#he probably will be horrified to know that some parts of his life story was broadcasted to everyone

[coffeefiction]

Megatron's "Not So Interesting' Life

So, I have this thought of an au for a while, where the war never happened but the world is littered with anomalies, entities and all that jazz, right? And Megatron, is just a normal mech, with a normal life, being friends with "normal" people and finding their newly crowned Prime off. Oh! He also gets these cool abilities that I have yet to properly set down-

If you have any ideas on what I should do with this story! Or questions! Let me know! Have fun!

_______________________

Megatron knows that he special he has always  known this. How could he not? From a young age, he could instinctively distinguish between a walking glitch of a fake and an actual mecha. It was as if his optics had been calibrated to detect the unseen threads of the universe. Shadows danced at the edges of his vision, and he always had the gnawing sense that something lurked just beyond his peripheral awareness. Not that he cared. In fact, he barely gave it a second thought.

Megatron has always known that he has abilities, that he has a gift. He knew this. He could see what others couldn’t. Yet, for the longest time, he refused to acknowledge it, treating it as little more than an inconvenient quirk. That was, until he befriended a few of those shadowy entities that liked to pass themselves off as part of the mortal world. He never really minded—they weren’t doing him any harm, again, he barely cared.

They are attracted to Megatron's gift, I mean, who wouldn't? Having the ability to sniff out someone's bull is pretty helpful.

You see, Megatron grew up in Kaon, and growing up in Kaon, which was and is a place dripping with superstition, Megatron had heard his share of horror stories: the dark, Unicron’s spawns, Primus’ Youngs, and the whispers of what prowled in the shadows. These tales were used to scare younglings into good behavior.

Megatron himself had his fair share of those stories, although, some of the elders do love to exaggerate those stories.

He likes it, not because it makes it creepy. He didn’t find them scary—he found them funny, mostly because of his friends. For reasons he still couldn’t quite fathom, his closest companions growing up were a spark eater, a ghoul, and a demon. Hearing their outrage over the inaccuracies in these tales was endlessly entertaining.

“You can’t eat a spark like that,” Starscream, the spark eater, would hiss in annoyance whenever he hears these ridiculous stories  . “Why do they always describe it like I’m slurping energon soup? There’s nuance!”

“Ghouls: do not hide under berths: waiting to snatch younglings” deadpanned Soundwave, the ghoul, glaring at Megatron. “Soundwave: not a sterotype: Stories; exaggerated”

And Shockwave, the demon of the group would just simply twitch in annoyance.

And unlike Iacon, who rarely has anything to do with superstitions and such beliefs were dismissed as primitive nonsense. (or as media likes to portray it). Kaon has plenty, it thrived on superstition, unlike Iacon,  If Kaon had a museum for the supernatural, it would probably need its own skyscraper.

Megatron can attest to it, as stated before, he is friends with some of the horrifying entities that the tales always tell. Not only that, He’d had his share of encounters with those dark forces, not all of them pleasant. Most of the time, it ended in one of three ways: a fight, a frantic escape, or an unsettling brush with death. The only reason Megatron was still functioning was thanks to his friends, who often bailed him out of tight spots to save his arf.

Yet despite all of this, Megatron barely cares.

He doesn't do much, than work at his boring office job, visit his friends and reassure them that he is well, one of the literally lives in Vos! But at least his trip is always payed, courtesy to his friend. Outside of that? His life is completely barren and uneventful.

That is, until he met the new Prime that goes by the name Optimus Prime. Not, met met him, more like saw him in the holos and the streets during the coronation parade. He didn't wanna be there to be honest, but Starscream wanted to be there, he was in town for royal duties as the Prince of Vos and he wanted to Megatron to hang out with him, that isn't the mech's lonely apartment or Soundwave's house, or Shockwave's lab.

And Megatron, is a friend, so Megatron decided to go with Starscream, begrudgingly of course. 

When Megatron first laid his optics on the New Prime, he immediately sensed something was off, and he can tell that Starscream noticed too, yet he seem calm, which was odd. Normally, Starscream would have been on high alert, his predatory instincts kicking in. But this time? He wasn’t reacting defensively. That wasn’t exactly a good sign, isn't a bad one either.

Spark eaters tend to have heightened senses, they have the ability to sniff out their pray, and they have the ability to semi manipulate the perception of others, making it easy for them to blend in. If Starscream wasn’t threatened, that meant whatever this “off” thing was, it wasn’t something Starscream recognized as dangerous—or perhaps it was something he couldn’t categorize at all.

Megatron looks at the Prime, observing him closely. Their newly crowned Prime seems nice, he speaks very confidently yet softly, a leader with stern yet does not weild his fist to cage those around him. He spoke to the crowd with warmth, crouched to address younglings optic-to-optic, and carried himself with an air of calm authority.

Megatron….he knows there is something wrong, something off with the Prime. Megatron could feel it, like static in his circuits. He wanted to dig deeper, to pull at the threads of this mystery. But before he could, Starscream interrupted.

Megatron has to put those thoughts into a file and store it for later to entertain his friend. A bored Starscream always never ends well.

Soundwave can attest to that.

So Megatron talks to Starscream as they watch the parade from the distance in the balcony of Starscream's  fancy hotel. They watch as the Prime mingle with the civilian, as he interacts with the younglings with such care.

“Ugh. Look at that pompous mech!” Starscream sneered, slumping dramatically in his chair.

Megatron arched an optic ridge. “What are you talking about? He seems fine.”

“Fine? Look at him, so pristine, so proper!” Starscream gestured wildly at the balcony railing. “He’s too sweet. It’s disgusting. He’s practically dripping syrup on those younglings!” 

"Shouldn't I be the one making complaints here? I'm the one who's gonna get affected if his rule is slag" Megatron quipped dryly, already dreading the new rules and laws that will be set if this Prime is like the other ones before him.

“Oh, please.” Starscream waved him off. “If it were up to you, you’d just brood in silence and not say a word.”

“I would, actually,” Megatron muttered. “Besides, you’re the one verbally attacking your own kind right now.” He pointed out, wanting to immediately change the topic, for all that is stands in this world, Starscream is right, he would probably just brood in silence, rules kept him safe after all.

Starscream makes a disgruntled noise. "That thing down there, is far from being my kin."

Megatron grows confuse, he looks at Starscream. "What do you mean?"

“My own kind?” Starscream’s wings twitched irritably as he leaned back in his chair. “That thing down there is not my kin.”

That got Megatron’s attention. He turned to Starscream, optics narrowing. “What do you mean?”

Starscream huffed, clearly annoyed he had to explain. “Look at him! He’s too…off. Too stiff to be a spark eater, too mellow to be a ghoul. His frame doesn’t match anything I recognize. And his voice?” Starscream shuddered theatrically. “It’s wrong. It’s too nice. No one’s voice is that…perfect.”

Megatron frowned, glancing back at the Prime. Now that Starscream mentioned it, he can see more of the odd things about him. The balance of his movements, the precision of his words, the faint flicker of something beneath the surface—it didn’t quite add up.

Huh… Yeah, he can kinda see that now.

[infiniteglitterfall]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

[tathrin]

The next story I am Definitely Not Writing: a fic where Legolas and Gimli make it all the way to the Undying Lands before they realize that in addition to loving each other more than anything else in all of Arda, they are also in love with one another (this is less a realization on their part and more an assumption that just about everyone else in Aman makes on sight, and eventually they hear about it and go oh...dang...maybe...? and Legolas's mom facepalms forever) and hey what if they got married, then...?

Only the thing is, while an elvish marriage is very simple and requires literally nothing but the folks involved deciding to do it (and no, Thranduil is not allowed to demand that Gimli fetch some priceless jewel from the Fëanorian section of Tirion in order to prove himself worthy of Legolas's hand, although he tried very very hard to convince everyone that it was a great idea) a dwarven marriage is an elaborate ceremony, requiring the participation of both a dwarven officiant and several members of one's kin to perform the various elements of the ceremony.

...all of which are in short supply in this land of elves and valar.

Except. well. there aren't any other dwarves in Aman...but what there is, is the guy who made the dwarves. And he is VERY fond of Gimli. So when he learns that Gimli is kind of moping about the fact that he can't marry Legolas in dwarven-fashion, Aulë ENTHUSIASTICALLY volunteers to be the officiant and to set everything up and arrange just the BEST DWARVEN WEDDING EVER...

Because, you know. he's never actually been to one?

Gimli is stricken with horrified shock to realize just how much his own Maker has missed out on interactions with his beloved dwarves over the years, and immediately agrees to this plan (even though he knows it won't be a real dwarven wedding without his family there; but he'll swim back to Middle-earth before he says one word about that anywhere that Mahal can hear! he is going to do everything in his power to make this the best wedding ever for the sake of his Maker, dammit!).

So he gets to work crafting all the necessary accoutrements (with enthusiastic help from Celebrimbor and all his other elf-smith friends that Gimli has acquired since coming to these shores which is, let's be honest, quite a few) and carefully teaching Legolas all the necessary Khuzdul phrases and ceremonial steps that they can do to mimic as much of a proper wedding as they can without anyone else to help...

And when the big day comes, Aulë is vibrating so hard he's on the verge of setting off seventeen different earthquakes across the island, and not even Yavanna can get him to relax. Gimli and Legolas arrive to the appointed place, and find that they aren't alone: Aulë has invited Celebrimbor, too, seeing as he's the only elf in Aman who has actually participated in a dwarven wedding before with makes him the local expert as well as the closest thing to "kin" that Gimli is going to find on these shores...except.

Well, Mandos might be in charge of elvish souls, but dwarves? They belong to their Maker. And if Mahal decides he wants to...well, who is going to stop him from waking some of them up early, before the breaking of the world? Especially if he doesn't ask permission first. So when Gimli and Legolas hesitantly walk into this foreboding stone chamber, eerily close to the Halls of Mandos, wondering wtf is going on and have they offended the valar somehow and are they in trouble and if so how bad is it...?

Well, turns out Gimli will have kin at his wedding after all.

Mahal can't bring any of them back to life, not without the intervention and permission of Eru and probably Mandos too; but as long as they're in his halls, he can wake anybody he wants. So soon there is a great crowd of bewildered but enthusiastic dwarves gathered around Gimli, as he tries to explain what the heck is going on to a whole passel of relatives and friends, some of whom died even before the Lonely Mountain was reclaimed and don't even know how the Battle of Five Armies ended, let alone the whole thing with the Ring and the Fellowship...

And Legolas and Celebrimbor are standing near the entrance watching fondly, Legolas weeping around a great big smile and Celebrimbor torn between joy for Gimli and his own ever-bitter sorrows and then...

"Khelebrrimbor?" calls a deep dwarven voice, in a thick Khuzdul accent, and Celebrimbor stiffens like he's just been shot.

Suddenly there's a ruckus as a very burly dwarf is shouldering through the crowd, and Celebrimbor stumbles forward and throws himself at Narvi with a wail, and it's at least ten minutes before anyone can get a coherent word out of either of them (although it takes considerably less time to catch the gist of Narvi's lecture about how dare you and lucky he's already dead, or I'd have a gift for him he wouldn't forget in a hurry and what were you thinking???).

Legolas gives Aulë a very pointed raise of his eyebrows, and Aulë shrugs around an unabashed grin. "Who in all the ages of the world is more of an expert on marriages between elves and dwarves than the two of them? I am a craftsman, Greenleaf; of course I would want to make use of their skills and experience in this endeavor. Nothing more to it than that."

Legolas hums noncommittally, but his eyes are dancing.

Mahal ignores him and steps forward to start the wedding. It takes even him three tries before he can shout loud enough to be heard over the tumult and get everyone's attention, but eventually he gets them all to quiet down enough for the ceremony to begin. Not everyone in attendance is entirely thrilled by the prospect of Gimli marrying an elf (that elf) but no one is so cross that they walk back into their dreams of stone to avoid it, which Gimli chalks up as a victory.

(Legolas's terrible Khuzdul pronunciation doesn't help, but the very enthusiastic way he praises Gimli when the ceremony reaches that point makes up for a lot. By the time he finally runs out of words, a few of the more recalcitrant attendees have changed their tune about him. The fact that he's so good at weaving the required braids doesn't hurt, either.)

There aren't nearly enough refreshments for a crowd that size afterwards, of course, since Gimli and Legolas weren't expecting anyone but themselves and Aulë to be there; but that doesn't much matter, because 90% of those in attendance don't have the sort of corporealness that would allow them to eat the dwarven delicacies that Gimli spent all morning fussing over anyway. (That doesn't stop some of his more elderly relatives from scolding him for not following their recipes better.) They're solid enough that you can hug them or kiss them, in the case of a certain former smithlord of Eregion or get half-knocked off your feet by their congratulatory backslaps, but they aren't alive. They're still the dreaming dead...it's just that for the moment, they're dreaming in a bit more wakefulness than usual.

In the end it's not what one would call an orthodox dwarven wedding, no; but it's a lot closer than Gimli thought he would get, and since he's hardly an orthodox dwarf, the small tweaks and oddities of their strange situation don't bother him in the slightest.

As for Aulë, he's never been happier.

And if it takes a long, long time for Celebrimbor to finally leave (and if he tries to devise a way to prop the door open on his way out)...well, Aulë is enjoying himself far too much to do anything but pretend not to notice. Even when Námo clears his throat at him very pointedly.

Twice.

And then again. And again.

"Aulë...!"

[nyonismywife]

RANFREN HEADCANONS:

Luther:

Was researching humans when he first decided he wanted to be one. Found out they're 60% water. Is now hellbent on making sure everyone is hydrated

Only formed a family because he thought it was what humans are supposed to do

Only reason he got Randal a pet human is because he was tired of Randal terrorising his catmen and wanted to teach him some responsibility

Has been around for so long that he's had at least one cult formed around him. The cult has long since disbanded, however

Used to be ALOT more evil in his 'youth'. Even more so than Randal. A truly horrifying entity. That was a long time ago, though. He's a nice young human man now

Sometimes Randal REALLY pisses him off. Like A LOT. But Luther reminds himself that this is just 'Randal's Rebellious Phase'. (Even though Randal's been in the same age range for years)

Randal:

I don't really have any for Randal. Let me think of some

Is incredibly good at biology, sucks at the other sciences

Otaku

Can't keep friends but somehow keeps making them

These were pretty weak. Sorry bout that. Anyways..

Nyen:

Doesn't feel a shred of embarrassment or shame about existing as a cat for Luther despite being a grown man (feels no shame about being pet, purring, making biscuits etc and thinks anyone that thinks he should feel that way is a weirdo)

Knows Luther usually likes his catmen's faces smooth but sometimes neglects shaving because he likes when Luther does it for him (drawn from a canon image)

Doesn't like smoking weed and sometimes judges Nyon for it but has no problem drinking beer and smoking tobacco

Thinks he's all that

Bullies Nyon but Nyon is literally one of his only friend besides Luther

His backstory is like the most simple thing ever with no trauma or anything. He was just a regular guy that got into a car crash or something and Luther revived him

His opinions about Kurt Cobain have always been the same even before he became a catman

Harasses Nyon whenever Nyon tries to do pushups or pullups or anything resembling arm workouts because he wants to be the only pet with beefy arms (he likes when Luther compliments his muscles (drawn from canon))

Inherited parts of Luther's violence

Nyon:

Epitome of nonchalance

Seems to have been around with Luther for a WHILE as well. (Guessing because he likes reading Fyodor novels for "nostalgic reasons" and Fyodor was around in the 1800s)

His life was better after he joined Luther's presence

Probably fought in at least one war

Remembers EVERYTHING from his past life but just doesn't talk about it. If you ask, he'll give you silence and go back to whatever he was doing. The conditions for hearing his backstory are so rare. You'd need to find him at 4:23am while he's greening out in a loaf position on the ground and even then there's only a 15% chance of him telling you. If he ever did tell you how he came to be what he is, it'd be the most bizarre, otherworldly and brilliant damn story you ever heard. Then you'd wake up the next day and, strangely, you wouldn't remember any of it anymore..? Like it was a snippet of a dream

He likes Nyen's abuse if he's in the mood for it (this is actually a little canon)

Has so many connections to so many different weed dealers it's actually ridiculous.

Inherited parts of Luther's timidity (yes, Luther is indeed shown to be a bit timid at times)

..bottom.

[sunflowerwizard]

I've seen enough people mischaracterizing Early Access Wyll, so here's the best breakdown of his original character I can give.

I'll start this off by plainly summarizing Wyll's EA backstory, some of his core personality traits, then do a bit of analysis.

BACKSTORY

EA Wyll mentions being "born and bred in the upper city" into nobility. It's unspecified what exact level of influence his family occupied.

In datamined voice lines from EA (take with a grain of salt) Wyll refers to being from House Eltan specifically. Eltan was the Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate in the first Baldur's Gate Game, and the founder of the Flaming Fist. Forgotten Realms lore states that the Eltans are no longer in charge of the Fist and have somewhat diminished in power, but again. We don't know to exactly what level.

This also means that this iteration of Wyll was not Ulder Ravengard's son. While he still spoke about his father in EA, the descriptions and characterizations do not line up with Ulder at all. Additionally, he comments about "knowing of" Ravengard during the burning inn sequence, but otherwise makes no connection.

The most damning evidence of all that Wyll being a Ravengard was not originally intended, is Wyll wanting to be like his father and thus "going thieving in the wrong shadows".

Wyll gets caught stealing, presumably as a teenager, and his father uses latent connections within the Flaming Fist to get Wyll sent there. Effectively the fantasy equivalent of sending your unruly kid to boot camp.

Wyll mentions that he didn't adjust well to life as part of the Flaming Fist, was not a very good fighter, and was generally not well liked. The goblin at the windmill calling Wyll "Captain Failure" implies he might have been given higher status despite not earning it.

The way Wyll feels about goblins is a big change between EA and full release, and is explained as part of his backstory.

We didn't get the finer details, but we can assume Wyll in his time with the Fist bore witness to a group of goblins razing a village. Horrified and enraged, he tried fighting a goblin, was overwhelmed, and had his eye torn out.

This is when Mizora showed up and offered him a pact. Considering he was left for dead and probably going to bleed out, it's pretty understandable why he took the deal.

Mizora is not nearly as present in Early Access as she is in the current game. Karlach was not involved in Wyll's story at all, there's no devil transformation.

It's also more heavily insinuated there's a sexually coercive element of Wyll and Mizora's relationship, with him speaking to how every time he wanted to leave her, she found some way to pull him back.

Additionally, Wyll wants out of that contract. Unlike full release where Mizora is randomly captured in Act 2, she starts off kidnapped, and insists she'll let Wyll go if he frees her

It kind of ended up being a plot cul de sac, but Torturer Spike was the goblin that took Wyll's eye--which was a quest item you could pickpocket/loot off his body. Wyll had commentary on it and everything.

TL;DR: -Born to a noble family with Flaming Fist connections -Caught Stealing and sent to work for the Fist as punishment -Tried to fight back during a goblin attack and was gravely injured -Mizora offers a pact -Uses his pact to become a traveling monster hunter, presumably to make up for his past failure to protect people. Antagonistic towards goblins in particular -Ultimately wants out of the pact, but Mizora won't let him go -Wyll and Mizora get abducted by Mind Flayers -Mizora agrees to let Wyll go if he frees her from the cultists

PERSONALITY

This is a bit less concrete than changed story beats, but I can say this: a lot of Wyll's core traits stayed intact between EA and full release. He's still willing to put his life on the line for the Tiefling refugees, with a whole cut line about how the kids he's training deserve to have a carefree childhood. He wants to do good in the world, probably because he spent so much time in his youth feeling like a fuck up.

There's also a much clearer divide between "Wyll" and "The Blade of Frontiers". Notably, in EA he didn't introduce himself by name. Not even a "my friends call me Wyll" quip at Shadowheart like he has currently. During his old romance scene, he has a line about being used to being the hero, and not used to needing one. He's a symbol. An emblem of something bigger than himself. The fact he's so self-aggrandizing as The Blade makes it apparent he's not confident in himself as "just Wyll"

He's also decidedly more forward and flirty in EA, with no reservations about courtship. In fact, the main obstacle to your budding relationship is Mizora herself. Wyll's trauma from her treatment interrupts your first night together. Whether you have sex or just snuggle, Wyll has a line about how he doesn't want to start a relationship until he can "give himself completely" after being freed from his pact.

THOUGHTS & COMPARISONS

I'm also not entirely sure if I'd say EA Wyll is substantially angrier than current Wyll, so much as he had more opportunities to be angry during Early Access. I can understand why the goblin stuff was cut, because it did dip into "Let's make the one black guy fantasy racist" trope. However, it did very much feel like the narrative was pointing in bright, flashing colors that this is a trait Wyll would have to grapple with, learn, and grow from. The fact EA Wyll's most glaring character flaw was scrapped and didn't get much of a replacement in full release makes his story feel less realized.

While I appreciate the overtly sexual element of Wyll and Mizora's relationship was removed, I feel like the final version is somehow even more creepy. During Early Access she existed in the background as a vague villain you only experience via Wyll. And if you do his romance scene and see the way he panics at the mere memory of her, you get the impression of oh shit. This broad is bad news and I've gotta get my boy out of there. The same principle behind not showing the big scary monster too early in the horror movie. Once you've seen it, you can't let your mind fill in the blanks. Mizora went from this intimidating figure whose motives you couldn't fully ascertain, to a mean girl that thinks she's smarter than everyone else but is really just the bumbling lackey of a bigger fish. Who pulls Wyll around with an actual metaphysical leash like a dog. And you're meant to find this sexy.

My final point, and I've said this before: current Wyll's personality seemed more suited to being a scion of house Eltan, while EA Wyll seemed more suited to being Ulder Ravengard's dissapointment son. Current Wyll speaks and carries him like someone raised in nobility despite only being elevated to such status as a teenager. Perhaps this is cynical and maybe even a bit of a conspiracy theory, but I genuinely think he's only Ravengard's son to save on time and assets. Why give Wyll a whole unique family with its own story when we can just tie him in to the "rescue the grand duke" plot, regardless of how much sense it makes!

[nothingtoseehere00-00]

Just imagine Steve figuring out he's bisexual and realizing that when he dates a girl, at a certain point into dating them, he's gonna have to tell them that he's also into men. Of course since it's the 80s, the chances of them being okay with that is probably slim. They might think he's disgusting or that he's just gay playing straight.

So he tries dating guys instead, thinking that's safer. And he ends up meeting a great guy named John at a gay bar who he really likes. Things are going strong until they started talking about past crushes and first loves. Steve casually mentions celebrity crushes on women and having loved Nancy. And thus Steve gets his first ever experience of the rampant biphobia in queer spaces. John accuses Steve of being confused and trying to hold onto his "straightness". Steve tries to explain himself by saying that, no, he really does like women, but that only makes things worse. John now believes that Steve is just going to eventually leave him for a woman, if he hasn't already been cheating on him. John ends up storming out leaving Steve devastated.

He goes crying to Robin and explains what happened. He's horrified to realize that no matter who he dates, there's always going to be the risk of them not accepting him, guy or girl. But he can't hide that part of himself, it's too big. It's who he is. Robin is there to reassure him that if someone can't accept him being bi than they don't deserve him. It's able to cheer him up a little, but the damage has been done.

Steve is now very reluctant to date anyone. And if he does manage to bring himself to go on one, he gets complaints of being very emotionally distant or having a fear of commitment.

When Steve inevitably falls for Eddie, he's scared out of his mind. It's clear that Eddie is gay based on his hanky, but, again, that doesn't mean he'll accept Steve's bisexuality. One night, while the two get so high in Eddie's trailer that Steve has to stay over, they argue about sleeping arrangements. Eddie keeps insisting that Steve would probably be more comfortable with Eddie sleeping in another room for some cryptic reason and Steve, who gets incredibly clingy while high, keeps shooting back with them sharing a bed being fine. When Steve keeps asking why they can't over and over again, Eddie blurts out that it's because he's gay. Without hesitation, Steve's says he knows and points at the hanky on the dresser by the bed. Staring at Steve for a moment, Eddie then asks how he knows about the hanky code. This time Steve hesitates. For awhile. It honestly scares Eddie for a moment, thinking he's been vecnad. If Steve hadn't been high, he maybe would have been able to think of an excuse, some way to get out of this conversation, but he can't. So he admits that he likes guys.

Eddie very excitedly starts asking a bunch of questions and talking about how they finally found something they have in common, who knew? When he notices the tears in Steve's eyes, he stops, confused, and asks what's wrong. So Steve tells him. He's not like Eddie. He's bisexual. And he braces himself for the backlash. For loosing his best friend and crush.

But then he feels a hand grab his. Eddie tells him that they still have something in common because he's also bi. Steve points out that he said he was gay, though. Eddie asks if he has ever told anyone that he was bi before, specifically gay men. Steve nods. Then he asks if it went well. Steve shakes his head. Eddie tells him that's why he said that. He's explains how tiring it is to have to explain his existence to people who won't get it and/or react badly to it. So he just tells guys that he's also gay. It just makes things easier. And Steve gets it. By God, does he get it. They spend the whole night exchanging stories and experiences, for the first time able to talk freely about their love life.

And by the end of the night, they stumble over each other trying to ask the other out. They laugh and both say yes.

[lesinquietes]

Summary: Seeking a fresh start, you and three others rent an old house in the countryside. There’s an issue with the boiler, but other than that, the place is in good condition. Your friends fall in love with the mansion’s aged charm and solitude. You wish you could join them in their excitement. Unfortunately, you can’t stop thinking about the basement. Something about the cool, barren atmosphere both tempts and horrifies you. You get the sense that, if you ever tread there, the darkness won’t hesitate to engulf you. Your final breath, as your soul is expelled from your body, will be used to utter the culprit’s name: Alucard. Only in death will you find reprieve. The problem is, he doesn’t intend to let you perish. Pretty puppet, your suffering is merely the beginning of an immortal life by his side. Modern AU.

Pairing: Yandere!Alucard x AFAB!Reader

Warning: 18+ (minors don’t interact), angst, horror, psychological manipulation, sexual themes, violence.

Next l

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

hello yes happy october do some of y’all remember this og story? couldn’t resist rewriting it for spooky season. and make no mistake — when I say spooky season, I don’t just mean october. fall and winter are seasons where odd things happen, usually out in nature. lets make these next few months extra chilling

The Basement’s Monster: Prelude

From the landing and through the open door, stairs made of old, unreliable wood dip down into a black abyss. Stone walls guide their path — wherever it may go — spurring the pleasant scent of damp cement and pungent moss. You can’t see the bottom. And despite this, part of you knows that there’s something there; something that’s ravenous.

You swallow. Both palms gripping the door frame, you feel as though your shoes are embedded in thick glaciers of ice, glueing you firmly in place. There’s a tug in your heart. It implores you to descend. It halfway convinces you that monsters and demons and all beings of lore don’t exist. You’re content that you know better than to indulge in cowardice disguised as logic.

Normally, you don’t believe in this sort of thing. Nothing out of the ordinary has occurred in your life that you’ve been incapable of explaining — until now. You don’t know how to conceptualize what you felt upon walking through the door of this decrepit mansion. A mixture of sorrow and yearning, perhaps, with an additional emotion you can’t put your finger on. In any case, it drew you all the way here, to the basement door.

“(F/n)!”

You perk up. Her voice is distant, but that’s your friend. She’s upstairs with the real estate agent and the others. You open your mouth to call back. You can’t muster a sound. With a shaky hand, you rub the front of your neck. The sensation that there’s a palm pressed against it, squeezing only subtly, is unnerving. Predictably, there’s nothing there.

Defeated, you close your dry lips and direct your attention back to the darkness. You peer through the shadows, as though your eyes are capable of slicing through all obscurity, powerful as the Light of Christ. A sobering quote from Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil resounds in your head. For when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. You would be a fool to think the beast isn’t examining you, too.

On cue, words as bitter and husky as a tannic merlot travel a short distance to rest in your ears. His tone, deep and masculine, grips your shoulders like the talons of a mythical creature. Instantly, it stirs unrest in the pit of your waning soul. You can’t tell if you’re dissociating or on the cusp of a spiritual awakening.

Come, little one. Find me.

Gooseflesh appears on your arms. Your nipples harden when you register the breeze wafting up from the passageway. Your jaw unhooks, teeth chattering softly as you process what just transpired.

Realistically, there’s no way this is real. You hate to sound generic, but you conclude that it must have been your imagination; in fact, all of this probably is. You and your friends have been watching more horror movies than usual to amp up for Halloween. Haunted houses freak you out, and your brain has decided to torture you this evening.

Your knuckles are white from the force with which you’re gripping the frame, frightened that your will, alone, won’t be enough to keep you from exploring. You want to be positive that this truly is all in your head. The basement beckons for you to debunk the reality you’ve dedicated yourself to — the convenient lie that there are solely mortals residing on this plane of existence.

You want to satiate that curiosity of yours, no? Its teasing snicker is innately threatening. Come, pretty human.

Your head spins. Dizziness washes over you, nearly causing a heavy collapse. The voice is anxiety-inducing. You’re hanging onto consciousness by a thread.

You’re going crazy; that’s the only viable solution for this spell of hallucinations and delusions. Ghosts don’t exist. Demons don’t exist. Satan is an arguable concept.

But I classify myself as none of those creatures, sweetness.

When you let your eyelids fall, a silhouette appears in the darkness. You inhale sharply and refrain from blinking. You have to find your friends; unsupervised and weak, you could topple forwards and fall down the stairs.

Though I command fear not unlike the Archfiend, I do so to those who earn it.

Tears pool the bottoms of your strained petals, lubricating your orbs as you battle the trepidation afflicting you. You try to focus on your quivering breath. You can hear its tremble, as well as your quickening heartbeat, in your ears. It’s causing your temples to pound.

You don’t want to blink… but you have to.

You whimper meekly, the demon’s silhouette becoming clearer to you. It’s a being with a blood-coloured fedora and round, reflective lenses. He’s wearing a crimson overcoat, ruffled at his wide shoulders. You can’t decipher any more of his physical features; he’s intentionally shrouded them.

And you have not earned my ire.

In a deranged, wretched way, his claim placates you. If, in any form, this thing that’s haunting you is real, you want to trust that it means you no harm. You know that’s a fool’s game, however; main characters seldom benefit from bearing their neck to the foe.

I’ve been waiting for you, (f/n).

You blink. The silhouette is getting closer to you. Hes halfway up the basement stairs, and you can’t move a fucking inch.

Open your mind to me.

You’re panicking. You don’t want to let him in, but how does one open or close their mind? Again, if this is real, you’re a sitting duck to his influence. He’s far stronger than you could ever hope to be.

Your eyelids shut. He’s almost at the top step. You make out pale skin beneath a white dress shirt that’s accented with a scarlet ascot. Once more and he’ll have you.

That’s it; let me in.

He’s close enough to choke you. These were the hands you could have sworn you felt on your neck earlier; these were the fingers that toyed with the idea of wringing the vitality from your supple soul. Inwardly, you’re frantic. You might have a heart attack before this monster reaches you. Your pupils dilate as the man materializes in the darkness, like a menacing apparition. You wish you could run. Why can’t you run… why can’t you run?!

“(F/n)!”

You gasp. In an instant, his illusion is shattered; the beast retreats in the presence of a love, sucked back into his hole. You blink, and his figure is gone. No part of him, aside from the chilling memories he’s imprinted on you, remains.

You allow yourself to inhale greedily. Your lungs feel empty. Your heart doesn’t cease its galloping — it won’t for a while. An anxiety attack vibrates like thunder in your body. Whether you grasp it or not, this is merely the calm before the storm.

Mindfully, you crane your neck to the side, collecting your gaze from the unpredictable darkness. It’s a feat. The demon doesn’t want to release you from his manipulative hold, but he’s perceivably weaker than before. The presence of another human is diffusing his hypnosis.

There, a few feet away, stands the same friend who was calling your name earlier. Her name’s Ericson. Chocolate brown orbs sweep over you, assessing your physical state. Worry clouds them when she notices your expression. She tucks a long, brown strand behind her ear and swallows.

“Oh, shit… you don’t look so good.”

Fortunately, Ericson isn’t one to waste time. The young woman hooks her elbows beneath your arms and pries you away from the basement door. She helps you into a chair near the landing of the stairs. From there, she does what you were silently begging her to do; she shuts the basement door and secures the latch.

You exhale, unburdened and breathless. Finally, the nightmare has ended. You don’t hear his voice. You don’t see his image. You don’t feel drawn to his domain. You may be free of him. That begs the daunting question, though; if he wasn’t a product of your sanity slipping, what the fuck was he?

You groan, pressing cool fingertips to your warm forehead. Have you been stressed? Sure. Stress, alone, doesn’t warrant hallucinations, however. Until you have further evidence that you’re cracking, you have no choice but to believe what you experienced was beyond what mortals comprehend about existence.

“I… don’t know what just happened.” You confess, at last. “I felt… like I had to see the basement.”

Ericson rubs your shoulders from behind the chair, soothing you. It’s sweet of her. Your thoughts are marathoning at an Olympic pace, but your body is rooted in a slower reality.

“And… there was a guy down there… but… he wasn’t… he wasn’t…”

You’re unable to utter that you don’t think the perpetrator was another human being. It sounds silly, even as you rehearse the sentence in your head. Ericson will think you’re losing it.

“Easy.” She utters gingerly. “Chill out for a sec before you say more.”

She’s right. You could stand to decelerate. You take a moment to recalibrate yourself. What were you doing before this? Right. You were surveying the downstairs portion of the house while the others toured upstairs. You couldn’t shake your compulsion to investigate the basement. From the moment you walked through the front gate of the yard, and ventured up the cobblestone path, an invisible rope was tied around your torso, tugging it towards the monster. Ericson wouldn’t be telling you to settle down if she knew what was lurking directly below her feet.

Did she, or any of the others, feel it, too? You gulp. It wouldn’t hurt to check.

“This whole place feels wrong.” You admit vaguely. “Don’t you think?”

Much to your chagrin, she seems perplexed by your appraisal.

“Actually, we were just saying how peaceful it is here.”

Visibly, you recoil. Oof. Well, you can’t fault them for that. The market for renting a house is steep. You and your friends only found the posting for this estate because you wanted to move further away from the city. The renter — a family member of the previous owner, an old man — is offering the property for an exceptional price. If they don’t go with this one, they may not find a better deal.

“Look.” You start. “I felt something weird when I was standing near the basement… and it freaked me the fuck out.”

Ericson is adhering to you intently.

“What happened? Seriously. You said you saw a guy?”

“It wasn’t a guy so much as it was… like, a ghost or something.”

He wasn’t a ghost or a spectre, a demon or a moniker of Satan; he said so, himself. Nonetheless, at a loss for how else to describe him, that’s the fictional being you elected to choose. He doesn’t look like anything you’ve ever seen before, in books of old, in legends transcending cultures, in hieroglyphs from ancient people long gone — he’s something else entirely.

“A ghost?” She echoes.

“I don’t know.”

The two of you are quiet. She doesn’t buy your story. You can feel her judging you as she walks around the chair. Finally, she kneels in front of you. There’s a solemn emotion on her gentle visage.

“What can I do to make you feel better?” She asks. “I can install, like, ten locks on the basement door.”

You smile. It might not permanently solve the problem, but it does make you feel safer. Crazy or not, you want to stay separated from the basement. If you all agree to seal it up tight, you may be willing to accommodate their desire to rent. After all, you have no qualms with it beyond the monster that’s made a home in its guts.

“I’m just sketched out.”

She nods.

“Seems like it.”

“I just— I really think I saw something down there.”

“I believe you.”

She doesn’t, though. It’s uncomfortable to be the sole one who has an issue with this place. To the untrained eye, it looks like you’re purposefully being difficult. Guilt and shame wash over you. Is it fair for you to be writing this home off without hearing the opposite to your opinion?

“You all like it here?”

You prompt your friend.

“We do.” She shrugs. “It’s a forty-five minute drive to work for Nelly.”

That’s another one of your friends. She’s keeping her profession in the city, so it’s necessary for her to approve of the distance between there and her new pad. A commute of under an hour was one of her requests. Her second and final request is that the house is quiet. That’s two for two.

“Cree wants to head into town to look for work.”

Unsurprising. Cree didn’t do anything with his degree. He’s saving up to attend graduate school. As for town, it isn’t anything extravagant. There’s a small grocery store with a liquor hub inside, and a convenience store that’s open ‘til 9 beside it. A pharmacy is on the same strip of land, along with a hardware store. Pump-your-own gas is a couple kilometres down the street. Two cafes and a bookstore caught your eye when you were driving in. A couple of fast food joints, as well. Doesn’t Cree want better opportunities for himself? Maybe he can earn more money elsewhere.

“The previous owner didn’t have access to the Internet, but the realtor tested the connection and didn’t have a problem.” She explains. “So, I’m thinking I’ll do data entry and school.”

That makes sense. Ericson doesn’t need to leave the homestead often, so she’s comfortable in any location with wifi. A chill runs down your spine at the notion of her in this hellhole alone. That would make her easy prey.

“You said you’d need the Internet for work too, right?”

“Oh… yeah.”

That’s true. Your job is remote. You and Ericson can look out for each other, if all else fails. It might not be so bad. With one car shared amongst the four of you, and no community bus stops in this county, it’s not like she can forsake you. Already, the prospect of not being by yourself feels better.

Ericson studies your expression. She can tell you’re deliberating hard on whether or not to move into this option. Biassed, she prays she can convince you. She racks her brain to determine what she can use to show you how secure you’ll be with them. Beyond wanting to live here, she doesn’t care for the fear in your eyes. Although she doesn’t subscribe to the idea of supernatural creatures, she makes it her mission to comfort you.

“Nelly pole dances.”

“What?”

“Nelly pole dances.” She reiterates. “Do you know how much upper body strength that woman has? We’re safe with her.”

You suppose she’s an asset when it comes to physical threats. You ponder. Does the creature in the basement manifest itself into this sphere; could Nelly hurt him?

“And Cree offered to smudge us before we move in.”

You lift a curious brow.

“Smudge us?”

“Yeah. Like, he’ll cleanse the house too, obviously, but he said he wants us all to enter this chapter of our lives in a good place.”

Cree is an indigenous man. Proudly, he bears the same namesake as his people. His father was a healer, and thus, he carries with him similar techniques and energies, passed along by lineage and teaching. Again, you feel safer knowing he’s got the best intentions for you.

“And you know me.” She winks cheekily. “Orange belt.”

You chuckle shortly. She recently graduated from yellow to orange in her adult karate class. Soon after, she admitted that she knows a few defensive moves. She’s certainly not someone you’d want to rely on during a physical altercation, but she’s great for introducing logic into the conversation and, of course, comedic relief.

“With these things considered, would you be willing to give this place a chance?”

You want to be down; you want so badly to be down. You can tell this is where your friends wish to move, but you can’t shake the sensation that renting it would be a horrible idea. It isn’t your anxiety talking; there’s a predator beneath you.

“I need the realtor to check the basement.”

That’s your condition. If the realtor agrees to verify that no one else is in the house, and nothing is amiss in its depths, you’re willing to give the ageing building a shot.

“Right now?”

“Yeah.” You authenticate. “And the day we pick up the keys.”

The entity could be attached to one of the former’s tenant’s personal items. If that’s the case, moving his things out will eliminate the issue entirely. You’ve heard stories like that before, wherein a spirit is tied to a belonging and not the house it inhabits.

“Done.” Ericson claps. “Anything else?”

You shake your head. If things get exceptionally bad, you understand that the option of subletting your room will always be there. As much as you don’t want to contemplate having to abandon your companions, this thing only seems to be attacking you for now. Removing yourself could turn out to be the route you have to take in the end, should you want to retain your sanity.

“I’m in, so long as nothing strange happens during the inspections.”

Directly below your feet, the creature hums. Nothing weird. Fine, that’s a condition he can meet if it means he gets to keep you. He’ll shrink himself when the realtor steps into his space. The room will be welcoming. You’ll have no room to argue about a foreboding atmosphere without losing credibility. You’re a smart woman; you won’t disagree with the verdict for the sake of appeasing your friends.

He’s amused by your silly antics to hopelessly protect yourself. Smudging won’t help. He isn’t a spirit, and your ancestors can’t save you from the type of creature he is. Undead, he may be, but not the sort that hovers inches above the ground and howls mournfully through the tombstones; on the contrary, he’s a vampire.

He observes you with pleasant curiosity, as Ericson embraces your silent form giddily. She successfully convinced you to take up residence in this home. He didn’t have to influence her to do so; the house sold itself. But you understand the dangers that lurk down here, don’t you? Yes. Sweet little lamb, your pure heart calls to his pungent blackhole, coaxing him like prey frollicking through a clearing. He will have no choice but to pounce, should he entrance you into his domain.

You were correct to think that he’s bound to an item. He can go no further than the top landing, just beyond the basement door, and therefore, his influence over mortals is weak. The last time he roamed this earth freely was decades ago, in London, England. After a grand battle over two decades ago, he was bound to an amulet by a member of the Hellsing family. Miserably, it was his old master, Integra’s, last bitter gift to him; she never wanted him to taste true freedom.

Unfortunately, the old man has no relation to that family. If he was, the nightstalker might have given him a slow, painful death to make reparations between him and the Hellsings. Unceremoniously, he simply found the amulet at a thrift store. He demanded to see it outside of its locked display case. The second he held it, the vampire took advantage of his feeble nature. He bought the piece of jewellery. From then, until the day his relatives put his home up for rent, one name slithered through his transfixed mind: Alucard. He served only Alucard.

Disappointment rocked him when he realized that the male’s aged body was unable to handle the tasks required for him to be released from the amulet. He can’t kill a woman and spill her blood over his jewel. He can’t restrain you and force the gaudy thing around your neck. And he sure as hell can’t slit his own throat with all the dull blades he has lying around; he lacks the physical strength.

Planning to remove the old man for his senile behaviour — particularly when most of his oddities were spurred by Alucard’s sinister influence — was a rich outcome that the shapeshifter prayed to Death for. He wanted to lure someone like you into his clutches. He was waiting for an opportunity to be freed from his constricting prison.

He knows the amulet can’t be placed anywhere in clear sight. The realtor will see it if he makes the hiding spot too obvious. He’ll have to make one of your roommates discover its location — or, maybe you’re the perfect candidate for the task. He hasn’t decided how he wishes to orchestrate his release from this cursed piece of jewellery yet. One thing’s for certain, though; you’re going to play a crucial role in his resurgence. The others may perish in what is to come, but you? He’s growing a soft spot for you.

You’re guided upstairs to rejoin the rest of your crew. There are two more people on the second floor, not including the agent. He smirks. Oh, how he enjoys culling a delicate herd.

He reflects on his past. Earlier in his life, when he was being stalked along the slopes of Romania by van Hellsing and his crew, he took an interest in two young women. Lucy Westenra and Mina Harker were the epitome of innocence, both in different ways. The true enjoyment lied in corrupting them, sometimes gradually, as they descended into darkness with their hesitant hands in his. Seras Victoria provided a similar rush of exhilaration, centuries later.

Over time, the amulet is weakening, allowing for him to use more of his powers in the confined space that he has. What kind of sharp adrenaline will rush through his icy veins as he hunts you? What sort of lust will you stir in his chest, a dead garden with thorns sharp enough to puncture, and long branches that impale? Perhaps your story as (f/n) will come to a close when his fangs dip into your neck, syphoning your life for his pleasure, and begin anew as his beautiful, undead wife, destined to serve him for several eternities.

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 25

Part 25:

Patrick stood with a cigarette outside the building where Liana worked. He knew it wasn't ideal, but he'd been debating for half an hour whether to go in and say he had an appointment with her. He wondered if there were people who knew him, who had heard stories about him, who knew who he had been in her life. Maybe there were people who would recognize him from tennis, who would recognize him as the one who beat her fiancé.

He threw the cigarette away, not bothering to pick up the butt, and went inside after popping a gum in his mouth. "Hey, love, I'm looking for Liana Levy's office," he said to the girl sitting at the reception. She looked at him for a moment, probably trying to figure out where she knew him from. "At the end on the left," she muttered and smiled at him. He nodded and smiled back, walking confidently.

Patrick knocked on the door and heard Liana's gentle voice telling him to come in while she continued talking to someone who was already inside. "Hey," he muttered. He suddenly felt stupid. Not understanding why he came at all. She looked so confused when she saw him that he regretted the decision the moment he saw her face, but there was nowhere to run. "Can we continue this later, Paul?" she asked the guy she was talking to, and he nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Well?" Liana looked at him after a few seconds of silence. Patrick didn't say anything, leaning on one of the cabinets in her office and shifting his weight from his heels to his toes. He felt like a lost four-year-old seeking attention from his mom. "Patrick, why are you here?" she asked after he didn't say a word. "It's been a while since we talked." He tried to sound determined. "It's been two weeks since France. Before that, we didn't talk for a year, and you didn't show up here. Did something happen?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing. Always so practical. Always looking to solve a problem. "No," he chuckled.

"Do you need something?" she added another question. Liana didn't understand what was happening. Her heart was racing, and Patrick refused to explain himself. But when did he ever explain himself? When did he ever bother to answer one of her questions? "Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to build me a house, I'm not an Asshole" he indirectly jabbed at Art, about that time he practically demanded Liana build his house, which over time became her house (just like Patrick told her it would, but he wasn't petty). She sat down in her chair and sighed, closing her eyes for a moment.

He sat in the chair opposite her and examined her and her office in general. Her degree was framed on one of the walls, there were some letters of appreciation, a strange frog toy standing on a shelf, and Patrick swore it was looking back at him. "That's a gift I got from a client," she said quickly, almost justifying the creepy frog Patrick was staring at. "Was it a real frog once?" he asked, almost horrified. "No. Why are you here, Patrick?" she answered, and he returned his gaze to her. "To invite you to dinner," he said quickly, and she raised an eyebrow, the horrified look seemingly taking turns between them. "Both of you, of course, I have boundaries." he added quickly. "You're at my workplace, and you're talking about boundaries?" she chuckled. "I see the irony, yes." The familiar smirk appeared on his face. "It's not appropriate, you know it's not appropriate," Liana said, still looking at him as if he was the craziest man she had ever encountered, maybe he really was the craziest.

"Why not?" he asked, "You're getting married, and I'm in a stable relationship. We were all friends once, I don't see why it can't happen again," he tried to sound convincing. "What's the catch?" Liana asked, raising an eyebrow. "A man can stop being in love with you and miss his best friend." he said, looking at the picture of her and Art on the desk. "You two haven't been friends for a long time, Patrick." Liana sighed. "Whose fault is that?" he asked. And it came out with a lot more venom than he intended. "I'm sorry, Li, it's lonely. Okay? You have each other, and I don't. I'm not allowed to miss you, but I'm allowed to miss him." He sounded so vulnerable that all Liana could do was nod. Even though there was no way it would work.

"He won't like it." Liana muttered, trying to make Patrick give up. "You're good at ultimatums. I'm worth an ultimatum, Liana. Waste one on me." he moved towards the exit. "Still the same number?" he asked, and Liana nodded quietly, looking at him with almost pity. "I'll text you the address. This Friday," he didn't say an arrogant 'see you later' before he left because he wasn't sure if they would really see each other. And it was sad and exciting at the same time.

When Liana came home, Art was lying on the couch, flipping through TV channels, looking either bored or completely exhausted, one of the two. He smiled at her and glanced at the clock. "This isn't a reasonable time to come home, Ms. Donaldson," he said, and she heard the sarcasm. "I'm not married to you yet. I can still call the whole thing off, you know," she leaned against the doorframe, looking at him amused. "You won't do that." He smiled. "You're very confident for someone who didn't wait for me with takeout and flowers in a vase," she replied with a half-chuckle and moved towards the kitchen, hearing him stand up and follow her.

"Hey," his large, rough hands from holding a racket most of his life, wrapped around her from behind as he kissed her neck. "Hey." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting herself sink into his warmth, the security that only he could provide. "It really is late, Lia, you're working too hard." He murmured and bit her earlobe before she could respond. "It was a long day. And two hours of it, I sat with your mom and picked out napkins. It was really fun." She replied, feeling his chuckle against her neck.

Art gently turned her to face him, examining her and seeing the dark circles forming under her eyes. She was exhausted. "Oh no, you look worried," Liana said suddenly, and his smile was partial. Because he would never get used to how well she knew him. It always caught him off guard. "You're putting too much on your shoulders, Lia, and I love those shoulders too much for them to collapse." He gave her shoulder a small squeeze, not taking his eyes off her. "I can handle your mom, Art, she loves me more than she loves you anyway." Liana rolled her eyes in response. "Christine needs to stop telling you things like that, I can't handle your ego anymore." He said, amused.

"Do you love me?" Liana suddenly asked. Art couldn't help but chuckle and take a step back. "A bit of a weird question to ask in the middle of the kitchen in our house, a month and a half before you become my wife," the amused look didn't leave his face until he realized how serious she looked. "Art." She said, demanding he say it. "Of course I love you. How is that a real question right now, Lia?" He would have rolled his eyes if she didn't look so shaken in front of him. "Hey, what's with this talk all of a sudden?" He added, standing close to her again and hugging her as tightly as he could. If he could, he would have absorbed her into himself. To be part of him every moment.

"Patrick came to my work today," Art recoiled from her in a second. How did Patrick always show up in his life like an ambush? How did he always manage to surprise him? Why was Art never ready for the attack? Why did he always have to defend what was his? He looked at Liana with a look she probably couldn't read because he couldn't organize what was going through his head, he just felt his heart start to beat rapidly and his mind racing with all the worst thoughts forward. "Son of a bitch." Art muttered with a chuckle that came out more bitter than he planned, but it was all he had. "Art-" Liana sighed. "What is it this time? What does he want?" Art asked. His fingers danced uncontrollably. He felt how he couldn't stop his level of anger, how his tension was increasing, how he wasn't the person he wanted to be.

"He invited us to dinner. He wants to leave the past in the past." She sounded confident in what she was saying. Art chuckled. "He can shove his dinner up his ass and let it come out of his nose," Art said and started pacing back and forth in the kitchen. "Art." She sighed again. "Don't talk to me like I'm a 12-year-old, Liana, I know that tone," he interrupted her again. "Not what I wanted to do." She clarified. "My head is starting to hurt; can you stop?" She added, referring to his pacing. "Are you serious?" He looked at her after he stopped, "You want to go? Unbelievable." He muttered. "How did he convince you, Liana?" He asked.

"He didn't convince me of anything." She muttered and looked at Art. "He convinced you of something if you're even bringing it up." Art leaned on the table in front of her. He looked like a man ready for an attack. One who wasn't willing to let go until the other side surrendered, and Liana didn't plan to surrender anytime soon. "Would you prefer I hadn't told you?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'd prefer if you were smart enough to know he doesn't want to have dinner with us, not with me at least." Art said with disdain that didn't characterize him, not when he talked to Liana. "Call me stupid again and see what happens, I dare you," her jaw clenched after she said that, her anger evident in every syllable that came out of her mouth.

Art sighed, looking at the love of his life standing in front of him, furious. "I don't think you're stupid, Lia," he sighed in frustration, feeling all his anger leaving him. He couldn't be angry when she was angry too, one of them had to compromise, and after how he treated her in college, he swore to himself he would always be the one to compromise. That he would never let his anger be what led his words when he was with her. "So what do you think?" She asked, her gaze piercing, and luckily for him, couldn't actually kill. "I think you're naive," he said, searching for the right way to say it, "and that you'll always have a soft spot for Patrick," he added, examining her. "And you don't?" She asked, "You don't care about him? You won't care about him ever again? Wasn't he part of your life too?" She added the questions that hovered over them for years.

Of course, Patrick would always be part of Art's life. Sometimes Art dreams about him. Distant dreams, about the academy, about games they played together, about competitions they won together. There are entire conversations Art has with Patrick in his head, they're never about what really matters. They come up when Art eats a date before a workout and manages to imagine Patrick laughing at him. He sometimes knows in what intonation Patrick would say things or what would be the crudest joke to think of so Patrick could say it in the middle of a bar full of potential sponsors. Art misses the moments they smuggled beer when they were minors. The talks about their hot math teacher. Tennis.

"I've come to terms with him not being in my life anymore, Liana, I came to terms with it a long time ago," Art said, his eyebrows furrowing for a second. No one in the world besides Liana would have noticed it, but he stood in front of her, and she recognized the lie. "Okay." She surrendered and heard him chuckle, "What? You've come to terms with it, what can I do about it?" She added. "Clearly, you have something to say, so say it." He said. "I'm tired of fighting with Patrick and about Patrick, it exhausts me. I'm too old to carry this anger. I think you are too. I love you, and I don't think I can keep trying to convince you that nothing and no one can change that."

"You're quite convincing, Ms. Donaldson," he started moving closer to her until he finally stopped in front of her, moving his hand to her back pocket while hugging her possessively. Even though no one was around. "I'm not married to you yet. I can still call the whole thing off," She muttered into him what she told him every night from the moment he proposed and started calling her that. He just nodded and pulled her even closer to him.

"I can't believe he lives here," Art muttered as they stood at the entrance to Patrick's apartment. The suburb was uncharacteristic. None of them imagined Patrick would live in such a... quiet neighborhood. Liana ran her hand over Art's collar, straightening his sweater as she always did before they entered places together. "Behave. It's just one evening, and we can leave after half an hour if we want." Liana told him, seeing his eye roll.

Casey, Patrick's perfectly blond girlfriend, who wasn't actually a million years younger than him as Liana initially thought, enthusiastically opened the door. "You came," she smiled. It seemed genuine. Genuine enough for Liana to find it hard to be mad at her. "We brought wine and flowers," Liana handed her the wine, and Art handed over the flowers he was holding. Patrick stood behind her, looking amused but not saying a word. "Good to see you," he smiled at them. Liana nodded as Patrick extended his hand to Art, who took his time but eventually shook it. "Do you want a tour of the house? That's what adults do when they invite someone over, right?" he added, trying to lighten the mood, knowing Liana wouldn't refuse to see a house she had never been to. It was one of her favorite things to do. When they lived in London, she would drag him to various open houses, and they would pretend they were about to buy homes they couldn't really afford, just so she could see them.

"We'd love to," Liana said with a smile. Patrick's house looked like it was taken from a magazine. Like a catalog of how a home should look. She saw his mother's touch in the pictures he hung in the living room, in the candlesticks she saw on one of the shelves. "This is a good neighborhood to live in. My dad is big in real estate, and he recommended the area," Casey didn't stop talking, and secretly, Liana wanted to thank her for it because otherwise, they would have been walking around in awkward silence, moving from room to room as if they were on one of those London tours, surrounded by strangers.

"Who wants something to drink?" Patrick suddenly asked, and everyone raised their hands. Thank God. In the dining room, more people had already gathered, some of their mutual friends from the tennis academy. Liana thanked every god she knew that it wasn't just the four of them. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits, and Liana couldn't help but wonder if she was the reason Art didn't spend enough time with his friends. If he was wasting too much time keeping her company. She would have to ask him about it when they got home.

Casey was sweet. It was infuriating how friendly she was and how she tried to include Liana in a conversation about Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. It was almost infuriating when she asked her how the wedding preparations were going and made everyone interested in her and Art's wedding arrangements.

Art and Patrick went out to the balcony with beer. It was inevitable; after all, that's why Patrick organized all this, to put the past behind, to lie to Art's face, to find the right moment to return to the lives of the two people who were once his greatest motivation. "You're getting married," Patrick said suddenly, and Art swallowed, looking at who was once his best friend. "You won't be able to stop it, Patrick," Art said. "I'm here because she needed this, but I know what you're doing." He continued, not taking his eyes off the guy in front of him, who was once so close but today, when Art looked at him, all he saw was ruin. He saw Patrick destroying his life without blinking, without thinking twice. He had already done it once. Art wouldn't let it happen again; he was more prepared this time.

"I'm not trying to ruin things for you, man. I'm happy for you. For you both. Isn't this what you wanted?" Patrick asked Art while the latter took another sip of beer, leaning on the balcony and watching Patrick light a cigarette. "Want one?" he offered Art the pack. "I don't smoke," Art muttered, almost ashamed of the fact that he didn't live his rebellious youth like Patrick clearly still did, almost ashamed of the fact that their achievements were starting to look similar, but Art was doing everything by the book while even Patrick's expressions were smug. "Of course not," Patrick nodded his head, talking half to Art and half to himself, causing Art to roll his eyes.

"I'm not trying to ruin things for you," he repeated. "So what are you trying to do?" Art asked. "You don't care about Casey; I can see that. I know you." He continued, trying to press, trying to find weak spots. He couldn't leave this house without understanding the endgame of his most important competitor. "She's nice. It's fun with her," Patrick shrugged in response, and Art nodded. "It feels strange that you're getting married and I'm not part of either of your lives. Isn't that strange, Art?" Patrick sighed. "You haven't been part of our lives for a long time, Patrick," Art stated a fact. "I know," Patrick muttered. "Do you remember when you came to ask me for her key?" Art suddenly asked, and Patrick looked at him confused. "She and I had the fight, and about a week later, you asked me to give you the spare key to her room," he reminded him, and Patrick nodded slowly. "I told you not to do it. You made your choice that day," Art shrugged as if it no longer mattered to him. "Are you going to hold that over my head forever, Art? That was almost seven years ago," Patrick looked at him from the chair he was sitting on. "It was a pretty defining moment, Patrick," Art explained. "Look, man, she wants us to be okay, so we can be civil to each other." He continued, "I'm not at a stage where I'm looking for friends. I have everything I need."

"I didn't do it to ruin things for you, Art. It was never to ruin things for you," Patrick said suddenly, laughing in frustration and taking another drag from his almost finished cigarette. "So what was it?" Art asked. He looked at Patrick as if he were dirt he needed to scrape off his shoe. A problem he needed to solve. An obstacle to overcome. "It wasn't about you. It was for her. I would do anything for her. You're about to marry her; you surely know how that feels," Patrick sighed, feeling defeated.

"So that's why you cheated on her?" Art suddenly asked. It bothered him. Because for years, he managed to find logic in Patrick's behavior. He knew he loved Liana. He knew he cared for her in London. He imagined their relationship in his head as ideal. They were always closer than he and Liana were. They never fought just to fight; she never looked at him like she hated him because he ordered ice cream she didn't like or forced her to watch tennis or said something that made her parents laugh at her expense. She and Patrick were always ideal in Art's mind, and he envied that quite a bit when they were young. He regretted more than once that he introduced them, that he didn't keep his worlds separate. He envied them before he even realized how much he loved Liana. Then he found out Patrick cheated on her. And more than he hated him for how he made Liana feel, he hated the fact that all those years he believed she was in a relationship with someone more deserving than him. With someone who loved her more than Art knew how to love her, while Patrick was lazy, cruel, and unfaithful. And for that, he couldn't forgive him. For the time he took from them. For the illusion he shattered for both of them. "That's between Liana and me, Art," Patrick muttered. "You're saying choosing her all those years ago was inevitable because you loved her, and I would have accepted that two years ago. I would have, really. I would be sitting here thinking it made sense and that I would also choose Liana without hesitation because, it's Liana, and I love her, and I thought you loved her like that too. But then I saw you cheat on her and found out it wasn't the first time." Art stopped to catch his breath, his hand clenching into a fist irrationally. "I would never do that, Patrick. You ruined our friendship and didn't really choose her. Why? Was it worth it?" He didn't take his eyes off him. "You don't know how it was, Art. When it was just me and her. You don't know the level of expectations and disappointments. You don't know anything," Patrick felt the need to defend himself. Because if there was one thing that couldn't be taken from him, it was his love for Liana. "Poor Patrick, someone loves him and expects him to fulfill his potential. How could anyone not sympathize?" Art spoke in a mocking tone.

"Do you want to know what I think, Patrick?" Art approached him after a few seconds of silence. "Go on," Patrick's jaw clenched. "I think you don't love her. I think you love the idea that you can take what's mine. But you can't. You can beat me in tennis. But that's not what's important. It's a means to an end. The end will always be a good life for Liana and me. I think you're still sure you're hot shit, that without effort, you can keep taking what's not yours. That without looking people in the eye, you can hurt them, and they'll keep letting you off." Art stopped to breathe as they both didn't blink for a moment. "That's not the case. I'm not buying what you're selling here. Do you want to be invited to our wedding? Fine, I don't care. It's up to Liana, but you're not part of our lives, and you won't be." He finished, and Patrick let out a laugh that sounded like a deep breath.

"If you go to her workplace again, I'll make sure your next sponsor is painkillers." Art said as he moved toward the balcony door, feeling done with this conversation and the evening in general, wondering if it was too early to leave. "Good talk, pal," Patrick said sarcastically. "Yeah, good talk." Art muttered and left, leaving Patrick in a house full of people yet completely alone on the balcony.

When Art sat next to Liana on the couch, she was in the middle of a conversation with Brody's girlfriend. Art wasn't paying enough attention to remember her name. "Everything okay?" she whispered in his ear a few minutes later. "Everything's great." He felt her lips brush against his cheek for a moment. "We need to use our excuse?" she asked, and he looked at her for a moment, seeing her feel more comfortable with the people and not wanting to take that away from her. "Soon, it's all good." He smiled and nodded, watching her return to the conversation. He could endure another half hour in the hell called Patrick Zweig's apartment. He could do it for Liana.

Come to think of it, he could do almost anything for Liana.

Hey guys!!! It's been so long and I'm sorry. As you know, my computer was dead for a while, and then I was kinda taken aback by those hate comments. But we're back! What do we think? What does Patrick want? What about Art's reaction? Any thoughts at all? Hope you are still enjoying it. Talk to me and feel free to send more ideas for blurbs as well <3

taglist (if anyone wants to join, just ask): @lydiaxkirby @suzysface tqd4455 @soberbabes @nina357 @lamoursansfin @marley1773 @ruyaas-world @apolloscastellan @primlovesdilfs @fangirl-kimora @serenadingtigers @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @ganana @yoitsme-04 @swetearss

[phantomrose96]

Astounding. Incredible. Deeply, deeply horrifying. Incredible and it will be haunting me for at least the next 72 hours minimum. 10/10 sending it to everyone I know.

Reading the first time I fully did not register how much of a literal chekov's gun the disintegrator was. Made me think way to deeply on what is required for Danny to regenerate. Does it require at least a certain amount of flesh 'intact'? Cells? Molecules? Is it that so long as there is a single atom of his being around he will slowly and horrifically rebuild himself? What would happen if he did switch back? Would he briefly feel the incomprehensible pain of every scattered atom of his being or would it go to fast for him to comprehend the pain? Is he even able to fall unconscious when his body is injured that badly or does his being keep him awake at all costs as a self preservation method?

Anyways this is deeply terrifying and will now live happily next to Nothing Remains and Under Moonlight and all the other fan fics you've written traumatizing this poor, poor dead teenager.

(I've also spent way to long thinking about what comes after the end. What do you do with your friends exposed lung and vocal cords and mouth while he slowly regenerates? It's not like they could just leave him on the golf course screaming. But where could they put him that no one would hear? The thermos? The ghost zone? Hope that Vlad has something that could help?)

10/10 fic I'm chewing drywall thank you for writing this amazing piece!

(Prometheus)

JKDSNKJDSJKNDSJKNSD THANK YOU!!!!

I fully did not register how much of a literal chekov's gun the disintegrator was.

YEAH!!! I wanted there to be something that acted as a through-line in the story. I wanted Maddie and Jack's appearance near the end to be sudden and surprising and scary but not "out of nowhere." Carrying the gun through the story served that purpose so well because like, it's gaudy enough to capture people's attention, but it's also easily dismissed as background shenanigans... until it's not.

And the Disintegrator gets to evolve with the tone shift. It's some goofy combobulation Jack uses to blast fish out of a lake at the start. And then he tinkers with it. And it becomes this thing he can shoulder and point at Danny and draw a genuine fear response from his son (even if Jack had no intention of firing. And Danny is in no real danger) And then it becomes the thing he draws on his son with every intention of firing...

The damn thing even gets to be ripped to pieces and put back together over the course of the story. Danny brushing away loose nuts and bolts of the half-deconstructed Fenton Disintegrator while his liver stitches itself back together. But that's probably nothing :)

What is required for Danny to regenerate. Does it require at least a certain amount of flesh 'intact'? Cells? Molecules? Is it that so long as there is a single atom of his being around

YEah and this is absolutely part of the horror element to me. Danny doesn't know. He doesn't know how much is enough and how far-gone is too far gone. From my word of god, it's his ghost core that the reconstruction happens around (which is not a physical thing). So it at least means every cell is not about to spawn a new Danny (sorry no Under Moonlight angst here). But Danny doesn't know. And how can you tolerate gambling your life over and over and over with a mechanism you cannot understand?

Is he even able to fall unconscious when his body is injured that badly or does his being keep him awake at all costs as a self preservation method?

Yes. There is a ghost-amount of consciousness he's clinging to, which if he loses his grip on would result in him dying. ...Unless it doesn't. :) Danny doesn't know. Danny can't know. Danny cannot risk finding out. Because if he risks it, and he's wrong, he'll die. What's really the difference between "this will kill me" and "I THINK this will kill me, and the only way I can ever know for sure is to do it"? The difference only matters if Danny's made the decision he'd rather die.

I've also spent way to long thinking about what comes after the end

Nothing good. Nothing good. And consider how absolutely traumatizing it is for Sam, Tucker, and Jazz. They find Danny like this and they can do absolutely nothing while organs of himself scream. And this has been ~7 hours since the run in with the Disintegrator. Danny has only barely regenerated, starting from absolutely Nothing. It could be another 24 hours. Another 48. Before he's done. And he's required to stay conscious the whole time. He was desperately sleep-deprived already and now he needs to remain awake through this all because if he passes out with organs missing, he's done for. (Or he might be done for, and he cannot know for certain unless he takes that monumental gamble).

So what do Sam Jazz and Tucker even do. What do you even do? You can't leave him. God no you can't leave him. But you can't move him. You can't talk to him. You can't help him. You can't leave him. Do you sit in the snow? Do you sit for 24 hours watching screaming flesh grow back together? How ungodly long must 24 hours of that be? Will it ever stop screaming?

[deakyjoe]

Somebody’s Watching Me Part 2

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (she/her pronouns used, reader is implied British and given backstory)

Category: I still don’t know but it’s coming together

Summary: On a night out with your friends, you’re pleasantly surprised to run into your secret observer.

Warnings: flirting (Ghost and reader getting some action, they deserve it), mentions of war/death, talks of scars, alcohol consumption, Ghost being normal AND weird, the mask is off again, Ghost doing domestic things almost (socialisation in a pub), sexual references, family issues, reader’s friends are intense, British terminology/slang, swearing/cursing, dialogue heavy, minute Soap slander (I love him but couldn’t resist)

Word Count: 5.5k (longer than part 1)

A/N: After the love I got for part 1, I decided to continue so Simon is still my babygirl. Please remember that if Simon feels out of character, that’s the point of this story. It’s him when he’s not being Ghost but being forced to mix aspects of his life at home and his life at work - the work aspects being reader. Also he’s going out of his comfort zone to please the sergeant (you) because he likes you but just hasn’t really realised it yet. Not entirely sure I’m as pleased with this part as I was with the first but we’re posting anyway!

Part 1 available here.

Part 3 available here.

It took weeks before your friends finally managed to convince you to join them on a night out. You'd been putting it off for a number of reasons. One being that the thought of socialising in a crowded environment had you wanting to gouge your eyes out as you'd grown used to little to no company. Another being that you genuinely thought it'd be overwhelming and you might have a panic attack.

But after they'd assured you that they'd look after you and you could all leave if it got to be too much, you relented and organised a time and place with them. Just your local pub on a Wednesday night. You'd decided on a Wednesday as you hoped it wouldn't be too crowded and that your friends might need a pick-me-up in the middle of their work weeks. They agreed quickly with the idea.

And honestly it'd been nice for the most part. You'd arrived early, you swear active duty had made you so time efficient that you spent almost no time at all getting ready, and sat down at a table in the corner, out of sights of the most of the rest of the pub. The only thing in direct eye line was the bar itself which would come in handy when you needed to go up and order drinks.

Your friends all slowly arrived, none of them being too late, and gave you big greetings as they hadn't seen you in "forever" they claimed. You returned hugs and kisses and prepared yourself for a night of bombarding questions and retelling of war stories.

A couple of your girlfriends were bought drinks by guys at the bar and you watched on in amusement as they giggled about it together. They assured you that someone would probably buy you a drink if you asked but you waved them off saying you didn't care, which you didn't.

You listened intently as they all told you what was happening with their lives - work, significant others, kids, families, pets, parties, weddings, funerals, birthdays, anything and everything you could possibly imagine. A note of envy settled in your stomach at one point but it went away quickly when you told yourself you were being silly.

Telling them about your life was slightly more complicated. You had to skirt around some of the details of your job as it was classified and would probably horrify them if they knew what you truly did. You gushed about some of the amazing people you'd met and mentioned casually that you'd actually bumped into your lieutenant in the supermarket. They all absorbed it with wide eyes of wonder and amazement, each of them having at least one question to ask.

"So, wait, you can actually shoot a gun?"

"Does it bother you having to bunk with a bunch of blokes?"

“What’s said country like?”

"Are any of them fit?"

"Isn't it tiring?"

"How long until you go back?"

"Met anyone you fancy?"

"Hang on, you have to share a communal bathroom?"

Yes, it's alright, not really, they're okay, very, not sure, oh my god, yeah.

They never really seemed satisfied with your answers and always wanted you to elaborate. Which you did if possible.

Overall, it was nice. There was no sense of impending doom or a weird feeling in your stomach about the whole thing. You let your guard down just enough for once to attempt to have a good time. Which you did. You laughed, you chatted, you drank, it was good.

Until the bar tender came over with a drink that looked exactly like what you usually ordered.

And when he placed it in front of you, you wanted to throw up.

"Fella at the bar bought this for you."

This was it. The moment in the night that you looked forward to the least and the moment your friends had been encouraging the most. They insisted that you needed to "put yourself out there more" and “try to get laid at some point”. You were "too uptight" as they put it. Little did they know that you weren't really interested in a quick shag or even a relationship with anyone at the moment. And rejecting someone was always awful. Every time they asked why and having to explain that your job made romantic entanglements extremely hard made things awkward.

"Ooh, this is so exciting!" One of your friends squealed beside you, frantically searching the bar for the culprit. "Which one?"

“Blond one.”

Oh.

"Tall."

My.

"Scars on his face."

God.

Your eyes shot towards the bar and immediately landed on him. Of course he was already looking your way with his drink raised to you.

"Shit." You cursed, silently letting out a sigh of relief that it wasn't someone you'd have to reject but all the more anxious because it was him. A part of you was very excited to see him though.

"What is it? Do you know him?" Another friend asked you.

"He's my lieutenant. Fuck." You stood from your seat, grabbing the drink.

"The one from the shops?"

"Yeah. I'll be back in a minute, guys. I'm just gonna go say hi." You explained, slowly making your way towards Ghost.

"Take your time!"

You hadn't seen your lieutenant since he'd gone over to your place for tea. It was a weird experience. Weirder than the shops. You'd had a couple cups of tea each, shared his packet of chocolate digestive biscuits, which he'd kindly offered to you, chatted a little more and then he'd left. You didn't exchange phone numbers or even offer to see each other again. He didn't because he probably didn't want to and you didn't because you thought he probably wouldn't want to. So you'd gone your separate ways and that was that.

As you got closer to him, you wished you hadn't had so much to drink. You weren't drunk but you weren’t sober either. Kind of just bordering the edges between being buzzed and tipsy.

"Simon."

He turned so his body was facing yours, his large frame consumed the stool he was sitting on. Intimidating and alluring all at once. "Sergeant."

"You really should start calling me by my name." You sighed, stopping to stand in front of him.

"I like calling you sergeant."

"And I liked calling you lieutenant." You shot back, taking a sip of your drink despite your head screaming at you not to.

"Bet you like calling me Simon more."

Your eyes widened at his statement. He wasn't wrong but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that. "Thanks for the drink, by the way."

"It's no problem. Thought I owed you for the bourbon."

You hummed in agreement but said nothing.

"Friends of yours?" He nodded towards your table where all of them were watching the two of you interact intently.

"Uh, yeah. First night out since being home so..." You shrugged.

"Having fun?"

"I was." You regretted your words immediately, knowing that you’d been insensitive.

"Ruined it, did I?" He asked but it wasn't malicious.

"No. Just... unexpected."

He nodded. "So, which one's your boyfriend?"

You were surprised at the question. Last time he'd enquired about your personal life it hadn't gone so well.

"You live alone?"

"Yeah. Used to have a hamster but he died a few months back."

He blinked at you and said nothing so you rushed off to make tea, desperately trying to come up with a new topic to talk about when you got back to him.

"That's presumptuous of you, lieutenant."

"Just making conversation with you, sergeant." The return of dropping rank had you tingling inside. Might have just been the alcohol though.

You huffed. "None of them."

"Girlfriend then?"

You shook your head. "Nope."

"Sorry soul you're torturing with your affection couldn't make it then? What a shame." His eyes narrowed, you presumed he was joking.

"I'll ignore that insult. I'm single." Setting your drink on the surface of the bar, you leant your hip against the side but not before taking a step closer to him.

"Lucky for the world then that you're not burdening anyone with yourself."

"Jesus, Simon." You laughed out of shock, struck with his bluntness.

"Had to be said."

"Huh, you really are a charmer." You flashed him a glimpse of your teeth in a small smile, brows raising on the last word of your sentence.

"I try my best.” Pause. “Why are you single?"

"Because my affection is a burden apparently." Repeating his own words back to him seemed better than explaining your depressing void of no romance in your life because of your job. But maybe he’d understand.

"I'm serious."

"Why do you care?"

Simon didn’t strike you as the kind of person who gave a shit about the love lives of people he worked with. So why did he seem so interested in yours?

He didn't answer straight away and when he did, it seemed rehearsed. "You're my sergeant, part of my team. It's my role to care."

"To make sure I stay alive. Not to inquire about my love life." You were properly frowning at him now.

Ghost raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry I asked."

With a sigh, you relented. "The job."

"Go on…"

"Makes it difficult. The job makes it difficult to date. Especially civilians." You added the last bit on with clenched teeth. It didn’t really matter. Civilians were not on your romantic radar.

"Would you want to date a civilian?"

He saw straight through you.

"No, not really."

"Hmm."

You wanted to avoid discussing the topic any further so asked a question to change the subject. "What're you drinking?"

"Scotch that Soap recommended."

"And?"

He swished the glass around, the ice clinking against the side. "Utter shite."

"Figures." You took a long look at his drink. “You drink it on the rocks.”

“Tastes better cold. Less shit.”

“That your second glass?”

"Monitoring my alcohol intake, sergeant?” He asked and you shook your head as he looked you up and down. “You gonna take a seat or just stand there all day?"

"I'm supposed to be going back to my friends." You gestured weakly over your shoulder with your thumb, kind of forgetting they’d still been there until that moment.

His eyes flickered between the table and you. "Think we both know that isn't happening any time soon."

You hated how he saw straight through you. "Do we?"

"We do. Take a seat, sergeant." He nodded towards the stool next to him.

You stood up straighter, making a point to look directly into his eyes. "I like being eye level with you."

His foot hooked around the back of your legs and tugged you closer to him. "Think you'll find that I've still got a couple inches on you."

Your skin flushed hot, he was so close to you. You reached out and tapped his chest a couple times before realising what you were doing and removed your hand. "Think you'll find that you've had a bit too much to drink, sir."

"Simon. Thought we'd established that you can call me Simon." He leant back a little bit, relaxing in his seat. “And thought we agreed that you weren’t monitoring my alcohol intake.”

"Sorry." You squeaked.

"Sorry who?"

With a smile, you looked up at him through your lashes. You already knew what you were going to say. "Sorry... Lieutenant Riley."

He smiled. Actually smiled. It was small but it was unmistakable. "Brat."

He was beautiful when he smiled. He was always beautiful but when Simon Riley smiled… he was radiant.

You lit up at the smile but glowered at the insult. "Simon!"

"It's true." He shrugged, taking another mouthful of his drink and wincing at the taste.

"I'm stubborn. Not a brat."

"Believe me, I know you're stubborn. You've almost died like twelve times because you're stubborn. Had to save you every time." He shook his head as if it were a grievance to him.

"Could've left me behind."

"Couldn't do that. I'm your lieutenant, remember? My role is to keep you alive."

"I'm sure Price would let it slide if you had good enough reason." You thought about your Captain and wondered if he'd let you die for a good enough cause. Probably. But you held no resentment towards that fact.

Simon's head tilted to the side as he watched you think. "Don't think he'd accept brat as a reason, hm?"

You raised a finger to correct him. "Stubborn. Not a brat."

"Definitely a brat."

"Stop calling me that." You whined.

"That was the brattiest thing you've ever said. In the brattiest voice." He glared down at you. "You whined."

"You're such a dickhead, Simon." You scoffed but it was clear you were holding back a smile.

"And you're a brat. Guess we're even."

"Okay, I'm going back to my friends. To get away from this targeted attack." You paused. "Unless you want to join."

"I'll pass."

"I guessed. Do you have any friends? Maybe you could use the socialisation." You offered, wondering whether the man ever spoke to anyone when he was home or if he completely isolated himself from the rest of the world.

"Don't have friends for a reason."

That answered that for you.

"And what's that?"

"Ask too many personal questions."

He had a valid point. People did ask too many personal questions and you could understand why someone like Simon wouldn't like that.

"They wouldn't. My friends. They know we tend to be... private."

"You're a sergeant and I'm a lieutenant. Neither of us are privates." He paused to let the joke settle in. "A little army humour."

"I got it. That was good." You beamed at him, eyes crinkling in the corners at his quip.

"How much do they know of what we do?" He nodded in the direction of your friends.

You thought it over for a moment. "Very little. They know more about my teammates than anything else. Even that is limited."

He stiffened at that. "What do they know of me?"

"My quiet lieutenant with no face. Until recently." You let your eyes roam his features, taking all of him in. He was remarkable to look at really. But you'd never voice that to him.

"Hmm."

"There's more but I won't divulge with you." It was a partial joke to mess with him a little. There was some truth behind it however. You may or may not have gushed about your lieutenant to your friends. But that was nothing really. Just friendly appreciation for the man who outranked you.

"That makes me nervous."

Playing with him was too easy and too fun. "You should be."

"I'm reconsidering sitting with you and your friends now." He frowned but wasn't completely serious.

That surprised you. "You were going to?"

"Maybe." He drank more of the Scotch and trembled. "Christ, this stuff is fucking disgusting."

"Order a bourbon, something you know you actually like." You sighed. "Please do. If they're too much we can leave."

"We?" He was always questioning we.

You rolled your eyes at him. "It's always we. Teammates, y'know?"

A level of unsureness settled over his face. "I know."

"Get used to a lot of we then."

"Don't plan on seeing you again after this." The admittance stung but you weren't going to let that stop you.

"I'm sure you thought that last time as well. But here we are. Are you stalking me?" There was a hint of genuineness in the question. There was no way this second chance encounter was pure coincidence.

He shook his head, waving the bar tender over and ordering a bourbon like you'd suggested. "You're too boring for that."

"You have such a way with words. Really know how to make a lady feel special." You said dryly.

"It's a gift." He scratched at the side of his nose, absentmindedly trailing a finger over one of his scars in the process.

"They wouldn't say anything, y'know? Or stare. If you're worried about that. I've come home with my fair share of scars over the years. They understand." You pulled the neckline of your shirt to the side to show off an old bullet wound that had scarred over on your collar bone.

Simon's eyes lingered on the mark on your skin but you couldn't quite read his expression. "People always stare."

"I don't."

"No, you don't." He hesitated. "Okay then."

"Wait, really?" You perked up.

"Yes, really. Quickly. Before I change my mind, sergeant." He rose from his seat, grabbing his drink and gesturing for you to go first.

You gazed up at him. It really was easy to forget just how big he was. "Quick question first?"

He didn't seem keen. "Go ahead."

"How long were you here watching me before you sent the drink over?" You really needed to know, to see how out of it you were.

"Not long." Lie.

Your brow furrowed. "How long, Simon?"

"About forty minutes."

Your eyes widened. You didn't expect it to have been that long. "Fort- Jesus. And I didn't notice you?"

He brushed you off with a small shrug. "You were having fun. Guard was down."

"Still."

"Don't dwell on it. I was just going to leave and not let you know I was here." His eyes moved away from you, the opposite side of his eye contact problem showing.

You ducked to the side to meet his gaze again. "Why didn't you?"

He shrugged again.

You offered him a small slip of affection, just the tiniest thing. "I'm glad you didn't."

He grunted in reply, which was more than you were expecting. So, you just gestured for him to follow you towards the table of your friends where you stopped short a couple feet away. You sent a quick glance over your shoulder to make sure that Simon was still, in fact, there and hadn't pulled a Ghost and disappeared. But he was still standing there watching you when you checked. Which meant it was time for introductions... which you sucked at.

"Everybody, this is Simon. My lieutenant. Simon this is... everybody." You frowned at the crowded table in front of you. "You'll pick up names. It's alright that he joins us, yeah?"

“Of course.”

"Yeah."

"Oh, my god, yes."

"Take a seat, mate."

"Where you from, Simon?"

"Manchester."

"Ugh, he's a Manc! Moving on!"

You laughed as you squeezed into the booth with Simon next to you, trying not to touch him too much. "What did I miss? What are we talking about?"

"My husband is cheating on me." One of your friends announced dramatically.

Your eyes widened at the confession. "What? Really?"

"I suspect he is." She pouted, slumping forward onto the table.

"As if. He worships the ground you walk on. As he should. What makes you think he's cheating?" You debated whether this was a good topic to be talking about with your lieutenant sat right there. But then you figured that Simon needed some friends. And what was a better way to make friends than through some old-fashioned gossip?

"Late nights as work. Going to the gym a lot. He's not getting any fitter either."

You winced. "Ah, well that is quite damning."

"Yeah. I'm trying to build up the courage to just ask him about it."

"Yeah, confront him. If he's cheating then come to me. I know how to use a gun and hide a body." You winked at her.

"Sergeant." Simon's warning tone came from beside you.

"I'm kidding, lieutenant." You looked to your friend again and mouthed. "I'm not."

Another one of your friends spoke up, leaning on the table on his elbows. "God, you guys are so formal. Even during leave."

"We don't have to be. He refuses to call me anything other than sergeant. I think it's because he secretly doesn't know my name." You nudged Simon with your elbow and then, realising what you'd done, pulled back quickly. Maybe taking a break from the drink would be a good idea for a while.

"Not true." Ghost shook his head slowly.

"So you claim. Yet you've yet to refer to me as anything other than sergeant."

"It's fun watching you squirm thinking you have to be on your best behaviour all the time." He sent you a sly smirk, his eyes squinting just the tiniest bit.

Your jaw dropped. "I'm asking Price to reassign me. This is bullying."

"Wouldn't let Price do it." He countered, leaning in dangerously close.

"Who's Price?"

The both of you pulled back at the question and answered simultaneously. "Captain."

"Ah, okay. The one with the mutton chops, right?" One friend offered.

You nodded. "Right."

Simon huffed. "That's what you told them about Price?"

"It's his best feature."

"Christ, woman." He groaned, rubbing a hand across his face.

"Ooh, woman's a new one."

A friend volunteered in your defence. "To be fair, she's not allowed to tell us much. She usually gives us one identifying feature of every person she tells us about. So we can keep up."

"I'm assuming Soap is the fact that he's Scottish."

"Scottish with Mohawk. He gets two."

"What's Gaz?"

"Baby of the team."

"Fitting. Me?"

You stayed silent.

"What is it?"

You shook your head. "Can't say. Classified."

"Sergeant." His voice was harsh, demanding.

But you weren’t going to give in. "Lieutenant."

"I won't be insulted." His voice dropped to its familiar bored tone, as if trying to force the idea that it wouldn’t bother him.

That’s not what concerned you however. "Don't think you would be."

"Then why can't you tell me?”

"Just can't." Stellar reasoning, well done.

"I could ask them." He tilted his head in the direction of your friends, who were all watching you completely enraptured.

You didn’t back down, stare hardening at him. "Go ahead."

"Fine." He turned to the table. "What's my identifying feature?"

There was a moment of silence before someone gave in and admitted it. Traitors. "You don't have one."

There was a split second of delay before he replied. "She doesn't talk about me then?"

"Quite the opposite actually." One of your friends giggled.

Another stepped in. "Talks about you sooo much that you don't need an identifying feature. Just know who her lieutenant is."

"Besides, apparently you usually wear a mask. You have no features."

A raised finger of a counterpoint. "Arguably, the mask is the feature."

Ghost turned to you, almost smug. "You talk about me, sergeant?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Simon. You're good at what you do. I can appreciate that." You sniffed, rolling your shoulders back to force yourself to relax.

"Out loud? With your friends?"

You shot him an irritated look. "Get over yourself."

"Didn't say anything."

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "I know what you're thinking."

"I'm sure you do." He exhaled deeply, glancing away from you towards his drink.

Your own gaze moved back towards everyone else around the table. "Moving on! What else is happening with you guys?"

"Saw your parents a couple days ago. They said they didn't know you were home."

Well, that wasn’t the jollier topic you hoped to move on to.

A fake smile automatically set itself on your face at the mention of your family. "Fuck. What did you say?"

"Lied for you and said you only just got back. Might want to call them."

"I will do that. At some point.” Lie, lie, lie.

"Mhm, your sister had another baby as well. That's what? The fourth niece or nephew you haven't met?" There was a note of condescension in your friend’s voice.

You shrugged, knowing you had a decent enough reason. If your job counted as decent. "I've been busy. And it's only the second."

"We're not judging. Your parents might be though."

"Well, that's lovely to know." You slouched down in your seat. The relationship with your parents was… touchy, to say the least. Desperately seeking their approval for years had left the bond with them strained. And you being away from home so often definitely hadn’t helped the rockiness of it all.

"Also they seem convinced that you've met a military man and are going to come home engaged or married..."

Your face scrunched in disgust. "Oh, ew. What the fuck?"

Simon elbowed you harshly in the ribs. "We're not that bad."

"Share a bunk with Soap and come back to me on that." You snapped back. Your fellow sergeant was a snorer who regularly farted in his sleep. He was like your brother but man did you hate having to sleep in close proximity to him.

"Fair point.” He grumbled back to you. “But why are they under that impression?"

"They know I don't date civilians."

"Or anyone." One of your friends mumbled in her drink.

"Thank you.” You sent her a sarcastic smile. “So they think I'm after a man in uniform."

"Aren't you?" The same friend asked.

You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw. "In... theory."

"Not in practice though." She carried on, loving the way you were squirming.

"We know not in practice, okay? Doesn't need to be said aloud.” You spared a glance at the man beside you before adding a harsh whisper. “Especially in front of my lieutenant."

"I'm sure Simon is loving this."

"It comes with the job. Family troubles and no love life." He offered some of your words back to you from earlier, shrugging. You were glad of the support from him, even if it was only your own thoughts.

"You got any friends for her Simon? Anyone on the team you think she'd be good with?"

He shook his head. "Nah, not good enough for her."

Wait, what? Not good enough? For you? Since when did he have such a high opinion of you?

A friend of yours cooed. "That's sweet. If it helps, she's great in the sack."

You choked on the mouthful of drink you were taking, slamming your glass back down. "And how exactly would you know that?!"

"I shared a house with you in uni, babes. I remember all those guys coming out of your room with dazed smiles looking as if they'd just had the time of their life." She grinned at you slyly.

Eyes wide. Jaw dropped. Heart racing. "Oh, my god. Please shut up."

"You asked."

"I didn't need such a detailed answer!” You were ignored.

"Although you may be quite rusty at the moment. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

You covered your face with your hands. "For the love of everything that is good in this world, please be quiet."

"I'm just saying. We're all friends here, aren't we?" She laughed, mainly gesturing towards your higher up.

"He's my lieutenant!"

"Wait, Simon, are you single?"

You cut in before it could go any further. "Nope! Okay! So... sister? Baby. Parents? Delusional. What else?"

Everyone around the table chuckled at your reaction but moved on anyway, much to your relief.

"They're hoping you’re home for Christmas this year."

Your hand tightened around your drink. "I hope I'm not."

"Thought you'd say that."

Paying little attention to what your friend actually said, you mumbled to yourself. "That's fucking ridiculous of them. What the actual fuck?"

"We said the same." Mumbled loud enough for them to overhear apparently.

Simon looked confused. "What's the issue there?"

You failed to answer so someone else did for you. "They uninvited her to Christmas three years ago. Hasn't been back since."

"Why would they do that?"

"Didn't approve of her lifestyle."

He turned to you. "Your... lifestyle?"

"Murderer daughter." You bit back, bitterly.

His body tightened with tension. "You're not a murderer."

"Tell them that." You snorted. "Why do they want me home now?"

"Beats us.” Your friends said in weird unison.

"Wish they'd make their mind up over whether they want to disown me or not. It's exhausting trying to keep up."

The table laughed at that. Simon did not. But did he laugh at anything?

“I’m gonna get another drink. Want one?” He looked down at you, pointing vaguely at your almost empty glass.

“Uhh… sure. Thanks.” You smiled at him, which he obviously didn’t return. After briefly asking everyone else if they wanted anything, which they declined, he stalked off in the direction of the bar.

Once he was a few paces away, one of your friends practically launched herself halfway across the table and lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. "He's gorgeous, babes."

You decided to play coy. "You think?"

"You don't?" Her brow was raised in disbelieving accusation.

The coy act was dropped pretty quickly. "Oh, I know he is. Just didn't think you would."

"Well, I do. And he’s definitely your type, absolutely perfect for you. Plus he so likes you."

You scoffed. "No, he doesn't."

"He fancies the pants off of you!" She insisted.

You didn’t buy it. "I can guarantee that he does not."

"He can't take his eyes off you!"

"He has a staring problem." You shrugged, it was true.

"Yeah, the problem is that he can't stop staring at you."

You thought about it. Yeah, he stared at you a lot. But he stared at everything. Didn't mean he stared at you with... feelings or whatever your friends were implying. Just that he had a staring problem.

"Lieutenant Simon Riley does not like me." It was a finalised statement, one that you believed wholeheartedly.

"Open your eyes, babes. He likes you."

"Do you like him?"

Avoid answering. "Not allowed to like him. He's my lieutenant."

"That doesn't answer our question."

Shit.

"Maybe a little." You pinched your fingers together, there was no point lying to them, and shook your head. "Doesn't matter anyway."

"Why?"

"Because, say he did like me, he'd never admit it. And I'm not going to push him into anything. I'm just glad he's talking to me and accepting my attempt at us being friends." That was true. You were loving how he wasn’t completely rejecting your friendship. He maybe wasn’t embracing it but he wasn’t pushing you away either.

"That's so sad, babes."

"Cheers.” You deadpanned. “It can't happen anyway."

"Why not?"

"Relationships aren't allowed. Makes us a liability. My captain would reassign one of us as soon as he caught wind of it. And it would be me." The thought of Price reassigning you was horrid. You loved your team more than anything.

"Simon said he wouldn't let your captain reassign you."

That was true, he did. "He was joking... I think."

"I don't think he was. That man stares at you like he's ready to eat you. It's like listening to Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen in real life!"

Groan. "You watched Dirty Dancing again, didn't you?"

"Yes, but that's not the point. The point is that Simon looks at you with hungry eyes. And don't judge my love for Dirty Dancing." Two of your friends nodded in agreement with her.

"I'm not. I'm judging your favourite song choice when Love Is Strange by Mickey and Sylvia is clearly the superior song on the soundtrack." You said as you downed the last bit of your drink, thankful Simon was bringing you another one. Your mouth was dry and the initial buzz was wearing off. You’d need more alcohol if this interrogation was going to continue despite it probably not being the best idea.

"Blasphemy!” She declared before quietening herself. “Oop, we gotta be quiet now because he's coming back over. Simon!"

He froze in his tracks, a glass clasped in each large hand. "Yes?"

"Can you settle a debate for us?"

You froze too, wide-eyed. They weren't going to ask about him staring at you, were they?

"Sure...?"

You smiled at his unsure tone. Big, scary man who got shot at for a living was terrified of answering a little question.

"You've seen Dirty Dancing, yeah?"

You relaxed.

"I have."

Surprising.

"Which is a better song? Hungry Eyes or Love Is Strange?"

"Oh, I... uh-"

"Leave the poor man alone." You laughed despite being a little curious about his music taste.

"I always liked She's Like the Wind."

That shocked you to your core. "Patrick Swayze fan?"

"Used to have a mullet just like his." He placed your drink in front of you. "Here you go. You look surprised."

"I always am when you don't disappear. And when you admit to being a Patrick Swayze fan." You snorted, taking the drink from him.

"Learn to have a little faith, Sarge." He sighed as he sat down next to you again, an inch closer than before you were sure.

A burning feeling settled in your chest at the nickname. Sure, it was only a shortened version of your rank, and a common one at that, but it was something. Not sergeant. Not woman. Sarge. You decided to let it slide to see if he’d ever do it again of his own accord.

"Your name's Ghost for a reason." You sing-songed, the image of his mask flashing through your mind.

"I'll give you that. But remember, Simon here."

"Still weird."

"Still Simon."

You chewed the inside of your bottom lip before asking your next question. "Patrick Swayze?"

"He was blond."

"Like you, you mean?"

Hesitation. "Yeah."

You hummed and thought about him with a mullet. What an odd thing to admit to you. But you’d never complain. If Simon was willing to offer you little tidbits of silly information about himself, then you were going to absorb every single one and treasure them forever.

A/N: Simon with a mullet as a teen because he wanted to be Patrick Swayze when he grew up is canon to me now.

[yaut-jaknowit]

How about a human womans gets pregnant with a yautja (They are probably in a lab). The male escapes and takes her back to his clan and hands her off to the females of the clan. And instead of falling in love with the male, the sire of the unborn pup. the human womans gets together with another female who is teaching the ways of the yautja. Maybe the male stops by here n there...

Lose Yourself

Pairings: Male Yautja x AFAB!Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 4039

Summary: Four concrete walls have been your sight for the last year. Caregivers and doctors see you every day to ensure your heath. Then three months ago, they introduced you to him. A creature not from this world that you can tell. He does not speak but the two of you have an understanding and one another.

Author Note: When this popped up in my feed, I started to bounce off of the walls like a crazed animal. I love this idea so much. In the future, I would love to write out a whole story like this. For now, I'm just going to do at least two parts, maybe three for this.

Part 2

Masterlist

Ao3

Blaring sirens jolt you back into reality. Your heart instantly leaps into your throat and lodges itself there. The whites of your eyes clear even in the limited light of the dingy cell you dared to call home.

Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around your knees and carefully watched the only entrance and exit to this singular, minute room. The alarm meant something. Terrible things. Nothing ever good came from it. Your head was plastered to the tops of your knees as you observed for any incoming threat.

This wasn’t a horrible life. Three meals a day; seen by doctors – or at least what looked to be doctors – practically every day; clothing on your body. But the fact you weren’t allowed to leave the room unless they wanted you or you didn’t have anything to stimulate your brain. Just an animal on the verge of insanity, forced to be driven there with no relief.

The people who keep you locked in here are the only people you are able to interact with. It’s one sided. You lost your will to try and gain any words besides the casual ‘how are you feeling today?’ from them. They might mix it up after some time but it was always the same doctor-patient relationship.

Out of everything here though, what caught your attention was the thing they brought you to a few times before. Everything about him is locked down and sealed tight from both sides. Not even a name from the lumbering giant.

From the limited times you’ve got to interact with him, you’ve learned he wasn’t a nice character. At first, he had nearly torn you apart before he had jerked to a stop. Akin to a horrified look passed over his alien features and he backed away. After that day, he’s been reasonable to be around. For some reason, your ‘caregivers’ love to know how you interact with him or what he’ll do if… you were some sort of danger.

Not the most protective creature, he’ll snarl and growl if the guards are too rough with you. His chains prevent him from doing anything physical. Once you are completely alone with him though, the chains that keep him locked to the wall are slackened. He’s now allowed to move about the vicinity as he seems fit.

Move he does. He stalks, prowls around the room, searching for any way for escape. They way he moves gives you the hint he’s this predator, like a lion hunting its prey. When you watch him, you admire him and prowess.

Wishful thinking makes you pray for him to find a weakness and escape from this horrid place. The chains on his wrists are more than tight. It’s daily occurrence blood drips from cuts. He tries to hide it, obscure it from sight but the eyes are the window to the soul. You are able to read his pain, every wince when the chains rub just a hair too much. You worry about him, this creature that was no human.

The first time he allowed you to touch him was a miracle. When the session was over, you were immediately yanked from the premises and shoved into a different room. Your caregivers began to berate and demand answers on why he was allowing you such contact. As the clueless person you are, you just shrugged your shoulders.

That night, they left you with a few more bruises than usual.

The door swung open and revealed a guard and a caregiver. Same protocols as always. You were taken from your room and swiftly led further down to what you believed to be the lowest level of this complex. The entire way there, you were compliant and willing. You’ve done your fair share of fighting, everything in your power to leave this place.

But it never worked. It wasn’t truly accepting your fate but going along the motions. Your mind has long grown numb, completely stale to everything. It needed stimulation but no one offered that.

A quick shove had you toppling onto your hands and knees. A loud snarl and rattling chains, metal creaking from tremendous amount of weight thrown against echoed in the limited space. You hissed at the new wounds on your knees and whipped your head up.

Though weakened from lack of food and proper exercise, the alien was straining against the shortened chains. His blazing eyes were on you, taking in everything your caregivers did to you.

With a click, the thick steel door latched shut and trapped you in here with him. You sighed and stood back up while taking a glance behind you. The only entrance to the room sealed off until they choose to retrieve you. Until then, you calmly walked over to the ashen, grey alien and sat down close by. A respectful amount of space placed between the two of you.

Two more clicks entered the air. The chains that once locked him to the wall slackened and allowed the predator free range.

He instantly stalked over to you and knelt down. You picked up your head to find his eyes still on your sitting form. His gaze flicked down to your scrapped knees.

Those strange mandibles of his, or fangs could be a better word, didn’t offer any lips to form words. Not English at least. He seems to speak in his own but neither of you could truly understand one another in words. Instead, gestures got you farther in this strange friendship you’ve created with him. He was the only being in this forsaken place to offer niceties.

You reached to the fresh wound. Blood already dotted the scrapped skin. Nothing that cried for a bandage. Not that you would get in the end. “It’s alright,” you reassured him and threw a thumbs up at him. A sign he’s learned meant everything was fine.

He hovered still and stayed sat on his haunches at your side. A little unusual for the predator always on the move. When he was with you, ninety percent of the time he is prowling the given space and observing the door. You didn’t need to be told he was searching for his escape.

One animal, spirit lost to the solidarity. 

Another animal, always moving, always searching.

It didn’t take further than five more seconds for your gaze to drop and head to lean against the cool wall. It was colder in this room than even the halls that lead to here. You’ve pondered the reasons but have never come up with something concrete.

Warmth cupped your cheek and tilted your head back up to the only figure in this room. Your jaw dropped at the touch, eyes widening while you could only stare at the alien.

Once he found your eyes, he leaned in, diverted slightly to the side, and placed his alien mouth next to your ear. “I will get us out of here,” he whispered barely a fraction over his breath. You gasped in reaction, ready to spew questions when his thumb pressed against your lips. The words died in your throat before they could become sound.

Then, he nuzzled his mandibles to the crook of your neck and pulled back. The whole interaction had you puzzled but slightly scared shitless. Thise sharp fangs so close to your throat, knowing they could rip it out if he wanted. But instead, he promised your escape.

Escape.

It was like he offered you a sack of gold as a peasant.

“Please,” you murmured back and against the pad of his thumb. He grunted then stood up. The chains rattled at the movement and clacked against the ground. You saw the way his hands twitched at his sides when the sharp edge dug into his already sore flesh. Thick, raised scars would be left in its wake. That, you were sure of.

The alien moved away from you and began his pacing. It was the same pathing he always took. He looked high and low. You stayed there on the ground despite it hurting your lower back and watched him. As he moved, the hope that bubbled inside of your chest began to dwindle. Maybe he didn’t have a plan just yet or even the start of one.

You missed the feeling of the sun on your skin, the smell of fresh air. Freedom. That’s the base core you craved the most while in the pits of this place. You had no plans for escape. It didn’t look like he did either.

A hand ran through your knotted locks and started to work out the small rats' nests growing. He had spoken to you. Spoke English. After all the times you’ve been in contact with him, he finally speaks up and says that. But why did he say it so quietly?

Your eyes darted around the room, hiding behind your lashes. Four cameras. They left no space unseen. Did he not want anyone to know he could speak your language? I huffed and drew your knees while resting your chin on them.

Another click drew you from well of your thoughts. A sound you’ve heard before. The chains began to sucked back into the wall and dragged the struggling alien back to his original place. You watched with a sorrowful gaze, knowing every pull cut deeper into his forever bleeding cuts.

Before he could officially trapped back to the wall, he lunged at you and trapped your now quiver form to him. His body was a few degrees warmer than the room itself. The textured scales that covered him from head to toe rubbed against your back. You gave a yelp and struggled at first but stopped, hoping he wouldn’t harm you after all this time.

The first time you met flashing in your mind. What had stopped him?

His grasp on you wasn’t harsh or demanding, but firm, not allowing you slip away from him. The claws that tipped his fingers looked they could gut you like a fish. Yet, he ensured they didn’t dig into your skin.

The chains stopped once he was pulled to the wall but with you still in grasp. The door was ripped open and in poured seven heavily armed soldiers, guns directed at the two of you. You screamed and tucked into his chest and seek protection from the only friendly figure here. His arms tightened around in a secure manner. A deep rumbled beginning to grow from the depths of his chest.

In walked the main caregiver for you and him. You submissively bowed your head, afraid to look her in the eye and feel her wrath; or be knocked out and wake up in pain again.

The woman wearing a white coat looked down her nose at your meek form then gazed up at the predator trapping you. “You won’t hurt her,” she stated with a voice honeyed and sweet. How could she be so sure of something unknown? Even you didn’t know what his intentions were.

Warm, callused finger ensnared your throat. Your heart jumping and thumping against the digits holding your life. A whimper breaking free of your cracked, cry lips. The arm still wrapped around your torso  tightened but the hand rubbed the area behind your back. You inhaled sharply and slackened in his hold.

She marched forward and only left a space between her and you that dared him to take the lunge. “It’s against your honor code, isn’t it?” Your brows furrowed at the new information, unsure of what this ‘honor code’ entailed but hoped it truly meant he won’t kill you.

He growled and sent vibrations up your spine. Goosebumps were left in its wake. You shuttered and pressed yourself more into him.

Harsh, vile clicks and snarls sounded from his alien throat as he spat alien words at the doctor. An unamused gaze fell on her face while the grey creature said his piece.

When the sounds ceased and he breathed heavily, she used a finger to wipe spit off of her face and flicked back at him. “Are you done?” she huffed and rolled her eyes. “Your kind is so predictable. Quick to surge with rage and believe themselves to be high and mighty. Not for much longer.” You wanted to somehow shrink even more against him but there was not even a molecule of space to take up.

“Now, hand over the subject and we’ll still feed you tonight. And if you don’t… well, that’s for me know and you to find out.” You shuttered at her words, hand finding his arm and squeezing it. He returned the action with his arm still wrapped around your torso.

An action she saw. Her posture sagged then she spun around and walked behind the seven soldiers. They were used as a wall of protection.

“Retrieve the subject. Don’t kill either of them. Harm is okay,” she gave the order you knew was about to occur. Your eyes instinctively shut as you prepare for bullets to begin flying.

A deafening roar rattled your brain. Metal snapped. The heat you were once pressed against was gone. The pure instinct to search it out strong before your brain could register the scene unfolding in front of your trembling form. Your feet glued to the spot.

Even though he’s lost some of his muscular physique, this lethal giant showed off his strength and prowess. He had already thrown one of the soldiers into a wall, a dent left in its wake. Another was meeting the business end of this predator… and loosing not only the fight but their life as well.

Blood sprayed across the ground in a terrifying arch. The ruby red a sight you weren’t prepared to see. His claws causing the damage to be dealt and valuable life essence to be spilled at your feet. The same claws that had been wrapped around neck so softly moments before.

Bright pops of light and ear-bleeding claps left you dizzy in where you stood. You stumbled back and rested your shoulder against the cool concrete wall. The scene before you continuing to unfold as if you didn’t even exist.

It swiftly became a blood bath. The seven soldiers she brought into here were desecration into nothing more than piles of shredded meat and bleeding blood bags on the ground.

The horror that morphed over her usually neutral face was satisfying to say in the least. The fact she wasn’t going to be able to step out of this room dawned upon her. You watched as the color drained from her face with each step backwards.

Unlike you, she was trapped and at the will of the alien that bore his gaze down on her. You may be pressed against the wall like her, but you were safe, not afraid of him spinning around and mistaking you as one of them. You knew it in your heart he was following through with his promise. You’ll see the light of day again, breathe the fresh air of the day. Strangely enough, you felt giddy.

“You can’t do this! I’m unarmed!” she screamed at him and pointed a trembling finger at the grey alien. What’s with that? Does it have to do with this ‘honor code’ she spoke about before?

Oh, but he could. In a terrifying millisecond, your eyes couldn’t register what had truly happened. Her body laid motionless at the feet of the lumbering alien. Her back faced you, her head was turned towards you. The cold, lifeless blue eyes of hers stared blankly, unfocused.

Dead.

You released a shuttering breath and timidly looked at him. Said creature stood back to his full height and rolled his dense shoulders. The muscles that lined his shoulders and back rippling at the motion.

Then, the alien spun on his heel and marched over to you. For a scared shitless moment, you best believed you were about to receive the same treatment. What stopped him from doing so?

He came to a stop before you and offered you a hand. “We are getting out.” Words of English were rumbled at you. Your eyes flicked down to the open palm. The freedom you begged for since the day you arrived here was standing before you. Not in a form you were expecting.

You took his hand.

One moment, the ground was touching the bottom of your feet. The very next, your legs had to wrap around a wide frame, arms snug around his throat. His back to your chest. He patted your forearm. “Hold on tight. Do not let go,” he ordered then marched towards the door.

It was closed, still sealed. What was he going to do about that?

That had to a be stupid thought after watching him massacre the entire room. Clearly he had an idea, some plan to get you two out of here. As much as you hated to this, it gutted you, you trusted him fully to release you from this prison.

Carefully, he crouched down and grabbed a key card from a pocket of the doctor. Red from his hands smeared onto the thin piece of plastic. He held it up to a small area next to the door.

With a whoosh, the door opened. The moment it did. All the white lights suddenly flashed to red. A horrifying screech entered the air before going into a low pitch then back up. It continued to do this while he carried him and you into the hall.

His head whipped side to side, thoughts determining which way to go. You perked up at this and motioned for him to go left. “The stairs are next to the elevator,” you reasoned with him. He grunted and began to full on sprint in the given direction. This hundreds of pound of flesh barreled down the hallway like a semi-truck. Nothing could stop him unless he wanted to stop.

A ninety degree came up. The alien just slid and used an arm to keep himself from slamming into the wall. He continued on. You buried your face into his neck, ignoring the strange rubbery dreads that slapped against your head and face with each of his steps.

The hallway led him to the necessary door. He didn’t even try the handle when he full on kicked it down. The metal screeched as it was torn from the hinges and laid to rest at the bottom of the stairs. With that out of the way, he leaped easily over it and took three steps at a time.

The alarm still blared its horrible tune and forced a headache to pound inside of your skull. You whined and scrunched your nose, unable to relieve yourself of the noise.

Over the noise, you heard the tall tell sign of thundering footsteps. You tensed up, breath shuddering and catching in your throat. In reaction, you go to open your mouth and speak of the discovery. A single finger was held up in your line of sight. You closed your trap and hunkered back down.

He launched himself up a flight of stairs and crashed into something hard. Gunfire sounded less than ten feet away. A bullet never hits you as he powered through a sea of bodies. You kept yourself locked onto his back like a monkey for dear life. You don’t know if he would come back for you if you were to fall off. Or if a soldier may just kill you to solve half of their problems.

Warm, slightly substance latched onto your arms. You shuttered, already coming to the conclusion of what it is.

Dying, horrified screams echoed off the halls. They decreased in amount and volume until the last one was silenced.

A new quiet filled the air besides the heavy breathing from the beast you clung to. Ringing echoed inside of your ears and worsened your headache. You groaned and clenched your hands into a tight fist.

He moved on.

You were brought back to reality as the warmth tinglingly the back of your neck and arms. Confused, you picked up your head and opened your eyes.

Bright light first had you flinching but powering through the pain. Sunlight greeted you. Its light painful at first but warmth more than welcomed. Your jaw dropped at the sight now before you.

A vessel… No. A space craft. A UFO. And it had to be his.

The alien didn’t stop moving across the short field that took him less than ten seconds to clear reach the feet of the ship. He slammed his fist against the belly of it. A screeching hiss entered the air.

A slab of metal began to peel itself away from the belly of the craft and angle one end towards the ground. The sight something you would see from Star Wars. You could only watch in amazement as the alien marched up the ramp. He rushed his way through the insides and took expert turns until he reached the cockpit. His feet skidded to a stop at a console and hands flying across the panels.

You pulled yourself up higher and watched. He pressed buttons and started the engines.

They rumbled to life under his feet. The ship waking up from an unknown amount of rest.

Hanging off of his back, you spotted movement through the glass window before you. A hoard of soldiers poured from the facility you had broken out of. A cold sweat dripped down the length of your spine at the sight. You tapped rapidly on his shoulder to gain his attention. “We’ve got company,” you warned, voice wavering.

The creature scoffed and turned his head enough to meet your eyes. “Not for long,” he answered. A smirk that you didn’t need to see was evident in his voice. He reached over and grabbed a throttle. Pressure was added to the stick.

Power was fed into the engines. Their sounds gaining in volume. You felt it before you noticed the fact the craft was starting to lift off the ground. The people rushing towards the two of you doubled their efforts as they began to grow smaller.

Something hit the roof and prevented the vessel from gaining anymore height. The creature just scoffed and added extra power to the engines.

Metal groaned and gave way. The ship returned to its form ascent into the sky. You release a sob of relief while the two of you continued to climb into the sky. The prison left behind as everyone could only watch your escape.

Once blue skies transitioned to black and sparkles shining through, he released the tension in his shoulders then patted your forearm. “You can get down now,” he said and knelt down. The warm metal floor touching the bottom of your bare feet. You finally relented your hold on him and stretched out your muscles. Soreness sunk into your muscles after clinging to him for so long.

He turned around to look at you fully. The two of you taking the other in without the constant pressure of being under watch and locked into a room.

A smile broke across your dirtied features. It was slow, a small dribble of happiness filling your veins before it became a rush. You pumped your fists into the air and gave a lungful cheer that echoed back at you. Damn that headache, you could care less about it when freedom was returned to you at last.

Close to the end of your excitement, an ear-piercing roar sounded with your call. You stopped abruptly and looked at the alien. His head was tipped back, fangs fully widened. You let the smile return and gave a hearty call again. You deserved it after all the shit you’ve endured while at the prison.

The roar died off. You cut yours as well and returned to studying him again. Despite not knowing who or what he was, you could trust him completely. He had fought off the advances of the soldiers and kept you safe. It was impossible in the moment to wipe off the smile on your face. You didn’t even dare to try and knew it would be futile.

Freedom at last.

[yeen-meteor]

I want to take a moment to try to express why i appreciate Haru's sadism as an actual serious part of her characterization and not just a funny contrast joke and 'yay girl violence!' don't get me wrong i love me some yay girl violence for the sake of it, but like. i think there's a lot to work with there for genuine drama writing, too, not just comic relief and i want to talk about it! (cw sugimura)

for all of haru's backstory and her life with her father, sure she's rich and has a lot of privileges, but the one thing she completely lacks is any sort of control. Everything about her life is being decided for her, her father has decided on the shape of her entire future, and she can't do anything to change it - she's being raised just for the sake of being outright sold as a sex slave trophy wife to a perverted creep who is certainly too rich and powerful to ever face legal trouble for marital rape. She's going through the motions, enjoying what she can of the life she has while she still has it, completely hopeless in the face of this horrifying future that other people are forcing her into. Her will means nothing, what she wants means nothing.

And then the Phantom Thieves come along, and they give her the power to make her will matter, to fight for her own freedom and happiness. And that power comes in the shape of violence, physically fighting images of all the things and people standing in her way.

But more than that, she starts to feel 'shivers of excitement' when she hears shadows begging and pleading beneath her. She feels what it's like to have something absolutely, pathetically desperate to make her stop, to deny her what she wants - and to bask in the feeling that she doesn't have to listen, she's the strong one, she can shut them the fuck up with an axe through the skull because their will, their selfish desire, their plan for her doesn't matter anymore, her will, Haru's will matters. It's catharsis, it's intoxicating, it's a rich and indulgent feeling of real actual control and the freedom that comes with it, something she's been denied all her life, and it's probably an unhealthy way to get that feeling but who cares? these are just shadows!

And that catharsis and relief and self-assured confidence she gets from that just makes her better able to be her sweetest, kindest, purest self around the people she loves! It doesn't undermine the sweet person she is, it helps it!

And then, she makes the choice to try to cure her father's brain-rotting greed and see if there's anything worth salvaging in his heart. It might not be the best choice, it could certainly be argued about, but it's her choice, it's her will, and she finally, finally feels like she's able to make that mean something-

and Akechi takes the choice away from her, and forces her to live in the future he decided for her.

I think when people write the dynamic between Akechi and Haru, they can sometimes miss the forest for the trees - 'you killed my father', without the underlying 'this was the first time i believed i ever had a choice in my own life, and you took it away from me and fucking crushed it before my eyes'. I've also seen it done very well too, and I love it! but i think a lot of writers are sleeping on the potential a bit, of haru & akechi focused stories, or even of haru as a source of drama and an interesting supporting character in shuake stories. In general, haru's potential for anger, frustration, violent desires and just a need to feel in control of her own life has a lot of potential in drama writing!

Atlus certainly dropped the ball on the akechi and haru dynamic, and kept the sadism thing as mostly comic relief, but Persona canons are all half-realized outlines of good ideas just begging for fic writers to come and actually flesh them out, anyway, so ah well!

all i hope for is that if you're a persona writer that doesn't know what to do with haru or how to use her, or doesn't pay her much mind, maybe this might inspire you or give you a clearer idea of how to write her dramatic side!

[kitasgloves]

Every Breath You Take

tracklist

— ♬ "Every move you make, every step you take, I'll be watching you"

— ♬ Jouno Saigiku x Reader, SFW, gender-neutral reader, depictions of stalking, obsessive behavior, SA, and assault, 3.4k words, no beta

— ♬ NOTE: I DO NOT CONDONE NOR ROMANTISIZE WHAT IS DEPICTED IN THIS STORY. EVERYTHING IS A WORK OF FICTION. READER'S DESCRETION IS ADVISED.

Despite his composed demeanor, Jouno Saigiku held a fierce temper. Jouno has mastered perfecting his mask to conceal his true emotions. He was calculative and strict with his job as a Hunting Dog. In his perception, holding the title of a Hunting Dog means the authority of justice over everything else. Justice reigns all and is supreme. As a Hunting Dog, you must ensure that justice prevails, one way or another.

Jouno knew that being a Hunting Dog doesn't mean you're supposed to be a goody-two-shoes. Hunting Dogs were the most flawed organization keepers of justice. In other words, corrupt. He accepted that long ago when he took this job. He was the prime example of public evil. No matter how many criminals he torments, he knows society will only give him praise and success for it. And for that, Jouno believed he was the best amongst the Hunting Dogs, not that there was a competition. It was only for his ego to believe he was the best.

He had no comment when it comes to his methods on ensuring justice as a Hunting Dog. Admittedly, he enjoys tormenting criminals and civilians alike to get his way in enforcing justice in society. A sadistic side within him revels with pleasure at the despair of others. He does not care if he comes across as cruel if it's necessary to his occupation. And he did find pride in his job as a Hunting Dog, he did get along with the rest of the Hunting Dogs, and even the leader. He does his job strictly and he has nothing to worry.

Jouno lived a solitary life and did only what he thinks is fit. There are instances where he makes attempts to get along with other members of society but only results in failure. It's either they irk him, or he makes them frightened. It's probably because of his superhuman capabilities required as a Hunting Dog. Jouno possessed an impressive sense of perceptiveness that filled in for his blindness. He had an accurate sense of touch, smell, hearing, and even taste. He can hear heartbeats clear as day and sense emotions without even seeing a person's face. That paired with his intimidating behavior wasn't favorable to some.

It's logical to accept that he can't please everybody, and he won't break his back trying to win someone's favor. If Jouno was disliked, so be it. If he was hated, he didn't care. If he was a second option or the last choice, he'd just smile it off and walk away. It was ideal to not lead a life to be someone he's not to be accepted. He recalled all the people he had saved before in his job. He was praised and admired for it. As he would put it, Fukuchi Ochi made the mistake of teaching him the joy of protecting someone.

Although Jouno has cruel tactics and enjoys the anguish of others, he has learned to long for the joy of being a protector of society. To think people, depend on him for protection strokes his ego. He must do whatever is necessary for the safety of all, even if it means hurting or cornering others and hearing the sounds of their destruction, he'll do it in the name of the law.

Now, Jouno was not new to civilians who despised the law, who thought the government was exploiting them, and thought the system was rigged. He'd scoffed and thought how incredibly stupid those people were. For the most part, those types of people were deranged, and careless, and enjoyed protesting and demanding their 'rights'. Jouno never paid them no mind and sometimes enjoyed laughing at their foolishness. Until he has encountered you.

You were caught up in a conflict when a mentally unwell man decided to make a bomb threat at a public establishment. Naturally, people were horrified and tried to contact the police. Jouno was notified to take care of the situation. It was effortless, he has captured the man and reassured everyone. He did his usual fashion of ridiculing and tormenting the perceived criminal before making an official arrest. You witnessed everything with an unamused brow. Jouno could sense your annoyance when you looked at him.

"You're torturing a clearly mentally challenged man for the bomb threat instead of arresting him peacefully. God, you law enforcement have no regard for a person's well-being"

You have genuinely surprised Jouno with your remark that he stopped dead on his tracks. He turns around and realizes that there wasn't an ounce of regret for your statement. His smile twitches as he marches over to you, prepared to put you in your place. But he notices how you stood unshaken by his presence as you crossed your arms.

"What? Are you going to arrest me too? Oh please, that's all you guys ever do. You 'punish' people who have the right to say whatever they like"

Jouno furrowed his eyebrows when he hears you scoff, he was thinking of his brutal rebuttal, but you continued.

"If you're going to say what I said isn't true, but why do you seem affected?"

He can feel your smirk, and his heart skips a beat. He has never encountered someone as cheeky and confident as you, ready to stand up against a powerful figure like himself. Jouno clenched his fists as if he's about to hit you, but he holds himself back as he gives you a tight smile.

"Be careful what you say next time or it's not going to end well for you"

You laughed and rolled your eyes before strolling away. Jouno gritted his teeth and tried to calm his nerves. People like you have never learned the consequences of their actions, and he would love to teach you a lesson. Jouno keeps you in mind as he takes care of the remainder of his work. He decided to keep a tab on you. Given his position and capabilities, it wasn't difficult to find out who you were.

As suspected, you were a civilian. A decent member of the society who happened to be aware of the affairs involving the government. Jouno found records about you being an outstanding citizen. Oh please, you've got to have some sort of filth on you that he can exploit. Searching deeper, he unexpectedly falls into a rabbit hole. He collected information about your family, education, and job. He has found where you live and the places you frequent. He made copies of your important documents listed in the government such as your birth certificate and others. Jouno needed incriminating details about you, so he decided to follow you around disguised out of his uniform.

He followed you to work where you performed your job diligently, you got along with your co-workers and was well-liked by your superiors. On your day off, you would stroll around the city and even helping a few people along the way. Like helping an old lady crossing the street or getting a ball stuck on a tree for a group of children. Jouno grimaced at your benevolent exterior, you were too kind that it seems natural. He's convinced that the nicer you were, the more dirt you were hiding.

However, Jouno was only met with disappointment. He has followed you everywhere even to your home and he hasn't found anything to incriminate you with. Sure, there was an option to fabricate evidence to destroy you, but the idea leaves a bad taste on his tongue. He wanted something raw that would bring you to your knees and beg him for mercy. As ironic as it was, you were a law-abiding citizen despite your distaste for the government. Jouno found your criminal record free of filth, this further fueled his frustration.

For the rest of his days, you occupied Jouno's thoughts. They were filled with contempt and interest that it was puzzling to describe it. You looked upon others with kindness and yet you reserved detest for him. There must be a reason for it and he's eager to find it. Jouno continues to follow you until you have accidentally bumped against him in public. His breath hitched at the moment, afraid that you'd recognize him. You staggered back as he reaches out to keep you from falling ungracefully on the concrete. You regained your balance and awkwardly laughed at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't see where I was looking. Are you okay, sir?"

You apologized to him, and he was momentarily taken aback. Jouno realizes that he is still disguised in casual clothes as he gives you a tiny smile.

".... It's okay. I'm good, thank you"

"Okay, have a good day, sir!"

You wished him well as you crossed the street. Jouno was left perplexed. He has experienced a sweet side of you, and he didn't know what to think of it. You probably only treated him differently because he was out of uniform. However, he can't cease his racing heartbeat. He imprinted your kind voice in his memory and the pattern of your heartbeat. You held no contempt in that interaction that it seems so unbelievable. This only encouraged him to follow you even more.

He gathered more things about you regarding your personality and habits. Jouno took note of your favorite flavors, your preferred piece of music, what type of jokes make you laugh, and your pet peeves. He knows about your guilty pleasures, your strange interests, and your fascinating ideals. What initially began as a quest for revenge evolved into unexplainable attraction.

It seemed as though his dislike for you dissipated the longer he observed you from afar. Jouno has learned to memorize your scent, your heartbeat, and your voice so that he can instantly recognize you within a crowd by instinct. He has kept multiple tabs on you. And he begins to slowly slack off on his job as a Hunting Dog. Nothing seems to interest him more but you.

Jouno has followed you to a point in your life where you went on blind dates, he took it as an advantage to figure out what was your type. Although nobody was successful in gaining your romantic interest, Jouno has learned something new about you: he wasn't your ideal lover. Not one bit. No matter how handsome, intelligent, or strong he was, you weren't going to fall for someone like him. He should've seen this coming and yet he's standing here with an ache in his chest.

Why the hell did it matter if he wasn't your type? Unless... oh god. Jouno took a step back and gulped. Was he seriously seeking a romantic relationship with you? That's fucking pathetic! He laughs. He laughs and he laughs. After the laughter, he's stuck to wonder, has he seriously developed feelings for you? No, it can't be. You hated him! It should be enough to stop pursuing you. However, Jouno finds himself unable to stop.

Every breath you take. And every move you make. Every bond you break, every step you take, he'll be watching you. Every single day. Every word you say. Every game you play, every night you stay, he'll be watching you.

Jouno couldn't fathom how you've captured his interest. Jouno could hurt you, make you cry, and you'd wish him dead. And it didn't draw him away. He would stay close with excitement in his spirit. He wanted to have you; it didn't matter if you hated him. He can be the only one who will tolerate you and he had already known so much about you.

Oh, can't you see? You belong to him. How his poor heart aches with every step you take. Every move you make. Every vow you break. Every smile you fake, every claim you stake, he'll be watching you.

Unfortunately, Jouno becomes inevitably busy with his duties as a Hunting Dog. With the new case involving the Armed Detective Agency, he needed to focus on his priorities. He hesitated but ultimately decided to stop following you. He thought it was for the best so he could diligently get back to his work without distractions. Oh god, he was wrong. Because you seem to plague his mind more now that he ceased pursuing you.

Each moment, no matter what he did, Jouno's mind trails back to you. He kept thinking about your adorable mannerisms and sweet voice. How are you? Did you water your plants? He hoped you were because he used to water them for you when you were too busy. He hopes your work wasn't stressing you out and that you'll resort to stress eating, he'll have to get rid of the unhealthy snacks in your cupboards soon. Have you folded your laundry yet? He remembers how piled up it was the last time he snuck into your home. He hopes you don't notice your missing t-shirt. And the missing pillow from your bed. Or the missing pair of used underwear.

Jouno sighs as he rests his chin on the palm of his hand. His finger kept tracing the photograph of you that he printed. He smiles to himself as he makes out your features in his mind. The curve of your face, the shape of your eyes, the bridge of your nose, the plush of your lips, and the texture of your hair. Fuck, you looked so pretty. He wished he could see you even for a quick second despite his blindness. He wished he could feel the touch of your skin, bathe in the warmth of your body, or drown himself in your scent. Jouno feels restless while yearning.

Since you've gone, he's been lost without a trace. He dreams at night, and he can only see your face. He looks around and it's you he can't replace. He feels so cold, and he longs for your embrace. Jouno can't help but keep crying.

[Name], [Name], please

Can't you see? You belong to him. How his poor heart breaks, with every step you take. Every move you make. And every vow you break. Every smile you fake, every claim you stake, he'll be watching you.

You were experiencing a weird phenomenon. First, it began at home. You thought you were misplacing things around your home but then some of your personal items started to go missing. You were dumbfounded to find your plants watered but the snacks in your cupboard gone. Secondly, you feel like you're being watched. It makes you shudder out of nowhere especially when you're all by yourself. When you're traveling to work you feel like you're being followed, and it's the same after your shift. You made sure to double-check your locks before you went to sleep every night, but it doesn't get rid of the feeling.

Jouno thinks he can never go back. He can't reverse whatever he has done. The moment there was a window of opportunity to get off work early, he took it without any second thought. It was so unlike him, to think irrationally. Without even changing out of his uniform, he sneaks into your home effortlessly. It was the dead of night when he found you asleep in your bed. Jouno can hear your steady heartbeat and breathing and it brings relief to his senses.

Your eyes fluttered open as you felt the mattress dip from behind you. Suddenly, your body turns cold. Your eyes go wide as your throat goes dry. You went still lying on your side as you felt something shuffling under the sheets from behind you. This must be some sort of dream, or nightmare! Someone was crawling into bed with you! And they're shuffling closer, and closer, and closer. Sheer terror grips your heart when you feel a pair of hands envelope your figure from behind.

Jouno senses your fear with ease, and it brings a wicked smile to his features. His hands shamelessly traced the shape of your body before resting them right below your breast. He presses his torso against your back as he pulls your rigid body close. He takes a sniff of your washed hair, and he moans in satisfaction.

"I know you're awake, dear"

He speaks. You were beyond petrified to answer. Your lip wobbles as you mind scrambles around trying to think of an escape plan.

"How cute. You were quick to speak in our first encounter but now you're quiet as mouse"

Jouno chuckles. He feels you shivering in his hold and it only makes him pull you closer. As your eyes turn wet, you swallow anxiously.

"Wh—Who are you?"

He doesn't answer and instead starts to place kisses along your neckline making you shudder in horror and disgust. Jouno has longed for this, and he deserves to have a taste of you.

"Please st—stop! No! Please—"

You frantically start peeling yourself away from his strong embrace as he continues to plant wet kisses on your exposed skin. You groaned as you tore yourself away from Jouno making him frown. The darkness of your room made it hard to see his face, the moonlight from your window provided a faint outline of him. You scowled at him and forcefully tried to shove him off the bed, he clicked his tongue as he swiftly grabbed your arms.

"Stop that or you'll regret it"

"No! Let me go! What the hell do you want from me?!"

Jouno feels you struggle against him in your bed. He growls as he keeps you in place by crawling on top of you. The sound of you whining and groaning fills the room.

"Keep still!

"No! Get away from me!"

You screamed but you were silenced when he smacks you across the cheek with the back of his hand. Jouno sighs as he hears you whimper afterward. You start to hiccup as he senses your stuttering breath.

"Please, don't kill me..."

You pleaded. Usually, the sound of tears brought him joy. However, your crying made his chest constrict. He contemplates for a moment with your sobbing echoing in the room. You gasped and sighed in relief when Jouno releases his hold on you. His hand reaches to caress your cheek.

"I won't kill you, unless you decide to test me, darling. Try reporting this to the authorities and I would guarantee you that nobody would believe you"

Jouno threatened and you nodded vigorously through tears. He smiles at your submission, and he presses a kiss on your forehead.

"If you try anything funny, I will have to reprimand you. I'll be watching you"

Your tears blurred your vision as your immense fear made you unable to fight back or recognize the stranger who seemed to have some sort of sick obsession of you.

"Every move you make, every step you take, I'll be watching you"

I'll be watching you

His voice filled your heart with pure dread. He must be the one who's been following you around! God, you feel sick. To imagine him stalking you and watching your every move solidifies the terror that you will be experiencing for the rest of your days. He chuckles cruelly at your fear-stricken face.

I'll be watching you

Every breath you make, every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take, Jouno will be watching you. His blindness won't hinder him from following you around and finding out what you will be doing.

I'll be watching you

You feel him step back and get off the bed. You sniffed as you watch him ominously walk out of your bedroom door with that horrifying grin on his dark face.

I'll be watching you

Every game you play, every night you stay, Jouno will be watching you. Even as he leaves you tonight, petrified beyond belief, he will make sure to never leave permanently in the future.

I'll be watching you

You couldn't catch up to your breath as you heart raced. All you could think about is his horrifying voice, leaving you helpless with fear knowing this might not be the last encounter with him.

I'll be watching you

Jouno will hold his word. He shall forever torment you this way for being tormented by the fact that you'll fall for him. If he can't get you to love him, then he'll make you fear him. That way, you'll be thinking of him always.

I'll be watching you

Every single day, every word you say, every game you play, every night you stay, he'll be watching you. And you are unable to reach out for help because he will kill you. Struggling to breathe within the sheets, you sobbed uncontrollably at the fact that you'll never be free from him.

I'll be watching you

©kitasgloves (do not steal or copy)

[anonzentimes]

zen am i just projecting or am i cooking when i say komahina are both soooo incredibly anxiety disorder coded

like i’ll start with nagito bc to me that one’s more obvious. this guy has ocd. holy SHIT nagito has ocd. and it’s completely reasonable for him to have developed it! his luck means that things go wrong for very little reason all the time, he knows the luck has Rules to it, of course he’d develop little “rituals” (read: compulsions) to try to minimize bad luck. plus, frontotemporal dementia often causes symptoms of ocd as well (though i’d argue he very well could have developed the disorder before his diagnosis). nagito is always so convinced that Something Bad is going to happen Because Of Him even if he has nothing to do with the situation. “xyz thing happened earlier so something awful will happen now” that is obsessive-compulsive thinking!!! i just know he counts every step and Has to close doors 8 Times “just in case.” he probably has some form of moral ocd as well considering how convinced he is that he’s a terrible person who isn’t worth anything. oh and of course he doomspirals like no fucking other

as for hajime. i might really be projecting with this one but also i’m Right. generalized anxiety disorder. his primary fear response is fight. hajime is so stressed out about everything all the time and this is why he’s kind of bitchy. he’s Anxious. you see this a lot in the prologue where even before monokuma shows up hajime Is Not Trusting Of This Situation bc what the fuck!!! where is he!! what do you MEAN just enjoy it how did he get here!!! he’s surrounded by strange people on a strange island with a fucking stuffed rabbit and you expect him to NOT freak out??? hello??? he passed out for sure bc his adrenaline response got so intense that his blood pressure got weird and oh down he goes. but it also shows in subtler ways. his thought patterns and constant questioning of things— he overthinks a LOT, from monokuma���s plans to why his classmates are Like That to I Must Be So Normal to his mystery talent to What Is Nagito’s Deal Actually. in the prologue and chapter one, nagito gets hajime to calm down by distracting him— specifically, he teases hajime and riles him up. this gives him a healthy outlet to put that fight response energy into, and thus the anxiety recedes. hajime calls himself a “coward” in nagito’s 5th (? maybe 4th) fte— before i got my gad diagnosis, i thought of myself as being overly sensitive and nervous— hajime, who isn’t very good at deciphering emotions in general (likely due to not being able to talk about them at home but that’s a different story), would probably see his anxiety and identify it as cowardice. he also just… worries. constantly. about everything. whenever a classmate goes missing, whenever nagito goes missing (he proceeds to question WHY he’s worrying with nagito a lot which ties back to the overthinking), whenever anything new happens on the island, etc. mainly though i think hajime’s gad shows in his insecurities. he is deeply afraid of mediocrity, of his best not being enough. i think a lot of his fears stem from the idea of being forgettable or unremarkable— he wants to make an impact on the world, and the thought of dying before he can, whether it be in the killing game or just the rat race of life, horrifies him. but he doesn’t know who he is, he doesn’t know how to make that impact. he’s terrified that he, hajime hinata, is not enough. that he’s boring, unremarkable, destined to be just another salaryman, part of the mob. that’s why he worries about his talent so much, that’s why it hurts so much when nagito starts treating him worse in chapter 4 (someone who was once his biggest source of comfort is now affirming his worst fears), and that’s why he was such a good target for the kamukura project. hpa saw his insecurity and fear and preyed on it. most people wouldn’t sacrifice themselves for some experimental project. but when you’ve fought to get to a place that you pray will be able to make you special, and they tell you “we can make you special, but it will change who you are,” and you Don’t Like who you are because you feel deep down that who you are will never be enough, well. why wouldn’t you take the offer? you get to Be Something. you get to make an impact. who cares if you lose yourself? that guy was boring.

ANYWAYS that got away from me a little bit. i could keep going (like abt hajime’s fight response and nagito’s fawn response) but this ask is long enough lmao. point it they both have undiagnosed anxiety disorders i know it i Know It please tell me you see what i see

Hii!!! Sorry it’s taken me so long to get around to answering this! I was waiting for a good moment to type up a response since I think such a long ask, especially from an oomf, deserves a thought out reply. To be straightforward and simple: yes, absolutely yes! I think the interpretations that Hajime has anxiety disorder and Nagito has ocd is very fitting. I don’t know as much about ocd as I do about anxiety, so I don’t really talk about it in fear that I may be rude or inaccurate, but I definitely so heavily agree every time I see it. As for the anxiety disorder I’m not sure if I really have it but my anxiety is a pain and I am taking supplements and have started taking meds for it recently (fingers crossed those actually do anything helpful), but this is to say that I relate to Hajime a lot in those sort of moments and when you phrase it like that I realize it is probably because of the anxiety he experiences alongside his character beats. For Nagito I can say, “Yeah! Everybody makes such great points about him having Ocd! I really like that interpretation even if I don’t know about it as much,” and then with Hajime it’s like “Yes! This is canon to me I know about this and I say so and relate to him and it fits incredibly well!” :D

also lowkey I’ve been having that weird feeling where I miss them,,, and reading this has made me miss them less so thank you very much hehe I love Hajime and Nagito very much and agree with your points heavily, appreciate you sending this!

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova’s Notes - DD - May 8th

That’s right, I’m deciding to give my thoughts a cheesy name because why not (also it’s late oops).

So this may be one of my favorite entires of the entire book. My first go-around it was for the mirror-yeet scene (because that’s iconic) and Dracula being The Housekeeper of all timeTM, but now it’s also one of my favorites because of how much we learn about Jonathan.

They say you learn the most about a person when they’re in crisis mode, and while I don’t always think that’s true, Stoker definitely wanted to let Jonathan’s personality shine through here.

From the first passage, he’s literally guessed that Dracula is undead. “I fear I am the only living soul here.” Sure, he might mean that he’s the only present soul, if Dracula’s left the building, but since he describes the mirror yeeting scene right after…idk, I’d like to think he knows way more than we ever gave him credit for. “Clueless Jonathan” who? Is the clueless in the room with us?

Also going back to the first sentence where he describes worrying he was getting too wordy, but now being glad he did…oof. I feel for him here. If my theory is correct that he was initially writing in a more detailed way for Mina so he could remember his travels for later…I’m sure it’s hitting him now that while it may be saving his life that he’s more detailed, it’s so twisted that something he did as a note of affection has soured. I wonder if he’s thinking about how he may never get out of this, or if that hasn’t fully hit him yet.

Moving on to everyone’s favorite mirror-yeet scene, think about how Jonathan reacts when he’s caught off guard by Dracula because he didn’t see his reflection. How would most protagonists react? Probably laugh nervously and brush it off. Attribute it to some mistake on his part, which is exactly what Jonathan does *at first*. But after, he looks at Dracula and then looks back at the mirror to confirm his suspicions are correct, which they are. It’s an interesting moment and not one I think we see often at the beginning of a horror story (I don’t consume much horror though, so correct me if I’m wrong!). Usually, a character won’t get to this level of observation until towards the middle/end, when more supernatural elements have occurred. Jonathan may have second guessed his instincts, but checking them again is what makes him more likely to survive Castle Dracula.

Plus, when Dracula makes a move to attack him, his first instinct is to dodge the attack, showing that he’s not just going to freeze up at the first sign of trouble (which I want to emphasize isn’t a problem normally, but he is dealing with a thousands-of-years-old vampire…so, he has to be quick on his feet to survive).

Afterwards, he says he is annoyed at losing his mirror rather than disturbed, but I saw another post saying he’s repressing his panic as annoying (I’ll link it if I find it again) and I definitely think that’s true!! I can totally see that as his coping mechanism. Plus, compared to the rest of what happens for him today, it really is more of an annoyance than anything else. Would you rather your host throw away your mirror or lock you in a castle?

So after that horrific scene of terror, Jonathan is proactive in searching the castle. After finding a beautiful — but slightly horrifying landscape (you know it’s bad when he doesn’t stop to describe the view) — he decides to explore further, which leads him to figure out almost every other door is locked, including the front one to find, yep you guessed it…he’s a prisoner in the castle.

As I imagine most people would, at first he reacts by frantically running around trying to open locked doors like “a rat does in a trap.” The fact that he admits this in his diary (and, by extension to Mina/us) is admirable because it already shows he’s not afraid to be open about his emotions, even if it makes him look weak (which — unfortunately, he would, considering the time period). Most heroes of this period were expected to accept their fates with stoic determination, but that’s not human and that’s not how Jonathan is, either. We’ve already seen that he’s more open-minded than most English men by accepting the crucifix even if he doesn’t understand it and of course the way he shows his love for Mina is atypical for Victorian men as well. Most men wouldn’t go to the trouble of writing down descriptive notes just to recount it for the benefit of his fiancée later. It’s sad, but true.

Once he’s able to regulate himself a bit, it’s time for thinking and strategy, determining that he needs all of his wits to get through this! Once he sees that the Count does the cooking AND the cleaning, though, is when my love for Jonathan reaches an all-time high. He comes to a series of conclusions most protagonists don’t figure out until the end of a novel after way more obvious clues have been laid out for him and it’s only his 3rd day of being in the castle!! They go as follows:

A) Dracula = servants

B) Dracula = driver

C) Dracula = control wolves

D) Villager’s concern/gifts = this is worse than I thought

E) Crucifix = actual help?

F) Get Dracula to talk about himself (not hard) = find more information, but not in an obvious way

I also love that he questions his own biases about the crucifix he was given!!!! When else do you see an Englishman do that in the 1890s of his own volition (aka without someone snarkily telling him to - see BBC’s Dracula if you want an example). I certainly haven’t!

He also noticed that Drac talked about his “ancestors” as if he had been present for their battles (hmm wonder why that is). Hasn’t quite figured it out yet, but there’s evidence that he doesn’t write something down as a fact until he knows it is a fact, so perhaps we’ll see him write more on this later.

Final thought - his reference to Arabian Nights and Hamlet is significant and tragic, but also relatable. I too like to relate my life to my favorite blorbos, Jonathan!

All in all, we learned that Jonathan is very good in a crisis. He’s not stoic like most protagonists of his time period, but he is instead strategic and observant, willing to play the part of oblivious to keep himself alive another day and keep Dracula’s trust. This is likely what’s keeping him alive right now, as an aggressive approach would get him killed. Dracula is all about playing with his prey and keeping the illusion of benevolent host and willing guest — it’s a game of control for him. Breaking this game would mean it’s no fun and no fun would mean Jonathan is no longer needed….

While I know how this story goes, I’m as excited as first time readers to see how Jonathan plays what is, essentially, 4D chess with Dracula!

[splitster]

answering more asks!!

featuring pom wraith, pingo, ocs?!, and older art check it out (three's some art 💖)↓↓

THANK you!! ohhh i do have old pikmin ocs... i actually revamped my old captain a while back, i can share him:

i had a whole crew of pikmin ocs who were a part of the S.S. Harmony, they were gonna be SUCH a nuisance to everyone they ran into...

i thought about making a rescue corps oc for fun. hrmm! maybe...

AHHH thank you!! i've seen a shocking number tags and asks from people saying that I'm apparently the reason they like Dingo now? and i have to say that is so mind boggling to me, because when i first played Pikmin 4 I didn't care about him at all!! he was a nothing sandwich to me... but then i drew him a few times... and started thinking... and then things went downhill and now i REALLY like him...

(referring to this post) i think dingo is better when he's withered

(referring to this comic) I HEAR YOU... I HEAR YOU... but if any tear at all would cause oxygen poisoning, i wouldn't be able to draw them all battered and cool :(

i imagine that there's a seal around the neck in case there's a breach in the suit's lining. so as long as their backpack (life-support) works and is connected to their helmets, then they can breathe✨

(referring to this post) Olimar would be horrified because he knows Louie, and if he sees that note there's only one thing it could mean! his coworker tried to eat pom!! if pom hasn't been outed as wraith and Olimar is questioning her, she'd just say Louie bit her and then refuse to answer any follow up questions 💖

Shepherd would be... concerned. she might think they have a weird fling going on and louie's talking about a kiss? she probably wouldn't realize Louie quite literally means he ate something from pom. oops!

that's a really good question... I'll be honest, with a lot of the "when and how did x happen" questions, there's not an official timeline or anything; the pom wraith au is sort of an umbrella with a bunch of different stories and what-ifs underneath it. although there was one story where louie does find out her secret!

louie and pom end up bridging their differences (with the help of olimar), and become good friends while pom is continuing the rescue effort. then there's a very unfortunate incident where pom and louie are away from the base and they're attacked... pom has to reveal herself to defend them and she accidentally hurts louie :(

its fine though, louie doesn't care what pom is. they're both freaks in his mind and that's all that really matters. he does end up having to defend pom from olimar (who's been made vindictive through his trauma with the plasm wraith) sometime later!! here's some older art:

sure

me too! they do NOT get along... louie's kinda pissed at her for chasing him around on PNF404 and beating him in dandori battles when he just wants to stay there and vibe. pom meanwhile doesn't understand him, he pisses her off too! she likes olimar a lot, and as an outsider it looks like louie doesn't appreciate the friendship olimar offers him. to someone who's trying to understand and participate in this whole friendship business, she thinks he's ungrateful and weird. they do not get along!! at the beginning at least...

AHHHH!!! THANK YOU!!! WAHH...🥺💖💖 i'm very glad you enjoy my silly little art style!! i want to make things very squishy so i appreciate that 💖

i don't think that man is going to live!

wait actually if you eat enough maybe you just turn into a wraith. that'd be scary! hopefully olimar's there to stop him

that's a fun thought! he would probably be able to sense that something is off about her. but he'd also probably just think "she's weird like me." honestly, the whole wraith thing doesn't really matter much to him -- the only thing it changes is that pom can now offer her tendrils as a skewer for his cooking at any time and location!

i think i'm gonna call her rose wraith!! and ohh, i didn't know that... i was just gonna call her rose wraith since she has a rose head. i'm creative i promise

(referring to this post i think) AHHH hehe... honestly, when Pom first learns about Dingo's fear of blood, she only tries to keep him from it because it's really annoying dealing with your coworker when they faint. he's like a sack of potatoes when he's knocked out. but yes, as they become actual friends pom will (subtly) do her best to keep blood away from dingo. it's fortunate she doesn't have any!

she might not get phobias, but she understands what its like to have a crippling fear, so she's empathetic!

THANK you. he has sunglasses. he's pretty cool

AHH THANK YOU... i like them a lot... 👉👈

let the marching pikmin give you the energy you need to practice🫡