#he would either have to work faster than he ever has in his life (unlikely) or he would have to do all the labour in the walk-in freezer

[fisheito]

@requiodile thank u SO MY HUNCH ABOUT THE MASSIVE MUSCLE MEN is SOMETHIGN!! im taking this anecdote as evidence and declaring quincy [the ultimate 6 rotisserie chicken as a teatime snack woodsman] as so frickin warm that anyone who cuddles him in the summer will be hot like fried egg. RIP touchstarved energy eating musclemen

@idololivine (starts scribbling algebra all over a dry erase board} as long as quincy doesn't spend over 4.6 hours absorbing solar energy from a cloudless sky at peak daylight hours, yakumo will probably be fine if u wish to obtain yakumo jerky however, preheat your quincy for 277 minutes and yakumo's moisture will evaporate on contact

[emmyc0z]

Can you write something for Sephiroth(pre-nibelheim) or Astarion? Your work is absolutely fantastic btw I’m in love with it ❤️❤️❤️

Not So Subtle

pairing : sephiroth x female!reader

summary : you have a teenage girl level crush on him, that you and zack talk (very loudly) about when you think no one can hear. but he does.

a/n : this takes place pre-nibelheim so everyone is happy and well! in honour of ff7 rebirth :)

“Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” You snap your jaw shut, eyes moving to glare at the young, dark haired boy who has decided to break your daydream. 

“It wasn’t even open.” He plops down beside you, shoulder touching yours. 

“Mhm.. and you weren’t drooling over our superior.” 

“Your superior,” you correct, eyebrow lifted with pointed sarcasm. If you could stick your tongue out at him, without it seeming childish to everyone around you, you would.

“Last time I checked, you weren’t a first class soldier either,” He points out, amused. Your elbow makes contact with his arm, and his hand reaches to cover the area as he laughs.

Zack was younger than you, though he certainly never acted like there was an age gap. In his mind, you were the same age as him in some way or another. You had always trained together so you felt much closer in age even though you were at least 3 years older than him. At times, he felt like a younger brother to you.

Even more so when he found out you had a crush on the man he spent everyday training beside. Constant teasing, constant threats to spill your secrets, constant blackmail. You couldn’t even count the amount of times he had used your crush to his advantage on one hand. 

There was a time you had to put your foot down and tell him no more, cause it was wrong of course. But also mostly cause you were running out of money to buy his silence.

“Yeah but I'm older, closer to his age. So I don't have to talk to him like I'm below him, unlike some people.” 

“Can you even talk to him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then why are you sitting here staring..?” 

“He’s training..” 

“Mhm.” The look on his face tells you he’s not convinced. Right now, it was the truth, Sephiroth was swinging his sword in the domed combat simulator, glass walls clear enough for you to see through. So the excuse of not being able to talk to him, out of fear of being sliced in half by his giant sword, was plausible. 

But any other time that you had sat staring at him, making no effort to speak to him, rendered that excuse inapplicable. 

“Shut it..” You push his shoulder with your elbow once more, and he snorts out a laugh. 

“I don’t get why you can’t just talk to him..” 

“Of course you don’t.. because you're obviously blind. Or you’ve been hit in the head one too many times in combat training.” You turn your gaze away from Zack to look back through the glass enclosing Sephiroth. 

His hair is tied up, hanging loosely against his back. It’s a rare sight, so you indulge yourself and stare a second longer than you should. It’s so relaxed, you think, compared to the seriousness of always having it pristinely down. There are stray hairs, flyaways, falling from the hair tie and hanging against his face. It’s unkempt, a nice contrast to his seemingly perfect lifestyle.

He swings his sword with calculated grace, a grace that you (or Zack for that matter) had yet to achieve. The control he held over his blade was impeccable, it never slipped or moved from his hold even when his hands were moving faster than his body could keep up with. Just another thing that had to be perfect in his life.

“How could I ever speak to him and not make a fool out of myself? For one, he’s first class, I'd totally ruin my chances of making first class if I said something totally outrageous. And knowing me, my mind would be so jumbled, I wouldn't even realize the words had left my mouth before he put me on some kind of ‘do not promote’ list.” 

“Oh so.. the only reason you won’t talk to him is because you're worried about making first class? Not.. I don’t know, maybe, the 12-year-old-girl-level crush you have on him.” Your hand slaps over his lips, eyes scanning around you. For the most part, no one looks at the two of you, and you figure the ones that are looking are doing so because of your hand covering Zacks blabbermouth. 

“Would you shut it?” Even with your hand covering his mouth, he manages to laugh at your widened eyes. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes are a dead giveaway of his amusement. You remove your hand with a pointed look, one that says ‘keep it down’ in a far more subtle way than a hand over his face. 

“You’re so lucky you’re younger than me.” 

“More like so lucky you don’t want to make your boyfriend angry. Besides, you know I’m stronger than you.” 

“Mhm..” You roll your eyes, and with a sigh, you turn back to face Sephiroth. He stands still now and you realize all of the practice dummies have been broken. From your position, he doesn't even seem to have broken a sweat, even though he’s been in there for over an hour. His sword lies on the ground, thrown without care. 

Even with Zack beside you, and the silent teasing that exudes from his body, your eyes remain trained on Sephiroth. You realize it’s childish, to stare and never approach, but the idea of even standing next to him is enough to intimidate you. 

He runs his hand over his back, pulling the hair tie from his hair, allowing it to fall against his shoulders once more. He turns, presumably to leave the combat simulated, and his eyes meet yours through the glass. You knew your staring wasn’t subtle, it had never been before, but you had never expected to get caught. You had never been caught. 

You turn your head away so fast that Zack almost flinches, probably thinking you were going to hit him again. 

“Jesus,” he looks at you with confusion, “What’s the problem?” 

“He saw me.” 

“What?” 

“He saw me! Through the glass! He totally caught me staring at him..” You stare at Zack with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, before you head falls into your lap in shame.

“Would you relax? I guarantee he doesn’t care or he didn’t even see you. Maybe he was just looking at his reflection.”

You look back towards Sephiroth to see him leaving through the doors of the dome, and then you turn back to Zack with a pitiful whine. 

“This is so pathetic…” 

“I agree,” he smiles when you shoot him a glare, “Just talk to him.” 

“Talk to who?” A deep voice sounds from beside you, higher up than where you sit. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stick up, and Zack's expression is enough to confirm your suspicion about who stands next to you. 

You turn your head to face Sephiroth, and he stares at you expectantly. You think you catch the slightest smirk building on the corner of his lips, but you also think you might just be trying to make yourself feel better. Standing, nowhere close to his height, you hold your hands up. Zack takes this as his sign to stand too. 

“Nobody! Angeal!” You fumble out words, trying to throw out a name before he grows suspicious. 

“Well which is it, nobody? or Angeal?” 

“Angeal. Yeah! Angeal, so.. um.. I should probably go find him.” 

“It just so happens that I have to find Angeal too, allow me to join you.” 

You want to throw the nearest chair at Zack, curse him for speaking so loudly. And you curse yourself for not thinking of an excuse in a reasonable time frame, so you just nod, and excuse yourself from Zack. 

He gives you a pitiful smile, and when you turn to look behind you for support one last time as you walk away he gives you a thumbs up. His face contradicts his hands, and he seems like he’s in a far less teasing mood. 

“Whatever you have to say to him, it must be important.” 

“Hm?” You tilt your head up and to the side to look at Sephiroth, you’ve been walking together for a few minutes now, mostly silently. 

“You're walking fast.” You shrug your shoulders and continue walking. 

At least until your steps are interrupted by him stepping in front of you. 

“Is there a problem?”

“What? Of course not!” He practically glares down at you, arms crossed over his muscular chest. You can see the outline of his defined chest muscles through the straps of his top. And you realize you're practically drooling over him, right in front of him so you force your eyes to meet his once more. But his glare is replaced by a smirk, and amusement in his eyes. 

“I see now..” 

“See what?” 

“Really? Do you think you’re subtle?” Your face flushes and once again you want the floor to open up and consume you whole, but you're stuck here. 

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” Step back, you scream at yourself, but he moves closer and it’s impossible to move your feet. They feel like lead underneath you, not even giving way to a small shuffle backwards.

“No?” His hand reaches up to rest on your cheek, it's gentle, far gentler than you would’ve expected. But the way his fingers tense against your skin has you feeling fuzzy, “You think I don’t notice the way you stare? Hm?” 

He stares at you, thumb moving to the other side of your chin, holding your face in his hand. He maneuvers your face, moving it however he likes. You realize he’s examining the flush in your cheeks, the way your lips part like you want to say something. His tongue gives a humiliating click when your lips close, and the words are lost. 

“I hear you, when you talk to Zack,” he stops his movement, stilling your face to look directly at him, “You’ve never been a quiet girl. Why are you so quiet now?” 

When you don’t respond his eyebrows scrunch, its subtle and almost missable because it’s gone in seconds. He’s not satisfied by your silence.

Sephiroth bends his shoulders, moving closer to your face, “Although, I suppose you’ve never been very talkative around me.” He moves closer still, swerving his nose to the side of your face until he’s able to speak in your ear, “That’s not very nice. You might hurt my feelings if you keep ignoring me.” 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out meekly, you're honestly not even sure it’s audible at first but he laughs quietly, breath fanning on your ear. His other hand, the one that doesn’t hold your face, reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before he pulls away. The breath that leaves your body is almost embarrassing. 

“What’re you sorry for, hm?” He stares expectantly down at you, eyes never leaving yours. 

“F…for ignoring you.”

“So you ignore me?” 

“No!”

“So you’re lying?” You shake your head as much as you can within the hold of his fingers, “Then what are you sorry for?” 

“For not talking to you.” 

“And why don’t you talk to me, I'm sure you know it’s rude to stare and never speak to someone.”

“Because..” His grip loosens, hand moving back to your cheek, thumb resting on your cheek bone. 

“Because why? Cmon use your voice, the one you use to talk about me with Zack.” 

You stare up at him pitifully, and the way words fumble from your mouth has you wanting to throw up, “Because I have this stupid crush on you, and I can't talk to you without getting nervous. I know it’s stupid and I should have told you sooner so you could reject me and I could move on and I never meant to offend you or-”

You hadn’t realized he had gotten so close until his nose touches yours, top lip brushing against yours as he tips your chin up towards him. Your words fall flat on your tongue when you meet his eyes, or rather when you see his eyes that are focused on your lips. 

“Offend me.. that’s sweet..” He’s so close to you, that every word has his lips brushing against your own again and again. 

“Sephiroth..?” You suppress the urge to move the tiniest bit forward so your lips can fully meet his. And you're sure your face is impossibly red. 

“You should’ve told me about this ‘stupid’ crush sooner, such a foolish girl. May I?” You're confused, what is he asking for? His eyes flicker up to yours before moving back to your lips. When you realize what he means you nod your head perhaps too eagerly. 

Slowly, to tease, his lips press against yours, palm pressing into the skin of yours to keep you in place. Eyes fluttering closed, your hands find his chest, silently screaming about the position you’ve found yourself in.

His lips overpower yours in every regard, moving languidly against you. His other hand reaches up to the free side of your face, fingers tickling the skin on your neck and thumb resting on your jaw. 

When he pulls away you can only look at him with half lidded eyes, dazed. 

Al he does is chuckle, rubbing your cheek with his thumb and patting your head. One hand holds the back of your head, leaning down to kiss your temple, before stepping behind you, “Don’t be so shy from now on. Maybe we’ll end up here again.”

His steps echo through the empty hall as he walks away.

“Wait… wait.. I thought you had to go see Angeal?” You turn, taking one step in his direction, then stopping yourself in your tracks hesitantly. 

“I didn’t. And I know you didn’t either.” He only turns his cheek towards you to speak and then continues on down the hallway, tall and brooding.

[irradiated-imp]

First post in a while. I have since made many things, but for now have my Godzilla work. The First King of the Monsters, The original Godzilla. He first rose from the depths in 1954. He suffered great pain from the nuclear bomb testing's in Bikini Atoll. He took his pain and wrath out on the people of Japan, or any unfortunate neough to find themselves at sea in his territory. He terrorized Japan for years, occasionally battling off other gargantuan monstrosities in his time, before his inevitable demise. He was killed by the Oxygen Destroyer, a super weapon created by the late doctor Daisuke Serizawa, who took his own life after destroying his work on the Oxygen destroyer to keep it from being recreated.

The Second King of the Monsters, Godzilla Though Godzilla perished in the 70's with the first and only ever use of the Oxygen Destroyer, his offspring survived. Godzilla Sr.'s offspring, simply called Godzilla during his time, had taken to his mutations much more easily than his father. Though he was born in his current form, and his body had adapted to its current form so he lived without pain, he knew the ones responsible for leaving him alone, without his father. In 1985, this Godzilla surfaced to unleash his own fury on Japan. Tho he was still destructive, after a few years he settled into life on Infant Island, and only came to Japan when he felt his territory was endangered. He died when his internal nuclear reactor had a melt down, irradiating all of Infant Island.

The Prince of the Monsters, Godzilla Junior The current Godzilla, and son of the previous. It's unknown where he, or his father, came from, but his presence on Infant Island was known prior to Godzilla's death. The radiation from his Father's death empowered him, allowing him to grow into a more powerful form. Jr. is notably more agile and faster than his father and grandfather were, having adapted perfectly to his new form. His atomic breath is also considerably more powerful than both of his predecessors. Unlike his family, Jr. never grew to hate humanity. Though he does not go out of his way for the express purpose of saving man kind, he doesn't actively seek its destruction.

The Golden Demise, King Ghidorah. A three headed alien from an unknown planet. He ofund his way to the Solar System landing on Venus. He eradicated all life on the planet, draining the energy from all of the beings on the planet, before moving on to the next planet, Earth. King Ghidorah however did not expect the planet to be crawling with other, equally large, equally deadly monsters, and often found himself unable to drain the life from Earth. Most often he would face either Mothra or Godzilla, the pair eventually forcing him to flee back into space, before Godzilla's death. Once he has absorbed enough energy, he plans to return to Earth and finally wipe out all life on the Planet.

Multi-Puprose Fighting System 3, Mecha Godzilla With the ever rising presence of giant monsters across the world, the people of Earth came together with a plan to deal with them. The UN formed the AMF, Anti Megalosaurus Force. This military force was made to combat any and all giant monsters that appear, when they appear. The AMF, using state of the art tech, advanced computers, and the bones of the original Godzilla as a base to work off of, created the Multi-Purpose fighting System 3, or Mecha Godzilla. It is piloted by a single person remotely. Mecha Godzilla comes with numerous armaments. On its right arm is a pair of rail guns. The base structure of the rail guns can also extend an electrically charged blade. The left arm comes equipped with the most powerful Maser Cannon ever built. Mounted on either shoulder is a more recently created weapon, high power twin plasma cannons, designed with the purpose of burning through hardened shells. Finally, the most powerful of Mecha Godzilla's abilities is dubbed the Proton Scream, a beam fired from the mouth with enough power put into it to slice many monsters clean in half. This ability is rarely used due to the amount of power it consumes. Though the machine has no life nor will of it's own, many of maintenance crew believe it to be haunted, often making reports of it moving, or activating on its own. One particular report from an engineer claims that Mecha Godzilla came online and watched the Engineer as they worked. These reports are unsubstantiated and assumed to be untrue.

Type 1 Maser Tank The original Maser Tanks invented in the late 60's to deter Godzilla Senior prior to his death. The technology has improved considerably since then, with modern Maser Tanks having a minimum power output nearly double the maximum of the Type 1's.

Size comp of Mecha-G, Ghidorah, Sr., Goji, and Jr.

[merakiui]

JADE MUSHROOM DILDOS????? THE SENTIENT DOLL PROMPT?? WOULD SOME MORE DETAILS! WHENEVER I TRY TO RUN, THE TWEELS ENSNARE MY ATTENTION AND HEART BY WRAPPING THEIR LONG AND SLIMY TAILS AROUND IT <333

(Fem darling)

Although they're nerds... Maidenless, pathetic (absolutely adorable) I still adore the trope of suave and sleek on the outside, handsome and reliable (yet dubious) Jade, wild and free Floyd who wants to get freaky.. They're what the freshmen of NRC aspire to be. Charismatic and enigmatic.

Yet when behind closed doors, both of them are absolute loser virgins. Nerds who haven't lost their first kiss. Nerds that simply can't admit to liking the prefect~ They're always bullying darling cause it's "fun".

It's not like they could ever harbour feelings for a lil shrimpie! That's ridiculous! Their sex doll? Pfft! Doesn't resemble that shrimpie at all! (This reminds me a little bit of that onna hole series but the difference being that, darling doesn't feel it.)

They're just in complete denial aren't they? They both hide the sexdoll they have, Floyd doesn't know that Jade has one that's nearly the same, Jade doesn't either. Despite them having their own respective ones, their interpretation of darling is totally different! The dolls aren't literally alive, but when they're shoving their cocks, darling's moaning along with them.

When they're in a horny daze, the doll comes to life. (Like in Tatami Galaxy if you happen to know! Difficult to explain but I hope this made sense anyways (⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠) )

Floyd interprets darling as completely inexperienced, and really docile and responsive. Whimpers a lot and has this shimmery look in her eyes. (Another example of sex dolls in this instance would be Interspecies reviewer, it's an ecchi anime but I needed inspo ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ)

"N-no Floyd don't lick me there! Hyaaah! No! Floyd! Floyd-senpai! Nghh!" The pseudo darling whimpers and moans even if his performance is utterly sloppy! A darling that can unravel faster than him (who cums prematurely, wayyy too quickly! Too quick for an athlete!)

"Senpai's too big! You can't!" The cliché subby H-manga character that's catered to loser incels like him. Babbling way too quickly. (Realistically, it takes wayyyy more work to dumbify a person, a quick cummer would never get a real lady to reach that point of babbling in five minutes. Better luck next time, virgin eel!)

Jade interprets darling as someone that's bratty and just as passive aggressive as him. Darling usually wouldn't bother in engaging with Floyd since it doesn't change what Floyd's going to feel about doing his chores. Floyd is just such an unreckoned force, darling always does his bidding to shut his whining. Jade on the other hand is occasionally negotiable.

When the prefect is doing part time in the lounge, Jade's always attempting to break that patient exterior of hers just for his own amusement. (Cuz this loser does not know how to flirt.) Unlike the other staff who immediately lose their tempers and quit within the end of their contract, the prefect always smiles back at him. Giving Jade backhanded compliments, retorts that aren't explicitly rude. The prefect is resilient after all, she successfully negotiated with that stubborn tako for a fat check at every end of the month. This slimy eel can't just push her down so easily!

Darling will never back down, this check has given her and Grim more than just stale bread and leftovers for meals! Jade is sleek and cunning, but Prefect is not an idiot! Jade has met his match for backhanded comments and sly forms of insulting. Saccharine "service" smiles, never a frown on darling.

Jade wants to break that resilience. Something he can't have in reality.. A bratty darling that's easy to manipulate. A bratty darling who messes up her responses. He wants the prefect to feel shame. He wants her to fall for his figurative traps. He wants to utterly humiliate her just like how he did to all the employees that were subject to his bullying.

"Fuck you Jade! Fuuugh!" Insults just turn into moans as he erratically fucks his 'darling', it's not the prefect! It just coincidentally looks like her! The real prefect would never utter a single cuss, she has an image to uphold, but this doll right here? So utterly lewd! So bratty and potty mouthed. So vulgar! What a harlot! A horny harlot that's starved of cock! Jade's cock, a brat that gets trained into being an absolute shameless harlot, stripped off any form of dignity. Stripped off that elegant facade. So utterly dirty and below him.

For as long as those two don't work on their actual plans to get their hands on the real darling, they're left with the sad reality of cumming into lifeless caricatures of the real prefect. (They have zero rizz, they just keep fucking up their flirting attempts and opportunities.)

It would be even funnier if they read the doujins Idia makes. The MC is oddly familiar, can't think of who it resembles... Oh well, it gets the junk junkin!!!

I wanted a bit of a different trope for darling and the tweels! I hope it was good to read, Mera! I don't see a lot of Floyd pacifying darlings. (Maybe I haven't been looking in the right areas.) I just love a dynamic with Jade where he isn't as sleek with rude innuendos as he thought. Someone finally matched his passive aggressive freak!!

Always remember to prioritise yourself over content creation! It's quite easy to neglect the little things like hydration! It's been way too long since I last sent you an ask <3

Xoxo, Izuna.

꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡

IZUNA...... IZUNA!!!!! GRABBING YOU BY THE SHOULDERS!!! AAAAAAA THIS IS SO MUCH MORE THAN JUST A GOOD READ. THIS WAS BRILLIANT AND SO DELICIOUS AND AN ENTIRE FIVE-STAR MEAL!!!!!

(๑﹏๑//) I'm eating so incredibly good with this omg,,,, the different interpretations of darling for each eel is so yummy. Aaaaa Floyd would absolutely have a thing for being called senpai,,, it just sounds so lovely coming from your mouth... Floyb with his cock-drunk and no-thoughts-in-head-other-than-cum doll and Jade with his brat of a doll who fights him until the very end when she's unraveling beneath him....... so good. orz orz orz

They're both such losers!!! T_T getting off with a doll while imagining it to be the real you even though the spell breaks when they're no longer horny,, >_< aaaaa so maidenless!

That line in the beginning of your ask regarding mushroom dildos... 👀 there are so many thoughts in my mind... Jade is a freak when it comes to his mushrooms!!! You just happen to be his favorite darling to test these things on. <3

[crazypossumman]

Matching Stitches (Stein x Spirit)

Summary: Spirit has always been Stein's greatest experiment, just not in the way he has always thought.

Also on AO3

AN: Uneditted and purely indulgent to my own weird little theory about Stein's experiments on Spirit when they were first partners. Just shy of 3,000 words. Certainly not my best writing; I'd like to be more thorough with this idea, but for now I just needed it out of my head.

CW: Fairly brief mention of surgery (surgical tools, scars, etc.) on others and self, mentions of blood/violence, betrayal, angsty but with an implied happy ending

“You know I trust you.”

“And you know that it’s a mistake, really.” 

Spirit swallowed hard, looking at the boy in white next to him as he picked through various surgical instruments. The words had slipped from the meister's mouth faster than he would’ve had time to think, so Spirit knew that he meant it. But—for some reason beyond reason—Spirit still trusted him. 

It was only fair that he did, really. Stein was putting his life into Spirit’s hands each time they went into battle; it was Spirit’s sworn duty to protect his meister partner, and if he failed, Stein would be the one to face the consequences. If Stein could trust Spirit with his life, then Spirit needed to do the same. 

“I’m just saying there are risks,” the younger boy continued, still not looking up from the tray of meticulously sorted tools, “Surgery always comes with risks.” 

“I know that,” Spirit huffed, shifting on the table. A crumpled blanket covered his lap, but aside from that, he had already stripped down for the operation. He desperately wished that Stein hadn’t waited until the last minute to voice his concerns, leaving him exposed and anxiously anticipating the pain of the operation.

“I don’t mean risks to your health.” Stein’s hands dropped to his sides and came to a stop, but he didn’t look up. “There are risks to your reputation, as well. I’m sure you’ve noticed the way people look at me.” 

Of course, Spirit thought, Who hasn’t noticed? It had been a while ago that scars had started appearing on the young genius’ body. Most of them were small—small enough to fade and to be pushed from one’s mind (maybe it was a scratch, an accident)—but recently, some had become more concerning. Nothing he was doing was against the Academy’s rules (Spirit always made sure of that), and how was anyone supposed to stop him? The alternative was to allow him to hurt others, and no one could allow that. So, instead, they appointed him with social judgment—a collective consensus to leave him outcasted, feared, and alone. Spirit was guilty of it as well. He hated being seen as the meister's babysitter, and the stitches on the meister's body made him uncomfortable just like everyone else.

“I can keep them under my shirt,” he said, “People won’t even notice.” 

“You’ll never take off your shirt in front of anyone ever?” the madman said, raising an eyebrow, “I find that unlikely.” 

“It won’t have to be forever,” the older boy growled, “You said your research will change lives, Stein! No one will care what happened when they know I did it for a good cause.” 

Something not unlike a smile tugged at the corner of the boy’s mouth. “You’re an idiot,” he said plainly. The change of inflection in his voice was even less noticeable than the change in expression, but Spirit noted it nonetheless. 

“You think everyone is an idiot.” 

There was a short moment of silence before Stein, going back to the matter at hand, said, “I just want to be sure that you are aware of the possible consequences. It’s possible that these operations will be entirely unhelpful. I can’t guarantee success for either of us.” 

“You said that we still don’t know much about how weapons’ bodies work, right?” Spirit reminded him, “How else would anyone figure anything out? I know the risks, and I’ve agreed to it. You’ll use this research to develop surgical practices on weapons wounded in battle, and you’ll save lives. People will think that we’re heroes.” 

Stein huffed. “It’s unlikely my finds from this operation go anywhere on their own,” he argued, “We’d have to do numerous dissections on numerous cadavers.”

“We’ll do as many as you need. Once people see the gains you’ve made performing research on me, they’ll be sure to approve of further research. They’ll understand everything you’ve been doing all along.” 

“They won’t.” His voice had gone rigged, particularly cold. “I’m not doing it for those reasons, Spirit. I’m doing it to know. Whether lives are saved or not does not concern me.” 

Spirit laid back on the exam table and closed his eyes, frustrated by the bickering. “I’m the one getting cut open tonight, Stein. You should be far more optimistic in this situation than I am.” 

“How many times do I need to say it?” The boy moved again, picking a scalpel up from the tray and turning it precariously in his fingers. “I’m just making sure you know all the risks.” Stein stepped closer to Spirit, putting one hand on the older boy’s chest with just enough pressure to keep his back flat on the table. “I am incredibly—how did you put it?” the silver-haired boy chimed, “—optimistic.”

— ~ — * — ~ —

“Spirit, what are these?” 

The blood drained from Spirit’s face, and he swallowed hard. Fuck, how on earth could he have forgotten? 

Things had gotten out of hand so quickly. It started at a party, as these things so often did, and from there it was drinking, and then dancing, and then stumbling into the nearest vacant room with his hands on Kami’s waist. He’d been too drunk to think—no, he’d been thinking, just nothing helpful—about the scars, and Kami must’ve noticed him flinch as her hand explored under his shirt, brushing over one of the fresher wounds. 

“Spirit?” she said again, looking up at him. 

“They’re nothing, really,” he said.

“What do you mean?” He felt his stomach churn at the concern in her voice as she lifted his shirt out of the way to expose further wounds and scars on his abdomen. “How did you get them?” she asked.

“I… I don’t know,” he lied, hoping that his guilt would be perceived as concern, “They just appear. It’s nothing, probably.”

“How can you not know?” she asked harshly, her eyebrows furred down into an angry glare, “Look at the stitches, Spirit! You don’t think these are even the slightest bit familiar? That little psycho you call your meister is obviously doing something to you!”

“I think I would know if that were the case,” he said defensively, unsure of how else to shift the guilt away from Stein.

“Clearly, not! He’s probably drugging you so that he can operate on you in your sleep. Who knows what he’s already done to you!” 

"Kami, please--"

Before Spirit could even comprehend what was happening, he was being dragged to his and Stein’s apartment by Kami, who was fuming with rage. She nearly broke down the door, storming in immediately with Spirit close in tow, and pounded on the door to Stein’s bedroom. 

“Stein, you bastard! Get out here!” she shouted, making Spirit flinch. 

There was a long, tragic moment of silence before the door opened, Stein standing behind it, dressed in white as always. “Kami, Spirit,” he addressed each of them blandly.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“Please, you’ll need to be more specific.” 

Kami pulled Spirit forward and yanked up his shirt, revealing his scar-stained abdomen. The young weapon felt his eyes go wide with fear and shock, unsure of what to do, but Stein’s didn’t meet his gaze through the glare of his glasses. His face gave no hint of worry, no hint of care. 

“How do you explain this?” she asked angrily.

Stein shrugged. Spirit felt himself start to panic. “I’m a scientist. What do you expect?” the younger boy said.

“I didn’t expect you to be drugging your weapon partner and experimenting on him in his sleep!” she snapped. 

Spirit waited, looking for a telltale sign of emotion on Stein’s face. But there wasn’t one. The younger boy should have been afraid—betrayed, even. And yet it looked as if he felt nothing. “I’d hardly expect either of you to understand,” he said. 

“I understand!” Kami shouted, “You’re a complete psycho! Don’t you know that you could��ve killed him?” 

“Don’t you know that I chose not to?” Stein replied. The statement had a bite to it that seemed to come unnaturally to the meister. “I held his life in my hands, and I chose to spare it. Don’t make me regret my decision, Kami.” 

“You’re… you’re a lunatic!” she shouted. She grabbed Spirit’s arm again, moving closer to him. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” 

Stein didn’t move, his eyes fixed on both of them, and Spirit felt himself freeze for a moment. He was looking for something—anything—on the meister’s face to tell him how he was feeling. He needed to step in. He needed to do something, say something—he needed to stand up for Stein before it was too late. But before he could form the words, Kami was walking him out of the apartment with a firm hand on his back, holding him close as if worried he’d faint. They left, and he did nothing. 

— ~ — * — ~ —

All these years later, and Spirit felt so sick that he could throw up. He could hear the bottom of a bottle calling to him, a sweet harmony he usually wouldn’t hesitate to answer, but now of all times felt inappropriate to be drinking. 

He was a failure. He’d always been a failure. But somehow, the damage done by his mistakes continued to grow. Error upon error stacked upon each other, the consequences culminating into a cascade of shame and guilt. 

The Demon Sword had gotten away, and so had the witch it was working with. And, worse than that, Maka and Soul had been in the brunt of the battle as well. Usually, the mere thought of the ivory-haired teen made his blood boil, but now he was sick with worry. Had Soul not been there—if he hadn’t sacrificed himself—then what would’ve become of his daughter? As much as he didn’t want to imagine it, he couldn’t get the image out of his head: his precious daughter’s blood splattered over the walls because he had been too late. 

Soul was in surgery now with Dr. Stein, which somehow made him feel worse. When he was a student (not even so long ago, really), an operation like this would’ve been unheard of—impossible, even. But Stein was a genius, and his understanding of weapons and their bodies was invaluable. He always insisted that his search for knowledge wasn’t intended to benefit others, yet it continued to serve the academy and its students time and time again. 

Stein was a madman, but he was still a good person. Spirit always knew that, and yet all those years ago, he let Stein take the fall as soon as someone discovered his scars. He didn’t know what had prevented him from just admitting that he had consented to the operations. Was he that ashamed of admitting that he trusted his meister? Or was he just that concerned with what people thought of him—worried that people would shun him and label him as a freak, the same way they had Stein for so many years? 

Waiting outside the infirmary for news, Spirit felt himself shake. Stein should have hated him, but as their soul wavelengths tangled in one another during the fight with the Demon Sword, Spirit knew that the madman didn’t hold so much as a grudge. It was as if nothing had ever happened at all. Somehow, that was worse. He had made mistake after mistake, and the only person who seemed to hate him was his daughter. As they both waited near the infirmary door, she wouldn’t even look at him. At least he knew that he deserved it. 

Eventually, the infirmary door opened, and the silver-haired man appeared, his white labcoat in pristine condition despite the bloody task he had just finished performing. Maka was first to approaching him, inquiring rapidly about her partner’s condition. Spirit kept himself from flinching while Stein lied to her through his teeth. He didn’t know exactly what was wrong, but he knew it was something. Maka—like most others—couldn’t read Stein the way he could, and she thanked him before moving on, relief radiating from her person.

Spirit wanted to snap at him as soon as she had walked away, but he kept himself calm. It didn’t take long for him to pry the answer from Stein: the Demon Sword’s black blood had mixed with Soul’s, and the consequences of such were still unknown. 

“It will be interesting to see what happens,” Stein admitted. 

“Interesting? What the hell do you mean interesting? My daughter’s life could be at risk here, Stein!”

The madman blew out a puff of smoke. “There’s nothing to be so worried about. I believe that Maka and Soul will both be fine. It may not be an easy road, but they will make it through.”

Spirit glared at him. “Is there nothing you can do to stop it? Or are you just choosing not to so that you can see what happens?” he asked.

“The former,” the meister said plainly, not offering any more explanation. Silence fell between them, and Spirit felt himself starting to shake again. “Your worry won’t help them,” the madman said, “The best thing you can do is put your faith in them.”

“I have plenty of faith. If anyone can beat this, it’s my Maka.” 

“Then what has you so unnerved?” 

Spirit swallowed hard, looking down each end of the hallway as if in hope of escape. “This operation,” he said quietly, “It wouldn’t have been possible when we were students. It’s possible because of you.” 

“And because of you, as well.” 

“Don’t give me any credit,” he growled, “I don’t deserve it.”

Stein took a long drag of his cigarette, then let out a deep sigh. “You felt it, too, didn’t you?” he asked, “During the fight with the Demon Sword?”

Spirit nodded. “Nothing’s even changed between us.”

“Not at all.”

“Why not?” he asked before he thought.

The pause that followed was long—the tension could’ve been cut into pieces with a butter knife or, maybe more realisticly, a scalpel. Spirit closed his eyes hard, wishing he could take back the question. Neither of them would ever have an answer, of course, and they both knew it. The not knowing was killing him… he couldn’t imagine what it was doing to Stein.

The silver-haired man shrugged smally, not saying anything, and started to walk away without another word. Finally looking up, Spirit reached forward and grabbed him by the wrist, halting him. 

“I’m sorry,” Spirit said finally, the words falling hopelessly from his lips. 

“You have no need to be,” Stein replied, not so much as turning to look at him. 

“I do. I should have stood up for you. Instead, I let everyone think you were some sort of lunatic. You could’ve been expelled from the academy because of me, or worse! And I wasn’t even man enough to face you afterwards.”

“You think I didn’t know that would happen?” the madman said coldly. He finally turned to face him, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose to conceal his eyes. “I calculated the risk in my actions from the very beginning, Spirit. I knew you’d let me cut you open, and I knew you’d burn me back for it. I made you choose between your reputation and me, and you chose exactly as I expected.” 

“Then why do it? Why ever risk it to begin with? Didn’t you… didn’t you care at all about what we had?” 

Stein sighed a wispy, skull-like puff of smoke into the air in front of him. “I needed to know.”

Spirit felt his posture loosen, his very foundation shattered by the sound of the meister’s voice. A bystander may have brushed it off, but the dull drop in Stein’s voice was something that Spirit could feel in his soul. He could still remember Stein’s words all those years ago: “I’m doing it to know.” It had never struck him as strange before. Knowledge was all that ever seemed to matter to Stein. But Spirit had never realized before that Stein’s real experiment had little to do with the meticulous incisions and stitches, little to do with the glory of scientific discovery. He was studying Spirit, yes, but it was far more than just his body. 

“And what did you learn?” the weapon asked quietly. 

“I learned that you would choose your reputation over me,” he replied plainly, “As I expected you would. It was comforting to know I was correct.” 

“Comforting to know I would betray you?” 

Stein seemed to choke back a laugh. “I’ve never viewed myself as a victim, Spirit, and I’d appreciate if you stopped insinuating as much,” he replied, “But, if you must know, the experiment ran a bit deeper than that. It was about love.” 

Spirit’s eyebrows furrowed downward, a confused look coming over him. “Love? What are you on about?” 

The mad scientist shrugged. “It’s not something I have ever understood, really, but I know it exists. I always doubted that I was capable of feeling such a thing, so I tested it. I concluded that if I still cared about you despite your act of betrayal, then it must’ve been what people call love. There was no other way to test it than to let you betray me.” 

“And… what did you learn?” he asked again, his voice trembling. 

“That love is an idiotic thing. It exists without reason and without purpose, and it defies all logic.”

Spirit finally let go of his wrist, letting his arm drop down to his side. He tried to meet Stein’s eyes, but the glare of his glasses prevented it. He felt his face start to burn red. “You’re an idiot,” he said, turning around with a pout. 

“Maybe so,” he replied. “I have work to finish up here. Meet me later for dinner? I’d like to discuss our options about the Demon Sword.” 

Spirit nodded, realizing again that it felt as if nothing had changed between them. “Of course. I’ll see you then.” 

Writing Tag ↓ | Pinned | Writing Masterlist | Kofi | Etsy

[unchartedwrites]

Heyy, could I request a fanfic where the reader meets Rafe in college/or university and they kinda hate each other at the beginning because the teacher wants them to do a project together: (could be any subject) but while working on that project they get closer to each other. Thank you, I hope that's not too much to ask and I hope you understood my shitty english. :D

A/N: Hello! First off, I do apologise that it has taken me so long to pick up this request. It literally has been sitting in my inbox for couple of years now. I’ve decided to go through my inbox and pick up requests to write and clear it down to those who did make one. It has been a while since I’ve written something so please forgive me if it’s a bit rusty, I’m going to keep it short and simple, so I hope that it’s ok! Wherever you may be in life, dear anon, I hope all is going well for you! :’)

It hasn’t been long since you had started college and you’ve seemed to settle in pretty well. You enjoyed your classes and found a couple of friends along the way. Regardless of your positive start, something or someone was always looming over in the back of your mind, almost like a dark shadow you couldn’t escape from. 

It was Rafe Adler.

It was an understatement to say that there weren’t many who haven’t yet heard his name. Oh no, he was quite the character, and very liked among his peers. Was it his good grades, his great communication skills, or his good looks? Well, that’s what everyone else would always narrow it down to.

Oh, but you weren’t so easily fooled, Rafe was nothing short of arrogant, cocky, handsome yes, but you could see right through him and that made you despise him. You hated him and it was no secret that he didn’t like you either…or so you though.

It was then that you were snapped out of your daze, thinking of him of all people, when the professor had called out your name, soon after followed by his.

You couldn’t believe it, there was no way that you were being paired up with him to do this project. Despite your internal turmoil, getting a good grade is what mattered the most, and you certainly weren’t going to let Rafe get in the way of that.

Being as subtle as possible you glanced his way, knowing exactly where he would be sitting, but to your surprise he was already looking directly at you, not so subtle at all. 

A smirk on his lips, his eyes never left yours. You felt heat rising up your body and flooding your face, why was your heart beating so much faster now. You quickly averted his gaze, not letting him have the satisfaction of seeing you like this. Was this his way of mocking you? You certainly didn’t want to dwell on this any longer. 

The moment the class was dismissed, you proceeded to pack up your things as quickly as possibly and make a hasty exit just to avoid having a run in with Rafe on the way out. Just as you thought you were nearly in the clear, your bag already zipped up and ready to go, you were stopped in your tracks.

“Y/N.” 

You recognised that voice. It was Rafe. 

So much for a swift exit, you had no choice but to look towards the man.

“Rafe.” You tried to sound as neutral as possible. “Something I can help you with?” You continued, hoping that this doesn’t have to go on longer than necessary.

“I’m glad you asked.” He smirked again, it was always that damn smirk. There he was, once again, making your blood boil. He then continued, “This upcoming project, I was hoping to make a start on it today.” He gestured between the both of you.

“Uh-huh, sure, that’s fine with me.” It was rather unlike Rafe to act this civil towards you, maybe he needed that good grade on this project too. That was the only one thing you would ever have in common with someone like him, at least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“I’m free after seven, meet you at the library?” You suggested.

“Great.” He seemed satisfied with your proposal. Just as he was turning to head towards the exit, he gave you one last glance, “See you at the library, partner.”

You almost didn’t catch it, but did he just wink at you. You were left standing in your spot in utter disbelief as you watched him walk away. 

You knew right then, that this was going to be no ordinary semester at college, and there was only one person who is going to be responsible for this.

It was Rafe Adler.

[breithenua]

That Hidden Stone asshole Kakkō is a major reason why everything (in life, not the plot) sucks for Kakashi and Naruto's generations in Naruto.

Literally the only reason Obito ended up getting crushed was because neither Kakashi nor Obito thought to finish off that Hidden Stone ninja Kakkō after Kakashi slashed him with his dad's chakra sabre. The cut wasn't enough to render him fully unconscious, they just assumed it was, so he was able to get back up and then collapse the cave they were in. Literally all it would have taken is Kakashi taking that chakra sabre and stabbing the same dude through the throat or the skull *before* going over and releasing Rin from that genjutsu. Somewhere out there is an alternate timeline where Kakashi finished that prick off, and thus the cave-in never happened. Obito doesn't get crushed, all three of them walk out of that cave unscathed (except for Kakashi still missing an eye but I digress), and a lot changes overall from there. 1. Madara doesn't have a young Obito to manipulate into taking over the Eye of the Moon plan, and *maybe* he never finds a suitable Uchiha to take over the plan at all. We don't know exactly how long the Gedo Statue could sustain him, whether it was forever or just by a few decades. Then again, maybe he does. Who knows. I hear Uchiha Yashiro was a massive prick, maybe Madara manipulates him instead. But he was also a chickenshit so probably not. 2. Rin doesn't get kidnapped as a result of Madara's manipulations of the Hidden Mist village cause he no longer has Obito there to try to manipulate. So she LIVES to the present day. Or at the least, probably doesn't die by impaling herself on Kakashi's Chidori. 3. Obito gets to keep training alongside his teammates and friends and doesn't ever become Tobi, so the Kyuubi attack on the village never happens, Minato and Kushina don't die literally the day Naruto's born (maybe they die later in some other way but at least Naruto *will have parents* and won't be treated like the scum of the earth for the Kyuubi's attack on the village. Since again, it doesn't happen in this timeline). Hiruzen doesn't have to step back into the role of Hokage, at the very least not as quickly. Probably not at all, with how strong Minato already was and the potential he had. Minato probably ends up getting way stronger and ends up becoming the strongest Hokage in history (at least, compared to his predecessors). Yes, I actually think he'd eventually surpass even Hashirama in strength. Remember, Minato died at only 24. He had A LOT of room to grow. And he probably doesn't listen to Danzo's bullshit either. Remember, Hiruzen tolerated it because he had a childhood friendship to Danzo. Minato doesn't have that connection to Danzo.

3.5. Since Obito never becomes evil, he has nothing to do with the incarnation of the Akatsuki we saw in Shippuden. Maybe they still become that though, Danzo is infamously, a fucking prick. 4. Kakashi doesn't have to live with the guilt of being unable to save his friends, though on the other hand he never gets the Sharingan either and will be old one eye his whole life. But considering how badly the Sharingan drained his stamina and how much his trauma held back his true potential over the years, that might work out to Kakashi's benefit and have him be much stronger, much faster. He'd have to either readapt or discard Chidori though, since it's not safe to use without the Sharingan. Maybe he holds onto the knowledge and teaches the Chidori to someone that CAN use it better than he could.

5. When Orochimaru goes rogue, Minato (who again, *lives* in this timeline) probably isn't gonna let his ass get away, even if Hiruzen still does. Orochimaru is a slippery bastard but he can't keep up with fucking TELEPORTING.

5.5. Even if Orochimaru does get away, and eventually attacks Konoha like he does in the main timeline, it's unlikely he'd survive a fight with Minato. But chances are he wouldn't DARE try to take on Minato. ...oooh wait, Madara might consider trying to ally with Orochimaru if he lives long enough to do so. Again, still some questions on just how long being connected to the Gedo Statue could actually extend Madara's lifespan. But Orochimaru *does* desire the Sharingan and might be able to be swayed to help Madara in exchange for help in gaining said Sharingan abilities. And that's actually a scary possibility.

6. The Uchiha are never blamed for the attack of the Kyuubi, since in this timeline it never happened. They're also not shoved to the edge of the village, put under surveillance, and ultimately massacred by Itachi due to Danzo's manipulation. Sasuke never has to see his clan massacred, he has loving parents and a loving brother, and he never has to leave the village to seek power for his revenge. Shisui probably lives too, seeing as Danzo attacked him basically to prevent him from using Koto Amatsukami on Fugaku to prevent the coup d'etat that again, most likely wouldn't even happen in this timeline. Maybe Danzo would attack him for his eyes anyway though, Danzo's a fucking prick afterall.

7. Minato as Hokage would probably be very impressed by Itachi's academy scores and chunin exam times, considering they both were child geniuses. He'd probably keep tabs on Itachi, maybe even take Itachi under his wing to an extent and consider Itachi a future successor to him. And when Itachi gets that chakra illness, Minato, knowing Jiraiya personally, could ask Jiraiya to find Tsunade and bring her back personally to help treat Itachi.

7.5. Alternatively, there's a possiblity Obito, now that he's finally activated his Sharingan, finally starts excelling as a ninja, and he's the man Minato considers most as a future successor to himself. Reason I didn't write this as the main possibility is we don't know how much of Obito's later strength came to him naturally, and how much of it was due to his having White Zetsu cells attached to him in combination with the Mangekyo and the Uchiha curse of hatred. Obito got A LOT of buffs from his circumstances. I still think he'd be a great ninja and jonin someday, of course, we just don't know how great he'd be without those buffs. That being said, if we consider the assumption that Obito *is* still strong enough to succeed Minato as Hokage valid, I could see Minato assigning Itachi to Obito's team at first, and when Obito succeeds Minato, Obito and to a lesser extent Minato both groom Itachi to be Obito's eventual successor.

8. Some other random people that aren't gonna die since Obito never goes evil: Hiruzen's wife, Kurenai's dad, Iruka's parents, and countless anbu and other nameless ninja that died in the 9-tails attack.

TL;DR So much awful shit could have been avoided if Kakashi or Obito finished this particular jackass off. He's not the ONLY reason life sucks for Kakashi and Naruto's generations, but he's a massive part of it. Thanks Kakkō, you fucking asshole lmao:

[melancholybliss92]

I'm so excited !! I will be going to look at a house next year. It's not available on the market yet until the 16th. I am set on this house because of the area so I will wait to see what it looks like inside. I am set on it so I'm really hoping it's not a fucked up house. Whether I'm in a relationship or not I will have my OWN house. Unlike them homeless hoes that seek a relationship to have a place to stay. Or that stupid fat Italian bitch the crazy 40 yr old was with . If he wanted to be with her, he would have stopped her from moving when she was In philly. And also when she moved and he came to visit for 2 weeks . He would have rented an apartment already to prove he serious. I looked up rent in kansas its cheaper than philly. She know she ugly as fuck and she in denial and making herself sound like she's wanted. And also he tried to string me along saying stay with him in the current house for 5 years so when he sells it he makes more money to buy a bigger house. I'm already seeing alot red flags with him and his stupid ass homeless hoe family. Hes not speaking up for me .The sister and husband is unstable welcoming more runaway homeless bitches and then lying and making corny post to make them look good . That's the only bitch her fat son can get. A homeless hoe that is submissive because the min she argue with them she will be kicked out. They all liars and hoes looking to breed and get married so they have a place to stay .they said her family is rich, own properties, own a nail salon etc. but why is the bitch inside a fat dudes parents house to this day. If they are so rich why don't they get her an apartment or give her a house. Why does she have to park and stay in someone else's house for 2 years . They fronting and lying . I don't like people who ask about me behind my back, spying on me out of jealousy, making snide comments about my business but their shit stinks. and then hyping an actual loser bitch up. Her actions speak for herself and his neice is still homeless in her moms basement. I see why they both best friends. Two corny homeless bitches go hand in hand . Trust me , if her family is rich. They will never ever let her stay in some fat dudes parents house in the hood. They will make sure she goes to college and she has a place to stay. I don't lie like that and I don't need to hide my business . I'm praying if my realtor can check for an earlier date. The faster I get out the faster i feel like im free with my own space. I know the ugly ass fat bitch in kansas is jealous because i look better and is smarter she waiting for the relationship to end. He still has pics of me and him on fb. He can either apologize to me or be alone in his small piece of shit house. U can be in a relationship with other people and visit them from your own house. I'm done living with another piece of shit. It's all types of issues when one isn't working and doesn't have a life and their family is jealous of u and he's not speaking up. I didn't ask him for money back in early August 2020. This was before I even pass my exam and got thus job. We both decided he goes back to his mom's house to play his stupid league of legend game. The man downstairs didn't make any noise at that time because I wasn't really working. The man downstairs is another one of them welfare disability people that doesn't work they stalk u all day and watch your routine. I stopped talking to him at night for only one week. He hurried up and came back right away to open another internet in my apartment . Thats on him . He's crazy . If he didn't open internet in my house, I already have Comcast. We wouldn't see each other or argue. If I don't get that house I'm going to see then I will be really sad. But I don't know yet. Gotta wait till it hits the market .

[littlebigmouse]

I mean, I kind of see where the argument is coming from, but given how filled the show is with "characters doing problematic things" I guess I kind of figured people would consider his good traits and perspective more?

Heimerdinger founded Piltover, yes, but we don't actually know how long it's been since the undercity sunk and whether or not the "official LoL lore" (soon to be retconned anyway probably) regarding Piltover getting built on top the old city is actually relevant to arcane.

Heck, we don't even know how long the undercity has been so drastically neglected and abused - for at least a generation, yes, which is a long time in human terms, but Heimerdinger's whole thing is that he's Older than Dirt and Immortal.

The entire point of the character is that his view of the city and time itself is(?)/has become(?) ridiculously skewed over a ridiculously long life-span. Heimerdinger's inability to relate to other people in these very important aspects seems to me 50% "genetic circumstance" (not his fault he's immortal, lol), and 50% environmental circumstances - he's created a cozy bubble for himself and rarely strayed from it and his interest and has thus lost touch with reality (idk, sounds like a relateably issue to me). But either way it's 100% an interesting character flaw to explore. Heimerdinger has life experience that both makes his perspective uniquely interesting and dare I say wise (sometimes), but it's the same life experience that has made him blind to change. That's a really cool thing to explore with a classic mentor character (who now needs to become the mentee).

He's also not the singular arbeiter of the councils oppression I've sometimes seen him portrayed as - as far as we know, there's always been A council with multiple members, Piltovian legislation has always been a group effort. But the entire council is at fault for the undercities situation the same way every character in Piltover has some serious prejudices against undercity people and is at the very least complicit in their position.

Compared to some of the other Piltovian characters, Heimerdinger is apparently the only non-corrupt politcian on the council (the orchestra scene) and was less willfully ignorant of the situation in the undercity than genuinely blind to it, unlike some other councilors.

There's not a single scene were Heimerdinger exhibits any kind of prejudice against the people from the undercity (regarding explicit bias communicated on screen, at least as far as I remember) and comes around to their side almost immediately, if a bit helplessly. Altogether a much less bumpier journey than eg Cait, who took a couple of episodes, or Jayce, whose idea of helping "the poor" involves "making them work faster" (the Atlas Gauntlet) and who, among other things, proceeds to blow up a factory including its workers in an attempt to harm Silco's shimmer production. As a legislator. (I love Jayce and his moral roulette wheel but my god).

I'm not saying Heimerdinger doesn't have faults, but to me he appears to be one of the characters who is given very little understanding or empathy for his position - characters like SIlco, Mel and Jayce are also major players in other people's oppression and make some truly questionable decisions, but as far as I can tell they garner far more empathy and understanding for their motives from the audience than Heimerdinger ever does. (Except maybe Mel, but I will admit most criticisms of her character I've seen around were focused on her romance arc, so).

I think Heimerdinger's character arc is interesting, I love to see him contrasted with Ekko (their perspectives are quasi opposites) and I think his character design is adorable, haha. He's far from my favourite but I've seen some people truly unhappy with the "Stealth Mission" clip due to Heimerdinger's presence, which baffled me.

Can someone explain to me why so many people hate Heimerdinger?? I genuinely do not understand.

[embossross]

From His Mind to Yours

Chapter 2 >> Chapter 3 >> masterlist

✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content

✣ Chapter CW: reckless driving, scary stuff around car accidents, discussions of self harm, discussions of past trauma, discussions of parental abuse, sexual harassment

✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, torture (not of y/n), murder, discussions of trauma and abuse, and many more that I don't know yet

✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.

✣ Word Count: ~6k

No one would have guessed that the handsome man, concealed behind tinted windows had murdered someone less than an hour before. A shower, a change of suit, and he could have walked through a police station without raising an eyebrow.

You, on the other hand, look like you witnessed a murder, Hanma thinks.

Hanma admires the way you try to conceal it behind your professional mask. When he leads you to his Bentley, you don’t flinch away from the hand at the small of your back, and you sit ramrod straight, nestled amongst leather seats. Like so many things, it’s the blood that gives you away. Your cheeks are sunken and bloodless. When Hanma opens the passenger door for you, he can see the pulse in your neck spike with anxiety.

Were you too frightened to leave without his permission, hoping to speed through dinner and then disappear into the night? Or were you made of tougher stuff? It is inevitable that you will ultimately be chased back to your life of tax filings and Sunday walks in the park. You will be a temporary plaything. And, while he has you, Hanma wants to play.

“I always work up an appetite after work,” Hanma comments, casting his eyes slyly to you, “And you look like you could use a drink.”

The sun has fallen, and the city is lit up by man’s inventions. You stare straight out the front window of his car, watching the traffic pass as if you are the driver. There’s a moment, where you look to summon your strength – a purposeful breath out and a fidget – and then you slip back into your role.

“I shouldn’t drink anything. I’m working,” you murmur.

“You’ll be better once you relax a little. Half a bottle of sake, and you’ll be back to the endless questions.”

“I do have some questions,” you admit.

“So, you’re not quitting on me just yet?” Hanma asks.

“No.”

You both share a long look. There’s iron strength behind your words that tells him you’re not joking around. Cute in the way your lips are pursed tight. Of course, Hanma knows that iron, though hard to break, melts. How long until your sanity leaks away under the pressure of playing with the most dangerous men in Tokyo? Would you still be beautiful when you were broken, or was your beauty a function of your strength?

A car horn forces Hanma to return his eyes to the road, swerving quickly to avoid swiping a parked bike.

Most days, Hanma ferries around the city in a discrete black Toyota Venza. Best not to draw attention at the scene of the crime. A driver picks him up and drops him home at the end of the day.

The Bentley – a 2018 Continental GT – is for his personal use. Unlike some of his colleagues, Hanma doesn’t pick his luxury car to signal his wealth and access to onlookers. He chose based solely on the drive. At peak performance it tops off at 337 km/hr and torque of 664 at 4500 rotations per minute. Designed for agility, so that he could barrel towards corners and barriers without slowing, the transmission shifts faster than any car he’s ever driven. In the 3.6 seconds between 0 to 100 km/hr, the stomach drops away, left behind at the starting line, and Hanma’s guts and nerves soar far beyond. He’s addicted to the feeling.

All drivers who love the rush of speed and skill, despise the stretch of road he enters now. Tokyo is designed to prevent men exactly like him from tearing rubber on the pavement, and this road is specifically prohibitive: six red lights, each with a long turnaround cycle, five pedestrian cross walks, and endless foot traffic headed to the trendy shops and restaurants.

“You know, before we go back to twenty questions, I have some questions myself,” Hanma says.

“What about?”

Hanma pulls a stop in front of a red light and twists in his seat to face you head on. “You.”

“Questions about me in a professional capacity?” you sigh.

“You expect me to spill my guts to an automaton? This will work better if I get to know you first, like a conversation,” Hanma says.

“Some people find it cathartic to share their innermost feelings with a stranger. That way they don’t have to worry about what the other person thinks.”

“And that’s what keeps bartenders in their tips. I’m well aware. The number of people that want to put a bullet in my head is in the hundreds, doc. I don’t trust easily.”

“Do you trust at all?” you ask, suddenly all professional curiosity again.

Hanma is saving his final opinion of you for a later date, but when you banter back and forth with him, he hazards he likes you. Stupidly brave without realizing it, dancing around his questions and cutting through his obfuscations. Still, you know when to back off, never pushing past a point of no return. You have judgment.

You also love risk, just like him. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have manipulated him this afternoon. You wouldn’t have travelled alone to an abandoned warehouse to meet a yakuza.

“Nu-uh, doc. No more freebies for the rest of the night. I get to ask you a question for every one you ask me. Quid pro quo,” Hanma says.

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s a full sentence,” you snap back cheekily. “There’s nothing for me to gain in that exchange.”

“Sure, there is. My candor for one.”

“At the cost of the professional distance I need to keep my job? Not likely,” you say firmly.

Hanma marvels at you. The pedestrian crossing is blinking; any moment now, the light will turn green. Whenever he’s faced with a hardass like you in negotiations, Hanma has a litany of tactics at his disposal. Some you would enjoy less than others. For, you, he thinks something altogether different will do the trick.

“Then, how about a wager? You like those. We’re going to meet at a restaurant that’s coming up on the left in a couple blocks. There are four more traffic lights between now and then. The likelihood that I can make it through all of them without hitting a red light is what? One percent? Maybe less. If I can make it, I get to ask you a question for every one you ask me.”

You suck in a breath, appearing deep in though. There is no time for you to debate the pros and cons because any second now the light will turn green, and the race will be on. Hanma taps the pedal with his foot a few times, enough to rev the engine to life, but not enough to lunge forward.

5…4…3…2…1

“Fine, you have a deal.”

The V-8 engine roars to life, almost drowning out your little gasp as the car slams forward and your body is propelled back hard into leather seats. Hanma’s weight is already positioned back to brace for the impact. All of his focus is on the obstacles that lay before him.

They shoot through the first several hundred meters at 80 kmh before drawing up behind a Nissan, slow to get out of the way. There’s a narrow gap in the right lane, and Hanma dares to maneuver over, blaring his horn all the while, so that the car behind slammed on the brakes and let him squeeze in. They only stay in the right lane for a moment before he’s passing the Nissan and barreling past the first green light.

The light up ahead is still red, but the pedestrian crossing is ending, so Hanma slows to the speed limit to ensure it will turn green by the time you approach. At the reduced speed, he can glance your way. You have curled your limbs around your body into a tight ball and there are crescent marks on the flesh of your upper arms. So adorable.

Spotting that the light ahead is green, Hanma accelerates up to 120 km/hr to close the remaining distance. He honks repeatedly on his horn in warning and several cars up ahead rightly take it as a threat, swerving into the other lane, so that he can breeze past.

One Suzuki misses the memo, continuing at a clip barely above the speed limit in Hanma’s lane. Irritated, he pulls forward to hover less than a meter from the little car’s bumper. There is no room to move right for either car, however, and the Suzuki continues on in blissful ignorance. Up ahead the light turns yellow, and Hanma sees his victory slipping away.

With a curse, he crosses the yellow line and breaks into opposing traffic. Bright lights from the opposing cars’ headlights nearly blind him. They blare their horns and swerve to the side, though the lot of them aren’t as loud as your immediate shrieks of terror in the passenger seat. You make a desperate grab for the door handle, and Hanma has to spare the concentration to flick his child locks on, so you don’t leap out in a fit of terror.

One car nearly collides with another in a bid to get out of his way. Meanwhile, he effortlessly curves the wheel to the right, reentering his original lane ahead of the Suzuki and making it through the light a moment before it turned red.

“Do-do-don’t…Don’t…do…that,” you hyperventilate. Two lights to go, and already you are tapping out.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Hanma laughs, and then just for the hell of it, veers back into opposing traffic. You scream some more, and it’s just as funny as the first time.

He plays chicken with one of the cars up ahead, driving close before returning to his lane, but at this point you have taken his advice and stopped looking, so there’s no fun in it. Behind him, the Suzuki is catching up, somehow the driver – a bespectacled man, shaking his fist in fury through the windshield – has figured out how to speed all of the sudden. Amazing what anger can motivate a man to learn. He tries to ride Hanma’s ass, give him back a taste of his own medicine.

So, naturally, Hanma brake-checks him.

The Suzuki’s brake mechanics are not near as sophisticated as a Bentley’s, and the driver can’t stop in time, colliding with their bumper. His neck swings with a jolt. First forward, then back. Not unlike taking a punch. The only reason the air bags don’t deploy is Hanma had them disabled for exactly these circumstances. He didn’t want to break a knee every time he had a little accident, though the seat belt is sure to leave a mark on his chest.

Before Hanma’s even fully registered the damage though, he is already speeding back up through the third light. In his rearview, he can see the mangled hood of the Suzuki, half the size it was before as it was crushed under the power of their collision. Should be totaled. Any damage to the Bentley could always be repaired. Or if not, fuck it, he could buy another.

He starts to laugh and laugh and laugh. He rolls a window down to feel the air whip through the car; it fills up his lungs, rich and heavy like smoke. He can barely breathe through the intoxication. It’s the lights and the speed and the poor bastard who won’t be driving home tonight and your petrified whimpers and the air so sweet he can taste it.

High off the victory, Hanma flexes his foot on the accelerator, testing how fast he can go on such a crowded street. The answer is about 130 km/hr.

He makes it through the last light and obstacle.

Barely slowing, he swings a left into the covered lot by the restaurant, flipping off the cars that honk as he cuts them off. A parking spot is open in the front, and Hanma can see his men parked around it; security told to wait for his arrival. The car lurches to a stop, sloppily on the line of the parking spot.

“Well, that was close,” Hanma says, hardly breathing through the high. “I win.”

You don’t acknowledge his gloating smile.

One by one, you unfurl your fingers from the car handle, where you clung for dear life. Ever the gentleman, Hanma leaps out, so that he can open your door for you. No thank you, but you look like a ghost, so he lets it pass.

As he guessed, the Bentley is barely damaged. The Suzuki had managed to slow down before the crash and had taken the brunt of the impact. Just some scuffs to the paint and a little denting on the bumper that could be repaired in a few hours.

He throws his keys to one of his men and tells him to take the Bentley back to the garage before the police come looking. He’ll drive one of their cars home instead. If the Suzuki-loser managed to get his license plate, there is no need to worry. The car isn’t titled in his name, and they have a roster of backup license plates in storage.

Catatonic, you don’t react at all when Hanma places his hand on the small of your back and guides you into the restaurant. Pliant like a little doll.

The restaurant is in the western-style with individual tables, so that Hanma can ensure no one hears your conversation. Low-lighting and a discrete maître de that knows who and what Hanma is ensure you are seated immediately at the best table in the house. A waiter promptly arrives to take your drink order and explain the menu. The restaurant specializes in wagyu beef, the best cuts in the country.

Hanma orders a place of choice cuts – tongue, heart, loins – along with kimchi and whiskey to wash it down. Your eyes don’t even move over the menu, so Hanma starts to order a second of the same, when you finally snap awake.

“My appetite’s not all there yet,” you say softly, before ordering the tartare appetizer and a beer. You must remember what Hanma told you about loosening up a bit.

You sip at a glass of ice water and a little life returns to your eyes. Hanma undergoes the opposite effect, losing the intoxicating rush that had possessed him moments before and returning to his base state, like the colors had been leeched from a world once neon and shining.

“Have you ever tried wagyu before?” Hanma asks, hoping to spark some conversation before he dies of boredom.

“No. Is that one of your questions?” you retort.

“No, I’m just making conversation,” Hanma parrots. “I figured you for the trendy restaurant type. Thought you’d have tried all the Michelin three stars.”

“My boyfriend likes fine dining, so I go sometimes, but I prefer to not spend so much money on a single meal.” You stop suddenly, lips pursed. “You are paying, right?”

Hanma nods, and you instantly relax. A boyfriend, huh? He controls himself from pursuing that line of questioning, no matter how interesting it may prove to be, as it would make you hostile immediately. There are better ways to exploit his power over you for now.

The drinks arrive almost immediately. Hanma knocks his whiskey back in a single gulp and then sends for another. The rich burn down his throat lights up his belly and eyes. Delicately, you sip at your beer.

“Here’s my actual first question,” Hanma says. He stares you down until you stop fidgeting and hold his gaze just as intensely. “Are you scared of me?”

He can trace the saliva as your throat bobs and swallows.

“Yes, you terrify me,” you admit lowly.

“And yet you’re still here.”

The whiskey continues to burn in his chest.

“My turn to ask a question. When you…ended the interrogation earlier,” you cast your eyes around as if the police might jump the table at any moment, “Did that excite you?”

“Not particularly. I shot him because I was bored of hearing him blathering for mercy, not because I wanted to shoot him for the sake of it,” Hanma says.

“It didn’t turn you on at all?”

Hanma snorts. “I already answered that question. I’m starting to think it turned you on. And, that’s two questions, by the way, so I get a follow up next time. No, it did not turn me on. I don’t feel anything really when I kill someone.”

“Does violence ever turn you on?” you persist, like you want him to confess to being a sexual sadist straight from a thriller.

He decides to give you a serious answer. “Yes, under some conditions, violence excites me. I’m not saying it gets my cock hard, but it does feel good. Killing someone is pointless because once they’re dead, they can’t react anymore. It’s boring. I like the audience. I like when someone realizes that they made a mistake in not falling in line and that moment when regret flashes across their face, and they would do anything to make it up to me, but it’s too late. There’s none of that when a bullet hits. I’m not obsessed with death, or what a person feels when they die. Could care less. What I love though, what really gets me going, is when I’m fighting someone at a disadvantage. Losers like Fujimori offer me nothing. The best fight I ever had was against Mikey-kun back in the day. He was stronger than me, fiercer than me, and I knew I had just about no chance. It was rapturous, every punch that landed, every kick that bruised. The give and the take between the both of us, that turned me all the way on.”

Unthinkingly while he spoke, you both leaned in, so that your heads are close over the small table. Sometimes you get this look in your eyes, like he is hypnotizing you with his words. It takes no effort to seduce you. You ought to ask if the power of that turned him on; he would say an undeniable yes.

“I thought you might have a god complex, but you enjoy being beaten by a strong opponent as much as beating them?” you ask.

“My dream death,” Hanma says conspiratorially, “Would be for someone stronger than me to beat me down over the course of hours, wrap their hands around my neck, and squeeze until there’s nothing left. I think I’d enjoy the awareness of what’s happening as I die. Much better than deteriorating in a hospital bed with doctors prolonging my miserable life for just one more day.”

Now you knock back a big swig of beer. The pretty column of your throat trembles, and Hanma wonders if you too are thinking about hands wrapped around it. He would release you before you lost consciousness, just as your eyes dimmed of panic and started to flutter. You are so small compared to him that it would take only one hand to press down on your windpipe and dominate you.

“Have you ever tried –”

“No, no, no, my turn to ask the questions,” Hanma interrupts you, “And you’ve tallied up several in a row.”

You readjust your posture, reintroducing distance – physically and emotionally – between you both and say, “Go ahead.

“You are terrified of me. You saw me murder a man today. Yet here you are. Why haven’t you quit?”

“Kisaki-san is offering quadruple what I typically charge for half the time, and if I prove myself with you, he’ll refer more work to me. The money’s too good to pass up.”

“See, that’s what I don’t get. You must have a solid little nest egg saved up by this point. Your prices are highway robbery. Yet you say you don’t like to eat at the best restaurants to save money, and you’ll overlook your ethics to earn blood money from a killer. Why the obsession with money? Are there loan sharks breathing down your neck?”

Unsaid by him and unheard by you is that Hanma would genuinely consider taking care of said loan sharks. He’s not sure why he would make the offer beyond a repulsion at sharing one of his toys with a low life.

“The answer’s kind of long,” you admit.

“We have time.”

“I never knew my father. He left before I was born. It left my mother a single parent, and she…well, if she were alive today and I was her therapist, I would diagnose her with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. It’s more than just being narcissistic. My mother worked as a supervisor at a hotel, and she earned enough good money to dress well, take a nice holiday every year, pay the rent on time. Meanwhile, I would outgrow a pair of school shoes and still force my foot inside because I knew my mother would never pay to replace them. I lived in a nice apartment and went to a nice school, but behind closed doors, I liked like an urchin on cup ramen and scraps. If I asked my mom for anything, she would tell me to go ask my dad, say that he was doing well for himself, and that if he loved me, he would pay child support and help with my expenses rather than leaving it all to her, that she couldn’t be expected to take care of me. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, while I was in university, I discovered that she had no savings. All the designer clothes she wore ate up every dollar she earned, so she couldn’t retire or take care of herself. I actually moved back home during that period, worked a night job on top of my classes, so that I could take care of her in that awful apartment I hated. Then, she died. I told myself that I would never live like her. I would earn enough money that I never burdened anyone, and I’ve lived by that.”

You quiet as the waiter nears with a tray of dishes for the table. While Hanma immediately tears into the high-price cuts presented to him, you only poke at your plate of tartare. The queerest expression paints your face, not sad or angry, not professional or serene, some unholy mask that you crafted to survive your pitiful family background.

“I’m surprised you became a therapist,” Hanma says. “I would have thought you would want to avoid people like your mother after that.”

You blink a few times. “That’s…surprisingly astute, Hanma-san.”

“What a polite way to say you’re surprised I’m not stupid,” Hanma says with a genuine laugh.

Chastened, you continue without his needing to ask the question, “Sometimes my patients do sicken me, but it’s what I’m good at. Growing up, I had to keep an eye on my mother at all times, understand her moods: where they came from, how to placate her, and so on. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have survived in that house. She could fly into a rage if she felt disrespected, destroy the few things I owned. The scariest person in the room gets to react. Everyone else has to be proactive to prevent it from getting to that point in the first place, you know? So, I was an expert at reading people and understanding what drove them before I graduated middle school. Plus, therapists make good money. I figured I could push through my discomfort for fifteen years, and then retire with enough money to live a quiet life free of worry. That’s all I want.”

“I’m sorry you went through that,” Hanma says.

“Are you really? Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess I thought it was the thing to say.”

You nod like that makes sense and quiet. Talking about your parents has put you in a reflective mood. In moments like these, you seem oddly delicate.

“Try this,” Hanma orders.

He lifts his chopsticks with a cut of tender heart to your lips. Obediently, you open and let the meat rest on your tongue. It’s tender but still beef, so you have to chew aggressively to break it down into pieces. Hanma watches the way your jaw works, the canines of a predator and nothing delicate about it. A trickle of juice crests over your bottom lip to run down to your chin.

“You had been about to ask me another question earlier,” Hanma says.

“Yes, you were talking about how you hope to die. Have you ever tried to die? Either by an actual suicide attempt or putting yourself in a situation where you suspected it would kill you?”

The taste of the heart has revived you. You sound heartier, less haunted by the specters of the past.

“I’ve never attempted suicide. The other half, that’s complicated to answer. Technically, I expect my job to someday kill me, so you could argue I put myself in that position every day. I never know how a fight will turn out or if a hitman isn’t waiting for me behind the door when I go home at the end of the day. I don’t bait it, I guess, but I don’t mind it either. Makes life a little exciting,” Hanma explains.

“Well, that’s good at least,” you say. Even without a pad of paper in front of you, Hanma can imagine you writing down your findings – suicide attempts? Negative. Suicidal ideation? Inconclusive.

“I think you’re still a few questions ahead of me,” Hanma says, “So speaking of good things. You mentioned having a boyfriend waiting for you at home…”

“What about him?”

So you live together, and he doesn’t even have to waste a question to find out.

“Well, tell me about him! What’s he do? Why’d you pick him out of all the men in Tokyo? Does he get you off?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“We made a deal, doc,” Hanma says, wagging a finger in your face.

“We agreed you could ask me questions for every one I asked you. We never specified that I had to answer,” you counter.

“You know that kind of crafty negotiation doesn’t really fly with the yakuza. There’s no need to specify. There’s something called the spirit of the terms. If I make a deal with some poor sap, and he tries to wiggle out on a technicality, I’m well within my rights to take his kneecaps home with me as a souvenir,” Hanma warns.

You tense, less at the words themselves than the deep growl that reinforces them.

“Do you want to take my kneecaps as a souvenir?” you ask.

“No, but I will find a way to punish you if you reneg. The spirit of the deal, doc. Show me you’re a serious player.”

You sigh, and then, to his surprise, launch right into the portion of the question that makes you most uncomfortable, “Yes, he gets me off. Not always but often. He’s a corporate accountant. In fact, his firm acts as the accountant for my practice. That’s how we met. He’s not on my account, so no conflict of interest, but we met in the lobby of his building. I chose him because he’s reliable, easy to read, easy to please. He has normal expectations for life and love. We both read a lot and talk politics and current events. We both think idols are vapid and public baths are a relic. He keeps the apartment clean without my having to ask and pays his bills on time and calls his parents every Sunday. A good, dependable man.”

“Wow, doc, sounds like love!” Hanma says, dropping his chin to his palm and giving you his best lovestruck expression.

“How would you know? You said you’ve never been in love.”

Though true Hanma might not recognize love, he can recognize what you have with your boring boyfriend. Hanma feels more passion towards his car than you describe towards this accountant. You want a safe, boring life and the accountant is a means to an end. Yet here you sit with him. A contradiction.

“Do you want kids?” Hanma asks.

“I don’t know. I think…you can do a lot of damage to your children without meaning to. Everyone who comes in my office has a story about how it’s all their mother’s fault. Even me. I wouldn’t like to dedicate my life to a person only for them to resent me for the ways I failed. What about you?”

Hanma blanches. “No brats for me, thanks.”

“Probably for the best,” you giggle.

In the time you’ve been talking, the waiter has refilled Hanma’s whiskey three times, and gifted you a second beer. Nearly half of the tartare is gone along with the better part of the kimchi.

“When was the last time you got off and how?” Hanma says suddenly, enjoying the way your open expression shutters closed in an instant. You were becoming transparent to him.

“Sure, I can. I can have someone drive you home by the way. Don’t want you taking the train this late.”

You scoff and look around like there might be a bystander to step in and help. It’s a cute habit. In addition to the several explicit bets you’ve made this far, Hanma thinks these moments count as little wagers as well. Hanma betting on where the edge of your patience lies, and you betting on how far you can push yourself beyond your comfort zone.

“Two nights ago,” you relent.

“How?”

“Hanma-san–”

“How?”

“With a pillow.”

Mortification breaks across your face, and you quickly turn away to rifle through your purse for your phone. Probably calling a taxi. Hanma doesn’t mind. His imagination is doing its best to construct the scene, picturing your hips grinding against the soft exterior of a pillow. The color of your sex, the curves of your body, and the way you would ride your pillow are unknowns to him, guesses, but he thinks he can construct your face well, the look of concentrated frustration as you chase an orgasm. Hanma closes his eyes to savor it.

“How was your relationship with your parents?” you blurt out, like you can see the picture in his mind and want to erase it immediately.

“Might sound familiar to you. My father was transferred on a tanshinfunin basis to Vietnam when I was six or seven. I probably only saw him twice between then and adulthood. When he returned, he didn’t find much to be proud of. My mother was fine, kind of nondescript. The thing that made her life worth living were the ladies in our apartment complex. They played cards together every evening, cooked dinner, went shopping. They were her real family. She didn’t much notice or care when I started spending all my time outside the house, and by the time she realized I was a delinquent, it was too late. She had no power over me at that point. She’s a fine woman though. I send her money every month,” Hanma says.

Compared to most of the other founding members of Toman, he is lucky. His mother never even hit him. She may be disappointed in him today, but he found an identity separate from her long before, so he never felt the sting of her disapproval.

“An only child or siblings?” you ask.

“Just me. One terror was enough, I suppose.”

“Did you show signs of delinquency early? Fighting, things like that?” you ask.

It’s not your turn, but Hanma decides to humor you. “I did all the J.D. classics – fighting, bullying the other boys and girls, taking their lunch money, shop lifting, graffiti, breaking curfew. Like I said, I was a terror.”

When he speaks of these days, fondness drips from his voice. Things were more exciting back then, new experiences abounded behind every corner. His crimes escalated because they had to, not because he found more pleasure in completing an arms sale than in pilfering a cigarette.

“And did you do any of that before your father moved?”

The question draws Hanma up short. Huh. He’s never once considered the order of operations there, but he can’t remember any misbehavior in his earliest years.

“Holy hell, doc. You know what…I don’t think I did. So, it’s all dear old Dad’s fault that I turned out this way? If he hadn’t left, I could be living a boring, average life. I could be your accountant!” Hanma jokes, but his mind is spinning over the possibilities.

“You didn’t start fighting until you were a bit older, but did you think about it a lot?”

Hanma peers over his glasses at you, like you are an idiot. “I was an elementary school boy. Of course, I did! I loved all the shonen fighting shows. I was obsessed with Battle Royale when it came out and other fight-to-the-death movies. But, you’d have to poll half the country to find a boy who wasn’t.”

Your lips quirk to the side. “I cede the point.”

Whenever you start to relax and smile at him, the impulse to twist the conversation to territory you won’t follow rises up in him. Hanma doesn’t understand why he wants to ruin it for you, doesn’t think that ruining it is the point even. He simply can’t resist pushing you a step further.

“My turn, and I have a couple questions saved up. Are you going to touch yourself tonight?”

Somehow, you are still surprised by the question, so surprised in fact, that you don’t turn away in embarrassment but just stare at him slack-jawed. There’s a brightness to your skin and a sheen to your eyes from your two beers, and the alcohol leeches the fight from you.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” you admit with a whisper.

The sound of Hanma’s chair scraping the floor as he slides closer is loud against the backdrop of silence. Long limbs encroach on your side of the table, until he’s leaning his head close to yours again.

“At any point today, doc, have I turned you on?”

Tears well in your eyes. He watches your pink tongue dart forward and then retreat. The silence stretches on and the tension is unbearable.

Finally, defeatedly, you tremble out, “Yes.”

Hanma leans back in his seat, returning the space between you and the air to your lungs. In the motion, he adjusts his pants a little. You are so beautifully distraught at the admission of your own desires, but you are also uncowed. Not once do you break eye contact or the spell that draws you both together. Unbreaking but vulnerable, obedient but fierce. If he slid his flinger along your parted lips, Hanma thinks you wouldn’t fight the intrusion, let him tease your throat here at the table.

“I think we both learned a lot today, Doc,” Hanma says through a voice like gravel. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

As you exit the restaurant, Hanma notes your darting eyes. There’s a taxi down the street that you must have texted from the table. He would have asked one of his men to drive you back, but it’s no matter. He has other business to attend to this evening.

The atmosphere of confession follows you both outside the restaurant. You could ask him any question right now, and he would answer without hesitation. Like he was injected with a truth serum at some point in the night. His bank accounts could be yours if you just thought to ask.

You take a step toward the taxi, whiff of perfume or shampoo or general musk whipping his nose. In a split-second decision – less a decision than impulse and action – Hanma decides he is not ready for you to leave just yet. He wraps a hand around your waist and spins you back into the recesses of the parking garage, finding an alcove cloaked in shadows. Your mouth parts as if to scream, but you remember yourself and close it.

Pressed with your back to the wall and Hanma boxing you in with his arms on either side of your head, you are transparent. Fright, curiosity, caution, intrigue. Hanma reads each emotion flit across your face. Your bodies are close together but not touching. To meet his gaze, you would need to crane your head up and risk physical contact, so you tuck your chin and stare into his chest; it’s a surprisingly submissive gesture that Hanma doesn’t mind at all.

“You said I frighten you,” Hanma murmurs huskily.

“Yes.”

“You said I arouse you.”

A moment as if you might argue the semantics, but then a nod. “Yes.”

“Are those competing feelings? Or do I arouse you because I frighten you?”

Unable to hide, you look up and meet his eyes. Your face answers the question, but he wonders if you’ll admit it.

“Yes,” you sigh in defeat.

Something hot swells in Hanma’s chest, similar to the triumph he feels when he traps one of his enemies. Even more similar to the feeling from when he first met Kisaki, and Kisaki made him the promise of a lifetime. A queer mixture of excitement and certainty, and dare he say, happiness?

Hanma shoves a wad of bills into your hands and pulls back from where he boxes you in. “Your ride’s on me. Get home already, and text me when you get there.”

Still numbed by the emotional assault of the evening’s confessions, you don’t think to argue his demand. He sounds like a protective boyfriend. From his spot in the garage, Hanma watches you dart toward the cab – not fast enough to qualify as a jog, but your legs stretching wide to put as much distance as possible between you both. You don’t look back.

There are about a dozen missed calls and text messages on his burner, all related to tomorrow’s business. Hanma lights a cigarette and sighs. There are still so many hours in the night to fill, and he doesn’t know where to get started.

Your next session, Hanma decides, he won’t be late.

[thegoosewiththemost]

Haunting - Part 17

Summary: asking the important questions.

Read Part 16 here

A week passes. And then another slips by without notice. The days run short now that you and Betelgeuse are both busy either having new adventures together or at being at work. Despite all the changes there’s still the constant reassurance of curling up next to each other on the couch or in bed to debrief or watch a movie. Some days, you teach him to cook and slowly, he’s been getting the hang of it which is a better result than you could hope for really. It’s so… domestic in the ways you had dreamt of. You had known that falling for him, as unlikely as it seemed to be, was a possibility. But it was still hard to reconcile your feelings in the situation that you had both been thrust into and the rules you had to play by.

The house is always quiet in the morning. It’s during this time that you contemplate and collect your thoughts on the ex-demon currently snoring in your bed.

You’d been paying Betelgeuse quite a bit of attention lately and it wasn’t simply because the days were running out. Ever since the dinner, your relationship with him had grown into something much more than friends or cuddle buddies. He had caught onto your interest in him almost immediately after your dinner like a bloodhound on your scent and now he was unashamedly trying his best to seduce you.

A secret part of you liked the tease and the feeling of being wanted, but you couldn’t help but think that this was only an easy bit for him to stay alive.

As you leaned against the kitchen bench waiting for the kettle to come to a boil with the thoughts circulating in your half awake mind, you felt arms snake around your waist and press you against a warm body.

“Mornin’ toots, you got up early today.”

His breath against your neck is making you feel things that you’re not sure you should be feeling and you shiver at your overactive imagination which has honed in on that single sensation like a fish on a hook.

Who were you to him?

Idly, you reach a hand up behind you to ruffle his hair. “Didn’t you hear the bird singing outside the window? I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

He growls softly and your heart skids across the floor faster than your mind can catch up with. “Well looks like I’ll have to do something about it. Don’t be surprised if you come home to fresh bird pie one day.” The smirk in his voice tells you know that he is actually considering it as an option.

“I like that bird!”

“And I like staying in bed with you.”

Before he can say anymore and you can think about the potential implications of what he just said, you swivel clutching the jar of tea leaves to your chest as though it can stave off your attachment to him.

“The water’s on the boil, do you want some tea?”

A curious gleam flits in his eyes as he examines your face with interest. “You’re brewing more than just tea, aren’t ya?”

Flustered at the sudden attention being paid to you, you cast your eyes toward the floor. You feel almost like you’re at a crossroads with the way he puts you under the microscope. Were you ready to open this conversation now or should you wait a little longer? Three days out from the deadline, you were running out of time. You weren’t sure you would get another opportunity. It was now or never.

“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”

“Shoot.” The cogs in his mind go to work, sensing that this is nothing to joke about. He takes a step back, giving you the space you need to compose yourself.

“Do you still want to live?”

You see Betelgeuse visibly stiffen.

“Wha- of course I do! What made you ask that?!”

“I thought that maybe you might feel differently after experiencing it for yourself. I just want to check in with you on how you’re feeling about all this. About us.”

“Babes, being with you, living life with you has made me feel.. so happy, for the first time in my existence. I couldn’t ask for better.”

His words curl around your heart and settle there, reassuring you as you continue on.

“Does that mean you still want to be with me?”

“I’ve wanted to be with you for a long time now, nothing’s changed. And I’m not just saying that because I want to stay alive.” He adds, sensing your doubt at his sentiment.

“I want a life with you.”

“And what are you picturing in this future of yours?” You tease.

“I want life just as it is now, movie nights on the couch, snuggling in bed, days out in the sun, or the rain. Maybe a little family of our own if you’re up for it. I just want you there with me.”

Even a foot away, it feels like there’s too much space between you. Crossing that chasm of space and tension you hold him close and mumble into his pajamas. “I think I’m falling for you. And, I want that life too. I want you in it.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I’m ready.”

[storiesforallfandoms]

the small guardian ~ christian ozera;vampire academy

word count: 2031

request?: yes!

“Can you do a dhampir reader x Christian fic where she was getting bullied for being smaller and weaker than everyone else and Christian stands up for her and they fall in love”

description: in which she is much smaller than her fellow dhampirs, and thus has trouble trying to keep up with them, and an unlikely person stands up for her when she’s bullied

pairing: christian ozera x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

I groaned as my body hit the floor once again. For the umpteenth time that day, I cursed my parents for deciding to create me.

I was what was known as a Dhampir; a half human/half Moroi. My only objective in life was to protect other Moroi when I was old enough, and so far that just seemed like an awful joke.

I was the smallest Dhampir in my year, both in height and in muscles. I had been training nearly my entire life, working to try and become stronger and, eventually, to be a real Dhampir. Unfortunately, it felt like none of my training was paying off. I was still weak. I’d never be able to protect anyone.

Dimitri, my combat instructor, walked over to me. He was trying to hide the slight disappointment on his face. I couldn’t blame him for feeling that way. He had been trying to train me since I arrived at the Academy. If I were him I would’ve given up by now.

He offered me a hand and helped me up. “You did better that time.”

“No I didn’t,” I sighed. “You don’t have to lie to me Dimitri.”

“You are improving, (Y/N). You are keeping up and holding your own. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

I looked away from him, not wanting to acknowledge his words. Sure, I was somewhat improving, but if I were in my guardian position for real my Moroi would be dead ten times over. I’d never be able to fight a Strigoi at this rate. Not effectively, anyways.

Dimitri sighed and put a hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention back to him. “Go shower, take the rest of the night off. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

I nodded and mumbled a “thank you”. Dimitri smiled at me before turning to leave our training area. I sighed again and sat down on a nearby bench, taking a sip from my water bottle.

I wondered what happened to Dhampir who couldn’t protect their Moroi. There were plenty of instances where a Dhampir wasn’t able to save their Moroi, Dimitri was one of them. But that was after years of protection. What would happen to me if I couldn’t be a guardian at all?

“Well, if it isn’t the tiny one.”

I closed my eyes and tried to hold back the annoyance building. “Go away, Jesse.”

I looked up to see that, of course, the two head assholes - Jesse and Ralf - were strolling together into the training area together. They both had those stupid, shit eating grins on their faces.

“Hey, we just came to see how your training is going,” Jesse said.

“You missed it,” I informed them. “So fuck off.”

“Awe, what’s the matter tiny one?” Ralf asked. “Got your ass beat again?”

My fingers curled into fists, my fingernails digging into the palm of my hand.

“How are you even still allowed here?” Jesse asked. “You’re a disappointment to your kind and to all of us.”

I stood, shoving against Jesse and Ralf to try and leave. They both stopped me, putting one hand on either shoulder and shoving me back down onto the bench.

“We were thinking of fixing that problem for the Headmaster and Headmistress,” Ralf said. “Since they seem to be too nice to boot your ass from this place themselves.”

I tried not to let the fear show on my face. Jesse and Ralf were two Moroi; two royal ones at that. If they wanted to hurt me, they very well could. They knew I was too weak to fight back. And if they didn’t want to physically hurt me, they could easily just drain me of my blood and bury me where no one would ever find me.

I could run. Dhampirs were faster than Moroi. They’d never catch me if I suddenly took off and locked myself in my dorm room. But if they caught on to what I was doing, one swing would be all it took for them to take me down. And of course no one was around if they did try anything.

Basically, I was fucked.

Suddenly, Jesse yelped in shock and batted at his clothes. He had suddenly burst into flames. Ralf exclaimed as well and started trying to put the fire out.

“Leave her alone.”

We were all shocked to see none other than Christian Ozera approaching us, a death glare on his face directed towards Jesse and Ralf.

“Fuck off, Ozera,” Ralf snapped. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Christian raised an eyebrow before setting Ralf on fire as well, causing him to let out a high pitched scream.

“I said leave her alone,” he hissed. “Or I’ll turn you both to charcoal right here.”

Jesse and Ralf heeded his warning and quickly ran away from us, still trying to put the fire out on their clothes. Christian could’ve put them out if he wanted to, but I had a feeling he wanted to let them figure out on their own how to make it go away.

“Are you okay?” he asked me, suddenly softening. “Did they hurt you?”

I shook my head, still too stunned to speak. When Christian approached and extended a hand to me, I instinctively flinched.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he promised. “I just wanna walk you back to your room. I don’t want those assholes cornering you again.”

Christian Ozera was a bit of an outcast and somewhat feared by most of the students at the school. He was a royal Moroi, who usually have their asses kissed by every Moroi and Dhampir within a ten foot radius, but his parents had voluntarily become Strigoi when he was a kid, and eventually were killed because of it. Christian was a pariah at the Academy because everyone thought that he would follow in his parents footsteps and become Strigoi as well.

Not like he helped those rumors, given what he just did to help me.

My first reaction should’ve been to not take his hand. I should’ve ignored him, went back to my dorm by myself and forgot the whole incident happened. That’s what most people here would do. But, given my own outcast nature, it was hard to pass up someone else who understood. Especially when I was still kind of shaken up about what had just happened.

I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet. I went to grab my bag and throw it over my shoulder, but Christian got it before I could.

“I can carry my own things,” I told him.

He shrugged. “Isn’t this the gentlemanly thing to do?”

I rolled my eyes and let him lead me on towards the dorms.

The walk started off quiet. I wasn’t really sure what to say. It’s not like anyone really knew much about Christian to have a conversation with him, and he didn’t seem to be jumping to talk to me either. It was hard to ignore some of the stares we were getting as we walked across the yard. I wondered what the newest whisperings about me would be the next day.

“You’re welcome,” Christian finally said.

I looked up at him in confusion. “What?”

“For helping you back there. With Jesse and Ralf? You’re welcome.”

“Oh.” I guess I did forget to thank him. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Those guys are such assholes. They had no right to gang up on you like that.”

I nodded but didn’t respond. Christian looked down at me and for a moment our eyes met. It felt like all the air had been taken from my chest and I had to quickly turn away from him.

“They had no right, (Y/N),” he repeated.

“I know,” I said, but even I wasn’t convinced by that.

Christian stopped suddenly, causing me to stop with him. He was looking at me with a hard look on his face.

“(Y/N), I heard what they said to you and I hope you know it’s not true. You deserve to be here just as much as any other Dhampir.”

"Yeah, sure, whatever.”

I tried to start walking again, but Christian reached out to take hold of my arm. “(Y/N).”

“Just leave it, Christian. It’s no one’s business but mine. I can deal with it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to deal with assholes like Jesse and Ralf - ”

“It’s not just Jesse and Ralf!” I snapped. “Don’t pretend you don’t hear what everyone says about me! Literally everyone, students and teachers alike. I’m a failure to Dhampirs and to this school because I can’t even do what I’m literally born to do!”

Everyone was staring at us now. A group of Moroi who were stood close to us slowly began to back away. I was starting to feel a lump grow in my throat, so I turned away from Christian and started to make my way towards the dorms without him. I wasn’t about to let any of these assholes see me cry, and I especially didn’t want Christian to see me.

I tried not to let anyone here know how upset my weakness made me. If they saw me emotionally vulnerable, they’d know how weak I truly was and assholes like Jesse and Ralf would never leave me alone. They knew I was physically weak, but they never had to know how emotionally weak I felt as well.

It didn’t take long for Christian to catch up with me again. He took long strides to match mine and walked in silence beside me. I appreciated that he wasn’t trying to bring up my outburst. I don’t think I could handle another shitty pep talk today.

When we arrived to my room, I let Christian come in so he could discard my bag onto my bed. My roommate wasn’t back yet, so it was just the two of us stood there together, and I was becoming very aware of this fact the longer he was stood with me.

“Thank you,” I said again. “For everything today. I really do mean it. You didn’t have to do any of it.”

“I wasn’t about to let you get hurt because of some close minded fuckheads with big egos,” Christian said. “I’m sorry you have to put up with that, (Y/N). You really don’t deserve it.”

I shook my head and waved away his comment. “You don’t have to apologize for the actions of others. There’s nothing either of us can do to stop it unless I suddenly become super strong and a good fighter over night. Which will never happen, but I can dream.”

“Never say never.”

I smiled a little at him, and was a bit surprised when he smiled back. He had a really nice smile, and really nice eyes. Looking into them I found myself getting breathless again.

Christian wasn’t a bad guy. Everyone judged him too harshly and never gave him a chance, but I guess that’s just the high school experience whether you’re a human or a supernatural being.

“Thanks,” I said again.

“You’re welcome.”

I started to feel self conscious about my still sweaty, post training state. I wondered if Christian could smell me and if I smelled as bad as I thought I did. I was itching to grab a long, hot shower to try and wash away the events of today.

“Do you wanna hang out later?” I asked him. “Like...maybe a bit later tonight after I’m no longer sweaty and gross.”

He laughed. God, he’s got a cute laugh.

“You’re not gross,” he said. “But I would love to hang out. I’ll meet you back here in, say, two hours?”

I nodded a little too quickly, but he just laughed again.

“It’s a date then.”

I felt my face burn at the word, which just made Christian smirk. He said goodbye and showed himself out of my room. I stood there for a while, just staring at the door he had come from, before realizing I had limited time to get ready. I grabbed the things I needed and rushed into the bathroom, abandoning the idea of a long shower.

[juicycoutureheaux]

Both Sides Now

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 chapter 5

Chris Redfield x Fem!reader

A/N: This is my first ever published work, it's also a Resident Evil x AHS: Coven crossover. So if it seems a little cliche, it is lol. Lemme know what you think! I also cross-posted to AO3!

Summary: Reader has been on Captain Redfield’s team for a while now and seems to have a close bond with the captain. During a recon mission gone awry, the two get split up from the rest of the team and the captain is faced with a difficult decision.   Takes place Pre-Resident evil 6.

Chapter 1 : Resurgence

“Everyone listen up!” Captain Redfield’s warm baritone thundered through the aircraft. Y/N was completely in her own world until her (Y/C) eyes met the captain’s much darker ones.

“I see a lot of new faces today. If you’re here, you were the best in your training class, congratulations.” The new recruits all looked around excitedly. You looked to your direct left to catch your Lieutenant; Piers, roll his eyes.

Piers had been Captain’s right hand man since you arrived 6 months ago. You had graduated at the top of your class with a specialty in the medical field. You had a choice to work stateside; but the need for field medics was very dire. You were then scouted by Redfield himself during an intense training session.

You liked being under Redfield’s command; he was a fair leader that took care of his teammates.

Chris started up again; “I want to remind everyone that you may be the best of the best, but we are nothing without each other.” You looked over at Lieutenant Nivans and thought you were going to burst out in laughter. Piers looked like his head was going to explode; unlike Captain Redfield, Piers was a hardass. You couldn’t blame him though; God only knows what life was like before he joined the BSAA. There were rumors that he had come from a long line of soldiers.  Y/N Shuddered at the thought.

She had come from a loving family; unfortunately for her, her mother had passed away just after she turned 13. People speculated she’d lose her mind a lot faster than she did. You see, (Y/N) started to have visions. It started innocently enough, she started having very realistic dreams of her mother. Once her mother stopped visiting her, the other apparitions started to show themselves to her,  not just in dreams either. She would start to see horrific visions: burn victims, dead soldiers, and other loved ones that hadn’t passed on yet. They started to hound her at every moment, they were desperate to move on.

She began to grow weary and when she finally lost it at school one day, a strange red headed woman arrived at her home. This was “the beginning of her life”, the woman always liked to remind her. That same day she was shipped off to Miss Robichaux’s Academy.

To the public, Miss Robichaux’s was an illustrious boarding school, to (YN) it was somewhere she finally felt a community of girls just like her. She missed her family back home, but she never felt accepted by anyone except her mother. Her talents were nurtured and eventually (YN) decided she was old enough to leave the coven, much to Myrtle and Cordelia’s protests. She felt the need to use her gift beyond the walls of the Academy. Due to Robichaux’s “Human” reputation, she was accepted no problem into the BSAA training academy.

YN snapped back to earth again when Piers started to talk to the group. “Due to the unfamiliarity of our teammates, today’s mission is going to be a simple recon.” You laughed internally; simple, you thought. The reason we had so many new recruits was because a “simple” mission had turned into an absolute shitshow.

It happened to be you, Redfield, Nivans and a couple of other “seasoned” agents. At the time, you were still wet behind the ears with little field experience. A simple information session on a foreign base turned into a full-on terrorist attack. You were lucky to even be alive; while trying to save an injured comrade from the medical tent, a licker had decided to zero in on you two. While fighting off the creature to your best ability, it happened to swipe into your abdomen leaving you maimed and helpless. At the last minute, as if guided by some divine power, Captain Redfield came to your rescue.

Ever since that specific incident, the BSAA decided it would have at least one trained squad per outbreak, regardless of size, and not the traditional one or two person teams they were used to in the past.

Incidentally since then, YN had been absolutely enamored with the captain. She had never been crazy about the other gender, and especially not her fellow coworkers. However, something was different, she could feel it. The way he genuinely cared about others and his passion for the cause; it also didn’t help he was physically attractive as well.

You held on to your weapon tightly thinking about the incident, to only feel a large hand on your shoulder. “You alright YLN? You’ve been kind of quiet since we got here.” Chris looked at you intensely. There was concern and something else. You thought you were just imagining things.

“I can’t stop thinking about last time.” You answered honestly. It was true, the incident had haunted your dreams. Chris shifted his stance a little bit to relax his large body.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about kid.” He tells me, then continues with a smile. “You’ve got killer instincts; you’ll know to do the right thing. Don’t beat yourself up too much.”  You couldn’t help but blush.

“Thanks cap,” you said nonchalantly, trying to hide the fact that you lived for this man’s praise. Chris gave a friendly wink and addressed the team again.

“We received some intel from locals about suspicious activity coming from the locals, other teams have discovered abandoned BOW distribution sites. All the training should have prepared you for this moment and I have faith you will all be able to handle your own.”

The team was silent, a drastic contrast to the excited chatter that was going on earlier. The brevity of the situation must have reached the other recruits and you couldn’t blame them. This wasn’t your first mission, but you were always aware of the risks presented. You decided to break the silence.

“This is a new situation to all of you, I was just as nervous on my first day in the field. You all are in great hands and Cap is the best of the best. We’re a team that goes in together and comes out together.” You used your southern charms and it seemed to be successful. The recruits that appeared to be faint just moments before, had the color returning to their faces.

Piers and Chris started going over the plans and goals of today’s mission. “There seems to be split levels of this distribution site still intact.” Piers said to the captain. Chris furrowed his eyebrows; usually sites like this had some levels destroyed due to self-destruct protocols. Was there a possibility that it was still inhabited with B.O.W.S & their creators?   He couldn’t put his team in danger, especially not Y/N & Piers, they had already been through enough.

Chris looked over at Y/N talking to the others. He loved how you were  always great at putting others at ease. His eyes wandered to your torso as he thought about how your scar was healing up, his eyes traveled up the delicate curves of her body. He stopped himself from thinking about what Y/N looked like underneath her uniform.  He scolded himself internally. “Not now.” 

“How long have you been on this team YN ?” one of the recruits asked. You think his name was Marco? Honestly you were just getting used to having actual teammates than having their names memorized already.

“About six months!” You chirped “Captain Redfield and Lieutenant Nivans scouted me during one of the BSAA training sessions. I guess it’s because field medicine is my specialty and I’m not terrible at combat.” You laughed nervously; it was always difficult for you to socialize with the other soldiers. You never felt like you were good enough to be in the position you were.

One of the other soldiers decided to chime in with “Are you sure it’s not because the captain needed something pretty to look at?” The group exploded in laughter at your expense. You should be used to the “boys club” by now, but neither Chris or Piers ever made comments like that. You felt your cheeks flush and the sting of the laughter.

“THAT’S ENOUGH” Chris roared. The teams’ color left their faces again. “I meant it when I said EVERYONE deserves their spot on this team.”

He glared at all of them “Be careful what you say to YLN, she’s the one to stitch you back together when you get injured. I wouldn’t blame her if she were to accidentally not numb the area.” Chris then turned to you. “Don’t let these rookies give you hell L/N.” 

With that he started detailing the mission. You were to break off in groups; Chris led one team and Piers led the other. 

You happened to be on Chris’s team, much to your chagrin. All you could think about was your teammate’s comment from earlier; was that all you were good for? Did Chris feel like he had to put you on the team because of the lack of medical personnel? You snapped out of your thoughts when you saw a dark presence looming over your captain.

“What the hell?” you thought to yourself. You’ve never seen anything like this before. Captain Redfield started to slow down and you could tell whatever it was, was slowing him down.

“Captain you alright?” you said as you hurried to his side. Chris let out a sigh.”Nothing ever gets past you L/N.I think dealing with all these rookies is causing me to slow down.” He said light heartedly.  “Hope you’re not getting too old, Redfield!” Marco yelled playfully. The rest of the team including the Captain started to laugh, except you. 

“Not in your dreams Rose!” The Captain quipped back immediately. “Let’s focus on the task at hand so I can kick your ass later.” 

You were more concerned now, whatever this was, affected your captain in real time. You wish you had remembered some of the lessons Cordelia had given you on your gift. You never liked talking about dark entities, and now one was latched on to someone you admired dearly. It’s not like you could tell him though, he’d probably chalk your visions up to some PTSD and you would be discharged and shipped back to Robichaux. If you were going to help Chris, you had to take this thing on yourself.

[cloudenthusiast2]

To be a human - Scaramouche x reader - Part 4

You knew committing to a relationship with Scaramouche would be no easy task but you loved him dearly and unlike others, you believed he wasn't evil. But as a mortal and the devoted protector of your village you were too much of a good person, too much of a human compared to him and your differences slowly start to show.

Previous: Part 3 Next: Part 5

Length: ~1000 words

Trigger warnings: yelling

A.n.: Sorry I was a little late with this. But as a compensation it's really long! Here ya go, have some angst

You have been walking around in circles for almost twenty minutes in the kitchen when you finally decided you needed some fresh air.

You grabbed your spear - which was an essential to have even in times like this - and ran out of your home.

The house you lived in was built on a cliff so you could see everyone and everything well. Qingce with all of its beauty and treasures laid in front of you.

The first thing you noticed when you stepped out was the lack of agents.

The fatui has left the village.

Sudden pain stabbed into your heart. Before this all you felt was anger and confusion, but now... it's become official and somehow clearer too.

'What have I done?'

You covered your lips after these words tumbled out of your mouth. You desperately looked around, trying to find someone, trying to find a little shilouette with a ridiculous, huge hat...

But he was gone.

The only people standing around were the people of Qingce village. They tried to pretend they were just working or talking with each other but you could see them taking quick glances of you.

Finally one of them, an elderly, sick man you helped out multiple times looked directly up then started approaching your house.

You took a step back and realised you didn't want to talk to anyone at that moment. It didn't matter whether he wanted to thank you or ask what happened. You wanted and needed to be alone.

As rude as it may have been, you turned around and started walking in the opposite direction. Towards the huge mountains.

You escaped into the forest. Your steps became faster and faster - and suddenly you were running.

Loud gasping echoed in your head. Your hands were shaking, not being able to grab anything properly. A wet, itchy layer blurred your vision as you stumbled through bushes and rocks.

It was a miracle that you got up on the mountain in one piece. You didn't even know how you did it - in one moment you were still climbing and in the next you were standing on the cliff, looking down and being dazed by the height.

You came to this spot on days when you had nothing to do. You liked to write letters, sharpen your spear and most importantly, think everything through here.

For a minute, you were just standing there still, breathing in and out the chilly, fresh mountain air. The rough wind blew through your hair, lifting then letting it go. It fell down and covered your face. You slowly rose your hand and fixed it, staring into the distance.

The sun has reached the top of the sky. But it was still cold around you.

You had hoped the cool weather would be able to clear your mind but it helped nothing. Instead, it made you feel like you were breathing in nothing - like there was no oxygen in your chest at all.

You were suffocating.

Your lips opened to gasp for air but it felt like you were still drowning. Your legs started shaking and you immediately fell on your knees. This broke an invisible gate. Tears started streaming down your face.

He left...

Oh, how much you suddenly regretted your harsh, angry words. You could've just talked it out, you could've just explained it to him calmly...

But would he have really understood?

Loud screech as you clenched your teeth. You did everything to hold back the tears, but it was too late now, you had lost. You sobbed desperately, painfully, alone, in an abandoned top of mountain.

*

Scaramouche loudly slammed his hands on the table and there was no mercy in his ice-like eyes as he stared at the agents in front of him.

'How many times do I have to say this?! Don't start fights the Millelith! We already have diplomatic issues with Liuye Harbour because of that damn incompetent Tartaglia!'

'Apologies, my lord' a pyro agent bowed in front of him while the mirror maiden followed his example. 'We thought...'

'I couldn't care less about what you think' Scaramouche cut in enraged. 'Just follow your orders or I'll make sure you won't ever see the sun coming up again!'

Deep silence followed his words in the tent.

Scaramouche tossed his hat back to glare up at the agents. But they didn't dare look at him. They were always wary of the harbinger who was probably the most powerful and surely the most unpredictable among the Tsaritsa's followers. It wasn't hard to notice how angry he was that day as well.

The cicin mages in the camp were sure it was because of that Liuye girl but most of the agents refused to believe that. It seemed impossible that he would be so upset about splitting up with a mere mortal like you.

Scaramouche let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes for a moment to rest and think a little. He stood there silently with crossed arms and wrinkled brows.

The Millelith. A pain in the neck. How could they possibly avoid them while taking advantage of the small villages around Liuye? Villages who don't have protectors should be an easy prey...

He didn't even realise what a dangerous direction his thoughts were going. He just found himself thinking about you all of a sudden.

This was the hundredth time this day.

It's been almost a day since he turned his back on Qingce. He left the village without looking back, thinking he was free again and that he would be able to finally focus on his work.

But why were you still turning up in his thoughts over and over again? Why did he feel a constant knot in his throat? It didn't loosen, even when he yelled or coughed. He tried both multiple times.

He felt impatient. His body ached to move on, his mind tried to make big plans for the future...

But something in him still didn't want to think about anything or anyone other than you.

This was so stupid.

So unnecessary.

When did stupid humans become so important to him? He killed them off with handing out delusions not so long ago without any hesitation. It was the right thing to do. He never doubted that. Not even for a second.

You were so stupid to say otherwise! Why did you say otherwise?

For a weak moment, he tried to think from your perspective but even then, he understood nothing. All he could think of was that you were just crazy.

Humans deserve nothing. They born, they live so their superiors can make use of them.

You were no exception, he decided. It was ridiculous of him to even think you could be more than just a tool to him.

Why did he even start seeing you?

Memories started to emerge and they invaded his mind in a blink of an eye. And suddenly that weird feeling around his stomach started to strengthen again.

He remembered your smile, the playful and incredibly disrespectful way you greeted him when you two first met. He was out on a quest, alone but still recognisable. You knew he was a harbinger yet you acted like he was a regular mortal.

He hated Liuye. He got lost on his first day in the mountains and who knows what might have happened if you didn't run into him on your way back home.

After making fun of the fatui and its "clumsy" harbingers you offered to be his guide and that had to accepted even though he couldn't stand you at all. You were teasing him all the time, never taking him seriously. And most unforgivable of all, you messed around with his hat.

On the first day, he absolutely despised you.

On the second day, after you have dealt with multiple treasure hoarders without any of his help, he had to admit you were a pretty good fighter.

He was in denial on the third day. You picked violetgrass for him and put them in his pockets, claiming that they suited the boy. He threw them away in a second, getting ready to face your anger. Instead, he was shocked to see you laugh it off. You had... a not so horrible laugh.

Fourth day. Your smile was not that terrible either, he realised.

Day five was the day he saved your life. You were cllimging a mountain together when you saw a Qingxin and reached out to grab it.

He caught you by the arm in the last second. Called you stupid but couldn't hide his blush when you rewarded him with the beautiful, pale white flower.

Then the quest came to an end and he went back home.

Only a month or two have passed when the harbinger came back. He went directly to your door to tell you he will be seeing you. It was not a regular ask - he literally ordered you to go out with him.

No one could tell who was more surprised when you still said agreed to it.

You two were an odd, hard to manage couple but a powerful one.

You could've been happy.

Why does it... hurt so much?

'She's just a stupid human' Scaramouche told himself. The thousandth time that day. 'Completely... replacable.'

These were the words you were the most hurt about. But he tried not to care any more and repeated it to himself.

'Replacable.'

'My lord!'

Scaramouche flinched and looked up as if he had been dreaming all along.

He realised he had been standing there the whole time thinking about you while the agents did not leave yet.

'What is it?' He grunted loudly and all of his weird, almost sad feelings got replaced by anger again. 'What do you want?'

'Your order to stay away from the Millelith' the mirror maiden dared to speak. 'Does it apply to the Abbys as well?'

'The Abbys?' Scaramouche frowned. 'What business do we have with them?'

'It's just that we've recently stumbled upon them multiple times on our quests' she started to explain but the harbinger wasn't patient enough to listen to the whole story.

'Hurry up.'

'Yes, my lord.' The mirror maiden hesitated for a moment but when the pyro agent nodded to her she continued. 'We just think that they might about to target villages next.'

'What are you talking about?' Scaramouche growled at her. He couldn't stand still any more so he started walking around in the small tent.

'The Abbys gathered a lot of hilichurls and monsters together lately. We suspect they might attack a bigger village or town.'

Scaramouche stopped as if he got frozen in his place. The maiden continued to explain what kind of disadvantage that might be for them but he heard nothing of that.

He turned around slowly, barely being able to move his own body.

'What... places will they attack?' He asked in a hoarse voice.

'We can't be sure' the pyro agent answered. 'But Mingyun village is a possibility. And... Qingce probably as well.'

Scaramouche stared at the ground.

So many emotions. Most of them he couldn't even name since he has never felt them. The only familiar ones were anger, confusion... and fear.

Deep, overwhelming, terrible fear. It started in his stomach and slowly reached out to grab his throat with its icy fingers.

He opened his mouth but at first no understandable words left his lips.

'My lord...?'

'Get ready' he finally found his voice.

Scaramouche turned his back to them so he could hide the fact he was shaking. Something terrible froze everything inside him but the fire lighting up his eyes was burning hot when he said:

'We're going back to Qingce.'

[chokingonpaper]

Ohla Bola, how are you today? I come bearing a request; ej, with a "kidnapped" s/o, but they went willingly, because they are a monster lover, and who would pass up the opportunity to be with that hunk of a demon 🥵 (I know I wouldnt). So the gist of it is, they are compliant, they know exactly what is going on, manipulation wise, dont care because they are finally being loved (emotional distant parents maybe?) And fully reciprocate the affections and obsessions that ej has for them. (Maybe they see it as the only way they will ever find true love?)

If this is possible? Many thanks adieu

Im doing good, and of course! Again, I might make a part two :D This ended up kind of being the prologue for how this would go in the future ig- If I make a part two it’ll be more about the kidnapping and stuff like that

Also happy 100 posts!

//

𝐍𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 (𝐄𝐉 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

//

1,390 words

//

You had always been a lonely person. Often times people avoided you, and the people that decided to stick around always seemed to fade away sooner or later.

You lived at the edge of your neighborhood with most of your house concealed by large, dark trees. The community was always planning things and arranging little parties, but you never went. It wasn’t entirely other people’s fault that you were alone, you just weren’t that interested in other people. Though a part of you yearned for a friend, someone that understood you and wouldn’t leave at only a moments notice. But that person hadn’t arrived yet, and you had given up hope that they ever would.

Life was dull, and every morning you woke up you wondered if anything would ever change. Every day was the same. Wake up, go to work, get home, and sleep. Then it’d repeat over, and over, and over again. Every time you came home you found your house empty, and you were once again reminded of how alone you were.

But then one day you felt the strange feeling of eyes on your back. Not having very many friends, you often spent your time observing rather than socializing. You knew this feeling very well, and you knew that you were being watched. Yet along with this unnerving feeling, you felt a rush you’d never experienced before. You weren’t alone, and for whatever reason you were okay with that.

Whenever you walked through the kitchen, you felt eyes trailing you from your windows. You didn’t know who the person was or why they were watching you. You hadn’t even managed to catch a glimpse of them yet.

Whenever you got ready for work and headed out the door, you felt the same thing. Even when you were at work, you swore you could still feel their presence. A part of you wondered if you had just made this person up, just to make you feel less alone. By the other part of you wondered if you were in danger. If this was real, you had a stalker on your hands, and you had no idea who it could be.

It could be a coworker, an old employer, or even just a passing customer. Their identity was completely unknown, and you spent hours pondering who they could possibly be and what they looked like. But they were good at hiding themselves, and you hadn’t even seen a shadow.

Weeks passed and you began to tell yourself that it was all in your head, but then knocking came. It was almost like it was to reassure you that they were there, that they hadn’t left, and that they were anything but imaginary.

The first time it happened you nearly jumped out of your chair, but as time passed and the little knocks and taps continued, they became almost comforting. You weren’t supposed to feel at peace when you had a stalker, but it’d been so long and they hadn’t hurt you yet, so who’s to say they ever would? They might just be an observer, like you.

But soon enough just observing wasn’t good enough for them. It had been over a month, and now Jack wanted a little more than just standing to the side and watching your life as if it were a movie. He wanted to be around you, to hold you, to be the one to take you away from your loneliness. He knew how little you went out besides when you had to work, and he knew how much you wanted someone to talk to and spend time with. He’d seen you watch groups of friends with envy, wondering what it was like to be so close to someone. He’d seen you lie on your back staring up at the ceiling, feeling so empty that you couldn’t even cry. Jack had seen you stare out the window where he stood only a moment ago with eyes full of desperation, silently begging him to reveal himself.

He knew you, and he wanted to take you away from everything you disliked about the world.

So the next time you looked out the window with a sad sigh, he decided to try something he’d never even thought to do before. Jack slowly stepped out of the shadows and in front of your window, finally allowing you to see the dark figure who had been watching you nearly every hour of every day.

Your eyes widened in pure shock and you froze, just studying the man who had presented himself to you.

He was tall, several inches above six feet. His physique was impressive, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. Though he was at a distance, you could tell how much he towered over you. He stood still, holding eye contact with you and staring you down with an intense gaze. Anyone could see that this man wasn’t someone to be messed with, and it was already clear to you that you weren’t getting out of this one.

But even if you could, would you want to?

Then suddenly he was no longer still, and his noticeably large hands reached for the window. The window was locked, but you guessed he already knew this. This was was a stranger who had been stalking you for a little over a month. You had never seen him before, and you knew damn well that if he got into your home he could overpower you with ease. Yet as your heart beat faster, pounding loudly in your chest, you hesitantly stepped towards the window.

A small sliding lock was the only thing keeping the man out, though you could guess he had other ways of getting in if he needed to. After all, the windows weren’t bullet-proof.

You gulped down a lump of nervousness and placed your shaking hand over the lock. The man, Jack, watched with interest as you slowly unlocked it, giving him access to your home, and to you.

Why were you doing this? Why were you letting him in? You were unlike any human he’d ever encountered before, and that only made his desire to keep you for himself grow.

Not doing anything more than unlocking it, you backed away from the window as the man pushed it open and climbed inside. Once he stood at his full height you looked up at him in awe. Covering his face was a navy blue mask that dripped black from the eyes. It sent a chill down your spine and froze you in place. Now that he was closer it was only more obvious just how strong he was. He was so much taller than you and obviously very strong. He was the definition of intimidating, and if you weren’t frozen in place you would have crumbled to the ground.

The two of you stared at each other in silence for what felt like hours, but then he took a step forward and your eyes widened.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice came out less comforting than you would have liked. It was deep and incredibly raspy, as if he hadn’t spoken in weeks.

You nodded slowly, his words not really making you feel any safer. “W-Who are you?” You asked in a tone only a bit above a whisper. It was clear that you were afraid, yet you made no attempt to leave.

“I’m Jack.” He answered simply, not offering any more information that could help you understand what exactly was going on. You had just let your stalker into your home, and now you were having a semi-calm conversation with him.

Jack soon took another step towards you, and now only about a foot was between you.

“I’m going to take you with me. Either cooperate, or I’ll knock you out. Understand?” He stated lowly, staring down at you with complete seriousness. You were about to be kidnapped, but instead of fear you felt almost… relieved. Someone wanted you. Someone wanted you so badly that they were going to simply take you. It sounded so wrong, so terrifying, yet all you could think about was how you would no longer be alone.

And so you nodded, letting him silently lead you out of your house and into the tree line from which you would never emerge from again.

[astaroth1357]

Memories

Intro

Intro, Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor, Satan

*it’s a somewhat rare day in the House of Lamentation because most of the brothers are peacefully together in the same room for once. They aren’t always known to hang out in the Common Room but today Satan is getting his nails redone by Asmo while Mammon, Beel, and Levi all face off against each other in a mobile game they’ve found recently. Belphie is there too, but mostly in spirit as he naps on the couch. For once, it seems that everyone is either lounging on the couches or laying on the floor doing their own thing with nary a fight in sight*

*the only person missing from their little gathering is Lucifer… something that gets remedied all too soon as the eldest walks by the entrance with the MC quietly by his side. Satan is the first to notice them pass by and it only takes a glimpse for him to see something unusual about the pair...*

*the MC is carrying a suitcase*

Satan: MC? Are you going on a trip?

*Satan’s voice breaks the previously peaceful silence and gets everyone else’s attention, quickly setting their sights on the doorway as well. Having been noticed, Lucifer and MC are forced to stop so they all can see… Automatically, there’s something off about the MC. They’re glancing down at the floor, unable to meet their eyes, while Lucifer scans the others with the same expression he gives during important meetings… The look he only uses when things are delicate and he’s warning them to be on good behavior*

*Mammon is the first to get back to his feet, already sensing that something is wrong here*

Mammon: Oi? What’s goin’ on? What’s with the bags??

Levi: *sits up next his brother, panicking slightly* You didn’t say we were going anywhere! I’m waiting on a package!!

Beel: Are we leaving…? I haven’t packed any snacks yet…

*Lucifer waves his brothers down, hardening his glare for a moment to get the point across*

Lucifer: Settle down. *he doesn’t keep his eyes on them for long because he’s soon looking down at the MC with a much softer expression, resting a hand on their back tenderly*

Lucifer: Would you like to tell them, or should I…?

MC: No, no… It’s fine. I can do it…

*their human’s somber tone is like an alarm bell to every demon in the room and by now they’re all waiting at attention - even Belphie seems more alert than ever. Something has made their human is sad… But why? What’s changed? Had they upset them? Has someone hurt them?? The MC can already feel the air getting tense as their dear pact-mates wait for them to name their target...*

MC: It’s nothing to worry about, guys. I… just need to go to the human world for a few days… A friend of mine has died recently and I want… No, I am going to the funeral… *and like that the tension in the room evaporates immediately as all their expressions soften…*

Asmo: Oh, MC… That’s awful! *he’s on his feet in an instant to be at their side and offering a hug which the MC gladly accepts. He plants a soft kiss on their temple while holding them tight*

Asmo: I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, sweetheart, but we’re here for you…

*the MC feels a large hand rest on their shoulder as Beel comes up beside Asmo, nodding*

Beel: Yeah… We’re here.

*taking a cue from their brothers, the rest of the boys all get to their feet as necessary and come to the MC’s side - either reaching out to try and hold them or simply hovering close by - but Lucifer stops them just short of making contact*

Lucifer: We shouldn’t crowd them…

MC: It’s alright, Lucifer… *they give Asmo a short squeeze to signal they’re letting go before taking a step back from them all* I won’t be gone for long, everyone… I just need to be with my family and friends for a little while…

Asmo: *steps back, but keeps ahold of their hands* Wait, do you have something to wear? Humans wear black at funerals, don’t they? Or is it white? I can find something for you before you go!

Satan: *glances at their suitcase, genuinely concerned* Is that all you’re bringing...? Did you remember to pack your toothbrush? Socks?

Beel: *already digging in his pockets for a spare bag of treats* Do you need snacks for the trip?

Belphie: They’re probably just going by portal, Beel…

Beel: *frowns* But it’s a long walk…

*their combined concern is enough to make the MC smile just a bit, relaxing their demons some, but they still only shake their head*

MC: Thank you, guys, but I have everything I need at home… Lord Diavolo is letting Barbs take me home, Beel, so don’t worry. I won’t starve. I just need to stop by the Castle first...

Mammon: Ah, so that’s where we’re goin’? Alright! *he breaks away from his brothers and starts walking down the hall, looking back at the MC with full expectation that they’ll follow* Come on. MC! Let’s get movin’.

*the MC stands frozen for a moment or two in the hallway before slowly taking yet another step away from the brothers, to their collective confusion*

MC: Thank you, guys… Really… I love you all… But I think I need just a little time to clear my head before I… Before I, uh… *they glance to Lucifer, feeling guilty and trying not to wince, but the eldest seems to pick up on what they’re trying to say*

Lucifer: Ah… of course… *he turns to his brothers, Mammon in particular, before taking a step aside to start clearing the hall* Everyone, since we’re all staying here, let’s give the MC some space… *again, he throws another glance at Mammon, knowing how clingy his brother can be, and sure enough...*

Mammon: Eh? Whatcha talkin’ about...?

*the secondborn, bless his heart, doesn’t seem to be following what the MC is trying to say… and why would he? He and the MC have been thick as thieves since they made their pact in the first place... Thankfully, Satan and Levi are much faster on the uptake and they both swiftly yank him out of the way*

Levi: It means that they want to walk there alone, you idiot…! *he huffs at his elder brother, but it's not hard to see that he looks a little disappointed himself... The MC shoots them all a sympathetic look before their eyes again cast down to the floor*

MC: I’m sorry, everyone… I know you’re worried, but I just need a little time to think and prepare myself before going back home again…

Satan: You have nothing to feel sorry for, MC… We understand. *he keeps ahold of Mammon’s wrist as he smiles to his brother* Don’t we, Mammon? *his grip tightens like a vice, even though his smile never wavers...*

Mammon: Ow!! Okay, okay, I get it!! *he pulls his arm out of Satan’s grasp and glares at him before looking back at the MC. He tries his best to smile at them like he isn’t bothered by the situation… but everyone knows better*

Mammon: I get ya, MC… Take your time, we'll be here for ya when ya get back!

*the MC watches their loyal first demon letting them go on their own for once and sends him a teary-eyed smile*

MC: Thank you, Mammon… Everyone… 

*they finally turn away from their demons and start down the hall to the doorway. If any of the brothers want to call out or stop them, they hold it in until they hear the heavy door close with a 'thunk'*

*it a minute or two before one of the brothers finally works up the nerve to break silence they're all sharing*

Asmo: Poor MC… *his hands cradle his cheeks in a bid for self-comfort...*

Lucifer: Yes… human lives are quite fragile…

Levi: Should we do something for them when they get back…?

Mammon: *huffs* No duh! Satan, what do humans usually do after funerals?

*the fourthborn sighs at his brother's vague question, but crosses his arms as he starts to think*

Satan: Well… There's usually mourning… Humans sometimes take time off of work or school so that they can adjust to their grief...

Lucifer: *nods* I'll be sure to let Diavolo know, then.

Satan: Aside from that it depends on the household… Some come together and others don’t talk very much. I've heard that some humans may even hold a celebration of sorts for the departed.

Beel: *starts drooling* Then we could make them a cake…!

Belphie: *sighs* I don't think that's a good idea, Beel… What if they don’t do that?

Beel: Oh… *gets a little disappointed*

Mammon: Well, what are we supposed to do? Pretend they're fine?? Ain’t there somethin’ ya can think of, Satan?

*Mammon turns to the blonde of the group, but instead of looking mildly irritated at his insistence the fourthborn is glaring at the ground - seemingly lost in thought*

Mammon: …. Um, yo? Satan? *Mammon gives him a minute to react but to his frustration, Satan doesn't look up...*

Mammon: Hey, Hell to Satan!! Hello?? *Mammon shakes his brother's shoulder, snapping him back to reality long enough to get his his hand slapped away*

Satan: Mammon, stop that!

Mammon: You're the one who went quiet!

*the rest of the brothers all watch Satan quizzically, it’s unlike him to space out mid-conversation…*

Asmo: Is something wrong, Satan?

*hearing the question, Satan’s anger quickly melts back into contemplation as he avoids his brothers' stares*

Satan: Well…

Mammon: Spit it out, will ya??

*Satan's fist comes down hard on his brother's head and makes a pretty good bump in its place* 

Satan: Be quiet, moron, I'm thinking!!

*while Mammon angrily rubs his head, Satan looks away from them again - well aware of the Pandora's Box he's about to open…*

Satan: I was thinking about MC… and how they're human…

Belphie: *raises an eyebrow* Yeah? So?

Levi: *smiles slyly, snark already in his eyes before it hits his tongue* Did you just figure that out...?

*Satan shoots them a sideways glare before facing away towards the room’s fireplace* 

Satan: No. Obviously not. 

Satan: ...What I meant to say is, the MC is going to die...

*and like that, all the air in the room seemingly vanishes… Nothing Satan has said is incorrect, but the brothers have always had something of an understanding about this… The MC was mortal, their life would end, but it wasn't something to just… you know...*

*Mammon is the first on the defensive*

Mammon: Hey, hey, hey why ya gotta bring that up now, Satan?? The MC's fine!

Satan: I know that! *his tone snaps a bit as he only glances at his brothers' direction* But let's think about it for a second… What about us?

Asmo: *shifts uncomfortably and hugs his arms to his chest* I don't think I like where this is going…

*when Asmo glances as Lucifer, he sees his eyes are locked on Satan in a steely glare... Though it's pretty obvious he doesn't like this subject either, he seems more hesitant to put a stop to it…*

Lucifer: Yes… We will all die too… But what are you getting at, Satan?

*the fourthborn seems to pause, then breaks away from his brothers fully so he can walk closer to the fire - letting the heat brush against his skin*

Satan: If I recall, Diavolo has told us in the past that we won't die like humans, or even angels...

*he looks across the fireplace mantle for a picture frame, then takes it in both hands. The picture inside is not very interesting, just one of House back in its better years... He starts to slide the image out as he continues*

Satan: As Avatars of our sins, we will exist as long as temptation remains present. We won't die exactly, but we'll be reborn instead…

Lucifer: *raises an eyebrow, still trying to follow his train of thought but getting impatient* Where are you going with this, Satan…?

Mammon: *huffs, crossing his arms* Yeah! Get to the point already...

Belphie: *yawns*... Or I’m just going to take a nap...

*if their impatience is bothering him, Satan - for once - doesn't show it as he presents them with the grainy picture*

Satan: When we're reborn, will we forget the MC?

*the room appears to freeze for a moment as everyone holds a collective breath… Some are still trying to follow Satan's logic, others pick up on what he means all too quickly…*

Mammon: W-... What are you talkin' about…? 'Course we won't! *the secondborn chews at his lip while Levi nervously thumbs his headphones...*

Levi: Yeah… What Mammon said. Even if we're reborn, it's still us right? *Levi glances around to the others for confirmation, something an anxious Asmo is quick to give*

Asmo: Y-yeah! If it's us, then we have to remember them somewhere…!

Satan: *shakes his head* We can't be certain… In the human world, it's said reincarnated individuals rarely remember their former lives...

Belphie: *glares at the blonde sharply, the topic of their death clearly agitating him more than the most* Well this isn't the human world, Satan!

Satan: *meets his anger in kind, knowing full well that he doesn’t relish the subject either* And do you have anything else to go off of? It's not like any of us have died yet!

*with that an uneasy silence settles over the brothers as the gravity of the situation takes hold... A possible future with no memories of MC… At some level, they had all approached the idea that they would pass on but to have no memories at all just…*

Asmo: So we'll just… forget them…? *even though it seems only a distant possibility, tears are already threatening to spill from his eyes...*

Mammon: You're wrong…

Beel: But I don't want to… *Beel looks solemnly down at Belphie, then to Lucifer, before he quietly realizes that there isn't anything either of them can do...*

Mammon: You're wrong.

Levi: M… M-MC…. *his bottom lip quivers as he fights to keep himself together somehow… What will happen to his Henry…?*

Mammon: You got it all WRONG!!

*in a flash of light and heat, Mammon's demon form whips out in its full glory but his body is trembling... Both his fists are at his sides, white-knuckled from frustration, and his head hangs low so his brothers can't see his eyes...*

Mammon: I won't forget MC… We won't forget MC…!

*everyone watches him cautiously, but Satan is the first to speak...*

Satan: Mammo-

*Mammon cuts him off by unfurling his wings, knocking Levi and Belphie back in the process*

Mammon: Shut UP! I don't want to hear it!! We'll remember them and that's final, ya got that?!

*though everybody knows that Mammon doesn't have any power over the situation, much less the authority to give them orders, his point has been made. This conversation is over...*

*with that, Mammon retracts his wings and stalks out of the room quickly - likely to run to his bedroom and vent his aggression. Among the remaining brothers, there doesn’t look to be much willingness to keep talking…*

Lucifer: Well… Thank you, Satan, for bringing that to our attention… *his acknowledgement expresses no gratitude, but no sarcasm either… it seems even Lucifer has been dulled by this topic…*

Lucifer: I think we can all agree to never bring this up again… *there's a quiet nod among the brothers, but none are willing to meet his eyes...* 

Lucifer: Then so be it...

*another silence hangs in the air before Lucifer is the first to move*

Lucifer: It's been a long day… Everyone, get some rest.

*following his lead, the rest of the brothers begin to file out to their bedrooms one-by-one, until only Satan remains. He sighs, dropping the picture in his hand into the fire to watch it blacken and burn to ash…*

*though he loathes to admit it, Mammon's words have struck a chord with him… He won't forget the MC... And little did he know, that same vow has done the same for the rest of his brothers as well...*

*They won't forget the MC… not if they have anything to say about it*