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whumble-beeee · 10 months ago

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Let’s Have A Chat (You’re All Talk)

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 4

Content: brief minor whump in flashbacks, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, flashbacks (ptsd), gun mention, past captivity references, tied up, torture "threats", begging, tazer,

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Except from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[In terms of punishing and torturing your hero, 'fear of the unknown' is one of the most powerful tools available in your psychological torture toolkit; The anticipation of what might happen to them is often more torturous than whatever real tortures you have cooked up for them, and is a wonderful addition to any torture scenario!

It’s a very delicate skill, learning how to use a hero’s own fears against them (excluding villains with fear-based powers), but it is absolutely essential in almost all aspects of hero-keeping; whether you want to torture them for information, beat them into submission and servitude, force them to follow your rules or desires, or just have some good old fashioned fun messing with them!]

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“No,” Stan grunted. Enough was enough.

“No?” the mercenary’s voice broke into a small, disbelieving laugh, which just served to make Stan double down harder on what he hoped was the right choice.

“No. We’re not ‘chatting’. Not–” the world tilted on its axis, darkness creeping in his periphery again. Stan leaned his head back against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. “N-not you and me, not now, not–... ever.”

Deeby just hummed another laugh at the display. “You should probably eat that protein bar, bud. Should help a bit with your head. And your mood, you're being such a little asshole right now.”

Stan rolled his eyes, but brought the protein bar up to his face to properly inspect. Though it was more of an accusation as he looked straight past it and narrowed his eyes at the bounty hunter instead.

The mercenary rolled his eyes in kind. “It’s not poisoned. Look, eat the protein bar and I’ll cut the ropes binding your legs, yeah? That good enough for his lordship?”

More than good enough for his lordship. A welcome trade, in fact. Especially since Stan was planning on eating the protein bar anyway. And especially because Deeby could probably just shove it down Stan’s throat if he wanted.

Stan nodded with a small ‘mhm’ before the bounty hunter could take it back. It took him a moment to maneuver the bar so he could open it with the metal of the handcuffs biting into his wrists every single time he pulled them too far apart, but he eventually found himself holding a successfully unwrapped protein bar with only slightly aching wrists.

“I'm eating this because I think I should,” Stan clarified as he brought the bar up to his mouth. It was cookie dough-flavored. Deeby had good taste in protein bars at least. “Not because you told me to, okay?”

“Uh huh, noted. Feeling less like a little shit now?”

Stan took a moment to make a full show of reluctantly nodding, irritated head tilt and all, before cramming the rest of the bar into his mouth. Before long, the ropes binding his feet were no more (after much restraint not to kick Deeby in the face when he got close with the knife again), and the protein bar was gone all too soon.

“Great!” The mercenary clapped his hands together. “Now we can talk! Ya like jazz?”

Stan grit his teeth. This Deeby guy just doesn't quit, does he? He wasn’t going to budge on this, even if he was slightly more fed and less dizzy now. He couldn’t just forget the total beatdown from earlier, the torturous soreness wracking every part of his body made sure of that.

“I'm not. Talking. With you.”

“Something’s gonna happen one way or another, runt. I’m just trying to give you the easy option considering you’re a little fucked in the head right now. Hard way’s not off the table, never will be.”

“We already talked!” Stan tried. “Remember? I asked you your name, you wouldn’t tell me. Then I asked you why you kidnapped me, you wouldn’t tell me! Who you work for, wouldn't tell me! Then you beat the crap out of me, and now I feel like I’m dying and leashed like a damn dog! That’s just gonna happen all over again! Let’s just skip over that so I can go back to dying on the floor, thanks.”

“Oh!” Deeby lit up like a lighthouse on a dark and stormy night, and Stan, for just a brief moment, almost let himself feel the same relief that a sailor might when they saw that spotlight on from the freezing, rain- and wind-swept deck of their lost ship. That he would actually leave Stan be. But then…

“You wanna hear about my gun?”

He pulled the revolver from his hip holster and held it up like a prized trophy. “It’s an original Smith and Wesson 1957 Model 19 revolver, it's pretty famous for being the first handgun to use magnum cartridges and making that a common thing. It was also standard issue for the border patrol in the ‘70s, which is where it came into my family,” he chuckled. Stan could only stare dumbfounded. He was really just going on a rant, huh?

“One of mis tíos just fuckin’ swiped it from one of the officers and they were pissed, chased after him, nearly caught him too but he managed to wiggle away, slimy little guy. And then my mom was so mad with him, nearly beat him half to death before their mamá even had the chance to. So anyway, I got it when I was just a kid, it was all broken and kinda shitty when I first got it, but it was a family heirloom and I thought it was the coolest thing in the world, so I started to get into it more, started fixing it up a bit, replacing parts until it worked right and fiddling with it until it worked right, then started making upgrades to it, learned how to shoot it–”

”Holy shit!” Stan yelled, lurching to meet the mercenary’s eyes. “Are you trying to Stockholm Syndrome me or something?! I don’t want to hear about your gun! I don’t want to talk to you, or hear about you! I don’t like you, I hate you, I don't want to have a nice little conversation with my fucking kidnapper! We aren't talking! Ever!”

A moment of silence. Stan realized he had gone too far again as the mercenary's eyes widened in disbelief.

But he refused to back down this time.

So he continued to glare into the mercenary’s dark brown eyes.

But then the bounty hunter let out a barking laugh. “Stock–... Sto-ockholm…?” he said, almost to himself, voice airy and high with disbelief. “Na-ah… Nah, no, no...”

His gaze suddenly shot to Stan, face unnervingly blank. Stan tensed up, instinctively pulling his extremities in to protect himself, to make himself smaller. This was… new.

The mercenary took a few steps toward him. Then a few more. Until he was right in front of Stan, looking down on him like a god would from the heavens above.

“You ever been… tortured?... Stan?”

The soft, weightless lilt of his voice turned Stan’s blood to ice.

"Never stop fighting back."

"Let GO OF ME!" He hit at an uncaring, unyielding fist. "LET GO!!"

"Just tell us about your powers, it doesn't have to get ugly."

Lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie.

“N-no-o,” he barely managed to squeak out. His vocal cords may as well have been dunked in ice water. Same as his entire body, with the way he was shaking. Why did he always have to press too far?

“All you gotta do is show us your powers, kid.”

He didn’t move, the light of his powers staying tucked deep in his core. They tazed him again. They'd done it so many times now, it barely even mattered now. He was used to it. He'd never break.

“There's no use fighting, we have ways to force it out of you. We just want to give you a chance to cooperate first.”

Deeby hummed, as if it were quaint to him, the thought that someone could have never possibly been acquainted with the hot, unyielding spindles of torture twisting and morphing them into something unrecognizable, something animalistic, something… altered. Someone to never be the same again.

“I've been tortured.” He chuckled, never breaking Stan’s gaze. “More than once, actually. Hazard of the job.”

He glared into his torturer's bright blue eyes, fires of defiance burning brighter in his own.

“Never.”

He knew what all their eyes looked like. It was the only thing he could glare at, they always wore medical masks and scrubs and lab coats, so it was the only part of them he could see. So professional to do such visceral, horrendous things.

They tazed him again.

Stan didn’t move. Just stared. Then sputtered slightly. He didn’t know what to say to that.

The bounty hunter didn’t seem to have such reservations, though. He moved forward wordlessly and crouched down in front of his captive. Stan’s breath hitched. He could hear his heartbeat, feel it pounding in his chest, slow, careful, thunderous. All consuming. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t escape. Were the bounty hunter’s eyes always such a dangerously dark scarlet? No escape at all.

Then Deeby grabbed either of Stan’s biceps, wholly wrapping his hands around Stan’s upper arms, and urged him upward to his feet. “Here, Stan, get up, I wanna show you something.”

The sky-blue eyes flashed to a colleague. “This isn't working. Let's just go with Plan A like I wanted to from the beginning.”

The colleague started to voice their protest but was cut quickly off.

“I don't care how old she is, I know! But being gentle doesn't work, it never does, and it never will! It’s time for the big guns.”

A grown-up hand grabbed his upper arm, drugged him up off the floor, and shoved him forward, iron-gripped no matter how much he kicked and screamed and cried out. Inescapable as he hit and tried to tug away. Unyielding.

“Wait–, wait, no, no, no, please! We–!” Stan cried, unsuccessfully trying to stay wrapped in his little ball of safety on the floor as the force pulled him upward, the dull roar of his beatings from earlier turning once more into a raging insistence of constant strain. “We can talk, we can talk! I just– I can’t– can’t– don’t–... please, please!”

Stan hissed as he put weight on his bad leg in his struggles, and had to practically fall into Deeby’s arm to relieve the agony.

Deeby didn’t pay the struggling human in his clutches any mind and started to step backward, never once taking his eyes off Stan as he dragged him slowly but surely toward the middle of the room, ankle chain jingling as it dragged across the hard cement floor. “Cálmate, chiquito, te estás poniendo tan alterado. Just do as I say and you’ll be fine.”

Tears burned at his eyes as he tried to grasp at Deeby’s arms, the pressure building up in his sinuses making it so he could barely breathe. It was so much harder to struggle to get away when he had to physically lean on his captor. Torturer.

“I don’t–” his voice cracked as it shot up his register, and he grasped in another breath as tears started to fall. “I do-on’t speak S-s-spani-ish… plea-ease–”

They abruptly reached the end of the ankle chain-leash, and Stan pitched forward with a screech, practically into Deeby’s chest before Deeby stiffened his arms and righted him again. Stan tried to make himself so tremendously small, tried to hide even though he was already captured and chained and physically being held by a man who had shown he wasn’t afraid to, and even enjoyed, hurting him.

And now in the center of the torture room, on the very end of his literal chain.

Nowhere to go.

“Of course you don’t, white boy.” Deeby sighed, a hint of that humorous light shining back in his eyes. He gently grabbed his jaw and tipped his gaze upward. Those bits of red in Deeby’s irises seemed to bleed out into the rest of the world, infecting everything with crimson and scarlet and fire and flames.

The world burned around them. Stan tried to pull away, but the bounty hunter’s grasp held firm.

“It means calm down, chiquito,” he said from somewhere miles away. “You’re getting so worked up, making everything worse for yourself. I won’t hurt–”

Stan seized up and grabbed at Deeby’s arms even as they held him in place, clawed at them, pleading, shaking as tears rolled off his chin, down his neck, and soaked into his shirt.

“PLE-E-EASE!” He cried. “I don’t– I don’t want– I can’t be tortured!” He prayed that wouldn’t be taken as a challenge. “Please don’t… torture me. I can’t… Please.” Not again. Not again.

Deeby looked down upon him, carefully peeling Stan’s trembling fingers off his arms. A small, unnerving smile tugged at the sides of his eyes, like a father looking on as his toddler struggled to produce a finger painting that wasn’t just a staining hideous mess for the hundredth time in a row.

“Who said anything about torturing you, bud? Wait here a moment.”

Deeby shoved away from the quivering mess and made his way over to the wall opposite where Stan’s leash-chain was anchored to the floor, and jumped up to grab the end of a previously unseen chain that, when when the bounty hunter grabbed it off the hook and let the length of it fall free, swung down and hung from the ceiling right next to Stan.

Stan took a single unconscious step backward from the thing in terror, and immediately his buckled buckled in a flurry of strained agony, sending Stan straight down to a kneel. He clutched at the offending knee joint, cursing the mercenary for making him overwork and twist his knee in that failure of an escape attempt and hurting it so much worse in the first place. At least before he could kind of hobble along without a cane or a crutch. It wasn't pretty, or fun, but he could do it. Now he was practically immobile.

And he just had to hope it would heal correctly.

“Didn’t I just tell you not to move?”

Stan whipped around and nearly toppled over again in the process. “I– I jus–!”

Two hands grabbed under either of his armpits and hoisted him back up to standing before Stan could even stutter out another terrified plea. He was so dizzy that he was almost thankful that the man grabbed him under the arms to keep him from falling again. Even with how the action in itself made him want to scream.

“Deeby, Deeby, we can talk, we can talk, you don’t–! You don’t have to–”

“Did you just call me ‘Deeby’?” He stopped in his maneuvering Stan, a petrified hush falling over the hero as he forced eye contact once again. “Like the name ‘Deeby’, not the letters ‘D’ and B’?”

“Uh--... No, no…” Stan squeaked.

Deeby’s amused smile faltered just slightly.

“Don’t lie to me runt, that shit’s funny... Deeby, huh?…” he mused, rolling the name around in his mouth. “Not very creative, but you gotta give points for simplicity… Pft, Deeby… ”

Then his attention shot right back to Stan. “Anyway, stop whining and squirming, I’m about 5 seconds away from actually getting pissed. Are you gonna listen to the story, or we gonna do plan B and actually give you something worth screaming about?”

Stan wanted to keep struggling. Yelling, being defiant, begging, pleading, fighting, something. Those thoughts fueled him as he held the bounty hunter’s gaze; he didn’t want to just roll over and let him do as he pleased with him. But the way the hunter held him now, and the way he physically overpowered Stan time and time again just made him feel like a small, hissing cat uselessly fighting against his owner as they held him high into the air as some sort of punishment. And the fear of something worse happening finally managed to overpower the blind panic that fueled his previous fight. The tiredness continually crept through his bones now, the ache of his injuries starting to once again overpower all other senses.

So when the stare of Deeby became unbearable, Stan pursed his lips and squeezed shut, bowing his head in concession with a small, shaky nod.

He just hoped this lost battle wouldn’t become just one in a never-ending sea of them.

The mercenary let out an infuriatingly triumphant huff. “Great. Don't move. I mean it.”

Then Deeby let Stan go almost too fast, and he had to readjust to fully supporting his entire battered body again.

He had to shift to support his entire weight on his 'good' leg instead of agitating the bad leg further, or god forbid using his cane or a crutch. Or his powers. The good leg would get painfully sore very quick if he had to just keep standing here. Especially since he was already feeling the bruises from earlier starting to bloom.

But this was better than literally all of the alternatives. He just had to let Deeby talk and hopefully, he wouldn’t torture Stan.

Simple.

He was looking forward to it already.

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Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid

#whump #whump writing #whumper #whumpee #hero whump #defiant whumpee #kidnapping whump #captivity whump #tw recapture #trans whumpee #disabled whumpee #(un)official guide #honestly nothing happens in this except for Stan freaking tf out #but what else is new lol #i gotta give this poor boy a break at some point #but that point will not be today!#gotta traumatize him so much more before he earns some rest sadly

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eelfuneral · 1 year ago

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I know I seem to be writing a lot about my issues with certain aspects of how the Jedi were written lately, but I will say that I do like them over all—especially when we look at individual Jedi characters. What has been prompting my flurry of dissection of the less than nice aspects of the Jedi as an organization has been seeing a number of really uncomfortable arguments in their favor. I’m going to elaborate on this, but I’m putting it below a cut and tagging it as “jedi critical” so you can avoid it if it’s not your thing. So here is a list of fandom Jedi takes that I don’t love:

1. The insistence that the Jedi having a repressive view of emotions is nothing more than a fanon myth. Star Wars canon isn’t terribly consistent: it has a number of different writers and George Lucas is famously indecisive about his beliefs regarding canon. As a result, you have a hodgepodge of differing portrayals of Jedi, but the one that people are most familiar with is the one from the sequel and prequel trilogies. While it can be argued that the Jedi are more about controlling how you react to your emotions and avoiding harming people, especially if you look beyond the films and at other canon material, the first six films don’t do a great job of portraying the Jedi in that way. When Yoda himself has multiple lines about how certain emotions (not reactions to them, but emotions by themselves) are of the Dark Side, can you really blame people for coming to this conclusion? The same goes for the idea that they don’t *really* forbid romantic love. When you have a whole subplot involving a prominent Jedi Knight having to hide a romantic relationship or face expulsion from the Order for having a romantic relationship in any capacity, then this argument doesn’t hold a lot of water. A rule stating that “romantic partner = automatic expulsion” does not line up with the idea that Jedi only ban possessive love.

2. Having any sympathy for Anakin Skywalker means you think that he’s never done anything wrong ever. I acknowledge that rabid Anakin stans who bash every other character to prop him up are very much a thing, but I don’t believe that we need to shut down every discussion of Anakin that doesn’t paint him as an ungrateful brat who needed to stop having so many damned emotions. Anakin was intentionally written as a sympathetic antihero and later a sympathetic villain. People picking up on the sadder elements of his life and the times where he maybe didn’t get everything he needed from the Jedi Order are sniffing out intentionally placed story nuggets that are designed to make his betrayal of everyone he loved in ROTS that much harder to watch. Also, acknowledging that the Order may not have been a great fit for Anakin isn’t the same as saying that it was somehow abusive or evil. No organization, real or fictional, can meet the needs of every single person. Anakin was certainly loved and cared about in the Jedi Order, but his personality and trauma arguably made him incompatible with their lifestyle.

3. The weird vitriol at the idea of Gray Jedi. Gray Jedi were very much a thing in the legends continuity and have been a fanon staple for literal decades. A lot of people aren’t fond of this concept, because they feel that it misrepresents how the force works, particularly in current canon. That’s perfectly fine, but acting like this type of Jedi was never, ever a part of canon is silly. Insisting that it’s a cardinal sin to depict a Gray Jedi in fanworks, which exist specifically to be a free-for-all that may not be canon compliant, is just mean. You didn’t have to like every fanwork or concept, but you cannot control what other people create for fun.

4. Outright denial that the clones are enslaved by the Republic. Clones are described as “property” and “equipment”. The Republic BUYS them. They do not have a choice but to go to war and don’t seem to be paid much, if at all. When a group of people are owned, bought, and sold, they are slaves by definition. I understand that the Jedi were dealt a bad hand and weren’t in a great position to do much about the situation, but I and a lot of other people would have loved to see more instances of Jedi advocating for clone citizenship and freedom. People noticing that the Jedi could have done more for the clones are not stating that they think the Jedi were 100% okay with the situation, and it is entirely possible to acknowledge the deep Jedi/clone friendships that we see in canon while acknowledging what the Republic was doing to the clones. Justifications of the clones’ enslavement mentioning that they liked being soldiers (they didn’t know anything different) or were treated well by the Jedi (Pong Krell existed, and they were still owned by the Republic) make me very uneasy. If your defense of your blorbos reads like Neo-Confederate chattel slavery apologia retrofitted to be about pretend space people, then maybe it’s time to do a little bit of self-reflection.

5. Ableism. When you throw takes like “if the Jedi philosophy regarding emotions is so hard for you, then you are a baby or a sociopath” into the tumblrsphere, they are always going to fall and hit people with disabilities that cause emotional regulation issues. The line between stating that people should not use emotions as an excuse to harm others and outright attacking people for having intense emotions in general is one that I have seen crossed, shat on, and lit on fire in defense of the Jedi.

6. Equating criticism of the Jedi to real-wold prejudice. Saying that criticizing the Jedi is the same as being antisemitic or homophobic is uncalled for. Queer and Jewish people exist in the real world, and pretend space wizards do not. Comparisons like this are insulting because they put real-world prejudice and fandom wank over space wizards on the same level. Do better.

#jedi critical #okay #really this is more fandom critical #fandom wank

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skaruresonic · 7 months ago

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You too can order The Discourse: Greatest Hits:

1.) "Stop Calling Him Toothpaste Snively" 2.) "You Never Read Archie" 3.) "Shadow Mandates!" 4.) "Sonic Has Always Been Inconsistent" 5.) "Sonic is Merciful" 6.) "Sonic Has Made Friends With His Enemies" 7.) "Do You Want Sonic to Slaughter His Enemies in Cold Blood?" 8.) "You Have No Reading Comprehension (Lol I'm Not Reading All That)" 9.) "IDW Haters Be Like [Insert Meme Here]" 10.) "Sega Approved It, So It Must Be IC" 11.) "Stop Calling Them OCs" 12.) "IDW is Canon, Now Shut Up" 13.) "Blocking Me is Cowardly" 14.) "You People are a Cult" 15.) "Both Sides are Insufferable" 16.) "Yeah the Book Has Issues But So Do You" 17.) "[Insert Wild Accusation Here]" 18.) "It Was Flynn's Plan All Along" 19.) "At Least It's Better than Pontaff!" 20.) "Cry Harder About Archie, Archie Stan" 21.) "You're Taking Everything Out of Context (It's Even Worse in Context But I Will Pretend That Makes It Better for Some Reason)" 22.) "If People Insult You, It's Your Fault" ...but wait! If you hurry in the next fifteen minutes, you can get the uncut single, "Eggman Never, Ever Has a Solid Plan, featuring DJ 'We Don't Need Some Other Major Villain' Starline"

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honeycreammilkshake · 2 months ago

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That analysis about Sukuna and Gojo is SO good. I actually think they are really jealous that we love Sukuna even at his lowest. Also, why are they blaming Gege saying he treated Gojo like a tool? Isn't that what his fans do with him? Like, 90% of the discussion about him is his fight with Sukuna. Like, they NEED that fight, it's like Gojo stops existing without it

I'll tell you what, Sukuna can lose 100 fights that he will still be a character, maybe Gojo can't do that if he basically disappears unless they need to convince themselves Gojo won and how important that fight is. It's amazing how a lot of Sukuna fans don't even want that fight anymore while I saw even gojo stans begging sukuna stans to recognize that fight. Myself? I wish it never happened. Let gojo die to those supposed superior villains (aka didn't kill gojo) gojo stans say, but everytime you say "ok then Gojo should have fought Mahito or Kenjaku, never Sukuna!" They just get triggered and say NO, PLEASE, THE FIGHT WITH SUKUNA SHOULD HAPPEN

See? Now I really hope sukuna comes back and gojo doesn't. I'm sorry, but I have never been THIS tired of a fandom, and I have been in Naruto and other fandoms with shipping wars and everything, but that was never as BAD as this.

Leave Sukuna alone, not my fault he doesn't need Gojo to be a character, sorry

gooooood morning, anon. i'm so glad i woke up to this because i spent a lot of time thinking about that gojo vs sukuna last night.

i have noticed that a lot of people hate that gojo is a "tool" in the manga and yet their own headcanons about him are always that he should have to fight sukuna and win. notice that they always want gojo to win, which is never easy in a fight with sukuna. it's a lot of hard work. but besides that, wanting a character to do only one thing and have it go with only one outcome, that's about as one-dimensional as you can get with that character. they literally only want one thing to come from gojo going into that fight, and that's no better than gege treating him like a tool as they claim.

because even if they want gojo to be this complex and fascinating character (ngl i feel like a lot of his personality traits are a bit like filler - he's just a mix of all the fan favorite and common tropes of other anime mentors with some backstory to stir it all together) him only doing one thing ever (winning) is so boring and doesn't do his character justice at all. and the fans who hate on gege can't really see that.

meanwhile, sukuna is more than capable of being a strong character who can have multiple different outcomes, and not all of them have to be him winning. in fact, some of his best moments are when he has to work harder or reconfigure a different plan. it always make him more complex and interesting.

so that's why sukuna winning made since while gojo winning didn't. because sukuna actually had a plan in motion, he wasn't cheating or being fake because he needed to possess megumi to reach that level of power (he didn't even have all 20 fingers so him making up for the lack of it by possessing megumi was an intelligent move on so many different levels) and his unique cursed techniques and longtime experience made him an inherently better fighter than gojo. now i could care less if their positions were reversed and gojo was the one who had a lot more experience fighting, because it doesn't matter when sukuna actually does his best to learn from others and improve his abilities as he goes along. meanwhile, a lot of fans just want gojo to be powerful and not have to take a lesson from others in order to reach it.

another thing is, gojo was born the strongest and given so much wealth and special treatment. even if the jjk world only wanted to use him as a tool (which, cmon, they do to every sorcerer - the whole point of sorcerers is to serve as tools that restabilize the imbalances of power, even Geto's character understood they were all just cogs) gojo still had a lot of privileges and second chances given to him that not a lot of other characters could afford to have.

and idk if we can really confirm this or not, but sukuna seems to have a totally different experience, one where he was immediately shunned by the normal world and only seen as a force of strength for other sorcerers to test their skills against. i don't think anyone took ending sukuna's reign of terror that seriously, they only wanted to claim the title of being the strongest. not only that, so much about sukuna is still a mystery or very layered, mostly him being contradicting (especially where yuuji is concerned) and not revealing his past.

this turned out to be longer than i thought it would, but yeah... it's been on my mind a lot. gojo's character served a purpose when he died. not only did it show how much of a pure threat sukuna is (even if all that power wasn't inherently his own, it still shows he's good at coming up with plans that counterbalance his other weaknesses) but it also showed us how gojo's character can be seen in an entirely different light: someone who lost. he always thought he could win anything, but him dying showed a different side to him, because he even looked peaceful during death.

and if he comes back, fans don't realize it would mean that afterlife scene with geto would be simply meaningless. they adore stsg so much so i'm actually surprised that they want gojo to come back to life, bc it would mean leaving geto behind. makes no sense to me.

anyways, thanks for sharing your thoughts with me, anon. i hope this day goes well for you!

#anon #asks #i stopped reading through and editing my posts so if there's any errors im sorry im so lazy

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iihauntedmuffinii · 4 months ago

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A Breath of Fresh Air (The Boys Fanfic)

SUMMARY

Daphne Bennett is a psychiatrist for kids in the foster system. She relies on her powers to help her clients unlock their traumas and emotions in a safe space. Unlike most superheroes, her powers come with a price. She is losing control of her body's health and mental state and sadly, her usual tricks aren't working. When the fluctuations in her powers are too painful she decides it's time to try and find a cure. A cure that she thinks resides center focus on The Seven. Through odd circumstances she is placed near the famous superhero team and their loose cannon of a leader, Homelander.

I have a Spotify playlist associated with the story, so if your interested, and don't care about chapter title spoilers I recommend checking it out.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST:

CHAPTER FIVE: A Worthwhile Endeavor

Leaving the premises that was now the makeshift hospital and refuge was harder than I thought it’d be. The damage leftover across the streets and roads made getting a cab or an uber extremely difficult. The rubble being cleared out by an influx of construction workers made the usual city noise much worse. I drop myself like a dead heap inside a cab three blocks away from the refuge. I let out a sigh of relief. The aching in my head and my left leg was my souvenir of all chaos that took place today.

The disgusting itch in the back of my mind did not let Stan Edgar escape my thoughts. I can’t believe Stan Edgar maneuvered out of the bad press with a little hero worship! It’s beyond disgusting. Thought I would never say that saving lives was disgusting–but using it to dig yourself out of this press nightmare screams villainous. The only good thing I can even think to come out of this was the possibility of my plan coming to fruition.

The city continued its usual song no matter how horrifically recent these events occurred on the streets. No, the city continues to dance to its own tune unwilling to bend to anyone. That’s one thing I like about living here, the scars are covered up by its gaudy beauty—even the fresh ones.

The night sky is overcast and the bright city lights are too much for my eyes as I’m stumbling into my dingy apartment building. The mix of medical concoctions were definitely causing me to trip over the squeaky steps up my floor; making it difficult to move in a straight line. The constant noise from the outside world fades as I finally enter my apartment. The warm twinkling lights--my new and improved set up is only dampened slightly by the reminder of my parents.

I can’t touch that thought with a ten foot pole.

Instead of focusing on my own issues I push myself towards the kitchen and get out my large pots and pasta maker. I grab flour, eggs, olive oil, and salt to start on the dough. Setting everything to make the dough on the side I turn on the oven top. I place my well loved and beaten gigantic pot onto the oven, and start throwing in my homegrown rooftop canned tomatoes. The garden I created on the rooftop was steady and strong every summer, something I started in secret the first year I moved in. It was also rarely visited by any of my neighbors, so it is safe in comparison to most places.

I grab a small pan and begin to sauté my fresh minced garlic while I’m mashing my tomatoes in the large pot. I grab my remote quickly into the process and turn on one of my favorite childhood films for background noise, The Wizard of Oz . It was something I would watch with my family every time I had to stay home from school when I was sick. Either a cold or my powers, it didn't matter; they were always there for me. My headache from my powers and wound throbs as a painful reminder of what happened earlier today.

I wish I could call Marie but she didn’t have a phone and they were so strict about curfews at Red River Institute. The kids that lived there could not take calls after the curfew, and that meant I couldn’t ask Marie how she was. I have to make sure to call her in the morning. She may have been my hero but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t affected by what happened in front of us. She is no hardened superhero; she’s just a kid.

I add the dried oregano and sauteed garlic into the simmering pot of smooth tomato sauce that will match perfectly with the tortellini. The smell was amazing at this stage and the first batch of many to come was almost ready to be put in the large Tupperware. As it simmers I limp slowly to my small terrace to open the small glass door. The heat from the cooking was only going to get worse from here, so fresh air was mandatory. The soft melody of Over The Rainbow from Judy Garland’s sweet somber voice hummed across my apartment and out the door like the heat itself. Hopefully none of my neighbors mind the volume level.

Hobbling back I crush fresh basil–that is also from my rooftop garden–and mix the herbs into the sauce as its final touch. I heave with all my might with the pot fills to the brim with tomato sauce and try to pour with as little mess as possible. I’m successful this round, but I have a feeling this kitchen will be quite messy by the end of this endeavor. I put that Tupperware into the fridge ready to be transported for later. I get the next Tupperware in line and repeat the process, starting to sauté more garlic and make another batch of tomato sauce. As the second batch starts to simmer and cook I begin my favorite part. Making pasta from scratch.

I grab the bag of flour in my wobbling arms and am pouring just enough to start the process. What I didn’t expect was an American flag shaped person to drift into my apartment like a cold breeze. I drop the bag of flour jumping in the air with fright and the poof sound that came with the explosion of white powder would be comical, if it wasn’t me in the center of this mess. Flour covered all of my clothes but nothing got in my face and hair, luckily.

“Didn’t mean to barge in, but the door was open so…” He couldn’t hold in his laughter as he burst into full blown hysterics. The crease in at his eyes showing genuine reaction and the laugh lines that came with a brilliant smile almost froze me to my spot. A real smile.

“You know, you cause a lot of trouble for just one person, Homelander.” I sigh, blowing a stray curl out of my face. I start to sweep the flour into the dustpan and into my garbage bin. I’m pointedly cleaning and not keeping watch of the obvious predator in my apartment. I invited him this time so, it’s on me.

“Well, I thought you knew that with the whole mind reading thing.” Homelander snarks, but the meanness that was usually there was now vacant. He almost sounds relaxed, even his tornado of an aura felt calm, for him.

“You seem more relaxed after our last conversation.” I gently edge closer in on his personal space, trying to peer into his now cold flat expression.

“You're doing that thing again.”

“No, I’m not, Homelander. I can read body language just like anyone else and I can see with my own two eyes that you’re more relaxed. Are you feeling better after getting some distance from the news press?” I ask as I turn to the pot and start mashing tomato chunks.

“Oh, I just flew around and visited an old friend of mine. That’s it, really.” He shrugs nonchalantly avoiding my questioning stare. Unusual for him. He wouldn’t give more details no matter how much I pressed. I should be grateful he came here in the first place, if anything. I let him win this and change the subject for his benefit.

“Well, if you are here to make pasta with me you’re going to have to change out of your fancy suit.” I turn to him, giving him my full attention, expecting a battle of wills to commence.

“Whose clothes? Yours?” He couldn’t help but mock striding around the kitchen as if he owned everything in his vicinity. The sweep of his cape follows behind him like a star-spangled shadow.

“No, my Dad left a few spare outfits for whenever he decides to visit, usually, my mom in tow.” I shrug trying to push thoughts of my parents out of my head.

“How sweet.” He bites out, grinding his teeth, not able to contain the bitterness dripping from his voice. I ignore the disdain and instead run to grab said clothes from my closet. A black tee shirt and black jogger sweatpants. Simple and black. The things my dad wore in a nutshell.

“Here you go!” I spring up from the closet and unabashedly smile, handing him the clothes with too much pep from the way he's looking at me. Like a two headed snake ready to bit him. “They're a good brand too so the material shouldn’t irritate your skin.” Oddly, that is what makes him grab the pajamas from my outstretched and waiting hands. His face contorts and flickers into an array of ever changing emotions like a flickering old film screen.

He leaves, closing the bathroom door behind him to change. I continue to multitask by setting up my next batch of tomato sauce and kneading the dough on my counter. Dorothy’s now stumbled into the Land of Oz and the song Follow The Yellow Brick Road chanted around my apartment walls. The familiarity of actions and the movie playing in the background lulls me into a calm state. The jitters and nerves melting away to the sound of me repeatedly kneading the dough, the nostalgia of the action melted into my bones and left me feeling bittersweet.

The creaking of my bathroom door opening as Homelander shyly walks out, his confident air now gone in wake of the de-costuming. He was less intimidating–and well big–without his suit padding accentuating his muscles. He looked more normal, even approachable. His aura was twisting and turning chaotically and the continued silence between us only exacerbated it. He finally meets my eyes with a furious glare, baiting me to say something cruel, I expect.

“Well, what are you doing standing there? Come over here and help me make the tortellini.” I wave him over turning my gaze away from him, his held breath releases and his aura stills from its inner destruction. His stiff gate showcases his unease as he crosses the apartment floor.

“I don’t know how to make tortellini.” He grumbles annoyance obvious in his posture. Stiff and unyielding he juts his chin out and crosses his arms like he was protesting the dough itself.

“That’s why I’m here, so don’t fret.” I grab his arm pushing him to the center of the kitchen island, he scuffs at my bravado. The fabric of my dad's shirt hung loosely against his waist. The urge to feed him began to itch at the back of my brain at the sight.

The dough is laid out and flat after running it through the pasta maker a few times. I create perfect squares across the flat sheet of dough feeling a calm settling over me once again. Getting into the zone from one of my favorite pastimes. Sharing this part of me with Homelander feels like lying down and baring my neck to a predator hot on my trail. Blood rushes to my head and I feel goosebumps trail down my arms and neck. I ignore the chills wracking through me and begin my cooking lesson instead.

“First we fill each of the squares in the center with the filling.” Said squares took over the whole countertop, except for the bowl with the filling laid. It contains ricotta, mozzarella, and parmesan to name just a few ingredients for my Nona’s secret recipe. The recipe has been passed down multiple generations on my father’s side. His family tree was so far back rooted in Italy we call it an ancient Italian olive tree. A family joke that was only funny to the family.

“Nona?”

“It means grandma in Italian.” I grab two tea spoons, putting one in his stiff hands, not taking no for an answer. I start filling the center of the forty squares of dough I have cut. “Now we just fill each square, see.” I plop a small dollop of the filling with my teaspoon in the center of a square. He tries to seen uninterested, crossing his arms and letting out a huff, but he doesn’t look away from my hands. “Here, I have one for you so we can do it at the same time. We will get a lot more done doing it together.” I push a teaspoon into his hand not wasting time or pussyfooting around it.

“Now, why in the hell would I do that?” His anger that was simmering inside his cold blue eyes became a furious forest fire spreading across his emotional wavelength. “I’m here because you said you had a plan to make my numbers go up. Were you lying?” His eyebrows scrunched forward shadowing his eyes from my view, only making his figure more intimidating. Even without his suit he can still be just as much a threat. He’s not like everyone else. I need to handle this situation with soft hands.

“Homelander, I didn’t lie. What we're doing is a part of the plan.” To make a point I take his hand–too cold for anyone in good health–and scoop the filling with his teaspoon. “That’s a good amount. You can place it in whichever one you wish.” He springs away from me cradling his hand as if burned. I try to mask my reaction afraid I might provoke him into a full on attack, with words or powers I don’t know.

His once relaxed aura–well, relaxed for him–turns and twists picking up speed. His eyes become clouded and dark, like a stormy sky on the horizon, his mind toils over things I cannot begin to guess at. His tight white knuckle grip on the teaspoon left it with a dented imprint of his hand.

“You still haven’t told me shit Daphne. How is this supposed Martha Stewart nonsense going to help me ?” I’m frozen still at him saying my name; I don’t think he’s addressed me by my name before, only ever called me doctor sarcastically. I don't notice the shift in the air as I’m too far gone inside my head.

In a step and a blink he is looming over me like the skyscrapers just outside of my apartment. His closeness brought his aura with him. The red desert sand of his twisting aura scrapes against my psyche. I flinch back in pain hitting my hip against the island counter. I ignore my hip pain in favor of the throbbing painful reverb residing in my skull, which pounds to a beat I can’t stop.

“Are you trying to get in my head?” He’s one notch away from yelling, gripping my right wrist as quickly as a rattlesnake’ strike.

“N-No, Homelander I’m not! I wouldn’t do that–”

“Unless you had a reason to!”

“How can I make you see that I’m here to help The Seven . I’m not some mole to unravel Vought from inside out and I’m not Stan Edgar’s whipping boy hired to tattle. I’m a therapist. I’m your therapist. Did you sense me lying just now?” I hold my head up high, meeting him directly in the eyes, not looking away even as my nose starts to bleed.

“No, none of what you said was a lie. Or you're an amazing liar, which you're not.” As fast as his anger comes it swoops right out of him. His shoulders once tense like granite now settles and his eyes lose their stormy disposition. His combustible aura shrinks within itself, calming to a normal degree. “You're bleeding.” He points to my nose still close enough for me to feel his breath on my face. A dose of adrenaline pulses through my bloodstream keeping me on high alert. I’m the prey stuck frozen at the attention of its predator.

“O-oh sorry!” I quickly grab a towel to hold to my nose. “Just all the stress and bodily injuries I’ve gotten today.” I huff out a sad laugh. I go to my cabinet and get a bright orange teaspoon. “Here you can use this one instead.” I put another into his open hands, his eyes widening at the gesture.

“You're just going to give me another after I destroyed the last one?”

“Well, are you going to destroy this one too?” I ask as if talking to a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

“...Maybe?”

“Lucky for you I have a few sets of measuring spoons, so it's no worries.” He guffaws, sounding like he’s choking mid swallow. I continue to put the filling on the pasta squares as if nothing has happened at all. From the corner of my eyes I watch patiently; a flicker of conflicting emotions crosses his face like an old film screen. He robotically, as if waiting to be struck by lightning if caught, starts to put the filling on the pasta squares one by one. “So, my plan revolves around what happened today. As you know, Stormfront and Stan Edgar made this terrorist attack into an opportunity. To not only standstill the journalists but win Stormfront and Vought—”

“Yes, I know this already! Cunt Stormfront takes my win right from under my nose and now your idea of helping me is just rubbing it in. Just wow, good for you.” He grumbles out a snort of derision blowing straight out through his nose. He continues filling the squares at a calm and steady pace, for now.

“R-Right, so this whole thing can easily flip against them. If you were not aware they held that little press shoot in the middle of the refuge! Not only that almost no hero but Starlight was handing out supplies for the newly Homeless. If analyzed for even a moment the facade cracks beneath the weight eventually shattering their illusion.”

“The illusion being?”

“That they care! That’s where you come in, of course. You will be there tomorrow morning with enough to feed all of the newly homeless from the terrorist attack with our homemade food.” I stop to grab my phone taking pictures with both of our hands in the shot putting the filling on the pasta squares. It looks very The Kitchen - esque. “With a few shots like these,” I show off the photos to Homelander who looks nonplussed by everything. “And a coworker of mine will help shoot everything so we can pull the rug right out from underneath Mr. Edgar and Stormfront. Boosting your numbers in the process—you being in the limelight in their steed. They will see you as the one superhero people can actually look up to, to be good. ”

“Like good, good? Starlight’s sparkly reputation level good?”

“Well, Homelander, all you can do is try.” I shrug at his disbelieving stare.

“I have been trying at this for years.” He grits out, sounding in pain, struggling to push those words out of his tight lips.

“Maybe allowing people to see more of you is a good thing.”

“More of me! Hah! They see me everywhere. I’m on every billboard and have a blockbuster hit coming out every year. How can I not be the most popular member? It's insane! It’s insane…” His frustration is leaking out of him in waves as he angrily throws the filling into each pasta square to each angry word he speaks.

“I mean you . Not the version of Homelander Vought writes in their scripts. I want you to be able to bring the version of you, you want to be and no one else's.”

“No script?”

“No, of course not.”

“How are we going to pull this off, exactly? Give me the step by step as if you're talking to The Deep.”

“Okay, you and I will bring in the food and things should be set up at the refugee by the time we get there. I’ve been texting Priscilla since I got home and she’s on board with setting up the camera crew and volunteers.”

“Real volunteers or actors?”

“Homelander! God, no, real volunteers.” I can’t help but burst out into giggles at his audacious response. I try to cover my face with my hands but I inadvertently smear flour across my nose. “Oh, dangit!” Homelander cracks a smile before a quick chuckle escapes his lips.

Unaware of my own body, my hands drop limply to my sides, ignoring the bubbling pot behind me I’m gaping at his aura like a fool. It's just a hint of the forest from a memory, a smell of pine, and the flavor of lavender invading my senses. The sincerity of his emotions makes me feel warm and tingly all over, like I’m dancing on a cloud.

He’s up close taking over my personal space, but not as a threat, like earlier. This time it's different. His bright smile is gone and his usual flat expression is back in place. His eyes look over my face, as if he was examining me for a lie within my soul. Too close for me I start to feel a red blush spreading across my body. The unnecessary embarrassment only heightened by his now encroaching wolfish grin that took over his face.

“You're bleeding again, here.” He grabs my discarded cloth and grips my jaw in his other hand. I freeze as if caught in a trap, ready to spring. He’s so hyper focused on roughly wiping the blood off my face he doesn’t notice me tensing up still like a statue.

A memory of mine flashes behind my mind's eye; me, as a small child being helped up by my father. He was cleaning up my scraped knees and scratched up face because I fell down on favorite a hill to rollerblade on. The feeling of him urgently and roughly wiping the blood off with his handkerchief has a nostalgic warmth buried inside my heart. He would be so rough and silent but he was always so worried. He banned me from playing on that hill ever again. As if that would stop me from getting injured.

I can’t stop smiling at Homelander’s exact replication of the behavior. The warmth that I feel comes from my own aura. The glowing orbs that resemble a family of fireflies gently touch Homelander’s red storm clouds, instantaneously they converge into one aura, in just a blink. Like two colors put together to make something new my powers begin to untwine and welcome the invasion like a new skin. As if waiting for this very moment my heart settles into a calm rhythm for once in what feels like a long time.

He steps back not noticing a thing. The towel now covered in blood he throws it in the sink without faltering to ask why. I appreciate it even if that isn’t really a good sign considering his lack of empathy. Or maybe just not expressing it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it. I can’t pinpoint which one with him.

“Thanks, now that we have the first batch filled, let's start the best part!” I grab his arm, steering him back to the island counter. I gently handle the pasta square with the dollop of my grandmother’s recipe filling in the center. "So, first we have to wet the edges of the dough squares with a brush of water, and then fold the dough over to make a triangle. Second step is to pinch the sides together to seal the ricotta stuffing inside of the dough. Now, we have to take the two bottom points of the triangle and fold them underneath into each other and pinch together to seal and form your tortellini.” I do this with meticulous ease. My ability to make perfect tortellini coming from time and annual family dinners. His eyes are shining with awe and his mouth is left slightly agape.

“I’m not some cook, Daphne. How'd you expect me to do that?” He spits out, taking a few steps towards the projector in a huff, seeming to give up on cooking all-together.

“You just have to try. I don’t expect anything other than that you try, okay. Or are you afraid?”

“Afraid of pasta? Hah, I’m the motherfucking Homelander. I’m afraid of nothing.” Acting comedically confident he strides back towards the counter ready to impress. His hands frozen midair not remembering the steps, I presume. Without any prompt-to I start to make another tortellini with slow precision. He watches closely, but when I catch his eyes he looks away immediately, as if his hand was caught in the cookie jar. A little involuntary smile quirks up at the corner of my lips.

He hesitates before finally grabbing a pasta square himself, trying to mimic my instructions. His hands are large unlike mine, making it a little more difficult to achieve pretty results. His eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration and one of his sharper than normal canines bites at his lip in anticipation. I make twelve tortellini at my usual pace while he concentrates on his one.

“Ah!” He murmurs out, surprising himself with a completed tortellini gently lying in his palms. His smile is small, he can't wipe it off his face fast enough before I have a glimpse of it. The tortellini is too big on one side and the folds aren’t correctly made into a triangle, but it's an amazing start.

“Wow! That’s really good, definitely put that one to the side so we can eat it tonight.”

“You're making them for us too?”

“ We're making enough food for a whole refuge. We might as well make ourselves dinner while we're at it.” I shrug, not minding the extra work. Cooking is one of the few things that help me not spiral over my own problems. It's like a form of meditation for me. I give him a thousand watt smile, trying with all my might to be encouraging. “I’m going to make my special butter sauce for only us, though.” I whisper trying to act conspiratorially with a finger to my lips. That reminder has me putting in the next pot of tomato sauce. Turning away Homelander continues to make more pasta, more assured than the last time, but he kept his expressions minimal.

“But I could change my habits

Never more be scared of rabbits

If I only had the nerve.

I'm afraid there's no denying

I'm just an awful dandy-lion

A fate I don't deserve.”

“Wizard of Oz, now? I thought people your age liked John Wick and Barbie .” The sardonic tone coming off his timber voice surprises me from my cooking stupor.

“I like those too. Hey, you know, I never mention your age when we talk!” I turn back to make more tortellini, and to admonish him, of course.

“You're just surprisingly old fashioned for someone so young, it's actually refreshing.” His praise almost sounds like an insult, but I choose to ignore that, in favor of being the bigger person. His shiny white smile and blue eyes sparkling with amusement doesn't faze me. Ignoring the bubbling frustration and embarrassment is probably the best choice of action anyways.

I grab more pasta squares and start folding it into tortellini as if it's my second language. He watches me close like a hawk viewing a mouse struggling beneath its sharp claws. Fascination sparkling in his stormy eyes makes me audibly gulp, nerves sparking across my body.

“They’re so perfect.” He’s hypnotized as he watches me make five tortellini in quick succession and to absolute perfection.

“Well, they’re only perfect because I’ve been making them since I was a kid. My grandmother who we visited in Venice taught me how to make them. My mother tried to keep up the tradition for my father’s sake but she’s a better baker than a cook. You should have seen my first tortellini, it looked like a monstrosity and my grandmother told me just that,” I burst into giggles at the memory. “Your tortellini are a great start! You’ll be a professional chef in no time.” I motion to the five other tortellini he’s finished laying on a platter. They were lumpy and misshapen but they were perfect.

“Is this your grandmother’s recipe?” Homelander asks, ignoring my pointed staring. I’m completely baffled at him continuing the nice conversation.

“Yes, actually. Most of the recipes I make are my family's. I have a whole recipe book passed down to me on my father’s side. The instructions on how to bake tiramisu cakes all the way to Lamb Ragu are inside that family treasure. It's pretty much an heirloom at this point.”

“All for a bunch of useless recipes. I don’t understand what the big deal is.” He scuffs pointedly glaring at his misshapen tortellini.

“You haven’t tried them yet. Maybe you’ll change your mind once you have.”

“Food has never changed my mind about anything.” He states with a dull condescending tone I can’t help but roll my eyes at.

“Look, wait and till you try it. Okay?”

“Fine.” He scuffs with a huff only a celebrity or a toddler could replicate. I sigh back at him, it is almost endearing if his attitude wasn’t so exasperating.

Somehow, we stumble into a comfortable silence as the Wizard of Oz plays in the background. As I get into a rhythm of making dozens at a time I start to boil a batch for just us. Including Homelander’s few lumpy tortellini into the boiling pot. I continue to simmer the butter sauce in a small pan to the side. Finally, after finishing the last batch of tomato sauce I put the last tub into the fridge. I throw the dirty pot into the sink to deal with at a later point in time.

I work around Homelander’s unsettlingly invasive presence by dancing around him in my small kitchen space to set up my coffee table. I quickly grab two of my favorite plates–roses with vines decorated on the trim–and place them at the table with my silverware. I can feel Homelander’s eyes following my trail the whole time.

I gently fish out the pasta with my slotted spoon placing the finished tortellini in a large ceramic bowl. I put the next batch of raw tortellini into the boiling pot without missing a beat. I place the bowl in the center of the coffee table grabbing the sauce and fresh parmesan to sprinkle on top. Homelander walks cautiously over to the coffee table as in the kitchen rushing to grab the basil. He sits on the couch looking vacantly at the bowls and plates in complete silence.

I stumble and almost fall flat on my face as I hurry to serve Homelander. He sits silently at my couch of all places. No where else to really eat in my small apartment so he’ll have to make do, sadly. Like a normal commoner such as myself. I shave the fresh parmesan over the hot pasta adding the sauce lightly on top. I gently place a few basil leaves over each of our plates as the final step to a perfect dish.

His clumsily made but full of potential tortellini shimmered on top of the bowl proudly. I make sure to put his few tortellini on my plate.

“Enjoy!” I sit beside him with a chirp of excitement I can’t extinguish. He doesn’t dig in first so I take the first huge bite, stuffing my mouth full. He watches with a small twist of his lips he can’t cover up with his hands fast enough. “Delicious.” I say with a mouth full; my Nona would have thrown a shoe at me for that misbehavior. He takes a few bites at a calm and polite pace versus my obnoxious gusto.

“It’s really good.” He whispers, so quiet I barely catch before the draft steals it away. He continues to eat as if he said nothing in the first place, now putting all his attention towards the movie. I can’t help it when my smile spreads into a wide goofy grin. He glances back up at me and the smile he gives back looks painful, but it's a positive, nonetheless.

“Worthy of family heirloom status, huh?”

“Yeah, I think it qualifies.” He settles into the couch, relaxing around my presence since the first time I met him. He continues to eat with grace I can’t replicate. The theme of Over the Rainbow starts to gently play, the beat of the symphony swelling with Dorothy’s final words in the film.

“Then Toto’s safe. You hear that,

Toto? We’re both safe. And we’re

home. Home! And you’re all here.

And I’m never going to leave here

ever, ever again, because I love you

all. And… oh, Auntie Em, there

really is no place like home!!”

The film goes to credits as the theme continues to play it out, a classic film with a message that has always been dear to my heart. But the idea of home now left me feeling confused and the deep pit in my stomach I’ve been ignoring swells. No, don’t think about it.

“I keep making you watch all my favorite films. It feels unfair. Next time you come over, it's your pick. What’d you say?” I push the bad thoughts away to focus on something brighter, oddly enough that happy thought is attached to Homelander.

“You’d want to watch Taxi Driver with me?”

“ Taxi Driver ? Ah, well if you want to. I always saw it as kind of a sad story, but if you want I’m game.”

“You think Taxi Driver is sad? It's revolutionary for men all over the world. That we take control of the world with our own two hands, and not be pushed by everyone that can diminish you. It's inspiring.”

“Wow, I guess I’ll have to watch it again. Maybe I’ll see it with a second viewing.” I finish my plate quickly. John is barely on his third bite as I run to the kitchen to finish the rest of the tortellini. The next movie is already in queue, not surprisingly one of my favorite Disney films, Robin Hood starts.

The strumming of Oo-De-Lally fills the silence. I put the second batch of tortellini in tupperware ready for travel. I begin the next batch of dough to repeat the process all over again. In my steady rhythm of cooking I forget about Homlander’s existence, going into a trance as I roll the dough.

“I will see you tomorrow at the refuge with the camera crew. It’ll have to be at nine-thirty because I have a commercial to shoot at seven, but I assume you already know that?” He quirks his eyebrow up, testing me.

“Yes, Homelander, I told Perscilla to be there at nine to set up. I’ll be there to help and get the food prepared before the camera crew arrives.” I pipe up loud and clear like a sweating cadet under the scrutiny of their commanding officer.

“Hmm,” He stares down at me with an eerily steely stare that gives nothing away. The tension was so thick in the air that I was choking on the smog that was his aura.

He pats me on the head gently and steady, my blond curls bounce with each pat. His presence brings the images of a flowing current in the middle on the mountain side, not too far from here. I meet his ironclad stare and it feels like lightning struck my body. His too wide smile only makes his sharp fangs look more deadly. I gulp down my nerves with a wobbly smile he won’t find fault with.

“Good. Don’t disappoint me, now. I’ll see you in the morning.” He makes for his suit, turning himself away from prying eyes. His aura that was calm now begins to reawaken, the sharp cutting sands whispering in my mind.

“You can keep those, if you want.” I stop him before he can make for the bathroom. “I don’t think my dad will mind. I’ll see you tomorrow, Homelander. Have a good night.” I approached him slowly, as if he was a rabid animal that could attack at any moment. No matter how good tonight is for him, the aura tells me a disaster is always waiting in the rafters, ready to strike at any time. His response to that is to fly out of the terrace with his suit in hand and my Dad’s pajamas as his attire.

He’s gone and it feels like the electricity in the air has finally dissipated back to its usual setting. The disturbance in the environment rectified with his tense passing. That feeling that settles over me is not numbness, no, it's a feeling of cold sharpness sleeking through my veins. Like breathing in air so cold it hurts going down your lungs. The foreboding feeling of being exactly what I didn’t want to be, a Superhero's lapdog. I gulp down the guilt and return to the cooking, willing those thoughts out of my head.

It’s 3am by the time I’m done with the last batch of tortellini and I’m thoroughly exhausted. My wounds and meds are now taking its full blow on my mental state, but I still force myself to clean everything up, and I do so in a zombie-like state. Done with that by 4am I settle into my bed to get three blissful hours of rest.

My alarms blares at me in my ear as if I just closed my eyes for sleep a minute ago. Oh, today is going to be a long day, isn’t it? My head throbs with a dull ache, a flash of pain reminding me to call for a Doctor’s appointment. Also, I need to call Perscilla to see how everything is going on her end. So many things to do with so little time. And on very little sleep.

I run to the bathroom rushing to take my gross bandages off my head. The thin scar encroaching my hairline was pink but thin, not too noticeable thankfully. I get into the shower making it cold to get my blood pumping and my mind alert. I throw on a cute summer dress that’s eggshell white and slam my feet into my favorite white kitten heels. I grab for my white scrunchie throwing my wild curls into a high ponytail, annoyingly, my hair still reaches down to my waist even put up. I need to get a haircut before I’m called Cousin It at work. I sigh as a few baby curls escape to frame my face. I quickly put on a pink lip-gloss, lightly dust blush across my cheeks, and dab mascara over my eyelashes to complete the look. Getting ready in under thirty minutes is my new record!

I stumble around my apartment as I’m scrambling to get everything I need to bring to the refuge. Six tubs of tomato sauce and tortellini may be heavier than planned for my noodle arms, but with my determination and grit I open my apartment door with all in tow. My heart is running a mile a minute as I’m balancing everything as gracefully as possible down the creaky stairs.

“Do you need help with that, dear?” My father’s booming voice intimidates most, but to me his gruffness always felt like coming home. Until now. His sudden appearance and tall shadow was completely blocked by my comically tall stack of Tupperware blocking my line of sight. It's a miracle I didn’t drop the food with his surprise appearance.

“I-If you don’t mind.” I mumble out, breathless. He grabs for all but one Tupperware handling it with ease. We walk out of my apartment building in unison, I stay silent not knowing what to say.

“You haven’t answered any of our calls since…” His warm deep timber was gruffer than usual; his aura practically oozing sadness I couldn't ignore. The saltiness of tears swarm my taste buds like a bad thought that wouldn’t go away.

“Since the news broke out that superpowered people were not born, but made. Yeah, I haven’t felt charitable enough to give you guys my time right now. If you haven’t noticed, I'm kind of busy.” I bite out, closest to yelling at my father I’ve ever been in my life. My bitterness leaking from my aura like a bad infection, and though I want to lash out, I know that won’t get me anywhere. I’m in this situation because of my own dumb actions, and they are under constant threat of it because of me.

So, I just need space. To think over my feelings, and it's for the best I try to keep them at an arm's length. It would keep them safer if I do so. I take in one deep breath, and then let it go.

“I need to be somewhere dad. So, why’d you come?” I decide being direct is the best course of action when it comes to my father.

“I want you to have this.” His hands are trembling as he passes me a manilla folder with the words Sage Grove Center stamped in bold black ink across it. “We wanted you to know everything before you started looking into it yourself. When you’ve read it, come see us and we will tell you more. Please, honey, promise me you will come home after reading the file!” He stares me down with a dark blackness that pins me in place. I’ve never heard him sound so distressed before. I can’t stop myself from saying it.

“I promise, dad.” I gulp down the cold warning feeling dinging inside my brain. He sighs out of relief, looking less haggard with my verbal confirmation. He gently steers me to a taxi helping me put the Tupperware in the trunk, safely securing it so it doesn’t splatter everywhere. I instinctively hug him goodbye, but I don’t smile.

“I love you, Daph.” His hug tightens to almost a painful degree, as if I was going to melt away like sugar being pelted with rain.

“I’ll see you soon dad.” I mutter out before running into the cab, not able to say I love you back. My dad’s eyebrows twist up and tears were being held back as he weakly wave me goodbye as the cab drives off. This fills my heart with deep pain that continues to needle at me as the drive progresses. As the taxi gets stuck in traffic I make a doctor’s appointment for the next morning. I don’t need an unknown head injury plaguing me when I’m already stressed enough as it is.

Checking my email I can see Starlight’s schedule being changed early this morning. Apparently, she had to visit her cousin in North Carolina and wouldn’t be at any functions for a couple of days. I need to call in and check on her then, or would that be too invasive? She is on vacation, so does that mean no work calls? I’m not a work call, I'm her therapist. I quickly press her name in my contacts before I can doubt myself for a second longer.

“Hey, it’s Annie, if you want to reach me leave a voicemail and I’ll get back to you when I can.” Her sweet voice comes through the phone in a dull monotone that’s grating to the ear. I left a quick voicemail asking her how she’s doing and how I just wanted to check in. Before I’m done with the voicemail my cab driver is helping me out of the car with my Tupperware in tow.

I walk through the construction site and into the refuge building as quickly and gracefully as I muster. Dodging moving bodies from every corner, barely keeping the Tupperware in my arms by the time I reach the kitchens.

Volunteers with Vought branding on their shirts were scrambling about preparing for food to be served out. People in not so obvious Vought branding were prepping some camera men that were standing at the fringes of the entrance. Perscilla Jones stood center of the chaos with her immaculate hair shining bright like a beacon of hope. Her aura flares with life and vigor like a fresh and steady campfire. She was in her element and the perfect person for this job.

I drop my containers onto the kitchen counters and find myself being swarmed. The volunteers take action immediately grabbing Tupperware after Tupperware prepping it to be served to the refugees. Like a unit of soldier ants they all work in unison, it's inspiring if a little scary. Not needing anymore help with that, I walk towards Perscilla to see if there’s anything else that needs to be done.

“Hey Perscilla! Do you need—” A forceful breeze passes the room and that is the only warning the normal person has before Homelander’s dramatic entrance.

“Hello, everyone! So, how can I help?” His voice is booming for everyone to hear. His perfect posture and calm smile that looks practiced. His exact verbiage feels like it was ripped right from Dawn of the Seven . I told him he didn’t have to act like there was a script…but maybe that’s his autopilot. Interesting.

The camera crew that hovered at the entrance of the makeshift cafeteria enters the scene the moment they realize their star has arrived. The volunteer workers are grabbing bins of the food and setting up buffet- lines for people to serve themselves. Volunteers would be posted at that station so they can help out if needed. The volunteers all gapped at Homelander’s sudden arrival, all stopping together like the ripple of a stilling wave.

Perscilla Jones' quick steps towards me are annoyingly loud with each point heel tap and her humongous bright white smile is nearly blinding. She grabs me by my shoulders, wrinkling the large puffs of my sundress. I can’t help but see the predator on the horizon blazing a trail towards us, my heartbeat grew erratic at the sight . I’m frozen to my spot, instinct of a prey animal, the prey animal being me.

“You have to introduce me to Homelander, Daphne. I’m so excited for how good this is going to do on Instagram and Twitter.”

“And how good it’ll be for the people who recently lost their homes.” I add in quickly–Perscilla giggles at that, like I was joking, giving me a shrug as a response.

Her glowing bright sherbet aura bursts into a bright orange sweet flavor of excitement that took over all of my senses. She was too happy right now to even think about the reason why she’s here. Only that the opportunity has landed on her lap and she’s going to take full advantage of it. Happiness stemming from something like this is not surprising, but I can still feel the bitter disappointment lingering in the back of my thoughts.

“Do you need anything else from me, Perscilla. I could help the volunteers if not–”

“No, you’ll be helping me, remember?” Homelander’s sardonically cold voice would be chilling if I wasn’t preparing myself for it beforehand. He maneuvers around Perscilla, completely ignoring her, like walking by a bug on the subway. Perscilla perceptively decides to step out of Homelander’s way, letting me go from her too tight grasp. I absently rub at them, feeling the eventual bruises growing on my already wounded body. “I thought we talked about this last night.” His sharp blues eyes not only glare daggers down at me as he steps a little too close, but his scowl is pointed directly at Perscilla.

“R-right! Um, Perscilla I have these photos I sent to your email of Homelander cooking the food being served. I think it’d be a great addition to this event for the social media campaign.” Perscialla nods to every word I say as she starts going through emails on her pristine phone.

“That’s perfect! It’ll round out the whole photoshoot, great idea, Daphne.” Perscilla’s sweet excitement now felt more brown-nosey since Homelander came into the picture. It made me feel extremely uncomfortable and the slow crawl of goosebumps traveling down my arms didn’t help.

“T-thanks–”

“Now that’s settled, let's get to it.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, showing us as a united front that Perscilla ate up, but it felt more threatening than friendly to me. She steers us to the serving tables where the volunteers prep the food. Every utensil and decoration had Vought’s logo covered all over them, it made my skin crawl.

“Okay, Homelander just pose behind the serving table and we will composit the photos with the ones of the volunteers.” Perscilla says this as if listing off her grocery list, not even glancing up at us as she continues to tap at her phone. The ringing in my ear speared itself through my brain and I couldn’t get it out.

“W-what? No, n-no Homelander is serving them with the volunteers.” I step forward out of Homelander’s grasp trying to gain Perscilla’s full attention. “We’re both here to participate in helping the refugees; no pretending, no lying.”

“Of course, Dr. Bennett, I understand. This is just usually how things are shot for social media, but if that’s what you want. Thank you again for this opportunity Daphne.” Perscilla calls for the camera crew to set up, walking off and grabbing a volunteer by the shoulder to boot.

“I like how you tell people what to do.” Homelander’s voice is closer than expected, I jump up high in the air in response. I blow a curl out of my face deciding facing Homelander head on is always the safest bet, meeting his stare directly.

“That just wasn’t the plan. You’ll see. It’ll be better if it's organic. Like food.”

“How do you know more about marketing than a marketing manager?” Sarcasm is evident in the quirks of his lips and the swathy tone in his voice.

“I know people better. I don’t understand social media but I know for a fact people will see your interactions with them. That will be what has the biggest impact on your ratings. More than you could imagine.” I put all my soul into what I’m saying, seizing his hands to hold in mine.

“Alright, alright.” He nods with a sigh. He lets go of my hands walking to the serving area as if the various utensils would obey him with a single look. “This plan of yours better go as planned or we know your job here isn’t going to quite work out. Come on then, Daphne. Help me with this since this was your brilliant idea.” He gripes bitterly, scowling into all the hot pots with tortellini and sauce filled to the brim. He flinches away from the simmering pot of sauce, double checking his cape to see if any got on it. I can’t stop from smiling at his antics and he looks up to see I’ve caught him in the act. He glares at me as his only form of comment.

“Don’t give me all the credit Homelander. You did inspire me to do this after all.” I say loudly and clearly, the on coming flux of people entering the cafeteria can hear my words clearly. As well as the now recording cameras. His singular left eyebrows quirks up as if accusing and questioning at the same time. “You are the one after all who wanted to do more for the refugees when we were last here. You wanted to change things, and now we're trying to change things.” I steer him now to face the growing line of people waiting to be served.

The volunteers all hover around us, smiling wide and bright for the cameras, but all the nerves frazzle at the edge of my brain like static shock. I inadvertently move to the sauce station, right next to Homelander, and serve the first person in line. A small boy with wild curly brown hair and a wide toothy smile that brought the taste of fruit loop cereal on my lips and the memories of blowing bubbles out the windowsill. The ache in my heart soothes over the gaping bloody wound ever so slightly when I fill his bowl to the top.

“Thank you, miss!” His smile widens across his cherub face and his dimples appear. So cute.

“You're welcome little mister.” He runs off ahead, settling at a cafeteria table where a woman waited with a patient smile and a warm embrace. I check to my side to see Homelander hasn’t self combusted by being left to his own devices. No but the volunteers seem to be fumbling around him like slobbering idiots, not focused at all on actually helping.

“Thank you so much Homelander for all that you’ve done for us!” A young woman with her hair wrapped in a beautiful Hijab states before taking the bowl of tortellini.

“I appreciate what you guys are doing here. It really is helping my family and everyone else here.” A large gruff man who had rad patches all over his skin–probably burns from the look of them, voices to each volunteer he sees.

As each person passes us people are in better spirits than they were when they entered the cafeteria. The atmosphere has shifted to a hopeful tune inspired by the smiling faces all around us. Surprisingly, Homelander’s stiff posturing eases with each smile and adoring comment that comes his way. The line slows to nothing and the whole cafeteria is filled with people eating their home cooked tortellini. The smell was almost as good as it was in my kitchen, making my stomach growl at the thought.

A boy who could be either ten or twelve who was shyly hiding behind his mother bravely steps forward as the camera men start taking their equipment out of the building. Looking closer the child wore a well worn shirt that had Homelander’s insignia plastered across it.

“Could I have an a-autograph, p-please? You're my favorite hero in the world!” The smile is so bright and so full of awe it could make anyone drop to their knees and go aww. Homelander gets down to his level and signs his photo and the shirt he is wearing, making the boy squeal with delight. “Thanks so much Homelander!” He runs back to his mom sitting at the cafeteria table in the back corner.

“You really made that kid’s day, Homelander. He’ll probably remember that for his whole life.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, of course. Those interactions are what make people love you. I thought you knew that?” I ask dumbfounded. No wonder he’s been trying at this for years and not getting any results. He’s like a calf without his mother to guide him from bad decisions, it would be endearing if it wasn’t so sad.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He grimaces glaring at me, as if knowing what I’m thinking. Shouldn’t it be the reverse? “He looks kind of like my son, Ryan.” He murmurs under his breath barely able to admit it.

“Well, I’m really good with kids, if you ever want to introduce me. I was actually a child’s therapist before I was hired on for The Seven, so I have some understanding of kids . ” I shrug trying to show any emotions in the admission. Bringing up my old job only made me feel painfully nostalgic, and some bitter madness needled at me, reminding me I failed my attempts to understand my powers at every turn. This job being the final stage in my failure. I push that thought away focusing back on Homelander.

“Let’s see how this goes. You’ll be lucky this doesn’t become a failure and I don’t fire you.” He threatens under his breath, so only the two of us could hear. The volunteers all sat at a table eating their own share of tortellini ignoring us for now. The idea of being fired seems enticing, but impractical at best. A danger to my family at its worst.

“I think this could be really good for you.” I say bringing my hand up to touch his arm, but stop before I make contact. The need to be close to people was something I didn’t feel often, but Homelander felt like a flame and I was the moth that just needed to be a little closer. Before I burn up in flames, of course. He takes my hand in his own, making me flinch from my stupor.

“I have a meeting with Ashley soon. I’ll need to get over there before ten thirty.” We both glance at the clock on the wall to see it flash ten fifteen at us like a warning. The tick of the small ticking clock grates my migraine. “Do you want me to fly you there?”

“No, no that’s okay. I’ll help clean up here and I’ll be at Vought in a half an hour. My schedule isn’t filled to the brim like yours is.”

“Didn’t you know?” He couldn’t help the wide smirk growing across his face.

“Know what?”

“You have to be at all of the press junkets with us, not just movie sets and premiers. Looks like your schedule is busier than mine, I’m afraid.” Like the cat getting its cream, Homelander looks too satisfied informing me of this. My little migraine turns into a full blown migraine now. I could feel the mind splitting pressure terrorize itself behind my eyes.

“Oh, well I’ll be at Vought soon. I promise.” I give his shoulder a squeeze with assurance. The word promise striking into Homelander his aura’s once calm now springs to life once again. Ever turning and hurting those in his vicinity.

“Right, you better Daphne.” He grits out before leaving the cafeteria with a flashy smile towards the refugees. A few people stop him on his way out asking for autographs, he obliges not batting an eyelash at the continuous requests. Finally leaving the scene it feels like I’m not walking on a tightrope anymore, and my heart could rest for a moment.

“You guys look cute together.” Perscilla crones in a too sweet voice for me to stomach. I jump again, surprised for what feels like the millionth time today.

“What! You can’t say that Perscilla. Just implying it would cost me my reputation and license as a therapist. Probably my job too, honestly.”

“Well it's only trending on this one measly subreddit. Nothing to fret over Daphne.”

“O-okay, good. N-nothing to worry about then.” I grit out trying to believe it myself. Nothing to worry about clangors in my head like a bell toll, ringing over and over to a deadly hymn. The cold sweat running down my body and the throbbing headache wouldn’t stop reminding me about the traumatizing events that only happened yesterday. Being in the center of it all didn’t bode well to me in the least. The feelings of foreboding chilled my neck, as if Death himself trails his bony fingers down my back.

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If you want to support this fic try checking it out on AO3!

#the boys fandom #the boys tv #ao3 fanfic #the boys fanfic #fanfiction #fanart #fanfic #ao3 #homelander x oc #Spotify

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yarrayora · 6 months ago

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I have never watched a full episode of steven universe (only listened to the songs) and only know that people have issue with the show's treatment of its antagonists through hearsay.

I'm assuming because heroes and villains actually exist as 'legal terms' in bnha that any lens to critique steven universe or any show that involves the antagonist being redeemed is even more polarised?

100%

the system in bnha universe doesnt believe in rehabilitative justice, the idea of giving villains second chances are frowned upon because heroes are, as you said, superpowered idols

and there is no force in the world more powerful than stans who refuse to admit that their idols can be wrong

speaking of which because heroes are the face of crimefighting, cops aren't really treated with respect by the populace and at best being considered a first responder at worst being treated as background npcs

it's no longer a tempting job for people who want to abuse their authority. why be another one of the nameless grunts when you can be the man of the hour in cape?

of course it's a lot harder to make it big as a hero than as a cop, since you have to stand out as an individual than as part of the uniforms

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia

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away-ward · 1 year ago

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I think if Damon was THE villain until the end, the series would have been better. It would start with him being pissed off "that the guys chose Rika over him" and then at the end, he would have to choose between revenge or his friends. Like imagine if in Killswitch he redeemed himself, and start his relationship with Winter, but in the shadows, he was actually still plotting. No one suspects anything, maybe not even the reader.

It's also really funny that Damon is a textbook incel and in highschool Damon would've been an Andrew Tate stan.

Do you think the guys had specific types when it comes to girls they're attracted to ?

Also, I think you would like Rina Kent's books (If you never read them you should start with the Royal Elite School series)

I think their “type” was the only woman who caught their attention. It’s hard to determine because according to the story, they could get any girl they wanted and every girl wanted them (as is the case with book boyfriend out there), but did they have a preference of girl?

Michael liked blondes, but in any regard they’d have to be Attractive. I don't believe he was concerned with spending any time talking to them, so he didn’t particularly care if they were funny or smart or interesting, just if they could consent. This would exclude girls who got too drunk or couldn’t handle the party. He hated drugs, so no one that got high off of anything stronger than weed. No quiet or weird girls who would be a lot of work. Working for it isn't something he was interested in. He would probably be careful of girls who seemed like they were available, but in actually wanted more from him (like a relationship), but this might have been a lesson he had to learn. I think he would be annoyed if he were lining up a girl and she backed out last second. He’d considered it lost night.

Kai is harder. He liked the private rooms at clubs, showing that he can be just as loose as the other guys, just more private about it. Chloe was an actual girlfriend and not just a repeat hook-up, so even as a teenager, he didn't avoid commitment. He's picky, more with character than appearance, though he has high standards for both. Chole was a leggy blonde, but she was also an overachiever and scholar. It's important the people he spends time with can actually hold a conversation, so they'd have to have a working brain, even if it's just for the night. Kai also enjoys the chase, so he'd prefer a girl that wasn't too available, but made him work for it. Banks might have been different, in this regard, that she toyed with him first.

Damon's type is Winter. The end.

But for real, Damon had warped views when it came to sex and relationships that he needed to get over. For most of high school, it was all about what they could do for him, or what he could do to them, so preference wasn't considered. If there was no ulterior motive on the docket for the night, I think he preferred it when the girl shut up and took everything he gave her, and then hated herself a little for it afterward. As long as it's not Arion and the like, Damon didn't think too hard about getting off with a girl.

Publicly, Will liked the girly-girls in make-up and short skirts. The confident girls who probably got in the middle of the action, who wanted attention on them. Who welcomed his attention. After chasing Emory around all day, he'd probably want someone who didn't take a lot of effort or act put out when he smiled at them. Like Michael, he wasn't interested in a lot of deep conversation, but he was nice and tried to keep the mood up. He didn't care if the girl was smart or had a single brain cell, but I think he preferred a girl who was funny or at least quick witted. Nothing was required for him, though. At the end of the night, he wanted to have a good time with a warm body. Still, when the moment came, he made sure not to disappoint. As Alex said, he put in the work.

Is this what you meant??? Let me know.

I have discussed how I wished Damon’s villain and redemption arc had carried out through to the end of the series, but I’ve never thought about him attempting to betray them a second time. That’s a very interesting idea.

And it’s a really good idea to have him have to choose between his revenge and his friends, if at the end of Nightfall when we think all the guys are on the same side and their inter-personal problems have been resolved so that only their external problems remain, and then Damon pulls off his figurative mask like “Hello! I’m still evil!” That would be funny. But also interesting if after Trevor died, Damon started working with Evans to pull this off, and then he had to make the final decision: does he go with Evans or Michael, or forget the Crists' all together and try to take Thunder Bay for himself?

I don’t know if I would have called him an incel. He seems to have preference for women who are passionate and fight for themselves, instead of ones who are submissive and only follow the orders of a man. He may have acted like that’s what he wanted in high school, but I think he always knew that he hated the demure and submissive girls. It's why he never went after Arion. Maybe my definition is wrong.

And I have tried a few of Rina Kent’s books; started mostly, finished some. But I can’t remember which ones. I want to say the one I finished* is from her newer series, which was the descendants from her earlier two series??? I could also be getting her confused with another author though. Sorry. I’ll see if I can find the chance to list the authors/series I’ve touched base with to satisfy some curiosity. Though, I promise I won’t be able to discuss any of those the way I discuss DN. I just don’t have any thoughts after I close the cover. DN really is an anomaly for me.

Thanks for your patience in me getting back to you! Hope you're having a good day, wherever you are.

*or got close to finishing; with books like these, I usually end up DNFing as soon as the third act breakup starts or whatever it is that’s going to cause them to separate. Unless it’s really interesting. As far as I’m concerned, they’re in love and I’m happy to move on.

#asked and answered #devil's night series #damon torrance #the horsemen of devil's night #book talk #asked and answered 75

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winns-stuff · 2 years ago

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LO APPRECIATION:

Okay I’ve been seeing all of the content about the wedding and.. God do I have thoughts but it’s better to just cool down now with an appreciation so I don’t say anything harsh because genuinely I’m at a point with these rants where it gets hard to say things nicely, I’m ready to just say it how it is and stop sugarcoating it. But we’re not here for that, the lovely goddess that I want to appreciate today is underrated as hell and basically an antagonist to Persephone blah blah whatever, me personally I’ve always loved her design and I genuinely think she’s peak character design. The amazing goddess that we all know and hopefully love is Hestia! And everyone clapped.

Yeahh so I thought I would hype my girl up more because genuinely I don’t like how the story treats her at fucking all. First off, I hated how they got rid of her original colors and made her look like an off brand Hera it’s really annoying and I wish they actually had character sheets down. Hestia was always right about everything I don’t care and everyone tried to make it seem like she was a prude, y’all just can’t fathom that Hades is a bad guy and that it would do Persephone good to stay away from him. Hestia has common sense, she’s a sensible and rational lady and she’s the only character that I still tolerate and hasn’t been affected by bad characterization that we see for every single fucking chapter. I adore her interactions with others and I genuinely feel like if the narrative wanted to make her some sort of antagonist or villain at least make her a cooler more threatening kind. I’m thinking live action Kaa from the Jungle Book Movie, we all know that Hestia is a very reserved and relaxed goddess so if you really did want to make her intimidating you could use that to your advantage. Like honestly, why did she have to be such a small role in a plot that took up three seasons?? It’s annoying and she deserved more screen time for my sanity.

Next I would like to talk about how fans treated her. I once answered an inbox that stated that some fans actually make disgusting comments about her weight and body type to insult her all because she took the damn coat from Persephone. It’s immature and incredible insensitive to go around saying stuff like that and it’s even harder to give stans the benefit of a doubt when they’re starting shit like this. I absolutely love how people try and defend themselves by saying it’s fictional while still going beyond the line just because you don’t like what this fictional character did. You should never insult someone’s body I don’t give a fuck how mad you are you don’t go around doing that because your favorite character got brought back to reality. It makes me sick I even have to say this, I genuinely feel like Rachel herself should actually call her fans out because this is a common theme for the fandom and I’m tired of seeing it. I don’t care about the whole “she’s a creator she’s not responsible for the ignorance of other people” statement when she has full fucking control over her fans and she’s obviously very active in the fandom. I’m not saying that she should just hound them like dogs whenever she can but I am saying that this is a big issue and since she is active in the community and she wants to be praised for all of this representation that she gives she shouldn’t be allowing people to openly insult fat characters as harshly as people do. It’s time to actually address it.

Speaking of representation, I absolutely hate how fat women in this fucking comic have little to no screen time at all. It’s so incredibly annoying since they always look so good, I can only count three women that we’ve seen in the entire LO series alone with Hestia’s body type and I hate how their beauty only gets seen once or twice every blue moon. Not all women have big boobs, perfect waist, and big butts and that’s okay. I would love to see more body diversity and I would absolutely love it if the few characters who represent different bodies be shown as more than villains. Hestia didn’t have to be an antagonist and we could’ve gotten more chapters of her and Persephone bonding, she could’ve been the one to show Persephone around and she could’ve been the one to explain to Persephone why Demeter is the way she is. She also could’ve been a strong figure in her support group or even a reminder of the mortal realm, hell she could’ve even been the cool auntie! Just anything except for this character that’s only there for you to hate.

Besides my nitpicks though I absolutely loved her wardrobe. She wears more clothes than Persephone is all I’ll say (I only say that because I genuinely feel like some of the things she wears is the same thing.. But that’s only because of all the white she wears all. the. time. It gets confusing as hell) and I really love how well they go with her personality and overall just how pretty she looks in them. Like honestly you’d think she got blessed twice with beauty by the way she just effortlessly outdoes everyone in the main cast, won’t even talk about Hera.

I also really love her personality, do I love that the comic wants us to believe she’s super strict and partially an ass kisser? No she deserves better than that. I love all of her facial expressions and the way that she delivers her lines, something about it makes me cackle and it’s only because I imagine it being put so bluntly and so straight forward. Like I get the feeling she has no chill when she says things and it makes me giggle every single time, I’ve always thought of her as a little portal to LO because in many ways I understand every single emotion she’s ever had especially towards Persephone and Hades. Stop acting like she’s crazy yall I’m begging you, to be frank with you I feel like she’s the only one that does genuinely care about Persephone because I just see her being a caring person. I don’t think that she’s evil or strict or any of that, I believe that just like Demeter she wants to see Persephone being free and happy and obviously something about Hades (we all know why) isn’t giving her the idea that she will be free and happy.

Again going back to her original character design, it was peak character everything. The colors were so pretty and it really did match her nicely, I will forever be sad that I’ll never see more content of her but hey at least they did her a decent job on the recent episodes. Despite the whole Persephone and Demeter conversation she looked absolutely stunning and I was just so focused on her for the most part.

Anyways, that’s all I’ve got to say for her now but the praise will not stop just at this post. I really do hope that Hestia will continue to live her life peacefully and completely cut Persephone out because she genuinely gets on my nerves and I have a feeling that the feeling is mutual for Hestia.

#lo critical #anti lore olympus #anti lo

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ikamigami · 2 years ago

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Hey ikami, whats your opinion on Bloodmoon

Hey, anon!

My opinion on Bloodmoon... hmm...

I wouldn't be mad if Bloodmoon would turn out to be alive. I don't have any problem with them either being dead or alive. I like them. They were funny character. But to say that they would definitely get redeemed it's a stretch. The last time we saw BM, they were completely okay with killing and tormenting others. They also accepted their hunger for blood.. which made redemption less possible, in my opinion.

BM didn't seem to want to change, they weren't willing to be better. Heck, I don't even know if they'd stop killing if they stopped craving blood. Because they liked it. People wrongly assumed that BM not liking the feeling of constant hunger (it was harder to think for them while they were hungry) equals BM not liking to kill. Which is logical fallacy on people's part. Bloodmoon were evil and they liked it. We've never heard BM crying because he had to kill others (because of hunger). They've never regreted such actions like killing, hurting and tormenting others. Never.

Bloodmoon were a good villain but I don't like that people were/are treating BM in the same way they treat Lunar. Because with Lunar it's somewhat understandable. With Bloodmoon on the other hand, not. I wouldn't mind treating BM like a child but only in fanarts and fanfiction because it's okay to do whatever you want with characters (to some degree, I mean). But stop bringing this into discussions about them etc. Because they ain't kid. They ain't innocent. They're cold-blood murderer and sadist. And stop excusing their actions.

If Eclipse was the one who Sun killed, people wouldn't mind it (besides Eclipse stans). Which tell us a lot about people's morality. And it ain't looking good.

I'll also add that I blame more KC for the fact that Bloodmoon stopped thinking about "not wanting to crave blood". Because he had a great influence over them and he approved that killing is okay. Heck, he even learnt BM blood magic. And beside that with KC we could see that the mere wanting to change mean very much for a redemption of a character. Neither Eclipse nor Bloodmoon wanted to change.

And I think that that one person who I saw saying that Eclipse is also responsible for BM's death is right because Eclipse tried to get under BM's skin by telling them that aren't that much important for KC. Which could easily lead for their restlesness which led them to wanting to torment the Daycare Attendants which led them to their demise.

I hope that this answer satisfies you, anon. But if you have any more questions about Bloodmoon, go ahead and ask me because I could've forgot about some important things in this post.

#sun and moon show #sun and moon show bloodmoon #sams bloodmoon #sun and moon show sun #sams sun #sun and moon show moon #sams moon #sun and moon show lunar #sams lunar #sun and moon show eclipse #sams eclipse #sun and moon show kill code #sams killcode #sams kc #anon ask #sams bloodmoon analysis #sams analysis

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m1ckeyb3rry · 5 months ago

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Love me some angst!! So true though I can imagine it kinda being like the “want what you can’t have” thing where you’d have to be uninterested to catch his eye..also I’m so excited to read every installment makes me stan bestie a little more like where’s my irl girlie like this??

Oh yeah stagnant is the word I’m looking for…I’ve never prayed on the downfall of a duo so hard before they NEEDED that breakup no matter what all the fans say like please let them develop!! As you mention later in your reply I do think kaneshiro has something in mind for nagi I’m just hoping it happens soon!! What kinda also throws me off a bit is I think in a recent interview kaneshiro mentions that Nagi has no friends outside of reo even within bllk? And I’m like wait what about Isagi chigiri and Bachira at least they literally went bowling together and were gonna meet at a cafe together??? I don’t think you do that with people not considered friends but whatever ig :|

Based off what they’ve all spouted mid match they DEF have a mean streak LMAO gotta let out all that teenager rage somewhere…even polite mom friend yuki based of NEL scenes LOL but I love the duality of it all!

Loser on loser crime fr…reminds me of that one line from the mobile game where Nagi’s like “sheesh rin you have no friends” like boy ik ur not talking

The soccer freak always gets me because the way Rin’s presented makes him seem super popular BECAUSE of his soccer dedication flipping it around and making it his weakness just makes it hit harder

That makes sense! I’ll admit some scenes of him are done nicely but yeah also not exactly my type oops, when I was typing out my last response I was kinda thinking about how his backstory is uh…a little bland…like yeah a passionate boy about soccer but other than that he’s got a healthy family and basically no trauma (good for him!!) but yeah I mean other than his mindset on like evolution not much to explore imo

Get. Out. I was an MLP kid too LMAOOO you’re so right about rainbow dash I feel like maybe he’d try to cover himself up with like king sombra too (shadowy villain to match his ninja shadow steps thing or wtv) and I honestly don’t know how he pulls sm he seems like such a dork too like, ninja butt trap?? Saying bam (bakyuun) at like every other sentence….bro is a geek and it’s showing LMAO I bet he’d be into ninjago

OVER 15K we’re eating good guys…I’m also like constantly lurking the tags waiting for things to pop up which is where I first found you actually LOL I swear the karasu tag was dry as HELL for a good 6 months I kept finding stuff on a diff karasu from some other series and the Otoya and yuki tags are like even drier like please someone…you’re literally saving me rn I have never seen this much Karasu content like. Ever. I would contribute more if I knew how to write but for now I’ll just stick to ideas ig LMAO

That panel living rent free in my brain…more like I’m paying it to stay there omg I cannot wait…I’m also hoping that tabieitaken still get some spotlight in the manga too (I’m so glad Karasu isn’t obsolete in PxG) because how did they go from top 345, not score at all in the u20 match, and like we barely see them in nel (barcha done so dirty don’t even get me started…) like bring the boys back please I know they were the top in bllk for a reason!!

Also I really hope it also gets revealed somewhere the tracks of all the teams?? I wanna find out how they get yuki eventually LOL I tried making a chart myself but lost my mind 3/4 of the way in because I realized things didn’t match up and the many locked off npcs make it hard to accurately discern anything eugh…but trust once 1) that epinagi chapter comes out 2) the light novel for yuki comes out I will be back here flooding your inbox…(as if I don’t alr oops)

- Karasu anon

yes exactly i think you would have to make him feel smth different from how he normally does for him to remain interested long-term. w fwtkac bestie it’s the fact that they dislike another which could lead to a possible romance because he’s so used to girls liking him and him liking them in return that their feud would force him to get to know her in a diff way almost?? idk if that makes sense. and hehe i just posted the last part and bestie is VERY prominent in it so i hope you enjoy!! she truly is such a funny character i love writing her and reader together

YES the breakup was needed!! and everyone who talks abt nagi falling off…yeah he needed that too or else he’d never be able to have a proper character arc 😭 i think w regards to that he just said that nagi isn’t CLOSE to anyone but reo!! which does make sense to me. we see him interacting and being friendly w bachira isagi and chigiri (even karasu surprisingly) but he seems like the type who wouldn’t let anyone in right away. i do think he enjoys hanging out w them and probably considers them chill buddies but he wouldn’t invite isagi to his depression nest apartment the way he did reo. or maybe i’m just overthinking it and he actually just hates everyone 😫

yuki is honestly willing to throw hands at any moment he just seems chill compared to tabieita because those two are on another level 😭 HAHA actually though i’m p sure otoya is the least mean on-field…he kinda just dgaf meanwhile karasu and yuki actively degrade other players 😔 but otoya is so…interesting…off field that it makes up for it (negatively)

HAHAHA omg loser on loser crime fr…pls nagi is actually so mean tbh which makes sense because he is a gamer but also it’s so funny because we’re introduced to him as this apathetic chill guy and then the instant he meets barou he pulls out an entire ARSENAL of insults 😭 yeah i think outside of bllk that dedication to soccer is not making bro popular…like he has no time for friends or hobbies or anything because he’s busy practicing so it’s very much “the best but at what cost”

shidou def has some cool scenes!! and some uh. well. LMAOO but same with isagi like there’s some scenes where i can kinda see the appeal but for the most part he’s too chill and basic looking/acting for me. i also think it’s so funny that some of the characters have such crazy backstories (kaiser, yuki) and then isagi just grew up upper middle class 😓 zero issues in his life just vibes

OMGGG MLP FANS RISE UP my fav was rarity because she’s literally me but i also really liked princess cadence!! and that whole movie w her wedding actually was really good although i obv haven’t watched in ages. HAHAH no you’re so right though he is such a loserrr i honestly think if he ever got over himself and settled down he would be one of the best bfs in bllk just because he’s so secretly unserious. he’s definitely the type to have been super into like. pokémon (projecting because i love pokémon) or smth and he would give entire speeches about why his favorites are the best ones (NOT clickbait 3am gone wrong) and how he plans on beating the champion. he also is so chill i feel like if you tried to prank him or do smth like put makeup on him he’d just be like “ok 👍” and go along with it 😪 IF ONLY HE WASN’T A CHEATER 😕

omg no because i thought the karasu tag was empty and then i tried looking for otoya content (help he’s grown on me so bad) and it was EMPTY. forget abt yuki broooo nobody even knows him 😭 and YES it ended up at 16.1k as i’m sure you saw!! sooo long 😫 also wait that’s so funny…idt i had posted any karasu fics before your requests which post did you find me through??

if you ever do decide to try writing lmk i will def read it!! honestly it all comes down to practice + i’m sure you’re much better than you realize 💖

YES BRO WHY ARE YUKI AND OTOYA GHOSTING ATM??? i can even kind of understand otoya because he’s on a diff team and whatnot and at least his nel ranking is good but yuki is quite literally on bm why did he vanish after mancity 😓 also yesss omg bm vs barcha didn’t even feel like a nel game at all!! i saw a post where someone said they would’ve rather seen tabieita heading a nel team instead of reonagi and honestly i agree because that’s 3 and 4 in bllk right there plus they were introduced as having the best teamwork in all of bllk and that was just never brought up again after third selection?? ig it might’ve seemed redundant but in my dreams tabieita have reunited and are eating it up together 👆🏻

YAYY can’t wait!! i’m so excited for the ln chapters and the new epinagi chapter so i will be ready to yap once they’re out 🫡

#answered asks #five ways to kill a crow

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silviakundera · 5 months ago

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watching Lovely Runner to check out the hype. 6 episodes completed, I have mixed feelings. (Don't read my thoughts if that's just going to make you upset. Not everyone is going to feel the same way about the dramas you love. My thoughts can't affect your love for the material. ❤) SPOILERS.

I really enjoy all the moments where she is an old soul and bemused at high school life. And her relationship with her mom.

I'm clearly not the target audience because FL being a hardcore super-fan of the kpop star ML in the future timeline is making it impossible to ship them. Like, his teen crush is sincerely adorkable but I keep waiting for a line to drawn where she stops seeing him as the idol and likes him as a regular ass person -- and I'm not feeling it yet as of episode 6. To accept this stan love premise, I think I'd need to see her stop liking him (un-stan) and then watch the process of her falling in love for real.

I like her and ML's characters but in all honesty, I've developed SML syndrome. (I enjoy how she talks shit to SML and they have these delightfully frank conversations with no pretence. I like the contrast in how she's been changing him without trying, in the background of her trying so hard to fix her idol.)

I know from Tumblr that this is actually a serial killer villain and the ML didn't end his own life after all. And being 6 episodes into the drama, I definitely wish that wasn't the case. I feel like it would be much more profound (to me!! just as a personal preference) if truly the only person the ML has to be saved from is himself. It would just be a beautiful mirror for me of how he changed her life. Giving back to him, full circle.

And there's really just SOMETHING that hits for me in the idea of the impossibility of just "fixing" a couple life events to cure depression - the idea of her changing history again & again and it not saving him, because depression isn't just about outer circumstances but what a person is experiencing inside. Her having to come to terms that demanding he be happy and care for himself isn't the solution. (People with depression are so often told to just try harder to be happy and think happy thoughts).

I fully understand this is NOT the story the writer wants to tell and the story the writer DOES want to tell really resonated with people. But that's just how it goes sometimes. 🤷 It simply wasn't written for me.

The story I'd be more enthused about would be FL going into these time travel adventures to save her kpop idol who inspired her to keep living, at her darkest point, and eventually helping him believe in 1 more day. So he lives through THAT DAY in the future. After which nothing is guaranteed. But there is hope. One day at a time. And through that experience, realizing her obsessive fangirl love was never about his real self... the same as his love-at-first-sight teen crush doesn't hold up after getting to know her real self. And she and pathetic teen delinquent Kim Tae Sung fall in love & are dating for real now when she returns to the future, as a rom com subplot. She finally sees her idol as just another struggling person and they do become friends.

This drama is very well made and I can see why this drama and its otp are so popular. Just not exactly catered to my tastes. You know how for some people, fictional incest ships are a deal breaker? well lmao those don't squick me but fan x celebrity pairings do 🙈😂😭

#silvia watches #lovely runner spoilers #lmaoooooooo update: at ep 7 and the writer is TAUNTING ME NOW #😂😭 her future self isnt a stan and i get to watch her future stan self be erased 😂😭#but its still the original timeline self inside who remains a hyper fan #her outburst in the police station makes that clear #LR screenwriter WHEN I CATCH YOU #i cant believe this im crying with laughter for real #update again: i am mostly won over by the otp because ML is really quite cute in his loser ways #but it remains a fan x celebrity ship for me because its established the young version of her isnt into the ML #only the adult version of her that becomes his fangirl #though ok i am now talking myself into this 😂😝#30 year her is hot for teen ML and college ML but teen and 20 yr her is not #hmmmmmmm 🤔🤔🤔#thats fucked up #i do like me some fucked up dynamics in fiction

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icharchivist · 1 year ago

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as someone who has witnessed Lucilius apologists in the wild i have no answers because i have never seen any actual arguments from them just vagueposts about how "Belial fans are always trying to make Lucilius look bad" and how he was right and the victim in everything actually--

HELPP. then again a lot of that is on twitter and it's hard to have a thoughtful argument on twitter when you're limited by your character length.

(could you imagine me on twitter? with the length of my rambles? I would die. that's why when i had a twitter i just rt'ed art silently and never talked, the character limit over there is my nemesis)

but that tracks that they especially center it around the Belial's discussion since well, a lot of making Belial more sympathetic does come from the fact Lucilius is horrible to him. But. That's kinda just a fact lmao, and i already talked today about why i think the idea that Belial is an abuser to Lucilius doesn't really hold up to scrutiny.

i'm sure some Belial fans are using this to actually woobify Belial and stuff because there's extremes everywhere, i'm sure there's Belial's apologist who really actually say he did nothing wrong (wrong!!!!) and it probably ends up grating and stuff but lol. lmao even.

but yeah for the rest, whenever he was right or a victim still doesn't change that he impacted the people around him badly. like idk man maybe it's less that people are making him look bad and more like he's bad yaknow.

it's like they're stanning a villain while being scared about the fact said villain is doing actual villaineous things like man.

BUT WELL. what can i do about that. I'm just going to ramble about Belial harder. That's what.

#ichareply #ichafantalks gbf #anonymous

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 3 years ago

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SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

Having a secondary gender isn't easy on anyone-alpha, beta, omega-they all present unique challenges. But there's something about being a beta-about being a literal buffer, that seems to take more of a toll, and you recognize it in your packmates. Rut? Shitty. Heat? Shitty. Being looked down upon like you're useless and not good for anything? Even more shitty.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, SKZ Drabble, Stray Kids Drabble, OT8, ABO, Alpha Beta Omega Dynamics, SKZ!pack, ot8 x you, ot8 x reader, bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, hwang hyunjin, lee felix, han jisung, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, SKZ!ABO, SKZ imagines, SKZ reactions, SKZ scenarios, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: One allusion to non-con but there are no details, bullying, Wooshit appears briefly, but he's the bully/villain (rightfully so) and we don't stan him here

Title: Special

You smell it before you see anything.

The way your mate’s usual scent-clean laundry, fresh and crisp and bright-sours into something bitter and acrid on your tongue.

You quickly round the corner, forcing down the urge to sprint because you are still in the campus library, and the waves of fear, anxiety, and distress that literally assault you are enough to tell you all you need to know-that and the fact that Jisung is pressed against the table, backpack thrown messily over his shoulder, as if he were trying to leave in a hurry, face pinched, bottom lip sucked between his teeth.

The unknown alpha leans toward him with a sneer, holding him in place, and says something in a low voice that you can’t hear, but regardless, you’ve seen everything you needed to.

You’re across the rest of the space in a flash, hand coming down heavily on his own where it rests on Jisung’s forearm, fingers digging into the skin.

“I’d rethink absolutely everything you’re doing right now if I were you, starting with your hand on his arm.”

The man turns to you with a sneer, looking you up and down, but doesn’t release his hold, turning back to Jisung instead of addressing you.

“Ahhh, are you some bitch’s bitch now, Jisungie? That perfectly tracks honestly.”

You flex your fingers where they rest on the other alpha’s hand, and he glances to you with a glower, finally releasing the hold he has on Jisung, who shrinks back behind you, fingers looping almost immediately around your wrist.

The man glances between the two of you, and then the sneer is back, this time, directed at you.

“I’m surprised an alpha wants someone’s sloppy seconds.” He muses, a dark glint in his eye, lips twitching. “Let alone a useless beta-nothing like him.”

Everything inside of you coils at once, and your wolf is growling, long and low and dangerous behind snapping teeth.

“Knock it off, Woojin.” Jisung mutters behind you, and then to you, tugging on your wrist, “Let’s just go, (Y/N).”

The other alpha smirks, crossing his arms over his chest, and his gaze flicks back to Jisung, his eyebrow arching smugly into his hairline.

‘ “You know you’re never gonna find anyone to treat you better than me, Sungie. Not when you’re you.” An audible growl escapes from you now, and the library is filling with the scent of frost.

His smirk only grows wider at your obvious anger and Jisung pulls you harder this time, tugging enough to get you to take a few steps toward the door.

“Please, (Y/N), let’s just go. He’s not worth it.”

You relent, letting Jisung pull you further away from the other alpha, and you’re almost convinced to leave, almost ready to give in to him fully, almost out the door-

But then Woojin calls out after the two of you in a gleeful voice, loud enough for everyone in the library to hear-

“He’s always been such a good little beta for alpha. But I’m sure you’ve already found that out, haven’t you? Because even when his mouth was begging me no, his body always told me yes.”

Jisung freezes in front of you, and suddenly, your vision is blurred by white, hot rage, and ripping your wrist from Jisung’s grasp, you whirl around and punch the other alpha, hard, right in the middle of his stupid, smirking face.

You feel cartilage and bone crunch beneath your knuckles as your fist lands firmly on his nose, and the hit instantly has blood gushing down his chin, dripping onto the front of his shirt.

Behind you, you hear Jisung gasp.

Woojin stumbles back a few steps with the force of the punch, his hand flying to his still gushing nose, eyes wide, jaw slack, and you can’t help it, your wolf preens in triumph over the sight of the crimson blood staining the front of his white shirt.

“What the hell-?”

The smell of icy wisteria petals is almost overwhelming now as you casually shrug and drop your hand back to your side once more, staring the other alpha down.

“Sorry, but I guess your body was just telling me yes.”

He narrows his eyes above his hand as you parrot his disgusting words from earlier, blood still slowly dripping down his chin, and you think he’s almost going to stand his ground, but then there’s a stronger wave of chill in the air, and he backs down with a glare, before he turns and leaves, metaphorical tail between his legs.

You watch him go until he’s out of sight, eyes boring into his back, and then without another backward glance, you turn and grab Jisung’s wrist, pulling him down the stairs behind you.

“What-”

You ignore his shocked, unfinished question, tugging him out of the library, as he stumbles over his own feet, trying to keep up with your determined pace.

When your wolf feels that you’ve put enough space between the library-the other alpha-and the two of you, you drop your hold on his wrist and Jisung collapses back against the nearest wall, gasping dramatically and putting his hand over his heart.

“God, I need you guys to remember that not all of us were blessed with your alpha stamina.”

His voice is a teasing whine, but you can tell by the way his scent isn’t quite back to normal, can tell by the slightly soured tint to the clean laundry, that he’s still shook up over what just happened.

Your wolf is telling you to do something, to scent, to mark, to claim, but you can’t do that right now, so instead, you do the next best things, and cage him against the wall with your arms.

Jisung startles, looking up at you with wide dark eyes, caught off guard, and you hold his gaze, not letting him look away.

“He had no right to say any of that shit to you.” Your wolf growls, and you can feel the way the rage is making every muscle in your body taut, hot, ready.

Jisung swallows hard, and nods, the tiniest gesture.

“Jisung.” He looks away, ducking his head, but you reach up and catch his chin in your fingers, forcing him to look at you again, his vision slowly glazing over with unshed tears.

“Yeah. I know.”

It’s not good enough. None of it is good enough. You’re not good enough.

“Listen, that asshole. Your ex-?”

Jisung gives the tiniest of nods and you fight off another wave of anger.

“Those are just absolute lies that he’s told himself, disgusting ideas that he’s forced himself to believe, so he doesn’t have to deal with the stupidity of losing someone as incredible as you.”

Jisung sniffs, and reaches up to swipe at his nose with the back of his hand, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth.

You doggedly continue on.

“Promise me. Promise me, if you ever, ever feel like you’re not enough, or if we’re not doing enough to make you see how truly special you really are, god, Jisungie, promise you’ll tell me, and I’ll make sure we work even harder until we get it right.”

Jisung sniffles.

“You do enough, alpha. I promise.”

You let out the breath you’ve been holding and reach up to swipe at the one stray tear that has broken through his lash line, and he gives you the hint of a wobbly smile.

“Listen.” You return the smile, though it’s small and doesn’t quite feel right. “You can cry, okay? But just give me a heads up first, alright? Cause I might need to distance myself so that I don’t do something stupid I’ll regret.”

Jisung grins now, and it reaches his eyes, and soothes your wolf just a bit.

“Alpha a little riled?”

You sigh and reach up to brush back a lock of his hair.

“More than a little.” You feel the hot rage back in your stomach, as you think back to the library and the possessiveness of your wolf once again raises its head at the thought. “I swear to god, I’d go back right now and hunt that son of a bitch down, just to tear him limb from limb, and I’d take my time too, slowly, so that I could enjoy every minute of it.”

Jisung huffs and covers his face with his hands, and then he groans out, “God, why is it so hot when you or the hyungs go into alpha protective mode?”

“Biology.” You laugh and reach up to tug his hands down, away from his face, and your wolf turns happy circles at the slight dusting of pink on his cheeks. “And you’re probably just whipped, honestly.”

Jisung groans again and tries to cover his face in embarrassment once more, but you tangle your fingers with his so he can’t and press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.

The smell of laundry is back-clean, sharp, fresh-and there’s not a hint of the tainted sourness from before in sight.

“C’mon baby, let’s go home. ******

“Hey, we’re home!”

Jisung pushes in through the apartment door and drops his hold on your hand, kicking off his sneakers as Minho appears in the doorway to the kitchen, one brow raised.

“Did you actually study?” The older alpha asks, looking clearly skeptical.

“Yes!” Jisung pouts, sticking his tongue out at the other man, before Minho leaps forward and ruffles his hair.

Jisung jumps back behind you for protection, and Chan appears in the doorway behind Minho, resting his chin on the other alpha’s shoulder as he offers the two of you a fond smile.

“Good timing, dinner’s almost ready.”

“Thank god.” Jisung whines, dodging another swipe from Minho. “I’m starving.”

Felix pops up behind the alphas, grin so bright and big that it makes his eyes almost disappear and his freckles crinkle into one.

“And I made cookies!”

You offhandedly wonder how many members of your pack the tiny clown car kitchen can hold at one time.

Jisung groans and shoots a grateful look to the other boy.

“Lix, you are seriously my hero.” He exclaims, before something uncertain comes across his expression. “I think I’m gonna shower first though. The library-”

He stumbles over his next words, large dark and suddenly worried and you jump in to save him with a hand on his shoulder.

“-is kind of a lot.” You finish helpfully, and Jisung looks to you with relief in his large, dark eyes.

Your scent rots slightly as your mind slips back to the events of the day, like flowers wilting in the too hot heat of the midday sun, and Minho shoots you a pointed look, one brow raised, but thankfully, his expression remains as schooled and blank as ever.

Jisung nods a little bit more animatedly than usual. “Yeah, yeah. And I just wanna smell like me after a long day.”

Felix slips out from behind the two older and throws his arm around Jisung, already tugging him in the direction of the bathroom.

“I’ll come with you!”

It’s an unspoken rule that if any of the members of the pack are home, you never showers alone.

You watch them go, waiting till you hear the sound of the door click before you lean back against the wall and let out the breath you have been holding.

Minho pounces immediately.

“Did something happen?”

“What?” You glance up at him and try to play dumb, though you know by the look on his face that he’s not buying it, especially with the smell of cold frost starting to stagnate in the air.

Chan lets out a growl and steps out from behind Minho, his head alpha instantly raising its head.

“What happened?”

And maybe it’s because they’re backing you into a corner, or maybe you’re still on edge from dealing with everything from earlier, maybe it’s the heavy weight of the rage still boiling in your stomach, or maybe it’s the fact that Jisung cried-

But whatever it is, Chan’s pointed question is the last thing to tip it over the edge, and suddenly your temper is snapping-quick, fast, unexpected.

“Nothing happened okay? I handled it and everything is fine. God, you two act like I can’t protect our mates as well as you can, but I’m an alpha too you know!”

You have never, ever yelled at anyone in the pack before, but it’s too much, and your knuckles are stinging now, tucked away into the fabric of your pants, and all you can smell is Jisung’s scent from earlier-all wrong in so many different ways-and your wolf is snarling and snapping and begging for a fight because everything is all wrong.

Minho’s expression has instantly hardened at your explosion, dark eyes going steely as he stares you down.

“Show your head alpha some respect.”

You see the way his lips lift, can practically see the wolf in his slightly bared teeth, but you can’t seem to stop yourself, because everything is spiraling out of control, and you’re being dragged down with it.

So you step toe to toe with Minho and hold his gaze.

“No offense, Minho? But I don’t give a shit right now about disrespect. You’re calling into question my ability to keep our mates safe and you and I both know that’s absolute bullshit.”

A low snarl starts in the back of Minho’s throat, and an answering one builds behind your clenched teeth.

A wave of harsh amber mixes with the potent smell of decaying flowers that fills the air.

Chan, ever the level headed, steps between the two of you, a palm flat against either of your chests, and his eyes are golden lava now, swirling and dangerous and serious, head alpha on full display.

“Okay, seriously? Knock it off.”

You glare at Minho for another brief second and then draw in a breath through your teeth before looking away, stepping back from Chan’s restraining hand as you do so, because the feel of someone touching you right now is just bringing back the crunch of that dick’s nose beneath your knuckles, and it’s doing nothing to assuage your anger.

“Now.” Chan glances over at you, but you don’t meet his gaze, your aching hand balling into a fist in the unseen safety of your pocket. “Let’s try this again. Like people this time.”

Minho takes in a deep calming breath and forcibly relaxes his shoulders, stepping back to lean against the opposite wall of the hallway, as far away from you as he can get in the cramped space of the entry.

When he doesn’t say anything, you don’t either, because you’re sure as hell not apologizing first, or even at all.

Chan sighs-long and tired-and a wave of rain dampened earth washes over you.

You know what he’s doing, and it’s not going to work.

“(Y/N).”

Chan says your name, and when you glance up at him, he raises a brow at you, as if to show you he’s waiting.

“Did something happen at the library?”

You grit your teeth. “Yes. But I took care of it.”

Another sigh.

“What happened?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Minho snorts under his breath and mumbles out, loud enough for you to hear, “You really don’t have a choice.”

The anger flares up again and you have a brief image of sinking your teeth into his throat, if only to shut him up.

“Oh piss off, Minho.”

He raises a slender brow in your direction, and his lips quirk into the hint of the start of a humorless smirk.

“I’d really like to see you try to make me, sweetheart.”

If he’s trying to get under your skin, the use of the familiar pet name said so coldly does the trick, grating across your ears and only adding fuel to the fire.

Chan looks like he’s ready to physically jump between the two of you again, ready to hold you back should you start throwing punches, but your hand is already throbbing and you’ve swung enough today, so instead, you step back, away from Minho’s smug look, away from Chan’s weary one, and turn on your heel without a backward glance at either of them.

“I’m going to bed.”

The apartment smells like an entire field of blooms has just died and nothing is left except for the decaying, sharp reminder of the beauty that once was.

****

“Shit.” You curse beneath your breath as the bandage once again unravels for what feels like the millionth time, curling on the bathroom floor at your feet.

Hot, angry tears are threatening, and they only serve to make you more furious at yourself.

The sound of the door opening and the wave of cardamom that accompanies it has you swearing between gritted teeth again, reaching down for the bandage, not even deigning to look up.

“Seriously, Minho?” You seethe hotly between your teeth, movements jerky, as you try to wrap your knuckles once more, unsuccessfully. “I’m not in the mood.”

You don’t know why he’s here and you don’t care.

“God!” You huff out angrily, throwing the bandage down now, clenching your hands into fists, ignoring the urge to wince as your raw knuckles pulse painfully with the sudden movement.

Minho catches you off guard by crouching at your feet, and picking up the discarded length of wrap, he grasps your injured hand between long fingers, and without a word, begins to expertly wind the flexible fabric around your knuckles.

He stays silent for a moment, eyes following what he’s doing, purposefully ignoring the split, red of your skin, the dark purple of the already forming bruises, and you don’t owe him an explanation, don’t owe him anything, but the silence is stifling and the smell of amber is overwhelming and-

“I punched a guy.”

You don’t know why you blurt it out, don’t know why you’re telling him, but saying it out loud reduces the weight on your chest, calms the anger still licking at the walls of your stomach, if only a little.

Minho hums under his breath in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything else, not until he’s secured the tightly wound wrap at the base of your wrist, and then he looks up at you, and there’s slight amusement hidden in the dark recesses of his irises, and you don’t know how to take it.

“That was incredibly stupid of you.”

You scoff and look at nothing in particular, the ceiling maybe.

“Yeah, I know.”

When he doesn’t immediately reply, you remove your hand from his hold, stretching and flexing the fingers, and you hate to admit it, but he’s done a pretty damn good job.

Minho is silent for another brief moment, and then he simply gets right to the point, and you wouldn’t expect anything else from him honestly.

“Why’d you punch him?”

You hesitate, and then sigh, staring past him to a point on the closed bathroom door, and a strong, blast of icy frost cools the air, like drinking too cold water after stupidly chewing a spearmint.

“He said some things. About Jisung.”

You don’t look at him, instead, now watching the way the newly applied bandage moves with your fingers as you curl and uncurl them, over and over, where they rest in your lap.

The cardamom spikes now, so strong and spicy that it makes your eyes water, or maybe that’s just the tears you’ve held back for too long, finally trying to fight their way out.

“What did he say?” Minho’s voice is a dangerously calm murmur in the back of his throat, like the moment of respite before the storm, and your wolf whines under the sudden fury of his own.

You get it. You feel the same way, are fighting the same white hot urge, to do something, anything, even if it just means putting your fist through a wall in an unproductive outlet for the blinding rage.

“I’m not-” You shake your head, and you’re biting your lip so hard, trying to stay so desperately in control, that you taste the salty copper of your own blood start to leak into your mouth. “That’s up to Jisung, if he wants to tell you. To tell anyone. But just trust me, okay, when I say that every word that fell from that bastard’s lips were disgusting, selfish lies only meant to cause pain. And they did. And I couldn’t not do something, Minho.”

Minho seems to fight with himself, whether to push you any further, but in the end, he seems to respect your decision, giving a terse nod that you catch from the corner of your eye, and then he sits back on his heels, letting out a long, barely controlled breath.

When you finally allow yourself to look at him, the swirling gold in his irises is only barely starting to die down, and his lips are pressed into a thin, hard line, hinting at the only just restrained anger beneath his blank mask.

“So he deserved it then. The punch, I mean.”

You answer without hesitation, sudden confident fire behind your eyes.

“Absolutely.”

You expect Minho to nod, to leave, now that he’s gotten the answers he’s came for, but instead, he surprises you, leaning over to awkwardly pat the top of your head, as if he’s giving affection to a beloved pet dog.

“Good girl.”

You can’t help the slight purr your wolf lets out at the clear action of approval, although human you immediately shoots him a glare and smacks his hand away from you without any real malice.

“Don’t pet me like a dog.”

Something amused lights up Minho’s eyes at your words, and a slight smirk creases his full upper lip.

“C’mon. Think hard about that choice of words, sweetheart.”

You stick your tongue out at him and he rolls his eyes, but you’re glad to feel the tension between the two of you finally start to dissipate.

His next words appear to physically pain him as he once again catches you completely off guard.

“I’m sorry. For what I said earlier.”

You stare at him, not quite sure you’ve heard right, and then close your mouth, before you glance away from him and mutter out beneath your breath, “It’s fine. I’m sorry too.” Neither of you are very good with apologies.

Finally, Minho clears his throat, and speaks into the awkward silence.

“How mad do you think Chan would be if the two of us just happened to run into this asshole and accidentally break a few of his limbs?”

You bite back a smile and pretend to regard him seriously.

“Absolutely furious. He’d totally kill us.”

The slight smile is back on Minho’s lips as he raises an eyebrow, returning your gaze in a silent question.

“But it’d be worth it right?”

You grin now.

“Totally worth it.”

*****

Now that you and Minho have made up, you rejoin the rest of the pack for movie night.

As you’re waiting for the omegas to pick a movie, Changbin settles into the empty space on the couch next to you, and grunts out beneath his breath, “Heard you and Minho got into it earlier.”

You sigh and Changbin shrugs, throwing an arm around your shoulders, as if he’s anticipating you feeling guilty, though you don’t in the slightest.

“Hey, listen. I get it. There’s very few times when Minho speaks that I don’t want to actually punch him in the face.”

You laugh then and Changbin grins, and the tension once again dissipates.

The omegas finally settle on some romantic comedy that you’ve all seen a hundred times-”but it’s a classic” whines Felix-and everyone settles down in their spots on the couch and on the floor, munching on popcorn and various other snacks, just enjoying each other’s company.

It’s not until Felix starts playing with your fingers between his own that anyone besides Minho notices the cloth wrapped around your knuckles.

“Noona, what happened?” Felix gasps over the sounds of the movie, unwittingly drawing the attention of everyone else in the room.

Chan’s eyes darken noticeably as he seems to glance at your hand for the first time, and Minho sighs heavily from beside him, shooting you a pointed look as if to say see we knew this would happen.

You hurry to comfort Felix before Chan’s head alpha, and anyone else, can get too worked up.

“It’s nothing, Lixie.” You assure him, reaching out to pat his head, before you squeeze his cheek between your fingers, as the worried look in his wide dark eyes, reflected in the light from the tv screen, slowly starts to fade in the face of your calming scent. “I just hurt myself at the gym. That’s all.”

Minho shoots you another look, this one saying something along the lines of wow, really good lie, no one’s gonna see through that one dumbass, but you ignore him, offering the omega as bright a smile as you can muster as Chan seems to take a deep breath and force himself to relax.

You see Jisung shift uncomfortably out of the corner of your eye where he sits beside Hyunjin, and your wolf whines, attention focused solely on the beta.

“We can tell you’re lying by your scent, you know.” Hyunjin remarks offhandedly, bored already with the movie, not looking up from surfing his phone.

Jisung looks close to crying now, and you find yourself growing agitated, all the emotions from before being brought to the forefront once more, and as the smell of detergent bitters, the decay of wilting flowers grows almost overpowering in response.

“Just drop it, would you?” You snap at Hyunjin without thinking, and suddenly, several pairs of wide, shocked eyes are locked on you.

You flex your fingers and the raw stinging pain it creates in your knuckles is enough to ground you, as you take in a long breath through your teeth.

“I’m sorry, I just-”

“It’s my fault.”

Every pair of eyes in the room now turns to Jisung, looking tiny and forlorn in the middle of the couch, visibly curling into himself, tears pooling in the corners of his large, dark eyes.

He bites his lip and doesn’t look at any of you, and your wolf is whimpering, but you don’t make any sort of movement toward him, just breathe out, “No, Sungie, it’s fine-”

“She got into a fight.” Jisung looks at Chan now, who is on high alert, every muscle in his body tense. “Because of me. I’m sorry, hyung.”

Chan stares at the withering beta for another long moment, and then he’s whirling on you, eyes flashing an angry copper.

“You got into a fight?”

His words are quiet, eerily calm, but you can see the barely withheld fury just beneath his expressionless mask.

You bristle under his stare, and for the second time today, feel at odds with the other alpha.

“Yeah but-”

Chan cuts you off with a snarl, and the rest of the pack members are so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Did you even consider the consequences? Consider that you could be putting Jisung-a beta and our mate-in serious danger?”

It’s all so unfair, so misconstrued, and your heart is suddenly loud, angry, in your ears, blood pounding furiously beneath your skin, and every inch of you is focused not on the angry alpha before you, but Jisung, sinking further and further into the couch as the argument progresses, trying to disappear. .

“No, but that’s-”

Chan surges to his feet, and you know you should be cowed, know you should back down, but you can’t, because you’re tired and angry and altogether feeling a little bit too protective right now, and so you stand to meet him, right there in the middle of the living room, movie forgotten.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“It was one punch!” You snap back, matching his step toward you, so close now that your noses are almost brushing. “And I was thinking about Jisung that’s why I-”

“I can’t believe you-”

“Would you let me finish?”

It’s the second time today, once again, that you’ve raised your voice at Chan, at any member of the pack, and it goes over about as well as you’d expect, the head alpha’s eyes flashing dangerously, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Behind him, Minho rises from the couch and puts a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Chan-”

The air is so heavy with incoming thunder clouds that it’s hard to breathe.

Chan shakes him off roughly, still staring you down, but he doesn’t speak over you again, so you take the brief opportunity to surge forward.

“If you would just listen to me, I could explain everything, but you’re so worried about your big, scary head alpha ego that I can’t get a word in edgewise!”

Chan’s lips pull up into the start of a snarl, and a low growl rumbles from his throat, but you don’t back down, holding his glare with one of your own.

Changbin is up beside you now too, and you can tell he’s poised to jump in if this physically comes to blows judging by the look he gives Minho across the two of you.

“Watch your tone.”

You scoff, and you know it’s a bad move, but you can’t help yourself.

“Then watch yours, alpha.”

You’re both menacingly in the other’s space, and you’re clenching your fingers so tightly that your knuckles are screaming in protest, but the pain keeps you on edge, alert, as you stare down the other alpha.

The room is drowning in damp and frost, violently at odds.

“Stop, will you just stop!”

All eyes turn to Jisung, up from the couch now, hands clenched into fists, tear stained cheeks hot and red, bottom lip quivering as he stares at the two of you.

Chan sighs and reaches out a hand toward the obviously upset beta.

“Jisung-”

“No!” He shakes his head violently, obviously catching himself, and Chan, off guard with his forceful denial. “No.” He repeats again, softer this time, tears dripping once more. “This was all my fault, okay? So stop blaming her. And blame me instead.”

Your wolf balks at the idea instantly, snarling and snapping.

“Jisung-” You try, voice soft and careful, taking a cautious step away from Chan and toward the beta, who looks dangerously close to fleeing the room.

He shakes his head once more, and rips his hand out of Hyunjin’s grasp, desperately trying to keep him in place, and takes a faltering step toward the door.

“No. He was right, okay? I can’t do anything right. I’m useless. And I’m sorry. I’m so-”

His words are cut off by a choked sob, and he turns and flees the living room.

Chan moves to go after him, and it has your wolf snarling, turning on him in an instant, fangs bared and dangerous possessive gold swirling beneath your irises.

“Don’t.” You warn in a low, oddly calm voice, and for once, he listens to you, immediately stopping in his tracks at the strong wave of frosted pine that rolls off of you. “I think you’ve done enough.”

He opens his mouth, and the anger is gone from his face, replaced by exhaustion, but you don’t let him speak, whirling on your heel without another glance and following Jisung out of the living room, away from the rest of the pack.

******

You’re not surprised to see Jisung curled up in the middle of the betas’ shared bed, hidden under the fabric of the comforter, but you are slightly surprised that he doesn’t even try to fight you when you slide in next to him and pull him into your arms.

He probably recognized you from your scent the moment you walked through the door but still.

You don’t say anything for a minute, listening to the muted sound of his sniffles, hands rubbing absently, comfortingly over the fabric of his hoodie that covers his stomach, and finally, he whispers out, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you still apologizing?” You question seriously, nosing against the bare skin at the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder, feeling the way he trembles and shrinks into you as you brush comfortingly against his scent gland.

“Because.” He sighs, the sound shuddering off at the end, and he sounds so tired, it makes your heart ache and your wolf whine pitifully. “You got hurt, and I made you and hyung fight-”

“You didn’t make us do anything.” You interrupt firmly, reaching up to stroke back damp dark hair from the skin of his forehead with the palm of your hand. “Chan and I are both adults who make our own decisions. We were at odds, yes, but it truthfully had nothing to do with you. Maybe that was the trigger, but it wasn’t the end. Sometimes alphas just get a little bit too protective for their own good. We’ll make up eventually. We always do.”

Jisung sniffs and reaches up to wipe at his nose with the back of his hand, bottom lip sucked between his teeth.

You reach up and carefully free the plump skin with the pad of your thumb, before cupping his chin and angling his head to meet your gaze.

“Promise me something.”

Jisung swallows as your scent spikes, wisteria blooming in the space between the two of you.

“Okay.”

You run a finger along the line of his jaw, then across the arch of his cheekbones, down the sloped tip of his nose, tracing the outline of his full, pink lips.

“Promise me, that you won’t ever give that son of a bitch-or the completely untruthful things he said-another thought.”

Jisung is silent, chewing on his bottom lip again beneath your stern gaze, and after a few moments of saying nothing, you smile halfheartedly and tap him under the chin, a wordless plea to look at you again.

He does so reluctantly, and you cock your head, looking at him curiously.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, baby?”

Jisung sighs and buries his head in the safety of your chest, and instead of trying to dig him back out, you simply begin to card your fingers through his hair, soft ebony locks like silk between your fingers.

“What if he’s right though?”

“He’s not.” You reply without room for arguement and Jisung whines, low and sad in his throat, and your wolf is begging you to do something.

“Jisung.”

You use your alpha voice when you say his name, and it instantly has him looking up at you, eyes wide and pupils dark.

You soften your tone, reaching up to thumb gently at the corner of his mouth.

“You and I both know he’s not. You are a vital member of this pack, and we would be incomplete without you.”

“Stop chewing on your lip.” You laugh gently and free the poor, reddening skin from between the beta’s teeth once more.

“Sorry.”

“And stop apologizing.” You tease lightly, reaching up to boop the tip of his nose with your finger, and you’re pleased to see the corner of his mouth tick, as if he’s thinking about smiling.

The door creaks open, and Minho appears, shutting it quietly, before leaning back against the solid wood and blowing out a long low whistle from between his teeth.

“Shit. I’ve never seen Chan that angry before.”

You roll your eyes at the other alpha’s name and don’t look at the newcomer, instead, burying your nose into Jisung’s hair, breathing in the ever clearing scent of clean laundry.

“Yeah, well.”

Minho appears at the edge of the bed, and there is a slightly proud smirk on his lips ashe regards you.

“I’ve also never seen him back down that quickly.”

You grin into Jisung’s hair and repeat again, smugly this time, with a slight shrug, “Yeah, well.”

“Hyung.” Jisung whines from within your arms, making grabby hands at the other alpha, and though Minho sighs heavily and rolls his eyes, he slides into the bed with the two of you without any protest, sandwiching Jisung’s other side.

You meet his gaze over the top of the beta’s head, and raise a brow at him.

“What?”

Minho shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just still impressed.”

You flash him a smirk. “Ah, don’t be intimidated, baby.”

Minho rolls his eyes again, so hard you’re afraid they’re going to fall out, and flashes you the bird behind Jisung’s head.

“Yeah, whatever, sweetheart. If you ever tell anyone I admitted that, I’ll gut you like a fish.”

“I could be into that.”

Jisung stirs between the two of you and glances up from beneath dark bangs, eyes wide and doe like, rimmed by long, black lashes.

Your wolf purrs at the sight.

“Weird. But also.” He glances at Minho now, lips slightly parted. “Hyung, did you patch up her hand?”

“Hey.” You protest, tickling his side lightly until he jerks his hips away from you slightly in an effort to get out of reach. You pull him right back. “How do you know I didn’t do it myself?”

Jisung audibly scoffs. “Please. I’ve seen Changbin-hyung put on your bandaids for you. You’re not fooling anyone.” You gasp dramatically and look across at Minho with a stare that clearly says can you believe this punk?, but he only raises a brow in return, as if to say, I absolutely can.

“Yes, I bandaged her knuckles.” He glances back to you. “You’re welcome by the way.”

You stick your tongue out at him and he leans across Jisung to try and grab it and rip it from between your teeth.

Luckily, you’re quick enough to escape the very obvious attack.

You glance down at Jisung, and he seems sleepy, comforted by the cocktail of you and Minho’s scents.

“Feeling better, Sungie?” You ask, running your fingers up and down his throat, carefully tracing his scent glands.

“Mmhmm.” He hums out, and then he cracks an eye open and glances up at you. “You’re gonna make up with Chan-hyung right?”

You sigh and Minhos hides an amused smirk in the edge of Jisung’s hair as you glare over at him before turning back to the beta.

“Yeah. Eventually.” You admit, not quite sure what else he wants from you right now.

“Good.” It seems to placate him, because Jisung nods and closes his eyes again, snuggling into your warmth. “I don’t like when my alphas fight.”

Minho snorts from his other side. “Yeah, and apparently, one of us isn’t very good at it, because no one with correct form would mark their knuckles up that badly from one punch.”

“Sorry, Jisung baby.” You say, cracking said knuckles as you look across to the smug Minho with a hot glare. “Looks like the alphas are going to be fighting a little bit longer because I suddenly have to kick Minho’s ass.”

Minho’s smirk only grows. “I’d love to see you try, sweetheart. Now that I’ve seen the way you fight, I’m not all that terrified.”

Jisung laughs between the two of you-high and clear and so intrinsically Jisung-and everything feels right again.

Your wolf relaxes for the first time since that morning as the air is finally filled with the clear, undeniable scent of freshly done laundry.

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