The mutation in your blood. Scott’s friend, I assume?”

With a long sigh, Logan stepped out from behind the archway and into the light. 

“Friend is a strong term. Associate.” He responded, his eyes flickering to each of your palms as crystals of crimson extended from the two wounds in your flesh, taking the form of jagged blades. Your head tilted to the side, hood shifting slightly for the light to catch your eyes. 

“Scott’s associate…” you mused lowly, striking out with surgical precision to the two captives, keeping your wince locked away as your two blades crunched through their skulls with a sickening squelch. 

Logan clenched his jaw, keeping his chin held high. “No explosions this time? Entrails seem far too organised for you.” 

“A fan of my work? Sorry, I don’t tend to do meet-and-greets. Although I’d be willing to sign your corpse for you.” You held your blood blades tight in your palms as you bent your knees. You wouldn’t be getting out of here without a fight. And whilst you could feel the mutation in his blood, you had no idea what it was exactly that he could do. The claws were an obvious giveaway, but was that it? You’d come to learn to put all assumptions to the side and be prepared for anything. 

Years on the streets had taught you that.

“Why?” Logan asked, taking a steadying breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why?” He repeated with just as much conviction. “Why do this? What’re you looking for? Why’re you doing this?” He watched you falter slightly as if genuinely taken aback that he was interested enough to ask. “You coulda killed Scott, but you didn’t. Y’not afraid of causing pain, but you left him unharmed. Why?”

Too many thoughts were running through your head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t. He had nothing to do with this, and whilst yes he got in your way, he was innocent. None of these people were. None of your victims were. Least of all, you. 

“Why ask? Did you want me to? Yikes, that’s some rivalry you got there.” You deflected, twirling one of your blades in your hand. “Tell ya what, I’ll finish the job for you, free of charge.” You grinned behind your mask, taking a step toward him, dragging the tips of your crystalised blood blades along the ground, leaving little crimson trails as you walked. 

“Got a lotta lip, ya know that?” He growled, watching you like a hawk as you slowly stalked forward, step by careful step. 

“If only you knew the trouble my mouth gets me into…” You paused for a moment, crouching low. Anticipation crackled in the air, sparks of adrenaline igniting the room before you launched forward, keeping low to the ground. 

Logan tracked your movements, bending his knees and bracing his claws in front of his body before your blades cracked against his, literal sparks flying from the contact point as you stay low, your other hand braced against the floor, leaving bloodstains on the stone. Your leg swept toward his, and he wrenched his claws from where they’d tangled with your blades, taking a quick step back to avoid your jab.

Using your momentum, you pushed off from the ground, spinning upright just in time to parry a slice from his claws, your blood thrumming with the impact. He was strong. Really fucking strong. Annoyingly strong, in fact. You hated having to manipulate the vessels and cells within your body, but the moment his fists arced down toward you, you had no choice but to increase the blood flow to your biceps, wincing slightly as they shuddered and flexed in response, but it was just enough to catch him off guard, your two blades crossed between his six claws. 

You didn’t let the moment linger, delivering a harsh kick to the centre of his stomach and using the almost rock-like surface to send yourself a few steps back, sweat already trailing down the inside of your mask. 

Logan bent double, grunting in discomfort before lowering into a similar crouch to your own, watching closely as your blades dragged along the ground once again, leaving little slices of crimson. You raised your head in challenge, the flickering torchlight catching two sparks of sanguine red eyes, pulsing slightly as your mutation shimmered from your hands, veins bulging up your wrists. Something tugged at his chest, and he stilled for a moment. It looked almost… painful. The way he could see every pulse of your heart thumping within those bloodborne blades. 

His head tilted to the side, and you felt discomfort crawl over your skin. Was he… studying you? In the middle of a fucking fight? And not the ‘I’m studying you to see your next attack’ kind of way. You grit your teeth, irritation flaring in your gut as you launch forward, anger and frustration now fuelling your movements. How dare he. How dare he try to read you like this. He didn’t even fucking know you. But the way his features slackened slightly, the ever so small tilt of his head. You wanted to tear him to ribbons. 

Logan shook himself from his thoughts as you surged forward, once again bracing himself for the flurry of swipes he could sense was coming his way. Only–

You ducked to the side.

Your blades retracting back into your palms as you slid past him, grazing the centre of your hand against the floor in a wide arc. What the hell were you doing? What the fuck was with all the acrobatics. You’d done nothing but flip and spin around him, barely going in for any hits. He whirled around, claws still held before him in closed fists, but you looked… done. 

Like you’d already won. 

“Well, this has been a pleasure. But I’m afraid I’m a very busy woman,” you paused, placing a hand on your hip as if you were having a casual conversation in a shopping centre. “And you’re wasting my time.”

Logan barely had time to think before the bloodstains on the ground shifted, and in every place you’d dragged your palm across the stone, a sharp spear shot from the marks towards him, impaling through his suit and into his chest, his legs, back, and shoulders with a sick, wet crunch.

Through agonising pain, he finally understood what you were doing. Setting up a fucking trap. Any attempt to move resulted in tearing fire through his body, a rough cry of pain flying from behind his gritted teeth, before it became too much as he sank to his knees. Your sigh almost sounded disappointed, and he watched through hazy vision as you brought out a bandage from your belt and started to wrap up one of your palms with a slight hissed wince. 

You’d expected him to be dead by now, and yet somehow he was still clinging to life like a tenacious limpet. An irritated huff warmed the interior of your mask as you flicked your unbound hand, another jagged spear of ruby sailing from your palm and through the centre of his stomach, wrenching another agonised cry from his throat. 

“Fucking hell… still here? Most would be dead by now.” You folded your arms across your chest, wandering over to where he was still bent double on his knees, heaving rasped breaths. 

“Most of ‘em can die.” He snarled back, his strength slowly returning as his regeneration worked overtime to remove the whipping spears from his body. You watched as they shifted in response to the resistance, fascination curling like smoke in your head. What the hell was this guy?

“And you can’t, I presume?”

“Nope. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh,” you shrugged, your eyes flaring as you wormed those tendrils back through his flesh, something twinging in your chest as you did so. “That’s… unfortunate,” you crouched in front of him, running your fingers along one of the tendrils of blood holding him still, your eyes falling to the little X symbol on his leather collar, recognition striking you like lightning. “Wait… I know you. You’re one of Xavier’s, right? Never thought he’d meddle in simple human murders,” you thought for a moment, regarding him. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being nothing but a weapon to him? Just a gun to point at the enemy whilst he’s the one who claims the victory?” You provoked, finally garnering a response as he all but growled at you, bloodied teeth bared. You had half a mind to use his own blood to sew his mouth shut, but you were curious about him. A mutant who couldn’t die, running around playing soldier for someone who would never walk the battlefield himself. 

Sure he should be the one pulling the strings. 

Logan knew you were trying to get under his skin. Metaphorically, of course. Physically, you’d already achieved that, the sharp bolts of agony with every slight movement told him that much. But he needed to get under yours. 

“I know what these people did,” he breathed, chest searing with each fiery inhale.  “The ones you choose. I know why you kill them, but why torture them?” He continued through gritted teeth, tugging against the lashing spears through his body.

“You think that’s what this is? Me cleaning up after this world’s scum? I should add myself to that lengthy list.” You growled back, gesturing wildly to the walls around you. “These people know something. The fact they’re all child predators is simply luck. But don’t you think it’s strange? An orphanage burns down and none of the bodies are found?” 

Logan stopped his struggle. “What…? How d’you–”

“Nothing. Not even skeletons. Doesn’t that make you wonder where the hell those kids went? The disappearances throughout the city, all kids. All mutant kids.” You could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what you were saying, and what it meant. 

“Y– you’re looking for information…” He muttered with understanding, and you nodded.

“The men at that warehouse… they’re always hanging around schools and –before it burnt down– the orphanage,” your eyes flickered to stairs beyond the archway, and the distant shouts echoing down the hall. “It’s a slave trade. A mutant slave trade.”

“How d’you know?”

“I… I can’t tell you that.” Something twisted in your gut as his expression shifted to something softer, despite the obvious pain he was in. You didn’t want to hurt him. It was a sudden realisation that you’d acted too hastily. Assumed he was here to eliminate you after the series of events you’d caused. But you should have known the moment he started asking questions. Sure, he was probably here to put a stop to what appeared on the surface to be a sequence of grizzly murders, but he’d asked. He wanted to know why. Not many others had done that. And there was something else flickering in his strikingly haze eyes. 

He didn’t want to kill you. Not now he knew. 

Your head whipped back to the archway, where those distant shouts had increased in volume and, terrifyingly enough, proximity. You could clearly catch the repeated calls of a name. His name. 

Logan. 

“Look, if you want to help, there’s a gala happening at Thornbury Hall, west of the city. Saturday the 18th. Meet me there or don’t, it’s your choice. But you come alone. I’ll know if you don’t.” You hissed hurriedly, flicking your fingers to withdraw the countless spears from his body, and he screwed his eyes shut as his wounds immediately began to knit back together, muscle and tissue reforming with an unbearable itch, the crystalised blood liquifying once again, staining the stone red. 

“Logan?!”

Your breath quickened as you looked back to the archway, and Logan could just see the fear reflecting in your barely visible eyes as you took a few steps back. He wanted to stop you. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to take this on alone. They could help. He could help. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wasn’t going to take the olive branch you’d just extended. 

“How’ll I know it’s you?” He asked as he stood to his feet, eyes narrowing in suspicion despite himself. He hadn’t seen your face. Just two scarlet eyes behind a rather unnerving, featureless mask. Your head flipped between looking at him and looking past him to the archway skittishly, hurried footsteps growing louder as his other associates honed in on your location. 

“When you get there, look for a man with a runic tattoo on his neck and ask for Alecto.” You explained, continuing backing up into what looked like just a regular wall. But the greatest thing about ancient buildings such as this was the secret little entrances and exits installed for servants, refugees. Criminals.

“Alecto?” You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the slight smirk on his face, the amusement lacing his tone despite your efforts to try and kill him not moments ago.

“Look it up.” Was all you said, before slipping through one of the cracks in the wall the moment he turned around as two other mutants rushed through the archway. You barely caught sight of Scott and the other before you were gone. 

“Logan! What the hell? You can’t just go dead like that, what happened to your coms?” Storm ranted before falling silent, panic entered her eyes as she registered the state he was in. “What… what happened to you?”

Logan looked back to where he’d last seen you, finding an odd kernel of relief to see you’d completely vanished into seemingly thin air. “I found our gal. Put up a good fight. Slipped out when she heard ya comin’ and I was immobilised.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just let the very same killer they’d come here to hunt slip away.

“She– wait, she?” Scott asked, clearly having recovered from whatever Alecto had done to him. 

“Yeah, she,” he nodded, before sighing heavily. “Look, no point in standin’ round here ‘n chattin’ about it. Charles is gonna wanna know what I know.” 

“And what is it exactly that you know?” Scott asked, suspicion lacing his tone, his arms folding across his chest almost in accusation. Logan rolled his eyes.

“A helluva lot more than you, Slim. Let’s go.”

[star-bursts-industries]

Brian currently consumed by SMAU thoughts. There’s so much potential.

Andrew and Neil are NEVER online. They have accounts because they have too, but there’s only like….5 photos on their pages combined. And it’s like press photos. They post like Harry Styles ok. Once in a blue moon and you have no idea if it’s them or the press team (it’s definitely the press team).

Allison is purposely chaotic, the ultimate f you to her family. She stirs shit up just because she can.

Dan and Renee are properly trained little media girlies. Pretty photos and pretty tame, Dan sometimes gets out of hand if provoked but it’s never anything to crazy.

Seth is banned from having access to his accounts like once a month for posting offensive shit simply because he doesn’t know how NOT to be an asshole.

Matt is a FUCKING comedian. He also professionally shit posts. Movie critics, exy stats and ultimate professional trash talk.

Kevin is basically a professional exy account, the only thing on his account is exy and he’s like the least controversial because all he does is talk about exy. Sometimes he gets a little harsh with his criticism.

Nicky is one of those accounts everyone sees but no one really follows you know? He’s funny but in a wtf way? Bro is all jokes, thats IT. He also faces near monthly expulsion from his accounts but for inappropriate behavior in the public sphere.

Aaron funnily enough has the most followers out of all of them, even Kevin. Aaron’s account is basically faceless and he just posts candid shots of his life. Like look at my ice coffee, watch me study, here’s a time laps of me cleaning my dorm. Aaron is followed by a lot of people even people who don’t care about exy for the soul purpose of he somehow became one of those accounts that just gives people motivation. Funnily enough he did it by complete accident, he started posting photos for the soul purpose of keeping in touch with the friends he wasn’t supposed to have because Andrew. It exploded without him meaning too.

Even funnier? The other foxes have NO IDEA. Aarons internet handle is something dumb and not at all related to his name. So they all think Aaron is using the fact he’s the least problematic child to get out of media duty, and since Aaron doesn’t post his face online they don’t realize those photos that always go viral across the PSU campus are Aaron.

Wymack knows. Wymack has decided this is INFACT above his pay grade ( he also thinks its both funny and good for Aaron, since Aaron is usually the fox that gets looked over)

Aaron doesn’t pay that much attention to the numbers his posts make either. Bro really just likes pulling one on the other foxes.

Also study with me posts help keep him accountable for how he spends his own time.

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Title:In the Quiet Moments

Warnings: talks of death, death, crying?, mentions of car accident (i think thats it)

You barely remember the accident. Only flashes of light, the shattering crunch of metal on metal, and the weightless, tumbling blur that stole away your world. When you regain consciousness, pain sears through your chest, sharp and consuming, like a wildfire spreading through your body. You’re dimly aware of sounds—urgent voices, beeping monitors—but nothing else seems real until you hear his voice, urgent, familiar, calling your name.

“Spence?” you whisper, barely able to make out his face through your blurred vision. His hand finds yours instantly, fingers trembling as he cups your hand as if it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m right here,” he murmurs, voice thick and cracking, his face streaked with tears. The relief, the fear, and the sorrow in his eyes all swirl together, and you know something is terribly, terribly wrong.

He chokes on his words, trying to smile for you, but his expression crumbles as a doctor steps in, clipboard in hand, looking between you and Spencer with an apologetic solemnity that makes your blood run cold.

“Dr. Reid,” the doctor begins, his tone as soft as he can manage in the face of such devastation. He glances at the rest of the team who have gathered outside the room, each face shadowed with dread and sorrow. “I… I’m sorry. The impact caused severe trauma to her heart. We’ve done everything we can, but the damage is… it’s irreparable.”

Spencer’s hand tightens around yours, his breathing becoming rapid, shallow. He shakes his head in denial, his body wracked with quiet, desperate sobs. “No,” he whispers, his voice almost inaudible. “No… you have to—there has to be something. Please, just—”

The doctor swallows, his face heavy with grief as he meets Spencer’s frantic gaze. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Reid. We’re keeping her comfortable, but the most we can do is… make sure she’s not in pain. She may only have a few hours left.”

It’s like the words don’t register at first. Spencer stares at the doctor in stunned silence, his mouth opening and closing, as if trying to shape words that will deny the reality he’s facing. His body begins to tremble as the weight of the words sinks in, and he collapses, clutching your hand as he breaks down beside your bed.

“No… please… please don’t take her,” he whispers, his voice choked, ragged, and filled with more heartbreak than you’ve ever heard in him before. His head falls against your hand, and his shoulders shake as he sobs, his tears soaking through the thin fabric of your hospital gown.

The team stands by, their eyes reflecting the same disbelief and sorrow. JJ, her hand pressed to her mouth, struggles to contain her own tears. Hotch’s expression is stoic but deeply pained, and Penelope weeps silently, turning into Morgan’s embrace as he holds her close. Even Rossi, who has seen more loss than he cares to remember, looks away, struggling to hide the moisture in his eyes.

---

The doctor steps back to give you all a moment, nodding respectfully as he leaves the room. There’s a quiet reverence among everyone as they approach your bed, knowing these are the final moments you have together. JJ is the first to kneel beside you, her face streaked with tears as she takes your other hand in hers, squeezing it tightly.

“Oh, honey…” she begins, her voice barely above a whisper. She blinks, trying to clear her vision, to find some way to offer you comfort. “You’ve been… you’ve been so strong. For all of us. And for Spencer. And for…” Her voice catches, and she glances over her shoulder where your little boy is standing, held safely in Morgan’s arms. He looks around, confused, sensing the sadness but not fully understanding. JJ turns back to you, and her lips tremble into a sad, bittersweet smile. “We’re going to miss you more than words can say.”

You smile, reaching out to touch her cheek, feeling the damp warmth of her tears under your fingers. “Thank you, JJ. For being my friend. For always taking care of him,” you murmur, your gaze flicking to your son before returning to her. “Please… tell him stories about me. Make sure he knows how much I loved him.”

She nods, unable to speak, and wraps her arms around you gently, her embrace filled with all the love and friendship you’ve shared. When she pulls back, she wipes her tears, nodding to Morgan to bring your son over to you.

As he approaches, you reach out, your arms weak but filled with desperation as he climbs onto the bed, his little hands clutching onto you. You hold him, burying your face in his soft hair, breathing in his innocent scent as your heart aches with the knowledge of all the moments you’ll miss, all the things you’ll never get to see him do.

“Hey, baby,” you whisper, brushing a hand over his hair, feeling the soft strands slip through your fingers. “Mommy loves you so, so much. And… and you’re going to grow up to be strong, and brave, and kind, just like your daddy.”

“Mama, don’t be sad,” he murmurs, looking up at you with those wide, innocent eyes. His small hand reaches up to touch your cheek, his expression confused and concerned, sensing your sadness even if he doesn’t fully understand why.

You force a smile for him, blinking back tears. “I’m not sad, sweetie. I just… I just love you so much.” You hug him close, trying to burn this moment into your memory, the feel of his tiny arms around you, the warmth of his cheek against yours. You don’t let go until you feel Spencer’s gentle hand on your shoulder.

It takes everything in you to let him go, watching as JJ takes him, cradling him in her arms as he rests his head on her shoulder, his eyelids drooping with the exhaustion of a long, emotional day.

JJ kisses his head, giving you one last nod before she slips out of the room with him. You watch them go, your heart breaking even more as the door closes behind them.

---

One by one, the team says their goodbyes, each of them leaving you with words of love, of gratitude, of sorrow. Penelope clings to you, her tears soaking into your hospital gown as she promises to always keep an eye on Spencer, to make sure he’s never alone. Morgan grips your hand tightly, his voice steady but filled with heartbreak as he tells you he’ll miss your laughter, your friendship, your unwavering kindness.

Rossi stands by your bedside, his gaze filled with a profound sadness that words can’t convey. “You’re… one of the best, kid,” he says, his voice rough as he brushes a hand over your hair. “You’ve made this world better just by being in it.”

Finally, only Spencer remains, sitting by your bedside, his hand wrapped around yours. He’s silent for a long time, simply watching you, his thumb stroking over your knuckles as he struggles to find the words he wants to say. His face is etched with grief, his eyes red and swollen from crying, but he forces a small, soft smile for you, a reflection of all the love he holds in his heart.

“I… I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to let you go.”

You reach up, brushing your fingertips over his cheek, feeling the stubble under your touch. “You’ll find a way, Spence. For him. And… and I’ll always be with you. In your heart.”

He nods, tears streaming down his face as he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his lips against your skin, the feeling of his love enveloping you.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. “No matter how much time passes, you’ll always be… my everything.”

You smile, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. “And you’ll always be mine. Always.”

The beeping of the monitor slows, each sound growing fainter, softer, as your breaths grow shallow. Spencer holds you close, his arms around you, his face buried in your hair as he whispers words of love, of goodbye, until the final beat fades into silence.

I originally wrote this even sadder but I didn't know if I should post it because it genuinely made me depressed so I toned it down, lmk if I should actually post it though

[thefallennightmare]

Hey. Hi. Hello. How are ya?

The whore on my shoulder has been loud since I saw The Plot In You on Saturday. Because of my texts with @artificialbreezy this morning, I’ve decided to listen to her and the whore on my shoulder and write this drabble. It's kind of long for a blurb/drabble. So please enjoy!

Landon Tewers x Reader w/ slight Noah Sebastian x Reader.

18+ SMUT BELOW THE CUT(hate fucking with unprotective P in V, mean and possessive Landon, shower sex, choking, fingering, biting, spanking, teasing, brat!reader, peeping Noah).

“I swear, Lana! I faked it. Every time.” 

She looked at me with wide eyes trying not to choke on her sandwich as we sat around catering. The Plot in You and Bad Omens were touring together and it was nearing the end of the first week out of three. It was the first time I met anyone in the Bad Omens camp and since we both were the only females in each of our camps, Lana and I meshed well together. It also helped that we both were photographers. 

“You didn’t even get one?” She asked, dropping her voice since someone walked past our table. 

“Well, with my ex boyfriend. I faked it all. Now, I’m determined to make sure I get at least one before the guy gets off,” I admitted but then snapped my mouth shut when another body stood behind her. 

Looking away from Lana and up to the man that now stood behind her, looking through the spread of food. The tattoos on his thick arms glittered in the light of the room and when he glanced over his shoulder at me, I couldn’t take my eyes away from the snake and apple tattoo on his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed slowly. 

“Hi,” I gave Noah a small wave as crimson warmed my cheeks when I remembered what happened yesterday.  

I accidently walked into the Bad Omens green room thinking it was the one for The Plot in You and managed to catch Noah mid dress. He was shirtless and stepping into his stage pants. My mumbled apology fell off my lips when I saw all those tattoos donning his skin and the very prominent hard on underneath his briefs. Noah made no move to kick me out, instead he backed me up into a corner, hands resting on my hips. 

“Need something?” He asked. 

“Depends on if you want to give it to me,” I playfully shot back. 

He hummed while slinking his hand underneath my hoodie, fingers grazing over the blazing skin of my stomach. “All you have to do is ask.” 

“I want you to make me cum with those long fingers. Think you can do that, Noah?” I breathed over his lips. 

He didn’t say anything, simply pulled down my jeans to my ankles. 

Noah now gave me a smile before gathering a plate of food to go sit at the table right behind me. When I saw who Noah sat next to, my heart stuttered in my chest when I locked eyes with a pair of dark eyes that had clearly been watching me. Not just today but ever since I started working for The Plot In You two months ago. 

Landon scratched at his chin, sending a wink my way, which made me spin back in my chair to face Lana. 

“What’s going on between you two?” she wondered. 

I blinked while shifting in my chair. “Me and Noah? No-nothing. We’ve just been flirting, that’s all.” 

Lana raised her brow with a sly smirk. “I meant with you and Landon.”

“Oh,” I mouthed while feeling a burning gaze at the back of my head. 

For two months, Landon and I had a complicated relationship. We would flirt with each other but not in the way you’d expect. Landon liked to tease me while I was a brat with him and couldn’t control my mouth. What started as light physical contact like the occasional brushing of hands or his hand on my lower back when he needed to walk past me soon became something more. Any chance he could, Landon would corner me and whisper filthy things in my ear to gauge my reaction. Most of the time I’d be so caught off guard that I would gaze up at him like a deer in headlights. When I did gain the courage, I would find the most revealing yet modest outfit to wear while working, showing off the right parts of my body that drove him wild. 

The other night was the first time that we got sexual when he pulled me into his bunk while we drove to the next city and whispered five words in my ear. 

“Need to taste you, baby.” 

Of course, I didn’t say no. I’d been riled up all week and needed a good orgasm that wasn’t brought on by my vibrator or hand. 

Yet, it never happened. Because as Landon was in the middle of devouring me, my hands gripping the back of his head so he couldn’t leave, his phone rang.

“No, please,” I whined when he pulled away. I’d been so close to my orgasm and was starved for it. 

He kissed the inside of my thigh. “Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.” 

After laying there naked from the waist down for fifteen minutes, I swallowed the lump of embarrassment in my throat and got myself dressed again, leaving his bunk. Neither of us said anything about that night which made me believe it wasn’t what he imagined. 

I wasn’t what he imagined. 

“There is absolutely nothing going on with Landon and I,” I finally told Lana while pushing away my plate of food, suddenly not hungry. “We just like to have fun teasing each other.”

“I think what you and Noah are doing is fun. Which is fine. You’re single, you deserve to have fun. But I think whatever is going on between you and Landon is more serious.” 

“What do you mean?” I pursed my lips. 

She began gathering her things before motioning over my shoulder. “He hasn’t stopped staring at you since you stepped into the room. And the look he has in his eyes tells me everything I already knew.” 

With a wave, Lana left me alone at the table with only my thoughts. 

Not for long, however. 

Landon kicked out the chair next to me before falling into it, dark amber eyes pinning me in place. 

“Need something?” I asked with a narrowed gaze and rubbed my sweaty palms on my bare thighs.

A smirk played on his pink lips underneath his mustache as he leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “With me you won’t be faking because you’ll be fucked like the whore you are.” 

My face blanched for a moment, wondering if I’d heard him correctly, but then anger festered low in my gut when it finally registered what he said. 

“Fuck you, Landon!” I seethed while pushing away from him and rising to my feet, him sitting laxed in the chair as he looked up at me. 

He shrugged. “All you have to do is get on your knees and beg.” 

I sneered while snatching my camera off the table. “All you are is fucking talk. You talk such a big game to make up for your shit performance in the bedroom! You couldn’t even get me off the other night!” 

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to watch us as I dared a glance over to Noah who was watching with an amused smirk on his face probably because he felt proud that he was able to get me off while Landon couldn’t.

Landon slowly rose to his feet so he could peer down at me. His breathing was deep and even, almost scary from how calm he was. It was the muscle in his jaw ticking that told me he was trying hard not to retort back. 

But of course, I was a brat, so I stood up on the tips on my toes to whisper in his ear, letting my hands rest over his broad chest. 

“At least Noah was able to get me off.”

Oh, I really fucked up. 

All because I couldn’t keep my stupid mouth shut. 

After leaving Landon behind in catering, I needed to be alone which is why I decided to take a shower in the tour bus bathroom. The show was in a few hours so I needed to get ready for it anyway. I’d been alone under the scalding water for less than five minutes before the door to the bathroom clicked open causing me to peer through the steam covered class, seeing Landon leaving against the door with a sly smirk. 

“What are you doing?” I asked, slightly shocked he managed to sneak in but made no move to cover myself. 

“You said I had a shitty performance in the bedroom. Do you want to find out?” He asked while taking off his button up shirt, leaving him in a pair of jeans and a white tee.

I should say no. 

I should tell him to fuck off and leave.

But I didn’t.

Which is how I found myself pressed up against the plastic wall of the tour bus shower, Landon harshly whispering in my ear, dragging his teeth along the lobe, as the water splashed against his large back. 

“You’re such a fucking brat, you know that?” 

A loud smack echoed in the tiny shower when he brought his hand down on my ass causing me to yell out in slight pain and arousal. 

I bit my tongue nearly drawing blood so I didn’t ask him to do it again. 

“Fuck you, Landon,” I spit out instead, the anger from our earlier argument still brewing deep in my gut. 

A dark chuckle brushed against the back of my neck as he pressed his cock against my ass. 

“You can act like you hate me all you want, baby. But you keep pushing that perfect ass against me. I know what you want. But the question is, do you deserve it?”

Yes I do. 

“Go fuck-oh.” 

My threat fell away when his finger brushed along my folds, slowly teasing my clit. 

“Is this for me? Or for him?”

Don’t say something bratty. Don’t say something bratty. 

“Noah knows how to touch a woman,” I shot back over my shoulder. 

Landon let out a low growl while kicking my feet farther apart and bringing my ass closer to his hips so I was bent over, hands spread on the shower wall. I knew I didn’t need any foreplay, I was ready to go, and it seemed like Landon knew this as well because he angled his cock at my entrance. 

“Do I-?” 

I shook my head, already knowing what he was going to ask. “I’m clean.”

Our moans tangled together when Landon pressed inside of me, meeting some resistance so he pulled out slightly before going deeper this time. 

“That’s it,” he grunted while resting his forehead on the back of my shoulder. “Take all of it, Y/N.” 

The sound of him fucking me over powered the noise of the shower as he ruthlessly snapped his cock in and out of me. I clawed at the wall, trying to grasp onto something to keep grounded, and the familiar bliss of euphoria began to burn low in my gut. My orgasm was so close and I needed to finally tip over the edge so I dragged my hand down my stomach towards my clit. 

Landon smacked it away. “Hands on the wall.”

“I hate you,” I grumbled while doing what he said. 

His pace was ruthless, never letting up as his cock speared me open and hitting that spot each and every time. 

“Oh, God.” I panted. 

Landon’s nails dug into the skin of my hips to keep me planted as his cock swelled inside of me, indicating he was close too. 

“Say my name,” he breathed into the skin of my back, his mustache tickling my spine. 

His cock is inside of you, don’t be a fucking brat. 

Once again, I did not listen to the voice inside my brain. 

“Noah,” I moaned while dropping a hand to my clit, rubbing fast circles. “SHIT!” 

Landon stopped mid thrust to wrap his thick and tattooed arm around my throat, bringing me flush against his chest. By now the water had run cold, chills covering my body, and when I tried to get him to move again, Landon chuckled darkly. 

“If you want me to keep going, Y/N, let me hear you say it,” he bit down on the side of my neck. 

“No,” I shot back but still tried to get him to move inside of me. 

The fire of my orgasm was beginning to dwindle. 

Landon began pulling his cock out of my tight folds, making me whimper in a pathetic mess. 

“Please,” I dug my nails into the ink on his arm. “Don’t.”

The head of his cock was the only thing inside of me and I whined, never feeling this empty before. 

“You sound so fucking pretty when you whine for my cock. Just say my name and it’s all yours,” he said in between nipping and sucking on my neck. 

His name was quiet as it fell from my lips with a beg but it wasn’t enough for Landon. 

“Use your manners, baby. I need you to speak up so I know what you want,” his cock was nearly all the way pulled out. 

“Fuck,” I wrapped a hand behind his head. “Please, Landon. I need your cock. Please, I promise I’ll be good.” 

With a hand over my cheek, he turned my face towards him so our lips were meters apart. 

“That’s my girl,” he praised before crashing our mouths together and filled me up again. 

Our tongues fought for dominance and I wasn’t going to give up, something Landon so he let me take the reins of our kiss while he brought me closer to that familiar edge of euphoria again. With past relationships, I was never able to orgasm by intercourse, I always needed something extra to help. But with Landon, he was able to make those stars dance at the corners of my vision and my stomach fluttered just with his cock. 

Pulling away from our kiss, Landon rested his forehead against mine, the water running down his tattoos. “You can tell me you hate me all you want, Y/N. But the way your pussy is gripping me tells me otherwise.” 

Movement through the shower panes of the door caught my attention as I looked into the mirror of the bathroom, nearly falling to my knees in Landon’s grasp. The familiar snake and apple neck tattoo stared at me in the reflection of the glass. Landon must not have shut the door completely so Noah was watching through the small slit opening. 

I tapped Landon’s arm, trying to get his attention that Noah was watching but it only made him fuck me even harder. “Let him watch, baby. Let him know what he can’t have.”

I tried my best to meet his pace but it was so erratic, I opted to fall deeper into his body as his grip around me tightened when my orgasm finally tore me. I let out a loud scream, writhing in his grasp. 

A large hand clamped over my mouth and Landon pressed me against the wall of the shower, his stomach fleshed against my back. 

“You need to be quiet. I can’t have the guys hear how pretty you sound coming apart on my cock.” 

Landon fucked me through the after shocks with a few thrusts before his cock twitched, finally spilling himself inside of me while panting my name. 

Almost immediately he pulled out to turn off the water of the shower, both of us freezing, and I hazily turned around to face him. I stole a glance to the mirror in the bathroom, expecting to see Noah, and I couldn’t ignore the way my stomach dropped when I didn’t see him there anymore. 

“I still fucking hate you,” I grumbled. 

He snickered while gripping my chin so I had no choice but to meet the fire in his eyes. 

“If you keep up with that attitude, I might need some help in punishing you next time.”

I gulped while wrapping my arms around me. “Some help?” 

A sinister smirk broke out on Landon’s face. “Do you want to find out?” 

Please. 

[worshipme]

hearing her talk about plans for chicago was endearing to him, especially when he was the yapper between the two of them. "that sounds perfect. should we plan for a longer chicago trip? if i remember correctly, i'm pretty sure we're gonna be there at the end of the month. you know, maybe we can even head out to champaign-urbana. it's not every day that we're in illinois." tyler throws in his own suggestions.

there was just an eagerness he had in wanting to create these memories with yaz and experience new things with her. whenever the opportunity arises, tyler will want to take it. just like he'll take every opportunity for a cute, cringe thing just for them. "yeah send me the playlist too. one day, when i'm free, i'll burn it on a cd too for us. you know, having a little physical copy of it would be super cute too."

truthfully, tyler was shocked that yaz didn't seem to know about his other reputation. the resident stoner guy™ reputation. but before he can say anything, her exclamation interrupts him and she breaks into song. it makes him giggle and watch her in his peripherals with nothing but adoration. he raises their hands slightly and swings them side-to-side in time with the rhythm of the song.

yeah, this is who he wants to spend the rest of his days with.

when the song comes to an end, tyler's bringing her hand up to his lips and peppering kisses to her knuckles once again. he wishes he could just lean over and kiss her silly, but alas, he isn't trying to get into a car accident. that just wouldn't be very best boyfriend behavior of him. "have i told you how much i like you? because i think i just fell even more just now. hear me out: perfect afternoon, us listening to your records, our lil furbabies cuddling with us while you sing and i smoke. heaven right there." he paints the picture once he's pulled her hand away from him.

post-dated 11.11.24:

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but exhale several deep breaths. She wasn’t entirely sure that this was nerves - it couldn’t be. Her and Tyler at this point were already well acquainted, so the danger of the unknown when it came to dating wasn’t entirely applicable here ... yet still, she wanted to make a good impression for him.

Outfit after outfit laid on her floor in her indecision before opting for a tight, black dress with several revealing cut-outs. She had been going back and forth while she did a small turn in the mirror. Was this trying too hard? Was there even such a thing? She knew just from her comfortability with Tyler that he would be fine with her just wearing a paper bag … but it wasn’t good enough for her. He deserved to have her at her best, just as he had done the same for her since they began whatever blooming relationship this was beginning to be.

“You think this is fine, Tofi?” She spoke to the dog like he’d give her any kind of validation and in own way, he did. With a wag of his tail and expression, happy as ever. Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to the top of her pup’s head before grabbing her purse to head out the door. “Be a good boy. I’ll be back later.” She hushed as the clinks of her heels followed her out the door, leading her to Tyler’s front door. And with a baited breath, she knocked.

[avelera]

I need to take a second to yell about the first five minutes of Arcane Season 2 because the whole Jayce/Mel/Viktor shakeout was so exactly, 100% the complete opposite of all of my theoriesthat I'm kind of in awe of it.

My theory was that the bomb would hit and the hexcore infusing Viktor would shield him and probably Jayce. That Mel would die in Jayce's arms or be very badly injured to the point of a coma.

I thought that Mel would become the causus belli for Ambessa and that seeing how the hexcore saved Viktor and possibly Jayce would trigger the breakup between Viktor and Jayce, because it would seem inescapable that Viktor had chosen to save Jayce and to let Mel die, perhaps out of jealousy. It might have been a split second decision and not really Viktor's fault, but from Jayce's point of view it would be difficult if not impossible to be around Viktor in the early fallout and pain of her death/injury.

At some point, I thought an injured Mel might come back with hexcore/arcane power, thus making Jayce even more wildly conflicted about how to feel towards Viktor and thus leave him at the mercy of the Arcane speaking through Mel as its avatar.

And y'all. Y'ALL.

COMPLETE 180 FROM THAT

Mel might be the one who has some sort of magical enchantment forcefield around her. Those gold tattoos and her gold eyes in the womb in Ambessa's video are starting to look really suspicious as some sort of built-in protection she has that she may have consciously or unconsciously extended to Jayce (when he moved to shield her) either by accident or on purpose.

Viktor was the one horribly injured into near death/a coma, taken over by the hexcore, and likely to cause Jayce a great deal of conflicted emotions later when the Arcane speak through him (I can't wait).

Mel might know she saved Jayce and damned Viktor in a split second decision that was not out of jealousy, but it might appear that way to an angry and hurt outsider like Jayce. Jayce finding out that she had this protection might serve as a point of conflict for them later.

That said, I'm somewhat doubtful of this being a long term point of conflict from Jayce towards Mel because I think Jayce would be more happy she's alive but it's possible she at least fears this possibility. It's not clear yet if she even has such a protection, and if she does if she knows about it. Plus we kinda have passed the moment where I think it would start a fight between Jayce and Mel, or more than a brief feeling of betrayal on his part (since I doubt he would expect Mel to save Viktor, let alone with such a brief window to even make such a choice, if it's a choice by her at all) , but it's interesting that Mel says that people just randomly surviving disasters is a thing that happens unpredictably, perhaps lending to an interpretation that this sort of thing happens a weird amount of times to her and she may or may not know why.

ANYWAY! I'm sort of in awe of how exactly the bomb aftermath was the exact opposite of what I'd predicted, and how well it works and continues to work in the show, honestly, I'm a bit feral about how good the writing is in this show overall

[ferg0s]

Kunigami with a bookworm reader who he meet by accident but kinda starts to like after a while.

Pre wild card Kunigami cuz he’s bbygrl

Canonically has an older sister, I imagine her being an English major. Someone who got him into comic books In hopes of getting him into literature and that’s how he got his dream of being a hero-esque figure.

You’re her friend. A lil younger than her but the two of you met a book store and became friends after going for the same book, paid half and half and decided to take turns reading it and eventually made a lil book club to talk about said book.

Came back after practice to see you in the living room having tea with his sister, deep in conversation about the book in question.

Initially thought you were cute but out of respect for his sister he kept his distance.

Would say a polite hello and go to his room. Maybe come down to get some food, but even then, let the two of you talk without interruption.

You and his sister began to become closer, mostly due to your love for books. Coming together at their house to talk about the recent books you’ve read, but it slowly just began the two of you hanging out.

Kunigami knew of you; if he saw you at the house, in the living room or kitchen he wouldn’t blink twice. Initially thought you were his sisters classmate. but after talking to you when his sister asked him to walk you to the busstop cuz she didnt want you walk alone, he found out you were his age. you told him how you and his sister met, exchanged some friendly conversation and found out he was on the soccer team.

"yeah im a striker-" he said, looking at the path ahead. “Oh- that’s cool!” You reply. He knew that tone, the one his sister had - where they didn’t know what that meant but they were supportive. “It means I’m the guy who’s in charge of scoring the points-“ he adds. You nod. “I guess that’s very important,” you chuckle, looking at the ground.

Did you find his hot? Yes! Oh my god when he first walked in - you saw the resemblance right away - but the way his sister had described him you thought he was a toddler. I guess all older siblings do that, and they seemed to have a very close relationship. She still saw him as a child despite the fact that he was almost an adult. So when he walked in, holding his gym bag and greeted you, you tried to remain cool.

You weren’t the most social. So it was like fighting a life or death battle when he would come down to the kitchen while you and his sister were baking or making a quick snack. He was polite, always kept the conversation to a minimum before retreating to his room.

You wouldn’t dare let your cooler older friend know that you thought her brother was hot. But you figured that she had figured it out, she was very observant. So when you were getting ready to leave, saying your goodbyes, you froze up when you heard her call Kunigami to walk you to the stop.

You had walked there plenty of times, even later in the night in some cases. But she insisted that it would be safer for you to have someone to walk with. “There’s been an increase of muggings-“ she said. Conveniently leaving out the part that she was talking about the city and not their neighbour hood. Technically she wasn’t wrong?

Despite only talking to him a hand full of times, you felt pretty comfortable around him. He was polite. Asking the small talk questions that didn’t steer into anything awkward. Telling you about his games and such. He was a sweetie, which made your crush on him even more worse.

He was a gentleman. Waiting with you until your bus came, waving you goodbye as it departed. The one off thing soon became a regular occurrence, due to the insistence of his sister. He thought you were cute, but then again, he thought a lot of girls were cute. It was a given for guys his age. But the more he talked to you the more interested and invested he became. He was used to his sister going on tangents about books, passionately talking about every aspect of it - so he figured he’d do the same with you. Given you two had the same interests. It seemed to break you out of your quiet shell.

The walks began to consist of you describing your favourite books and stories to him. He was used to tuning it out and nodding his head. But something about you made him want to listen. “So he turns into a bug? Like a bug bit him? Like Spiderman?” He asked. You came to find out he liked spider man a lot. “No- he just woke up. It’s supposed to be a metaphor…”

But he really couldn’t keep up with the nuances of your literary likes, so he tried a different approach

“Do you like comics? Like marvel and stuff?” “Oh yeah- who doesn’t?”

His eyes lit up. Finally something he could relate too.

“Who’s your favourite super hero?” “Hmm… that’s a hard one.” You say as you look at him. “I like super man to be honest. It’s corny and lame but I like how he’s just this beacon of hope and just… nice? I don’t know how to say it. He could be evil but he just chooses to help people instead of like world domination-“ you explain. He smiled. “You know - i completely agree.”

Super heros became the things you talked about on your walks together. To a point where he genuinely waited for the sound of his sister door opening so he could rush out and get ready to walk with you. You looked forward to it too. He liked how you added a different perspective to it - digging in deep, finding the deeper meaning to each thing you two talked about. He felt a little embarrassed for saying he liked the hero’s cuz of their powers. But you didn’t seem to mind, smiling and telling him “me too,”.

For a while it seemed that the only thing the two of you talked about was that. He was happy - until he realized how rude it must seem. So he tried his best to steer the conversation to something that you might like.

Que him borrowing his sisters copy of the books you mentioned and trying to read them. It was the first time anytime anyone in his family saw him deeply invested in a book since… well… ever.

“So I read that book you talked about-“ he said as the two of you got out the house. “Oh? Which one?” You ask. When he told you the name of your favourite book, your stomach did a flip. “Y-you read that?” You asked uncertain. “Yeah - honestly I liked it.”

Que the whole walk being about said book, you talking with more passion than he had ever seen. To a point where the two of you watched the bus leave infront of you without caring, too engrossed in the conversation. Did you wait for the next bus - a full hour - on the steps of the nearby convenience store while sharing a bag of chips? Yes.

It seemed like the conversation had no end. Books, then his soccer, then back to books, somehow spider man, back to soccer. It was this chemistry that didn’t have an end.

Leading him to trying to slyly ask his sister if there was any bookstore cafes near by - and her happily giving an answer.

She didn’t question when you came over to visit, despite not making plans with her.

She didn’t question why he came up to her asking her if hard covers were better or soft covers.

______

Kunigami is a spider man fan. Thats not my head cannon, thats literally cannon. Argue with a wall.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

Sorry, but can I just stress something about Louis that drives me insane? 

In his route where you've saved him, he kills Dorian. Louis directly kills another person. He shot her with a crossbow through the mouth.

It’s unavoidable. 

Sure, it’s considered an accident, and even so, it was also self-defense—Dorian sure wasn’t there for a friendly chat, after all. 

But here's the thing... of the Ericson crew, we know that Clementine, AJ, and Marlon have killed someone. And Minerva if you want to count her, too, since she once was part of the group . But the others? Maybe they have killed before and we just don’t know about it, whether it be out of mercy or self-defense.

Violet in her route had the chance to kill Minerva, but understandably, she didn’t. She opted to shoot her in the shoulder instead… but we never see her kill anyone herself. 

Maybe you could count indirect kills because of the bag of bricks/log that kills Yonatan, and maybe you could consider Mitch’s death as indirectly Tenn’s fault… Speaking of Mitch, he tried to kill Lilly, but we all saw how that turned out, didn't we? 

…but Louis? He killed Dorian. That was his first kill. His first. 

And he feels awful about it! He apologizes to the body as it lays warm at his feet! He’s shaking and can barely speak!! It feels like bile! He doesn't even have time to process it because uh oh, the boat's going to explode!

But he’s also been so hardened over the season by everything that’s happened to him that he comes out of it glad that he has it in him to kill because if that’s what it takes to protect Clementine, AJ, and his family and home, then he’ll do it even if he doesn’t want to.

How does that not drive anyone else utterly mad?

Fandom considers him the funny guy! He's cute and silly! He makes Clementine laugh!

He's also done murder! He's taken a life! Just like Clementine and AJ have! Just like Marlon did!

And honestly, I think this also leads to him forgiving AJ for killing Tenn because at this point, he understands. He hates it, and he wishes it didn’t have to be this way, but he gets that AJ saw something that he didn’t. Louis knows that AJ’s hurting just as much as he is, he even says as much if Clementine says anything other than “AJ saved your life” on the bridge. 

He relived Marlon’s death when Tenn died, but it’s not like his hands are clean, either… and neither were Marlon’s. Clementine’s hands definitely aren’t clean. 

It drives me crazy that best friends Louis and Marlon have each killed someone in TFS but Marlon killed Brody in a moment of panic because he’s a coward who wanted hide what he did while Louis killed Dorian in a moment of panic because he was trying to save Clementine from Minerva and she came up behind him like… hhhhnnnnggggggggg, y’know?

Oh, and don't even get me started on the clouis aspect of this because I'll lose it. He talks to her about it because he knows she'll understand, just like how she's always understood him. How he goes out of his way to tell her that having a home means protecting it and he's going to protect it [that home being her, AJ, and Ericson] no matter what because he wants to build this new life with her aaaaaaaaaaaaaand I've lost it—

[hemlockfox]

Sorry I feel the need to respond to the idea that vase scene is good actually because everyone is flawed in it. I feel like there is something missing in this analysis, and it's that much of the problem with the scene lies less in the scene itself but more in how the scene and the characters' actions within it are followed up by the text.

How the scene plays out in the text is that Winter knocks over the vase while lashing his tail in anger when Moon says Darkstalker is his friend. Winter says that he's evil, Moon responds angrily herself that Winter said he would give Darkstalker a chance, at which point she realizes and Winter confirms that Darkstalker had brainwashed him. Qibli makes the "I'd brainwash you too" comment, says sorry immediately, and then when Winter "turned to Moon as if he was ready for her apology," she turns her back on him and begins picking up pieces of the vase. She, looking to Qibli and Kinkajou but not Winter, insists that Darkstalker only wants what's best for everyone. At which point Winter angrily reveals the Icewing plague. In surprise, she says "What", accidentally steps on a vase shard, and gets a small cut. Qibli rushes to her aid, remarks in the narration that if Winter loved her he shouldn't be yelling at her like this, and then confirms the plague. Anemone comes in with skyfire, winter makes a snide comment about Moon not knowing where she feels about Darkstalker, to which Moon respond sharply that she feels lied to, and then they split up. I'd like to note that when Moon decides to confront Darkstalker, what she initially says to Winter is "Please don't break anything else," before asking Qibli to come with her.

There are three things I'd like to draw attention to:

Moon's injury is small and it's not quite as simple as "Winter injures Moon". She has an accident which compounds on a thing Winter did seemingly on accident.

Moon is not being passively absorbing Winter shouting and making snide comments. She's responding in anger herself, pointedly ignoring him (and how he was personally violated by Darkstalker), and before she leaves to confront Darkstalker, she tells him not to break anything else like he's a petulant child who will wreck the room in anger as soon as he's unsupervised.

Qibli's internal monologue only notes Winter's treatment of Moon as bad

I'll come back to point one, but the other two are not bad, on paper they are good even within a reading of this scene where it is drawing out the flaws in each character present. If these flaws were to be followed up on and the group were to reconcile, and if Moon and Winter were to talk out why each of them were hurt by the argument it would be compelling. The reasons Moon was hurt are obvious, Winter shouts at her and refuses to consider her perspective, that she's been manipulated and didn't know any of this. Winter's aren't so obvious, but still present. Upon being told that Darkstalker had profoundly violated his autonomy, Moon doubles down on Darkstalker just wanting the best for everyone, tacitly implying what Qibli had just been wrong to say outright: that it was on some level justified to do that to Winter. When she learns of the failed genocide, she's expresses being upset about being lied to, but not any of the ways Winter was directly harmed.

And then the books only acknowledge how Moon was hurt by the argument. In the epilogue, it's made clear that Moon and Winter haven't seen each other in person in some time. Kinkajou tells Winter that he should come visit Moon and apologize to her for being mean, and he agrees and says that he knew after that scene that he had ruined any chance with her. At no point after the argument ends does anyone acknowledge that Winter had legitimate reasons to be upset, that Moon had acted passive-aggressively, that reconciliation would involve all of them acknowledging that they hadn't been at their best in that moment. Only that Winter had been mean, so he should say sorry. Every direct perspective on the argument paints Winter, and only Winter, as wrong in his argument with Moon.

And when you consider the vase with this knowledge, it's just silly. It feels like a thing that is there to make Winter seem meaner, Moon more victimized, and Qibli like a nice supportive guy who would be better for her.

The scene becomes ridiculous when put in the context of the rest of the book, because half of the interesting substance from the character's flaws ends up not mattering. Moon and Kinkajou never have their actions in this scene come up again. Qibli's flaws are instantly addressed so he can resolve them onscreen and complete his arc. Winter spends the rest of the book in the doghouse for it and his actions are used as justification for why he isn't right for Moon. In the context of the book, this scene exists to forward Qibli's arc and justify Moon choosing him, and it does both at Winter's expense. It doesn't matter if everyone's flaws are on display when the book is picking sides, and deciding who gets to gets to grow from this argument, who doesn't, and who doesn't need to.

People like to complain about the scene in the NightWing palace in Darkness of Dragons, but I think it's brilliant how the scene manages to bring out all four characters' (Moon, Winter, Qibli and Kinkajou) biggest flaws, and watch them play off one another.

I think it's pretty safe to say that Winter's biggest flaw is that he's hot-tempered--if you get him mad, he gets very confrontational, and that's what happens here. He gets very rightfully angry that Moon and the others are defending the dragon who took his autonomy and is trying to commit a genocide against his people, and he flies into a rage, eventually knocking over the vase and injuring Moon. I'm not tone-policing Winter here--he had every right to be furious, however in his anger, he hurt his friend. However, he's not the only person whose primary flaws are being brought to the surface here.

Since the very beginning, naivete has been among Moon's flaws, along with a desire to believe the best in people. This is compounded by her mind-reading abilities, as she has the expectation that she understands people. There's a telling moment in MR where Qibli asks her if she loses her faith in dragons since she can see their motivations and thoughts, and she tells him that she actually believes better of other dragons because she reads their thoughts. She's settled into a complacency in her belief that a) dragons are all good at heart and b) she's so used to seeing everything, that she doesn't really compute that people can be hiding things from her or that she doesn't have a full picture. You have to remember that as much as Winter was justified in his anger, Moon didn't know what was going on, because Darkstalker was deliberately hiding what he was doing from her so that she still believed in him. She's reeling from the knowledge that Darkstalker lied to her, broke promises and is trying to do horrible, horrible things, and to her credit, she comes around to understanding Darkstalker's villainy, she just manages to hit Winter's triggers as she does so.

And that brings us to Qibli and Kinkajou, who sided with Moon over Winter. Since the beginning, it's fair to say that Kinkajou has been established as very loyal and also not exactly known for her critical thinking skills, and back in MR, she tells Winter that although he's very handsome, if he hurts Moon, she'll take Moon's part. And Kinkajou does, because Moon's her friend and Winter's angry and she isn't thinking about what she's doing.

Now, it's no secret what Qibli's biggest character flaw--say it with me now--having to be the hero and be universally liked. Now by this point in DoD, Qibli is quite smitten with Moon (something he's competing with Winter over) and she's become the apex of his 'desire to be liked and perceived as A Hero'. So, it's his instinct that when Winter--Qibli's romantic rival--is getting angry and confrontational with Moon, is to side with her against Winter, so that he'll come off as the nice guy, and the hero (and this is coming from someone who is a Qibli fan who ships Moonbli, so I'm not trying to hate on your fave).

I think it's just really interesting to analyse how all of their individual character flaws came together and clashed, creating the conflict.

.

[zylian]

been thinking about Ls s6 actor au where they all live on set and retake so many scenes cause they keep laughing at things just never going right

Mane messes up his lines when fighting so after the 20th take they had to rewrite the script and nobody ever lets him forget about it

Flame begged the director to rewrite his crash out cause his super cool reputation would plummet but the director promised it wouldn’t and even though they was right flame still hates them for it

Wemmbu watches all the scenes cause he has to be there for his 10 second cameo every time so he’s constantly making remarks throughout (he practically lives in the break room)

Zam cannot be bothered after his scenes and immediately takes a nap wherever he can, any chair, couch, cushion, it doesn’t even matter if someone is there, zam could not care

Spoke took all the snacks after finding out he has to let himself get pranked, he sympathizes with flame and it led to them getting a bigger snack table as an apology to him

Minute pops in regularly and helps out a little too much where the director thinks he’s taking their job so he gets thrown on the set to improv and actually be an actor

Mapic keeps questioning the script, from the start and judging everything (siding with wemmbu) so the director made his character extremely lucky once so he would stop (it worked)

Kab is constantly rehearsing her lines and just carries the whole script on her always cause her lines never seem to stop changing

Squiddo walked onto set by accident but they improv’d and it went through as the final cut which made ecorridor scream (he did not know the improvs could actually be considered) ((and got stressed))

4C had to go insane by himself for a scene of his return and he panicked on not knowing how to act panicked which he didn’t understand why everyone kept telling him he would do fine

Planet hides from the director and camps out on other actors trailers to not be found but when he is he is thrown in to improv whatever is happening (the film crew do their best to make him not wander off)

Jumper fainted when she saw her script and the director felt bad so they delayed her characters ever so long project to be silly so she wouldn’t run away

Sb is the first one on the set and the crews favourite since he’s always on time and ever so happy since he’s practically the only one content with his character

[yanderes-galore]

Hi hope it’s not too late to request Yandere obi wan kenobi who falls for senator reader while he was protecting her from assassins. 

We love giving Jedi a crisis on this blog.

Yandere! Obi-Wan Kenobi with Senator! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Denial, Brief mentions of murder, Jealousy, Isolation, Dubious relationship.

Obi-Wan is one of the people many think of when they hear 'Jedi'.

He doesn't let personal connections get in the way of his job.

He's also extremely loyal to the council.

He's different from other Jedi who are sometimes controlled by emotion.

So him becoming yandere comes with a lot of denial on his part....

Especially since Jedi aren't supposed to fall in love in The Order.

Obi-Wan would know his feelings are wrong, try not to fall for them, but succumbs eventually.

Especially considering canon with Satine.

He nearly left the order for her.

Similar thing would happen with you in this case.

Jedi are appointed to those who are in the most danger.

They're meant to enforce peace, acting like bodyguards.

It's normal for Jedi to be appointed to aid political figures.

Especially senators.

Due to politics, senators are easily targeted by assassins.

To protect you, Obi-Wan becomes your bodyguard.

Obi-Wan would originally be respectful yet not overly emotional with you.

He's here to protect you... to be your guard... not anything else.

Imagine if you were the one who was social with him.

You feel it isn't right to just ignore your bodyguard and might try to converse with him.

The job shouldn't be boring, right?

Plus, it feels weird for you to know nothing about your protector.

Obi-Wan originally tries to put some distance between you two.

He entertains your conversation, yet tries to keep it professional.

When you get too personal, he tries his best to decline.

Yet over time as he protects you he begins to feel more... fond.

I imagine you two are together for months in order to make Obi-Wan obsessed.

For the most part he sees himself as your guardian.

He's merely a Jedi Knight meant to protect his assignment.

Yet you're so social with him it catches him off guard.

On quiet nights you two chat.

Sometimes you can't sleep due to the stress you're under, leading to you and Obi-Wan talking to one another.

Obi-Wan feels it's natural to talk with you.

He wants you to feel calm and quietly listens to your rants and worries.

He's sympathetic... but he shouldn't be so close to you.

Obi-Wan definitely gets attached to you by accident... then tries to ignore it.

He puts himself in denial, he can't be in love!

Jedi Knights have a mission to uphold.

His goal is to simply cut down assassins.

Yet Obi-Wan finds himself attached to your late night conversations.

When he isn't putting his saber against someone, you invite him to your room to speak.

Your conversations start formally... only to become more personal as much as Obi-Wan tries to avoid it.

Obi-Wan is different from Anakin.

Unlike Anakin, he has a better grip on his emotions and reactions.

He's less controlled by his personal feelings... yet with you it's a struggle.

Jedi are not immune to love.

They simply learn control and restraint.

Yet they still feel connections with others, even if they shouldn't.

Obi-Wan tries to ignore it for a couple months.

He offers smiles and info he can spare that isn't against any code.

He always stays close yet also tries to distance himself, concerned he'll be too attached.

Yet by the next few months, Obi-Wan finds himself slipping up.

You invite him everywhere... Your smile is pleasing....

Obi-Wan finds himself snapping when he tries to protect you, too.

He's always supposed to protect you...

But now he finds himself... paranoid about what could happen if he's distracted.

Ironically, his feelings for you are the most distracting thing in his mind.

This is proven when he finds himself tense around those you interact with.

He tells himself it's paranoia, you both just need to be careful around others...

Yet there's always the chance that what he's feeling is restrained jealousy.

Obi-Wan never outright acts on his jealousy.

Anakin might, but he doesn't.

He tries to accept it as he stands beside you, standing a little closer while you negotiate.

Obi-Wan may actually try to keep you away from others for your safety.

He reminds you every day to be careful.

After all, assassins are never easy to spot.

Anyone can be a spy out to get you.

You may even listen to Obi-Wan, after all, he's your bodyguard.

He no doubt has had many missions like this, right?

This thought is what makes you believe him and listen to him.

What keeps his obsession under control is the fact you usually follow what he says.

Obi-Wan isn't a possessive yandere as he's so controlled.

But, of course, he's overprotective due to his job.

He's scared to lose you... especially since it's easy to do.

You're an important figure... and fear poisons a Jedi.

Obi-Wan dreads the day he has to leave your side.

He knows when the time comes, someone else will protect you.

But they aren't him.

With those thoughts in mind, Obi-Wan listens eagerly to every little thing you say.

He enjoys protecting you and making you smile.

You're a pretty woman who knows her way through politics.

As much as he shouldn't think about it... He can't help but fantasize about you two being together.

His obsession makes him rethink his loyalty to the Jedi.

He thinks of leaving The Order...

He thinks of what it would be like to always be by your side, to protect you.

By the end of his station, he's madly in love.

The unfortunate thing is he has no idea how to deal with his feelings....

Obi-Wan knows he shouldn't act on them.

He should rein himself in, he shouldn't corrupt himself.

But it seems love controls even those with the strongest of wills.

While Obi-Wan may not kidnap you, he'll find ways to extend being your guard.

He tells The Order that you're still in danger, that he should watch you and possibly have you moved somewhere safer.

This way Obi-Wan spends more time with you... He's able to soothe his yearning for a little while longer...

He isn't entirely lying, is he?

Senators are always in danger.

Obi-Wan is desperate to keep himself from going against The Order.

He tries to stay beside you as long as he can.

But eventually he'll have to leave your side...

By then, he hopes he'll make the right decision.

After all... He feels you love him too... You must...

Surely he can just leave The Order and... have you as his wife, right?

While Obi-Wan is praised for being a flawless example of a Jedi Knight...

Perhaps he isn't as flawless as everyone thinks when it comes to you?

[asirensrage]

Title: There's Something Wrong with Shinichiro Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Rating: Explicit Pairing: None. Side pairing Shinichiro x Unnamed Sano!OC Word count: 2306 Warnings: Dark!fic. Incest. Underaged teen pregnancy. Obsession. Forced Relationship. Emotional Manipulation. Swearing. Violence. Suicide. Canon divergence. Unbeta’d. *warnings are not exhaustive* Summary: There's something wrong with Shinichiro. Haruchiyo tries to get to the bottom of it. What he finds destroys everything he believes of the man. Shin is supposed to be the good one. Not this.

MAJOR MANGA SPOILER WARNING!

This fic mentions events in the manga that have not yet been shown in the anime. You have been warned.

Notes: I enjoyed writing this and the exploration in Sanzu's POV. It's a look at how desperation and fear can change a person and how distance can give the perspective needed to see the truth. I hope you like it.

There’s something wrong with Shinichiro. 

It started after Mikey’s death. Maybe even before it but Haruchiyo wasn’t around for a lot of that. Juvie does a number is keeping one out of the loop. He doesn’t regret it though. Not after what he heard those assholes say. But Shinichiro…maybe it’s because he was gone that he can see the difference. It’s not a gradual thing. 

Mikey died. A broken fucking fragile thing his friend never had any right to be. Emma left long before Haru got out. And people…he thinks people are forgetting there was another one. Another sister who was friends with his. He heard Takeomi say she ran away but Haruchiyo knows her as well as he knew Mikey. She wouldn’t do that. She was a fucking bleeding heart who tried hard to step up to take care of her family long before she had any right to. Shinichiro was supposed to be the eldest. He looked out for them. But then Mikey died and Shinichiro was going fucking insane which was saying something with how he knew people thought about him.

Haruchiyo tried to ask Baji. He tried to even ask his fucking brother who waved him off like it was nothing. When Takeomi ordered him to leave Shin alone and not go visit, he knew something was up. He knows something’s wrong and fuck Takeomi if he thinks he’ll listen to him. Haruchiyo isn’t a child anymore. He’s not afraid of his brother. Shinichiro was more of a brother to him than Takeomi ever was. If he can help him, he will. 

So he goes to visit him. 

But Shinichiro keeps him standing on the porch instead of inviting him in. It’s weird. Shinichiro was always welcoming to him. To any of Mikey’s friends. To anyone. It was part of why he was so popular, why he was a good leader. So the way he’s standing on the porch smoking, body angled in a way to keep Haruchiyo from even looking in the doorway sets his nerves on edge. 

He doesn’t get let in. Shinichiro makes some excuse to go to work or the shop (he changed his story twice) and leads Haruchiyo away from the house before he ever realizes what he’s doing. It makes him suspicious and afraid. He attended Mikey’s funeral but he wonders if they never cremated Mikey’s body. If Shinichiro has some kind of shrine set up…but he wouldn’t do that. Shin wouldn’t let Mikey be unable to pass on. So there’s something else. 

🪟

The next time he visits the house, he does when he knows Shinichiro is at work. He knocks on the door, but there’s no answer. He hears it though. Hears the soft sound of feet padding on the ground. Living in the type of home he did, surviving juvie without getting jumped, you pick up things. Including an acute sense of hearing to start. 

He moves as quiet as possible around the outside, trying to find the right window. Mikey used to joke about sneaking out as teens when they were kids. Before…before the accident. It’s never locked. Not that anyone would attempt to rob a dojo. 

He prys it open slowly, just enough that he can see first and freezes. She didn’t run like Emma. Instinct urges him to continue, to break in and demand what happened. He’ll fuck them up but there’s something warning him and he remembers sitting in Mikey’s funeral, watching Shinichiro grip his last sibling’s wrist tight, as if he was afraid she’d disappear too. It was chalked up to grief. 

He swallows tightly, shaking his head as he tries to make sense of it. He’s wrong. He has to be wrong. But Takeomi ordered him to leave it alone, no one asks about her anymore and the former Black Dragons have made every excuse about Shinichiro’s losses. They helped spread the rumours that both girls are gone. 

He closes the window as quietly as possible. And runs. 

🪟

“What the fuck are we doing?” Baji complains as Haruchiyo drags him along. 

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Honestly, it’s a miracle Baji even let him because the two of them haven’t been friends in ages. He thinks it’s the curiosity of Haru demanding his presence. That he has something to show him. Baji is the only one who Haruchiyo knows will react the way he should. The way he reacted. Haruchiyo needs him to prove that he’s not insane. That his suspicions are right.  

“Is this some fucking obsession thing? Does Shin know we’re here?”

“No,” he admits. “I was trying to see what was wrong with him and–” he can’t even bring himself to say it. Can’t air the thought that one of his heroes…

“He’s fucking grieving,” Baji says like everyone does. Haruchiyo shakes his head though and his former friend falls quiet. Thankfully just in time as they reach the house and sneak around to the same window. 

Haruchiyo prys it open the same way and looks, praying that she’s in the same spot today. He sighs as he sees her. Folding laundry now and looking too domesticated. It’s not right. He nods towards the window and moves out of the way for Baji to see. The other boy gives him an exasperated look but steps into the space and peers in. 

“What the fuck!?”

In the desperation for the truth, to know he’s not seeing things, he’s forgotten that Baji has never been quiet once in his life. 

Baji shoves the window open completely and pulls himself up into it. Haru follows quickly. He got him into this after all…and he needs to know the truth. 

She looks stunned to see them and a little scared which is ridiculous because they were friends. They are friends. “Yo–you can’t be here!” She says, looking around like she’s expecting something to jump out at them. 

“Who the fuck knocked you up?” Baji demands, storming towards her. “Does Shin know? Fuck, course he does. Who was it? Are they still fucking alive or did the dragons kill them?”

Haruchiyo can only stare at her, watching as she looks around, clutching the shirt she’s holding. Her stomach protrudes enough to make it obvious. She’s probably going to be due soon. She’s too fucking tiny to look like this.

“You need to go,” she tells them after taking a deep breath. “Shin-nii doesn’t like visitors. Not anymore.” Something about the endearment, the honorific attached to his name sits like lead in Haruchiyo’s stomach. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard her say a thousand times before, but it somehow feels worse now. 

“We’re not going anywhere until we get some fucking answers,” Baji stands his ground. “Why is everyone saying you ran away? We haven’t seen you in years! Who the fuck knocked you up? You’re fifteen!” 

“Is it Shin?” Haruchiyo asks, finally cutting in. Baji looks at him like he’s insane and ready to take all his anger out on him for the sheer disrespect. 

But then she looks away. She doesn’t protest the idea, doesn’t accuse him of telling lies and her silence is all the confirmation he needs. Baji seems to realize it too because he whirls back on her, staring at her in horror. 

Haruchiyo feels like his world is collapsing around him. 

Shinichiro is supposed to be the good one. The type of brother anyone could rely on. He was the type of person who laughed and nodded when his siblings’ friends called him ‘nii-chan’ and treated all of them like they were his little siblings too. He wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not Shin. 

“What the fuck?” Baji asks again, quieter this time, like he’s having as much trouble believing it as Haruchiyo is. 

“How–” his throat is tight. It feels like something is lodged in it. This is worse than seeing Mikey decrepit and fragile. “How long?” he chokes out. 

“It’s not what you think,” she says quickly. “He…he needs me…”

“You’re fifteen!” Baji snaps. “He’s your fucking brother!” 

She flinches at that. “I...I know. I didn’t…he needs me. We’re the only ones left!” she looks up at them pleadingly, as if trying to get them to understand. 

For the first time in a long time, Baji and Haruchiyo look at each other and agree with each other without a word. “Bullshit.” They say at the exact same time. 

“He does!” she insists. “Everyone’s gone! You don’t get it! We only have each other…we…he needs me. He promised he’d never leave!”

“Not like this,” Baji says. “This isn’t fucking right. Brothers don’t do this shit.”

“How would you know?” She snaps at him. “You don’t have any family.”

Baji scowls at her. “You’re my fucking family! You, Mikey, Emma! All of you!” He motions towards her. “No wonder Emma fucking ran if this was what would have happened if she stayed!” She flinches as he says it. 

Haruchiyo steps closer. “You know this isn’t right,” he says quietly. He thinks of his own younger sister and the hell he’d reach if someone did this to her. He makes a mental note to get her as far away from Takeomi as possible. His brother knows. Even if he’s not doing it himself, the way he warned Haru away makes it obvious that he knows what Shin’s done. “Have you even seen a doctor?”

She swallows tightly, tears building in her eyes as she nods. 

“Come on,” Baji says. “We’re taking you to my place. My mom will know what to do.”

“I can’t,” her voice cracks. 

Haruchiyo leans down, cupping her cheeks with his hands as he meets her eyes. “You can. Trust us.” 

🪟

It takes ten more minutes until she agrees. They take her to Baji’s mom like he said, sneaking around and making sure that none of the Black Dragons see them. They get her out of the city, to Baji’s mom’s relatives, as fast as they can. Baji makes a show of complaining in public about his mom trying to reform him by way of the countryside. Haruchiyo stays far from him, making it look like they’ve continued to be on the outs, to not be friends anymore. Haruchiyo can trust that Baji will protect her.

He takes responsibility for redirecting the Black Dragons, current and former, as well as Shin. Shin who devolves quickly, reacting first with anger only to sink further into his darkness. The man known to be charming enough to bring together opposing gangs can barely bring himself to leave his house, praying for the return of his sister and their unborn child. His friends, the men who followed him, tear the city apart. 

Izana, leader of the Black Dragons, has his men drag Haruchiyo off of the street, demanding answers.

“You know, Shinichiro asked me to make sure you made it through juvie alive,” he tells him. “You asked about him. Why?”

“He picked me up when I got released.” Haruchiyo says, spitting blood out from the last hit. He glares up at the silver-haired man. “He seemed off. I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“Why?”

“Because I owe him a lot.”

Izana scoffs at him, looking at him like he’s unworthy. “Where the fuck is my sister?”

Haruchiyo looks at him. “She’s not your sister.” He gets a kick to the face for that. 

“She’s Shin’s, that makes her mine.”

Haru wonders what it is about her that’s making these men like this. If it’s Shin’s provocation, if it’s contagious or if it’s just the way she’s always been kind and trying hard to keep her family together that draws people into her. 

He keeps his mouth shut. 

🪟

He hears through Takeomi, through Wakasa, that Shin’s obsession has grown. Not only is Tokyo being torn apart, but Shin has apparently gotten it into his head that the problem is Mikey’s death. That if he can find a way to go back, he can fix everything. He can have his brother back. He can get his sister back and their child. His child. 

It reinforces Haruchiyo’s belief that he’s doing the right thing keeping her out of the city. 

🪟

“Please, Haruchiyo.” 

Shin looks worse for the wear. His shirt is stained, hair unwashed and Haruchiyo thinks he hasn’t bathed in a few days. It’s almost sad seeing a man who was leader of one of the most powerful motorcycle gangs reduced to this. His grief is eating at him but instead of doing something about it, he’s spiralling. 

The only reason he’s talking to him is because Takeomi called, demanding to know what the fuck Haruchiyo did. He’s the prime suspect but even with the fading bruises and threats from Izana, Haruchiyo gave nothing away. Shin apparently clung to that and tracked him down, finding him to beg the boy for answers. Haruchiyo thinks it’s pathetic, even if he’ll never say that out loud. What happened to the man he idolized? 

“Where is she? Where’s my child?”

“I don’t know,” Haruchiyo answers. It’s not technically a lie. He doesn’t know exactly where she is. It’s better that way. 

Shinichiro sighs and looks up to the sky. “This is all my fault.” For a moment, Haruchiyo’s hope rises at the admission. If Shinichiro realizes he fucked up, that there’s something wrong with him, he can get better. He can– “I should have chained her to the bed or some shit.”

His heart sinks. “What?”

Shinichiro shakes his head. “I lost them all. She…she was all I had. If Mikey hadn’t…I thought I found the answer. I really did.” 

Haruchiyo watches in horror as Shinichiro gets closer to the edge of the bridge they met on. “Hey, wait! Stop!”

“We were happy,” he sees tears in the older man’s eyes. “I love her. I always have. No after how fucked up it was. Take care of them for me, alright? Tell my kid..tell them I’m sorry.” 

Haruchiyo stares at him in shock, seconds too late to lunge forward and stop him from falling over the edge. He didn’t want this. Never this. “SHINICHIRO!” 

🪟

Haruchiyo never thought he was insane, despite what people said about him. He always knew exactly what he was doing. But the moment he went from being glared at by a majority of people at Shinichiro’s funeral to being at home with a different series of memories in his head, he thought he finally cracked. 

But there are scars on his face that he never had before. 

Haruchiyo races, trying to find the truth. He heads for the Sano home as fast as he can and nearly crashes into Shinichiro headfirst. If Haruchiyo is confused then Shinichiro is just as surprised to know that Haruchiyo remembers everything. No one else does. 

He thinks that’s the end of it. Shinichiro is alive. Mikey is alive. Emma hasn’t run away and the last Sano isn’t pregnant with her own brother’s baby. There is a relief that settles in his chest at the fact that everything is fixed. Shinichiro fixed it.

But then he sees the way Shin looks at his sister when he thinks anyone isn’t paying attention and Haruchiyo is forced to face the reality that this Shinichiro still loves her in every fucked up way imaginable. When he stares too long at her stomach, Haruchiyo wonders if he’s imagining the baby that he put there. That he left behind.

He can see the obsession in the man’s eyes, the guilt and the way he holds her too long when she hugs him. Haruchiyo stays around the Sanos more now and he would bet all the money he doesn’t have that Shinichiro has to force himself not to send him away. That would gain questions because Haruchiyo has always been welcome. Everyone has.

Then, out of nowhere, Shinichiro is killed. 

An accident that Haruchiyo doesn’t really believe because who doesn’t know that SS Motors is Shin’s? Wouldn’t Mikey have taken his friends there? Guilt eats at him for the relief he feels. Haruchiyo doesn’t have to protect her from her own brother now that he’s dead. 

He promised to keep her safe. Even if he didn’t get the chance to respond, the nightmares he has of Shinichiro falling off that bridge, of Mikey’s expression as he ripped apart his mouth and told him to laugh. It keeps him awake sometimes. Mikey never used to be like that. He knows that. Something changed. It’s the same feeling that led him to discover Shin’s secret, so he stays by the Sanos, stays at Mikey’s side, and watches.

Just because Shin is dead doesn’t mean shit. Not when Haruchiyo remembers the way Izana threatened him at Shinichiro’s funeral the first time, promising him that he’d find her and raise Shin’s kid as his own. Nor with the way he sees Mikey starting to spiral after Shin’s death and the way her and Emma are stepping up to take care of him. The way he clings to them, to her, like they’re the only thing keeping him standing. 

He doesn’t trust the Sano men. Not with her. 

He stays. He changes his last name to Sanzu, to get as far as fuck away from his own brother he still sees as complicit even if he never was in this timeline. He keeps in touch with his own younger sister, keeping Senju away from their own brother and using her to keep track of the Sano girls as he remains at Mikey’s side. He couldn’t save her from Shinichiro, but he can try from Mikey. From Izana. 

He made a promise. 

tr tag: @mitsuwuyaa @blackfire2013 @bleach-your-panties @reiners-milkbiddies

I’m not tagging anyone else lol

[coulsons-left-arm]

Just think about it, though...

Daisy is laying in a hospital bed, asleep. Coulson has a predisposition to stay at her bedside, especially if she hasn't woken up since coming out of surgery.

When she first wakes up, her brain feels like soup because those pain meds are working their magic almost a little too well. There's a man next to her bed, and she recognizes him as someone she feels safe with, so she says his name.

"Dad?"

Mmmmmm, that doesn't seem right. That's not his name. That's not usually what I call him.... Right?

It seems to catch his attention, though, as he smiles shyly and leans forward a bit, grabbing her hand gently. It's warm and solid and safe, encompassing her whole hand.

"Daisy? How're you feeling?"

How does she feel? Everything is hard to pinpoint, but she knows two things for sure.

"Sleepy, but better now that I've got pain meds and you here." Or maybe that's three things... She gives him a dopey smile, one that she thinks probably looks like one of the many she's seen on his face. It probably does look like his because the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, right?... Or wait, is she even hi--

He seems to give a breathy chuckle, reaching a hand to move some of her loose hair behind her ear. The warmth seems to calm the soft pounding in her head, so she leans into it. And to her satisfaction, his hand seems to stay close, his slightly calloused thumb rubbing back and forth on her cheekbone.

His presence is warm and safe and all the things that make her drowsy... And she ends up falling back asleep on accident.

~~~~~

When Daisy wakes up again, she's more coherent -- the drugs were wearing off --, and Coulson is now sitting with her. She groans as she tries to wiggle her stiff body. The noise makes Coulson perk up, a little tentative, but still reaches for her hand. It felt... familiar. She decides she likes it, so she doesn't remove her hand from his.

"You're here."

"Of course. Pain meds wearing off?"

"Yeah, but I'll be okay for a little bit. It's good to feel a little pain. And I don't want to be too loopy... Which, do you know if I said anything crazy?" If Daisy didn't know any better, she would've missed the slightest bit of red in his cheeks as he seemed to smile to himself.

"Meh, nothin' too crazy... You may have called me, 'Dad.'"

That was him??? Oh....

"But... Honestly?... Is that too far from the truth?"

[tyrantisterror]

At Sea Without a Map pt. 28

"My name is Sailor," you say, and at this point it's not really a lie anymore. "My friend here is called Calibani." Her cheeks blush blue at you calling her a friend. "She's been helping me survive out here while I try to find my way back home - out of this Sea of Monsters. We heard you might be able to help me."

The metal eyeball-looking-thing whirs and swivels in its socket for a moment, the hexagonal machinery of its iris twisting inward as it scrutinizes you closely. Then it relaxes. "Plausible enough. Come in, come in my good fellow!"

The sharp plates of the door retract into the door frame, opening to a short hallway with another, different yet equally bizarre door, which opens at your approach to reveal... another short hallway with another different yet equally bizarre door that opens to, you guessed it, the same exact sort of nonsense over and over again until, after like fifteen doors or so, you finally enter a room that's more than ten square feet.

What greets you on the other side is, well, a well-worn cliche. It's a mad scientist's lab. Not just a laboratory, mind you, but specifically the platonic ideal of what a mad scientist's lab would be, with all sorts of strange, menacing equipment of unclear purpose, tesla coils that spark with electricity, a huge and retro-looking computer, and a grim-looking operating table complete with straps to keep its unfortunate occupant restrained. And of course, in the middle of it all, is a freak in a labcoat.

From behind, you could almost trick yourself into thinking Dr. Neptune was no different than you. Sure, the lab coat and black gloves are a little "saturday morning cartoon," and his head is in some sort of jar, but one could argue those might have a practical use. But when he turns to face you, you have to accept the truth: that's not a human, that's a movie monster, a brain in a jar piloting a robot body in a mad scientist costume. Not just a normal brain, either, but some sort of mutant brain, with a single, inhuman-looking eye growing between its two main lobes, and a layer of skin that obscures all but the deepest wrinkles of his gray matter.

"I must say, it's refreshing to finally see another human face!" the brain-in-a-jar says to you through a very advanced voice processor built into his glass head dome. "I believe you said your name was Sailor? That's nominative determinism at its finest!" He hops over to you on his one... leg? and grabs your hand with his own. His grip is firm and slightly uncomfortable, feeling akin to getting your hand caught in an umbrella as it's folding up. After a rigorous shake, he releases you, then laughs, "Tell me, Sailor, how does it feel to have traveled farther than any astronaut?"

You stare blankly at the brain-in-a-jar, trying to process this latest batch of bullshit you've been given to handle. "What," is all you manage to say in reply.

"Ha ha, you don't even realize it, remarkable!" Dr. Neptune claps you on the back with his mechanical hand, an unpleasant sensation that's enough to rouse you out of your stupor. "So you've been told the name of this place, but not its nature, is that right? Well, allow me to enlighten you, my fellow human being! You, my good friend, have indulged in Inter-universal travel!"

"...Inter...universal?"

"That's right! I imagine you come from a universe like mine, where humanity hasn't even managed true interplanetary travel yet. Yet here you are, having gone beyond planets, stars, even galaxies, landing in an entirely separate reality from the one you knew!" If the brain had an actual face, it'd be beaming. "Feel the magnitude of it yet?"

You stagger backward, unsure of what to make of this. "How is that even possible?"

"An excellent question!" Dr. Neptune replies. "I imagine you, like most travelers to this particular universe, are here by accident rather than by choice. So, tell me, Sailor, how did you come to be here?"

Gulping, you briefly look at Calibani for emotional support, then sigh and tell the doctor, "Well, that's part of the problem. I don't know how I got here. In fact, I can't really remember... anything about my life before. I know I had one, I have vague ideas of what it must be like, but nothing concrete or specific. My only real memories are from when I first found myself on a boat out here at sea."

Doctor Neptune regards you for a moment. "Hmm... interesting. Amnesia is a common, though not universal, symptom of inter-universal travel. But the only cases I can think of occurred during the return trip, as a sort of trauma response - the traveler's brain forces them to forget the full details of their journey so as to return to normalcy in their home reality."

Calibani's eyes light up. "Does that mean Sailor is native to the Sea of Monsters, then?" she asks. "That they're already home?"

"No, I don't think so," Dr. Neptune says. "I've studied the Sea of Monsters quite extensively, and I can say with relative confidence that the only humans in this universe are travelers from other realities. And while I may not know of other travelers off the top of my head who experienced amnesia when entering the Sea, that doesn't mean it's a major anomaly - there are plenty of mundane ways to suffer amnesia, after all." He thinks for a moment before gazing intently at you with his sole, inhuman eye. "Something to investigate further later. You, I imagine, have plenty of questions of your own, so let me be of service by sating your curiosity with my immense expertise!"

He's right, you do have many questions, and as per your custom, you consult your compass on which topics to broach and how thoroughly to discuss each of them.

(You know the drill by now - all topics will be discussed, but the more vote one gets, the more detail we'll go into, and as always feel free to submit questions you'd like to ask in the replies of this post.)