#if anyone points out any of the obvious mistakes in this drawing I will kill you

[weaselweaselweasel]

They WILL become best friends they WILL if I have anything to say about it RAHHHHHHHHHHHH

I like them a lot guys

(Original image below the cut)

[supernaturalgirl20]

Hey! Your writing is stellar!

Could you possibly write about Joel and reader hating each others guts, but something like Joel almost dying brings the feelings out reader never realized. (Like angsty almost dying lol). she takes care of him and he sees how he does actually love her. It’s ends with them together. Vague i know haha.

Thank you!! xoxo

Thank you so much and I adored this request 🥰changed it up a little Hope you enjoy 😉

The Reason

Pairings: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, soft love making, near fatal accident, mentions of death, hidden feelings, enemies to lovers (sorta), angst, cursing, fluff.

A/N: slowly getting back to writing this week so please bear with me on the requests. Didn't edit this so sorry for any mistakes.

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

Anger bubbled under the surface of your skin as you stood with your back against the door of the stables. The sound of his voice echoed through the air as he berated Tommy for asking you to join them. 

Who does he think he is? You think to yourself as you listen to him criticise you to his brother. Joel Miller was a force to be reckoned with and he had zero tolerance for anyone in the Jackson community except for you. Or at least you’d thought so, now you weren’t so sure. 

There was one night after a rough patrol where he’d shared a few drinks with you, and he’d opened up about his past. You had thought for a moment that maybe he liked you. Maybe you both could become friends or more, but now, you’re sure he hates you. 

“Now why the hell did you go and ask her to come with us? You know darn well that I ain’t gonna be able to concentrate with her there. Damn it, Tommy, I ain’t gonna be able to keep them both safe.”

With clenched fists you turned the corner and stormed towards him, his eyes widening when he spots you. “Who the hell do you think you are, Miller? Huh? Telling Tommy you don’t want me to come. It doesn't matter what you want, I’m the most experienced shot this place has so I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Now I’m coming on this run whether you like it or not.” You huffed out a breath as you poked his chest with your finger, looking up at him with an angry expression on your face. 

“So, saddle up, cowboy.” You push him back slightly before grabbing your horse and marching out of the stables, leaving both Miller brothers confused as they stared after you. 

“About time you grew a pair Joel and told her the truth about how you feel. Save all this bickering. I mean it’s obvious as shit that you have feelings for her, so just man the fuck up.” Tommy says as he pats him on the back. 

Ellie scoffs behind them drawing both of their attention to her. She looks up and shrugs her shoulders at them. “Gotta say I agree with Tommy on this one. Life would be a lot easier if you just told her. Hell, it’s so fucking obvious she feels the same and I swear you two are just like horny fucking teenagers.”

“Alright enough! First of all, language,” he snaps as he points a finger in Ellie’s direction. “Secondly, what is this anyhow? Gang up on Joel day?” His gaze drifts between the pair and they smile at each other before they shrug, and Tommy says his goodbyes. 

“Alright, let’s get this shit show on the road,” Ellie teases as she winks at Joel and follows you outside. 

Joel watches her leave, his hands resting on his hips as he closes his eyes briefly and takes in a deep breath. This was gonna be a long trip. 

***

Things had gone to shit when you came across a group of raiders in a nearby abandoned town. They had wanted all of your supplies as well as you and Ellie but Joel was having none of it. 

He’d become a different man in the blink of an eye. A violent one and you can’t say it didn’t turn you on. He’d killed them all or at least so you’d thought until one of them had snuck up behind him and tackled him to the ground. 

They tussled for a moment before Joel straddled him and beat him to the ground. When he stood, he turned around to face you, his breathing ragged as he flexed his hands, his knuckles were bruised and bloody. His gaze drifted away from you towards Ellie who was busy collecting weapons. 

You let your gaze drift down his torso, and you gasped at the sight of a knife protruding from his abdomen. 

“Joel!” The sound of your worried voice catches his attention and his gaze flickers towards you. He follows your line of sight and groans when he sees the knife. His hand wraps around the hilt and pulls, blood spurting out from the wound, and he stumbles slightly as he throws the knife into the ground. 

“Let’s go.” His voice is commanding, leaving no room for argument. “Ellie,” you shout, “we gotta go.” You tilt your head towards her horse and rush over to help Joel up onto your own, placing him at the front. 

“Joel’s been hurt. We gotta find somewhere to lay low for a while.” You jump up behind Joel wrapping your arms around his waist as you grab the reins. 

You travel at a slow pace. Trying hard not to jostle him around too much but he’s losing a lot of blood, and fast. His head droops to the side, then his whole-body leans to the right and you try to catch him but you can’t hold his weight so he falls off the horse. 

“Ellie, stop!” you shout as you hop off the horse and check on him. He’s passed out. It almost appears as if he’s dead, but you run your fingers along his neck and check for a pulse. 

It’s there. 

Faint, but there and you let out a sigh of relief. Turning your gaze to Ellie you see the unshed tears in her eyes as she stares down at Joel. “He’s gonna be ok. I need you to help me lift him back onto the horse. Those houses over there,” you say with a tilt of your head. 

“We’ll stop there for now. Try to close over his wound.” She nods at you before helping you lift him. It’s a struggle but you manage all the same and you take a hold of the reins as you guide the horse along the trail. A silent prayer recited in your head that he’d be ok, that he’d make it through this. 

***

Joel is laying on the mattress you’d found as Ellie rips off a piece of cloth to hold over his wound. He groans loudly and you drop to your knees beside him pushing Ellie out of the way and putting pressure on his abdomen. He writhes in pain for a moment before he grabs your hand. 

“Leave.” He rasps, his breathing becoming more laboured with each breath. You shake your head as you continue to put pressure on the wound. 

“Leave. Go north…. Tommy,” his grip on your hand tightens and you finally meet his gaze. “No. I’m not leaving you. Don’t - don’t ask that of me…. I can’t.”

His skin is clammy and pale, and your heart feels like it’s being ripped apart. You can’t lose him. Not now. 

“Ellie.” Your gaze drifts towards the teenager and she’s standing still, face full of worry as she stares down at Joel. “Ellie,” you shout, grabbing her attention. 

“You need to go and look for medical supplies. Bandages, gauze, needle and thread, anything. Now, Ellie.”

She looks down at Joel one last time before she rushes up the stairs. He groans again, his eyes full of pain as he stares up at you shivering. 

You pull his jacket up over him before cupping his cheek in your hand. “You’re gonna make it through this. I promise.”

You stand up and quickly move across the room to grab your bag, rifling through it until you find what you're looking for. Pills in hand you pull out a bottle of water and drop to your knees again.

Gently, you lift his head and place the tablets in his mouth before bringing the bottle of water to his lips. “Drink. These will help with the pain.”

He obeys with a groan, swallowing the pills before you rest his head back on the mattress. “I gotta clean this, Joel. I’m gonna…. I gotta clean the wound, ok?”

He nods his head, his body trembling as he shivers uncontrollably. You pop open the bottle of alcohol and take a deep breath before you remove the jacket and lift his shirt. 

Your hand shakes slightly as you stare at his stomach for a moment - the wound bloody and bruised and jagged looking - before you snap out of it and pour the alcohol over it, causing him to hiss in pain. 

“I know, I know…. I’m sorry.” You turn your head at the sound of Ellie’s footsteps coming down the stairs. “I found this,” she says as she hands you a needle and thread. Her eyes widen at the sight of his stomach, and you cradle her cheek in your hand. 

“He’s gonna be ok. I promise you. Now I need you to hold him down because this is gonna hurt like hell.” She nods her head and rushes around to kneel beside Joel, placing her hands on his shoulders. 

His eyes stare up at her and he gives her a faint smile before his gaze drifts to you again. You pull the thread through the needle and tie it off before sterilising it with the alcohol. You meet his gaze and nod before taking a deep breath and pushing the needle through his skin. 

He groans loudly, reaching his hand up to grab at your arm. He turns his head away from you, shutting his eyes tightly as he tries to hold in his cries, Ellie pushing down on him to stop him from moving. 

The needle falls to the floor once you’ve finished sewing him up and you sit back on the ground staring at your shaking hands. They were covered in blood. His blood and the fact that you could’ve lost him today stirs something inside you. 

Feelings that you didn’t think you had. Not for him. Sure, you thought he was handsome, that he was a good father to Ellie, but he hated you. So, you hated him. At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself. 

It was all too much. These feelings, and the way he was looking up at you made your chest hurt. Standing, you rush up the stairs and out of the house, trying to take deep breaths. 

“He is asking for you.” Ellie’s voice startles you and you whip your head around taking her in. 

“I’m just gonna check the other houses for medicine. I’ll be back.” She takes a step forward but you shake your head. “I just need a minute, ok? Tell him I’ll be back.”

***

You’d taken your time, routing through the other abandoned houses trying to stall time as best as you could until you sort through your feelings. 

It became clear around the fifth house that you had maybe always loved Joel Miller, you were just too stubborn to notice. It was also in that house you’d found some penicillin. 

The creak of the stairs alerted Ellie to your presence, and she turned quickly, gun pointed in your direction. With a sigh of relief, she lowered it and stood, taking a glance at Joel before meeting you. 

“He was worried about you. Tried to go after you but I wouldn’t let him. He’s asleep now but he keeps shaking and I think he has a slight fever.” 

With a nod of your head, you brush a strand of her hair behind her ear. “There’s some canned food in the kitchen, you should head on up and get something to eat. We’re gonna be here for a while.”

“Ok, I’m starving. Want me to get you some?” 

“I’m ok for now. Just don’t make too much noise. We don’t know if there are others in the area.” You let her go and turn your attention to Joel, who is laying in the same spot, shivering despite the heavy coat and blanket covering him. 

You run your fingers through his hair, and he groans at the feeling of your touch. Pulling away you reach for the bottled water and grab one of the antibiotics before gently stirring him awake. 

“Hmm,” he groans as his eyes slowly open, glossed over in pain as you smile softly down at him. “Hey, I’ve got some antibiotics. They should kill any infection even if they are out of date.”

Joel lifts his head enough for you to place the pill in his mouth and help him take a sip of water. Swallowing the pill, he drops back onto the mattress and looks up at you longingly. 

“Was worried…thought somethin’…couldn’t live without you….” His hand reaches out towards you as he traces the soft curve of your face. The feel of his rough calloused fingers on your skin sets your heart racing. 

“I’m ok. Ain’t nothing gonna happen to me. I learned from the best,” you say with a laugh as you nervously meet his gaze. 

“I’m gonna get us some food, I'll be right….” You start to say but he shakes his head. 

“No. Stay. Please.” His eyes are wide as he begs you to stay, shuffling around on the mattress as he tries to make room for you. 

“What are you doing, Joel?” You ask, raising your eyebrows in question. He pats the space beside him indicating that he wants you to lay with him. 

“What if I hurt you?” You ask as your eyes drift to his blood-stained shirt. “Won’t,” he breathes out as his eyes begin to droop closed. He’s still shivering slightly, and his skin still looks pale and clammy and you don’t have the heart to say no. 

With a reluctant sigh, you remove your jacket and slip in beside him, making sure you’re both covered by the blankets. His arm is wrapped around you as you rest your head on his chest and the soft beating rhythm of his heart lulls you to sleep.

***

“No….no please not her….can’t lose her….no, no…” Joel muttered in his sleep as his head tossed around, his grip on your waist tightening. 

He was having a nightmare. 

Sitting up a little, you gently place your hand on his cheek, your thumb rubbing soothing circles into the rough surface of his face. “Joel,” you whisper, trying to wake him without startling him. 

“Hey, Joel, it's ok. Wake up.” His eyes snap open and he panics until his gaze lands on you and his breathing slowly calms. 

You gaze down at him with a soft smile on your face as you continue to rub his cheek. “You were having a nightmare. Are you ok?”

His eyes take in the features of your face as the moonlight shines through the small window of the basement. “M’fine. Thought I - thought I lost you ....” He trails off as he slowly realises what he’s saying. 

His face has a little more colour to it and you swear you see the hint of a blush on his cheeks. 

“I’m here. I’m fine. It was just a bad dream, probably induced by the fever,” you giggle as you place the back of your hand on his forehead. “Seems to have broken, finally.”

“I know you heard what I said to Tommy.” He says matter of factly. “I know you think that I hate you….”

“It’s fine, Joel. You don’t have to explain anything. That’s just life. You like some people, you hate others. It is what it is.” His eyes furrow as he looks up at you, a confused look taking over the features of his face. 

“I don’t hate you. Never have. Don’t think I ever could. It's a bit hard to hate someone you’re in love with.” 

“What?!” You stutter nervously, your eyes blinking rapidly as you swallow the lump in your throat. 

“I love you darlin’. It’s the reason I didn’t want you to come on this run. I’m distracted when you’re out on patrol with me, I knew I’d be the same with this, it’s why I begged Tommy to reconsider letting you tag along. M’sorry if I ever made you feel like I hated you, 'cause I don't.”

You don’t know what to say. The words won’t form in your mind as you stare down at him in shock. He loves you. Your heart thrums loudly in your ears and you think for a moment that you’re gonna pass out. 

“You alright, darlin?” The sound of his Texan drawl, soft and low, breaks you from your trance. 

“Hmm? M’fine. I-I think I love you too.” His eyebrow quirks as a smile edges its way onto his face. “You think?” He teases. 

You nudge him in the chest, and he groans, holding his side and you panic you’ve hurt his stitches. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry Joel. I completely forgot,” you rush out, voice panicked as you lift his shirt to check. 

The sound of his laughter pulls your gaze up towards him. “Oh, for god's sake,” you huff as you turn and begin to push yourself off the mattress. His hand reaches out to grab your wrist, pulling you back into him. 

“M’sorry, darlin’. Couldn’t resist.” His hand slips up along your curves and settles on your face, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes flicker briefly to your lips, and you unconsciously lick along your bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth. 

“Will you two just kiss already? Jesus.” Ellie’s voice sounds from the top of the stairs. You both burst into laughter before he leans forward and captures your lips in a searing kiss.

His lips are a little rough, the feel of them against your own causing a shiver to work its way down your spine. He still tastes of whiskey he had earlier, and you want nothing more than push him down and fuck him into the mattress but you don’t. Instead, you pull away and rest your head against his, calming your racing heart. 

“We should get some rest,” you breathe raggedly as you blink down at him. 

Nodding his head, he kisses you softly once more before laying back on the mattress and pulling you with him, wrapping you up in his arms. “G’night, darlin’.” 

***

The gates open and Tommy comes rushing out with a worried expression on his face. “What the hell happened?” He asks, his gaze drifting from Joel to you as he waits for someone to tell him. 

“Long story,” Joel answers as he looks over at Ellie, a silent communication happening between them. Tommy huffs in frustration. “You’ve been gone for days. We thought - we thought you’d been killed or worse. Fuck!”

Joel slowly hops off the horse and makes his way towards his brother, clapping his hand on his back. “We’re alright, Tommy. Ain’t nothin’ to worry about. We’re just tired. Gonna need some more sleep and a decent meal.” 

Tommy nods his head, his eyes drifting to both you and Ellie. “Sure. How about you all head home and I’ll have Jason drop the food over.”

“That sounds amazin’ little brother. You’re just gonna have to have Jason drop Y/N’s food over to my place.”

Tommy's face freezes in shock before a sly smirk plays across his face. “Oh yeah. Somethin’ happen while you were out there?” He asks Joel, his voice almost a whisper so only he could hear. 

“Gentlemen never kiss and tell, Tommy. You should know that.” He smacks him on the back hard, winking at him before he turns and grabs his horse. Tommy knew something had happened from the slight blush on your cheeks. He’d get it out of Joel eventually. 

***

The room had been filled with silence as you all ate the dinner that Jason had brought over. The only sound to be heard was that of your forks and knives scraping off the plate. 

God, you hadn’t realised how hungry you were until the smell of the food hit your nose. The loud growl of your stomach made Joel smile as he finished setting the table. 

“Fuck that was good,” Ellie says as she sits back in the chair, hands resting on her now full stomach. 

“Manners,” Joel chastises as he pushes his plate away from him. 

“She’s not wrong though,” you say with a smile as you place your knife and fork on the plate and release a contented sigh. Joel hums in response as he lets his gaze wander over you both. 

He never thought he’d have this again. A normal life. A steady home. A family. Now that he does have it, he’s not too keen on letting it go. With the clearing of his throat, he throws Ellie a look, his eyes shifting towards the front door, and it only takes her a second to realise what he’s saying. 

“I’m gonna go meet up with Dina. Don’t wait up ya old fart.” She says with a laugh as she grabs her coat and slams the door behind her. 

“So…I guess I’ll help clear up and then I’ll let you get some rest.” You stand, the chair scraping across the floor as you grab your plate and make your way into the kitchen. 

You turn the tap on and begin to wash up when a set of arms wrap around you from behind. You startle. A soft gasp slips past your lips as Joel turns you slowly in his arms. 

You gulp nervously as you stare up at those golden-brown orbs. Your heart beats frantically at the feel of his touch. “Was thinkin’ maybe you could stay the night. I’ll make you pancakes and coffee in the morning.” 

His eyes are hopeful as he waits for you to say something. “Are you trying to seduce me, Miller?” You tease as your arms come to rest on his chest. Your fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. 

“Is it workin’?” He says with a smile, his arms pulling you closer. 

“Maybe. Might need you to kiss me though, to make sure.” A smile plays across his face as he leans in and kisses you softly. You tease his bottom lip with your tongue, and he groans into your mouth, his fingers digging into your hips as he grinds into you. 

His cock hardens against you, and he groans when you run your hand down along his stomach and under the waistband of his jeans, cupping him with your hand.

“Fuck,” he breathes as he pulls away, forehead resting on yours. You run your fingers along the back of his neck and through his hair. “Need you,” you whisper into the shell of his ear, and he shivers. 

“Jesus, darlin’. You’re gonna be the death of me.” He grabs your hand from his trousers and leads you out of the kitchen and up the stairs towards his bedroom, where he kicks the door closed behind him as he walks you back towards his bed. 

He’s hungry for you. His eyes were blown wide with lust and you’re sure he’d have ravaged you by now if it weren’t for the fact that he’s healing. 

You pull him in for another kiss and let your hands glide over him as you begin to unbutton his shirt. Throwing it onto the floor before starting on his trousers. 

His rough calloused fingertips glide along your skin as he helps you remove your clothes, your breath hitching as they slip between your slick folds. 

You gasp. His mouth swallows the moan that follows as he kisses you softly. Pulling back his eyes trail over your naked form and when your gazes meet, you see nothing but adoration in those brown eyes you love so much. 

“How do you - how do you want to do this?” You ask as his hands grab onto the soft flesh of your ass. “Better take it slow for now. Don’t wanna burst a stitch,” he says with a smile in his voice. “Lay on your side, darlin’.” 

Doing as he says, you lay on your side, his warmth filling all your senses as he slips in behind you. You let out a breathy moan as his fingers delve into your heat once more, his hardened cock nestled snugly between your ass cheeks.  

“Oh fuck,” you whimper as he works his thick digits in and out of you, curling them ever so slightly as he hits that spot that sends you spiralling. 

Your skin is flushed. Sweat beads down along your breasts as he pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. A shiver skitters down your spine as he whispers into the shell of your ear. 

“Ready for me darlin’?” 

You nod, “yeah- yes, fuck I’m ready please,” you whine as he runs the tip of his cock teasingly along your slick. “Joel…”

“Tell me what you want, baby.” 

“Need you inside - need you to fuck me, please.” With the head of his cock notched at your entrance he thrusts inside with a roll of his hips and you both let out a soft groan as he fills you. 

“Jesus, darlin’. So damn tight…fuckin’ squeezing the life outa me.” He takes a moment, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath as he tries to control himself. His lips meet the skin of your neck as he peppers kisses along it, his hips moving slowly in tandem with his lips. 

It’s soft and slow. His hands glide over your skin, pinching and pulling as you moan softly into the room. Your body shudders as you come, your clit already sensitive from earlier. 

A soft cry slips past your lips as you reach behind to run your fingers into his hair. His hips stutter as he nears his release, the soft grunting in your ear becoming louder the closer he gets. 

“Ngh…fuck,” he groans as he quickly frees himself from your walls, spilling himself over the soft pillowy flesh of your ass. 

“Don’t move, darlin’.” He says as he slowly slips from the bed and grabs a piece of cloth to clean you with. He works it gently over your skin before throwing it into the basket at the end of his bed. 

The cool air makes you shiver involuntarily but Joel is quick to hop back into bed, slipping beneath the covers and pulling you close. 

 “I love you, darlin’,” he whispers into the crook of your neck and you can’t help the smile that works its way onto your face. 

“Hmm, I love you too.” He squeezes you gently before his breathing evens out and he falls asleep.  It’s safe to say that Joel Miller definitely doesn’t hate you. 

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[dragon-kazansky]

Spirit of the sea

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

SEASON 2 CONTENT AHEAD!!!

Blackbeard rules the sea. Despite wanting his captain back, Izzy realises his mistake. Protecting the crew is his concern. Protecting you is his life mission. Stede's return brings hope, but there's a lot of work to be done before this crew becomes a family.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Spoilers. Izzy's depression spiral. No real unicorns were harmed in the making of Izzy's new leg. Things get a little steamy at the end.

Chapter Thirteen - Loving touch

♡♡♡

Stede had gathered the crew, minus Izzy, to talk to them all. Turns out Ed woke up. You swore under your breath when you heard that. No way is that man going to be happy with any of you.

"What happened to your face?" Pete asked Stede who was standing to a bruise on his cheek.

"Bet Blackbeard did that, didn't he?" Wee John asks.

"It was an accident. Okay? I think Ed just sat up too quickly," Stede says.

"That's what they all say," Roach states.

"As you know, he's gone through quite the ordeal and he does need to regain his strength," Stede explains.

"Yeah. He'll probably get around to killing you after he's rested," Jim says, looking Stede in the eye.

"Yeah, I'd say it's a pretty obvious mistake letting him get strong again," Lucius points out. You nod.

"Kick him off the ship already!" Jim yells.

"We just don't banish people, do we?" Stede says. "That's not us. Let's give him some time, perhaps to rebound a bit."

"Medically speaking, the man can't speak, and his brain is maybe couscous." Roach points out. "Also, gonna need that steak back. It's dinner."

"Right. Yes, aye."

"Maybe we should put it to the vote," Fang suggests.

"Do we have to do this now?" Stede asks.

The crew start yelling.

♡♡♡

Stede got his answers from the crew, that much was clear enough. As you head out, Stede catches up to you.

"You were awfully quiet in there."

"Don't get me wrong. I agree with them, Ed has to go."

Stede's expression falls.

"I know you like him, but that man... he did things. He hurt people like I've never seen before. He hurt Izzy..."

"Ah yes, Izzy. How is he?" Stede asks.

"He's been better."

"Where is he anyway? I didn't see him in there."

"Drinking probably. He, uh, he's stopped talking to me at the moment. He won't talk to anyone."

Stede frowns again. "He's stopped talking to you?"

"I think it's the constant drinking... It's making him... upset. Like, more than before."

"I see..."

You shrug lightly and sigh. "Look, I'm not looking for sympathy. You're the captain, sort this out."

You walk off. Stede watches you go, his heart feeling heavy. Maybe he could have a word with Izzy for you.

♡♡♡

You sit on deck with the wooden sparrow in your hands. After everything that happened it had survived. Izzy had kept it in his cabin. You had found it when you had gone in there to find him. Izzy was nowhere to be seen, but the sparrow was sitting on his desk. There was a slight chip in the wood, right on the wing, but for the most part it looked good.

You sigh as you run your finger carefully over it's little head. Did Izzy even notice it was gone? Probably not.

"The atmosphere around here sucks," Lucius sighs, sitting down next to you. You notice the cigarette between his fingers, but you don't ask. "What's that?" He nods toward the wooden bird.

"Marietta."

"Marietta?" He looks at you with a funny expression.

"That's what I called it. It was a gift for Izzy from me. I dropped the first one in the sea while I was angry at him... so I remade her." You hold the sparrow up. "She's a little beaten, but still in nest condition."

"You carved him a bird?"

"Look, I can't draw like you can. I can't make sew like Frenchie, or knit like Wee John. I can, however, whittle."

Lucius smiles a little. "I like it."

A moment of silence passes while you play with the bird in your hands a little more.

"So, you and Izzy?"

"So, you and Pete?" You reply, sarcastically.

"We're fine," he says defensively. "What's going on with your boyfriend?"

You raise your eyes to Lucius. "Blackbeard abused him. Punished him. Took his leg. He's a little upset at the moment. Rightfully so."

Lucius stands up a little defensively. "We've all been through shit," he says.

You narrow your eyes at him. "I'm not saying you haven't. We thought you were dead!"

"Well, I wasn't." He puts out his cigarette. "I've suffered too and it's all his fault!" He points to where Blackbeard is tied up on the deck.

"He's fucked everyone over, Lucius. Just need Stede to get his ass in gear and do something about it."

Lucius sighs. "Do you think anything will ever go back to how it was?"

"No," you admit honestly. "But I do believe things can get better. In time."

Lucius says nothing. He glares at Blackbeard and then leaves. You sigh and return to holding the bird, caressing it again gently.

"Oh, Izzy..."

♡♡♡

Stede found Izzy at the front of the ship. He was leaning on some of the rope rigging, his wooden leg propped up on the railing. In his other hand was a bottle of rum, of which he was drinking merrily.

He looked a mess.

Stede offered him a smile as he joined him, ignoring the look Izzy was throwing his way. He means over and notices the unicorn is missing it's head.

"He's seen better days, hasn't he?" Stede asks in a lighthearted manner.

"At least he's still got both legs!" Izzy yells.

"Yes!" Stede joins in. "He can't hear you, he's go no head. You've got a head, though, which you should look after."

Izzy down his rum. Stede sighs.

"What do you want, Bonnet?" Izzy asks, not really in the mood for conversation.

"Well, here's the thing. The crew, they're in a bit of a deadlock over the whole banishment of Ed thing and I just thought, seeing as, well, you were the one who kept his body aboard, maybe you should weigh in. You've already murdered him once. Seems like a pretty good payback." He chuckles softly. "So, what do you think?"

"My vote?" Izzy leans in a little closer to Stede. "A rotten let's got to come off."

"Right. Just to confirm, was that a nay or yay on the banishment?"

Izzy just drinks some more.

"Right... I suppose I just mention that our Spirit of the sea is worried about you. You've stopped talking to them apparently..."

Izzy says nothing.

"Don't push them out, Izzy."

Izzy just drinks from his bottle again. Stede sighs and takes his leave.

♡♡♡

"So! We, the crew of The Revenge, have voted and we've chosen banishment, unfortunately." Frenchie states, announcing the result. "So, yeah. Effective immediately. Your complimentary dinghy awaits you portside. Now leave, please."

"Fuck off," Ed hisses, walking past him. You watch him closely.

"Alright, rude."

"Fuck you," Ed laughs softly, walking past Olu.

"First time I've been on this side of a walk of shame," Wee John comments.

"Way to make this awkward, bruh," Archie says.

"Shitty sailing with you." Jim chimes in.

"You're making it really hard to look up to you, man," Pete sighs.

"Hey, made you this sandwich for the trip," Roach says, holding it out to him. Ed slaps it out of his hand and Stede catches it

"You don't want your sammie?" Stede looks sad.

Ed slaps it out of Stede's hand and it hits Lucius in the face. You have to cover your mouth to stop from laughing. Lucius bites back his laughter too. It really isn't a funny moment, throwing someone off the ship, but at least you can find something to laugh about, you supposed.

"Ed, say something at least."

Ed turns his head and looks at Stede.

"You're not a fuckin' mermaid."

You knit your brows together in confusion by that statement. Stede looked equally confused.

"What?"

Ed climbs off the ship and into the dinghy. Stede looks down and watches him, you and Lucius part with the rest if the crew, not hanging about to watch any longer.

Ed was gone. That was that.

♡♡♡

"Is it me or does the energy around here seem off?" Wee John asked.

"By 'the energy,' do we mean him?" Roach nods over to Lucius who was smiling and freaking out a little. "Or him?" He gestures over to where Izzy is still standing at the front of the ship yelling at the unicorn.

"Well, mythical creature?" Izzy yells. You sigh as you watch him from where you stand. He still wasn't talking to you much. "Anything to say to yourself? Fuck you!"

"Or them?" Roach asks, looking at Jim, Archie, Frenchie, and Fang scrubbing the deck of any "possible" bloodstains left over from where Edward had bled out.

"Do you still see blood?"

"Yeah. We'll get it. Just keep scrubbing."

"They're lookin' this way." Fang says.

You tune out the rest of their conversation to watch your stupid drunk pirate curse at the unicorn some more. If only you could talk to him. He would surely listen to you.

It was breaking your heart to see him fall apart like this. Izzy hadn't held you since you got back onto The Revenge. He was shutting you out, suffering on his own.

You hated it.

You try not to let the tears fall as you walk away, letting Izzy do whatever the fuck he wanted.

♡♡♡

Olu had invited you to join the crew for a surprise. Jim had speculated they were planning to kill you all off for being disturbed after sailing with Blackbeard. You thought it was a bit of a stretch, but you wouldn't put it last them either.

You were all guided below deck where the surprise was.

"You gotta close your 'cause it's a surprise." Olu says.

No one does that, everyone sceptical. Frenchie leads you all behind Olu. You find Pete and Wee John waiting.

"Ta da!"

Wee John moves to reveal the surprise.

The crew all jump and startle, hiding the knives they were all carrying behind their backs incase of an attack.

"Fuck!" Lucius sighs, jumpy enough already.

"Guys, it's called a pine-ata." Pete says.

"Yeah. So, you just pull this string and then--" Olu tries to explain.

"And then you hit it with a stick!" Pete demonstrates.

Everyone is triggered. PTSD from the storm, from Blackbeard.

"Time for blindfolding." Wee John tries.

"Stay the fuck sway from me!" Jim yells.

"You won't want to stay the fuck away from this came!" Roach says, brining the cake in.

You feel your stomach churn at the sight of it. It looks like the wedding cake...

"God's sake, take it away!" Fang screams.

You all draw your weapons. Yeah, even you. This is too much, too soon. This how it ends up at a stand off.

"One-half of this room has some serious emotional damage," Jim explains, holding Wee John in a choke hold. "And it's not us."

"Well, it's not us!" Wee John says back.

You have your knife pointing at Olu.

"Right, so, is everybody else's arms and various limbs getting tired?" Frenchie asks.

"Alright, look, look, look, look. I think there's actually an easier way to resolve this." Olu days, eyeing your knife. "Yes? Right. So you all think that we're plottin' against you?"

"Yeah," you nod.

"Which, in hindsight, maybe was inaccurate." Frenchie says. "I don't know, you tell me."

"Okay. So, can we all agree to just not jump the other crew and solve this as fuckin' adults?" Olu asks.

"You're saying this is like a space that is safe?" Jim asks him.

"Yeah, babe." Olu looks at them.

"I love that."

"A safe space."

"Yeah, okay."

You all lower your knives. You take a deep breath. Nearly lost your cool there.

"A lot has gone unsaid," Roach speaks. "I think now is a great time to discuss lingering issues."

"Yeah, yeah, absolutely." Archie nods. "Can we talk about the fucked-up sleeping arrangements?"

"Excuse me, do you even have a name, new guy?" Wee John asks her.

"Yeah, fuck you is her name." Jim starts, drawing their knife again.

"Hey, stupid name for a person," Roach draw his knife on Jim.

"You know my name is Archie," she point her weapon at Roach.

Everyone draws their weapons again. You sigh and point your knife at Olu again, but he doesn't sense any actual malice from you.

The sound of something thudding against the floor draws everyone's attention to the door. You turn and your heart skips a beat at the sight of Izzy. Two wooden legs at his feet.

"There! It's done!" He yells. "Maybe next time he'll think twice about not doing his fucking--" Izzy's peg leg breaks from under him as he raises his crutch and he falls harshly to the ground.

You gasp and drop your knife, hurrying over to him. He shrugs you off.

"Get off me! Fuck off!"

You sit there on your knees as he rolls over and starts crawling down the hall. Your heart breaks watching him.

"Leave me alone! I'm already gone." He mutters. He starts repeating a phrase over and over again. "You're born alone, you die alone. You're born alone, you die alone."

You can feel tears building up again. God, only Izzy could ever make you cry so much.

"Yeah, he's definitely more disturbed than any of us," Lucius says, watching Izzy go.

You try to hide your teary eyes as you get up and leave.

♡♡♡

You're sat up on deck with yours curled up wiping away the tears that were falling. If only you could get that stupid man to talk to you. You just wound to heal his internal wounds, and soothe his external wounds.

You don't hear the door open, but you do hear footsteps coming over. You turn your face away, but you know it's Fang who is now sitting beside you. He has one of the unicorn legs in his hand.

"You okay?" He asks softly. Fang was a soothing presence.

"Spectacular," you mutter.

He look down at the wooden leg and then back at you.

"We, uh, we had an idea for Izzy."

You wipe your eyes again. "Yeah?"

"We're gonna make him a new leg. You wanna help? It would sure mean a lot if you gave it to him after." Fang smiles.

"You want me to help?"

"I think Izzy would like that, don't you?"

You shrug quietly. "I don't know. He's not exactly talking to me right now."

"Aw, listen. He still loves you. He's just hurting, but maybe we can help. Let's do something good for him."

Fang offers you a small smile.

You find yourself smiling back. You reach over and take the leg from him. "Okay. Let me see what we can do."

Less than 30 minutes later the leg is being constructed, the crew are gathered to help. Fang constructs the leg into a strong, comfortable, and practical leg. Lucius had got some gold paint to add something that little bit extra.

You smile as you paint the leg.

"The gold was a gold touch."

Lucius smiles, happy he could help.

You leave the leg to dry and then Fang returns to your side with it. You sigh as you take it, looking it over.

"We sure it will do?" You ask.

"Its been measured and made just for Izzy. It will more than do. Oh don't forget the note." Fang holds out the parchment.

You take the leg and take the note.

"Right..."

"Just leave it outside his door if he doesn't want to talk. I can assure you he'll talk to you again soon."

You nod and make your way to Izzy's cabin.

♡♡♡

As you approach Izzy's door, you don't hear much. It's almost too quiet for your liking. You hover outside the door, the leg in hand. That's when you hear his voice. He's talking to someone.

"And you? What's your excuse?" You hear him say. You lean a little closer to listen, worried about him. "I mean, what even are you?"

You knock on the door hoping he'll answer.

"Fuck off." You hear him shout. You knock again firmly. "Fuck off!" He yells again.

You sigh. Telling him it was you probably wouldn't make a difference. You prop the leg up but the door, tucking the note and Marietta, Izzy's carved sparrow that you still had, into it.

You knock again and hurry away, disappearing down the hall.

"You are harassing a cripple! Fucking twats!" Izzy yells, no longer realising the person has gone from behind his door. He limps his way over and opens it, looking down the hall.

He sees no one.

His gaze drops down to the item waiting for him. He sees the note and the bird. He reads the note first, all emotion clogging up in his throat.

Those little shits.

He cries. Izzy covers his mouth as tears overwhelm him. He looks up down the hall, trying not to break down.

"Fucking cocksuckers."

He sees the sparrow and picks it up. It's then he realises you had been the one knocking. His finger close around the bird and the tears fall freely.

Shit. He's been really shit to you.

Izzy hold the sparrow against his chest and takes a few deep breaths. He grabs the leg and hobbles back inside his room.

♡♡♡

It's the early hours of the morning.

Izzy stands on deck with his new leg on. It's a good fit. Made really well. His hair is slicked back against his scalp, out of his face. His face is a little cleaner. No rum in sight.

In one hand he's clutching the ring he wears under his clothes, hanging from a string of twine. He smiles as he looks down at it.

In his other hand is the note. His eyes drift over to the words written on it. His heart feels full.

'For the new unicorn.'

Izzy smiles.

With the dawn of a new day comes a new Izzy. A healing Izzy.

He's going to be okay.

No. He'll be more than okay.

He just needs to talk to you first.

♡♡♡

The sun hasn't even risen yet when Izzy wakes you. You've been sleeping with the rest of the crew since Izzy stopped talking to you, so he had to be quiet when waking you. You're startled awake by something hitting your face again and again.

You wake up to find little balls of paper being thrown at you. You look up to see Izzy waving you over. You look at him confused. He wasn't talking to you befkre, and now he wants to?

That's when you notice the leg and your heart begins to race.

You climb out of bed and make your way out of the room, not waking a single person. You follow Izzy into his cabin and enter cautiously. He looks tidier, cleaner, more content.

"Izzy?"

He stands there and looks at you. There are several emotions flickering in his eyes, but he finds his words in no time.

"Thank you."

You stand there awkwardly. "I didn't do anything."

Izzy inhales loud enough for you to hear as he looks down at his leg, his hand resting over his thigh. "You did this."

"It was the crew's idea."

Izzy holds up the sparrow. "I noticed it was gone, but there was only one place it could be."

You nod your head softly.

Izzy puts the sparrow down and walks over to you, closing the distance between you both. You find your heart rate picking up as you look into those beautiful eyes of him.

"I love you," he whispers.

Just like that he's reaching out and kissing you. You're in his arms again. You return his kiss, having missed his lips. Having missed him. You reach out and take hold of him.

The kiss is hot, passionate, desperate. It's significance lies with the fact that you two spend all your time wanting each other, but when you're hurting, you don't reach out for one another.

You remove his scarf, taking the ring around it and carefully placing it down. It belonged to his mother and you know he would definitely curse you if you lost it. You begin to undress him, and he, you.

Clothes land on the floor. The soft thud of his wooden foot taps lightly on the floor as he moves you over to his bed.

Doing this right after the emotional rollercoaster you both has been through probably wasn't the best idea, but this time no one could stop you both, and this was long overdue.

You push Izzy down on the bed and take care of him, admiring him. You notice the other ring around his neck. You had seen it before, but it's origins you hadn't known. He was wearing it last time you did this too.

Still, your mind was focused on other things.

Safe to say, both of you are going to be a little late getting up tomorrow.

♡♡♡

@grippleback-galaxy - @askmarinaandothers - @godlikegallagher - @for-fuck-sake-im-alive - @whiskeyswriting - @lxsm2 - @bloody-bunni666 - @the-chocoholic-writer - @bugbugboy - @callmemana - @the-shenny-of-azkaban - @cool-ontherun-world - @outer-space-beech - @ahewi24 - @grace585 - @innertimemachinegirl - @dmitrytherat - @emilynissangtr -

[captainhysunstuff]

I think that was the first time I've seen you draw any of the Wammy boys, and it makes me want to know your headcanons for them, either inside our universe or just in general.

Henh, I draw them from time to time. Probably not in the last few months, but... every once in a while~. ^__^U Oh boy, for as long as I've been in this fandom, I don't think I've ever really put my thoughts/headcanons about them into solid words before. I'll try to make this not a disorganized mess:

Mello

I feel like his rivalry with Near gives him a sense of purpose. A goal to strive for. Whenever he has a set goal, he goes for it 120%. That try hard attitude is exactly what holds him back though. Being so laser focused may stress him out and cause him to overlook things and make more mistakes or ignore simpler solutions. He forgets to take breaks, and his fatigue creates more problems, particularly with schoolwork.

We only get one glimpse of him "off the clock" where he's playing soccer/football with his classmates (and laughs after clocking someone in the head with the ball, lol). That one instance tells me that he might have a slightly mean sense of humor (he's also seen pulling some kid's hair and Roger makes him let go of them), but of course the kid was okay and he knew it. If he had actually seriously hurt someone while joking around, I'm not sure if he'd just laugh it off. Probably try to say it wasn't a big deal, but still keep an ear out to make sure so-and-so was really okay. Very tsundere. I may be giving canon!Mello too much credit, lol. Although, he does express that he didn't want to kill Soichiro in the end. The kidnappings were horrible scare tactics, but he made sure that they would be returned alive if the demands were met (fuck his mafia crew though, *snort*).

He'd be more openly caring with people he, well, cares about. Matt as an obvious canon example. I think it's very telling that Matt isn't present during the Mafia arc. Mello leaves the orphanage alone, and he doesn't seek Matt out until after his base blows up. So, he strikes me as someone who wants to deal with his own problems by himself and not drag anyone he cares about into his personal drama. The mafia and kidnappees are just tools to him, but anyone close is out of the question unless the situation is dire. Matt was probably the only person he could reliably contact at that point (he does contact and crash at Lidner's place for a while, but surely he had to have recovered somewhere after the blast before he could get back into the action). How he expresses regret over Matt dying while being part of his plan emphasizes this sentiment.

A character I really associate him with is Amethyst from Steven Universe, especially if I want to think of how he'd be without the pressure of that rivalry, and even with it. Amethyst has the kind of humor that can come off as callous that I'd think Mello would have. What really shines for me is their shared inferiority complex and how they deal with them. I see a lot of Mello's view on his rivalry with Near during Amethyst's arc concerning her conflicts with Jasper. Neglecting personal time to have fun because the complex is weighing her down and making her try harder and become a more toxic person to be around ("Who has time for any of that when Jasper is out there?!"). Her anguish at doing so much to get better and it never being enough to get what she wants ("I can't win... No matter what I do, no matter how hard I work..."). The whole episode "Reformed" where Amethyst keeps trying to make a form that Garnet (whom I associate with L) would approve of by comparing herself to and emulating other gems. Telling people to "stay out of it" when they try to interfere or stop her from doing something drastic. The difference being that she gets positive results when she finally opens up and allows people to help her achieve her goals and not hyperfixate anymore. By the time Mello finally reaches out for help and realizes that he needs to put aside his animosity towards Near to ultimately stop Kira, it's essentially too late for a happy ending.

The only aspect where this character comparison falls apart a bit is with how lazy Amethyst can be (not bubbling the Desert Glass pillow despite living right next to a sandy beach, not being trusted to catch a monster hiding in her room). However, my counterargument is that we don't really see Mello in his downtime outside of that soccer game just chilling. Also, I'd like to reference L's "monster speech" about studying even though they don't really care about grades. It shows Near there, but I think it applies to all three of them, and Mello's only trying so hard specifically to beat Near first and foremost, not because he wants to study and get smarter for a future career ("All that practice stuff is no fun.").

Matt

Hmm... He's a malleable character to me, and that's pretty cool. He seems like a "go with the flow" kinda guy. Tell him to do something, and he'll be like, "Yeah, sure. Let me save my game first." I sort of accept whatever the fandom wants him to be in the moment, no matter what it is. The fact that he's the third smartest at Wammy's tells me that he's an effortlessly smart guy. Maybe he's good at memorization and can visually remember the answers to test questions without having to study that hard (like how I was at school, lol). Maybe not come up with the answer on the spot, but if you put something in front of him, he could go, "Oh, right," and correctly answer it. He has a little characterization in the manga, but I only just recently finished reading it, his scenes included. He really only seems to be part of the Kira case to help Mello and that's it. He doesn't seem too interested in the case itself, but Mello asked for his help, and he said, "Sure, dude. I'll try." Thus, it's why we see him gripe about how much work Mello's making him do, getting sidetracked by how cute Misa is, and speculating whether or not Mogi's her boyfriend, lol. Just a chill dude overall.

His chillness makes me think that ordinarily he'd keep to himself. Probably not to the extent that Near does, but if left alone, he is more than happy staying alone. He minds his own business, thus why he doesn't dissuade Mello from his rivalry or stop him from leaving Wammy's House (not that anyone could stop Mello from doing anything). But if someone extends an invitation, he'll accept it and try his best.

Also, "Mail" is pronounced "Mile." According to the Wiki, the katakana is written as "ma-i-ru." If it was "mail," it would be "me-i-ru" or "me--ru" I believe (henh, the his name would be close to Mel). Correct me if I'm wrong, but it's "mile" for me, and it ain't changin'.

Near

The first phrase I think of whenever I think of Near is "little shit~." XD I say that in an entirely affectionate way of course. Although, that "little shit" attitude only comes out when he's actively engaged with someone else. Not necessarily hostile, but definitely a little condescending, and it's very easy for him to rub people the wrong way. Perhaps he knows he has this effect on people, either intentionally or not, and this is why he keeps to himself and declines invitations to hang out? He probably doesn't even like being around people (he judges people very harshly in the manga). Maybe even mildly misanthropic. He might resent that he's co-dependent and has to rely on people on the daily when he gets older and leaves Wammy's House.

The reason he has the best grades at Wammy's is because he can fully focus on the tests and assignments he takes and doesn't make many technical mistakes. Makes me wonder if he's a slow test taker or exactly a mid-speed test taker? Or maybe he's effortlessly fast? Then, Mello wants to be fast, too, and that causes Mello to make more mistakes due to rushing when he could probably get better grades if he took his time?

It's very hard for me to talk about Near without bringing Mello into the picture. Their rivalry is such a focal point with their characters in the story. The rivalry is almost completely one sided in my opinion, but Near probably encourages it because he thinks Mello needs that goal. So, every once in a while, he'll make remark or do something that will purposely annoy Mello, reigniting that fire under his ass to make Near eat his dust. In the harsh judgment vein, he believes Mello's identity has been shaped around the competition and that he'd be lost without it. Kind of like how Near canonically becomes a bit despondent after the Kira case ends: taking the L mantle, but just going through the motions. Detective work doesn't seem like his passion; he was just groomed for it and is good at it. He'd be more than content to just lie around, making card castles and play single-player games all day. Maybe an occasional visit from respected company, but they'd better leave in a timely manner or be relatively unobtrusive, lol.

EDIT: Also worth mentioning, I have a ridiculous headcanon where Near has psychic powers in the anime. Thank the anime’s short hand in how he singles out Mikami as X-Kira by making his eyes glow and the room spin. I stand by that he blew up a guy’s head with his mind in the Re:Light special. Hey, if Beyond Birthday being born with shinigami eyes is canon, why not humans with psychic powers? Wammy’s is good at finding these eccentricities~.

Mello and Near's Tactics

I really do love how the narrative intention seemed to be that after Light defeated L, L was essentially split into two people with those two extremes amplified to 11. It creates a pincer attack around Light: Mello aggressively hitting the Task Force from the outside, putting traumatic emotional stress on them, and Near poking and prodding away from the inside trying to gradually create a mutiny against Light while acting like he's working alongside them. Mello brings the fear and pressure (and suspense in that he's just floating around doing who knows what after the raid), and Near seeds the doubt and inner unrest. When mashed together, they wouldn't make L exactly, but a being/team more effective and terrifying than L (surpass him together, indeed). Lord help their Watari, lol.

--

I suppose those are my thoughts on the main three in a decently sized nutshell. Feel free to say I'm wrong or unfounded. I'm no expert with these characters, so hopefully my headcanons and interpretations don't piss anyone off too much. ^__^

[nekoannie-chan]

Secrets Chapter 17: Interrogation

Pairing: Steve Rogers X OFC, Brock Rumlow X OFC.

Word count: 1475 words.

Summary: Sometimes keeping secrets can be dangerous or a heavy burden, which is what Kathleen has been doing for years. She will also be in charge of guiding Steve Rogers into this century; meanwhile, S.H.I.E.L.D. will be looking for a way to kick-start the Avengers Initiative by integrating her as one of the superheroes, but that won't be the only danger they face.

Warnings: Interrogation.

A/N: After long time working on this longfic, I finally post it. If you wanna be added to the taglist, let me know.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

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Secrets masterlist.

Previous chapter.

Next chapter.

The first to enter the interrogation was Kathleen, she sat in front of the screen, and there was no one else but her, the screen lit up showing the members of the Council.

“Agent Anzai, I imagine you know why we called you in, don't you? “Councilor Hawley asked.

“I assume it's because of the events in New York, the last mission I participated in," the agent replied coldly.

“There were many people injured and several dead, agent, it is obvious that we are looking for the person responsible," counselor Gideon said, raising an eyebrow.

“Someone from another planet came and attacked, we simply defended our planet, I don't know why they make such a fuss if at the end of the day, the only thing they care about is the result, not the procedure and that the Director was not killed and he is still alive," Kath answered without showing any emotion.

“Clearly there were mistakes during the incident," Singh pointed out.

“That is obvious, as you cancelled the Avengers Initiative, which is a counterattack team whose members are people endowed with skills and powers that you clearly do not have, which makes us more able to defeat enemies with similar characteristics and therefore superior to yours, but because you did not give us time to organize as a team and get to know our teammates and their skills to draw a good plan," said Kath, internally smiling she could notice the discomfort of the Council members.

“Agent Anzai, did you know that Agent Hill filed several complaints against Director Fury? “ Councilor Rockwell asked.

“No, I never heard about that," she answered, raising her shoulders, she knew the plan, she just had to pretend otherwise, "I guess she did it because the Director doesn't usually follow the lousy instructions you guys give, if we followed all your plans, most of the missions would go wrong," the counsellors looked at each other, they were expecting a docile and easily manipulated girl because of what had happened in the past.

“What we would like to know is what went wrong," said Councilor Yen, trying to calm things down.

“Do you really want to know what was wrong? What was wrong was that they didn't give us time to get to know each other as a team because they thought of cancelling the Initiative, we didn't have a plan of attack for the same reason and lastly what was the worst mistake that they thought of launching a damn missile without knowing if it would work or how many people would die, right, so I think it's clearer whose capability to doubt," she answered victoriously, the counsellors shifted nervously.

“I think that would be all Agent Anzai, thank you for your time, you may step down and ask Captain Rogers to come in please," said Yen, he had already realized that if it was their mistake that instruction even though he was opposed at first to launching that missile.

“I hope they learn from their mistakes and let the Director make the right decisions so that the Organization does not lose its status “commented she with a hint of sarcasm”, in case they have doubts or want to distort the facts S.H.I.E.L.D. records everything and we have where they give the order and stored in several places in case they get the bright idea to erase it, have a good day “she left the room with a gesture of satisfaction.

“Steve, it's your turn, I hope I didn't make them too angry," said Kath mockingly and he laughed softly, he could imagine how the interrogation had been. “Romanoff, will you come with me to the powder room? “asked Kathleen after seeing that Steve had entered the room, she grabbed the other's arm to prevent her from refusing.

“I think you can go alone," said the officer who was guarding them.

“I don't think so, don't you know that women always go together, I don't know, like to avoid the attack of a troll or in case the chamber of secrets opened and a basilisk doesn't come near," answered she with irony and left together with Natasha before the other one had time to answer since it was evident that he had not understood what she wanted to say.

“ How did you know? “she asked Nat when they entered the bathroom.

“ Know what? “she answered surprised.

“Don't play dumb Romanoff, I mean how do you know that I can manipulate people's minds you better not lie to me because I will know," Kath warned.

“I've seen you do that little trick on some of your missions," replied the redhead, Kath's eyes widened.

“ Have you been spying on me on my missions or did Fury send you to watch me? “Now she felt annoyed, there were supposed to be no secrets between them, that was the deal.

“I didn't think you were fit, but you proved me wrong," the spy replied.

“You better not tell anyone or everyone will know some of your secrets or those of someone close to you," the mutant warned, and they immediately returned to the waiting room.

Maria Hill appeared in the room just as Steve was leaving the interrogation and she had already returned.

“Anzai, Rogers, the Director wants to talk to you," said Maria. Do you have the report ready yet? “He asked Kathleen, she handed it to him and motioned for Steve to follow her.

“Director's Office," he pointed to the elevator. The elevator cables are on the opposite side of the control panel," she remarked observationally, Steve raised an eyebrow in confusion, "in case of an emergency it's good to know that.

When they got out of the elevator, Fury was already waiting for them, he was going to talk to each one individually, first Kathleen entered.

“ Why didn't you tell me about that phase two, Uncle Nick? I was supposed to know everything, I almost lost Steve's trust," she complained irritated.

“The Council was the one who decided," explained Fury.

“ Does Aunt Carol know anything about this? Because, curiously, they want to make weapons similar to the ones they use," observed Kath.

“I gave that idea a while ago, I didn't think they would take it seriously and yes, she does," he stared at her. What do you think of the equipment? “That was the most important thing for her to know.

“Mmm, it will be difficult at first, but I think it will work, I don't feel comfortable with some of the members, however, it's what we have," she answered, playing with her fingers.

“I guess you pissed off the Council," said Fury looking at her.

“It's not my fault they elected idiots who make lousy decisions," Kathleen replied and they both laughed.

“I need you to introduce him to the STRIKE team and in a week we will have an apartment ready for him to move in," reported the Colonel.

“He's already met Brock and Rollins," Fury raised a puzzled eyebrow. Long story unimportant, although the rest of the team is missing and the other thing maybe you should tell him, I don't have a problem with him living with me or somewhere else and you shouldn't hide things from me, man “he got up to tell Steve that he will come in.

“Anzai, stay, I want you to listen," Fury asked when he saw that she was going to leave the office at the same time that the Captain entered, "I guess they already talked to the Council," they both nodded.

“They'll probably tell you to fire me, I pissed them off," she commented mockingly.

“You know perfectly well that, even if they threatened me I'm not going to fire you, well the point is now what's next, as Avengers you will go on special missions, and out of that Captain will now work together with the STRIKE team, the agent will introduce you to the team, in some missions she will be, Anzai you will continue working in the other missions “indicated Fury.

“No, not those missions, I had already promised myself that I wouldn't go back..." complained the mutant.

“I mean the other projects," answered Fury as if it were obvious, Kathy smiled apologetically.

“Oh, of course with the STRIKE team," Kath said.

“Captain, we'll have your new apartment ready for you to move into in a week...

“ Kath...has Agent Anzai made any complaints about me?

“ NO! “ replied the Director and the agent in unison.

“It's part of the process of her reinstatement to this era," Fury explained. Steve nodded somewhat discouraged.

Kathleen and Steve left towards the gym where Rumlow and Rollins were training, when Jack noticed her presence, he immediately told Rumlow, and the latter went and hugged her.

Ꭲꭺꮐꮮꮖꮪꭲ:

@saiyanprincessswanie  @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad

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[nayelianne]

I've reached the same painful conclusion. It's gonna be a little lengthy but I'll share some of my own experience/insights with it, in case it may be of use (or comfort) to anyone else. ~ Background ~

I used to draw the most during school, and thought that once I was done with it and had more time I’d be able to fully dedicate to art. It made sense in my youngling mind, I drew in class all the time! The classes that didn't challenge me seemed like the distraction to my goals. But turns out they were what kept me on track. The times I felt the biggest urge to draw were moments in which I could not, be it due to having other pressing priorities, or lack of means (health, tools, etc). And in the moments I then could, the urge quickly went away and art once more became a dreaded task.  1. My first mistake: Not allowing myself to do Personal Art

It’s part of what started creating all sorts of bad associations in my brain. I didn't make space for truly putting my soul into my art. I’d be working, often times in styles or things I didn’t enjoy, while desperately urging to do the personal work and studies that would rekindle my fire. But my energy was limited, and I couldn’t afford delaying any deadlines, so I never allowed that energy to be directed to anything that wasn’t the responsibility that I was being paid for.

What resulted was that art slowly started to become traumatic, and I’d get depressed just by the thought of opening a drawing app. I was slowly disconnecting myself from all the things I enjoyed about art in the first place.

I realized how important it is to make space for that. Do the art that fuels your soul! Because if you burn out it’ll be soooo hard to get back to drawing. 2. The second issue: Perfectionism

Following the previous story. It was all work and all about results. I had to deliver. That's what mattered. And though the client was happy, due to not doing any personal work to keep my creative juices going, I was pretty much forcing myself to only draw things in ways I (often) didn't agree on. The goal was delivering exactly what the client wanted. Getting out of your comfort zone is important to progress as an artist, don't get me wrong! It's where you find the things you need to work on. But also working on things that resonate with you helps a lot with motivation. The client was happy, but my dissatisfaction started brewing as I faced the outcome of my pieces; be it due to not having the luxury of time — not being speedy enough to make something that reached my personal standards in the allotted time; or because the pieces were being altered by the client in ways I wasn’t proud of (to the point of me not wanting to get credited). And doing work I wasn't proud of was killing me inside, building up the feelings of shame, and frustration at every step. I was getting disappointed with myself. 3. The Artist Identity

I'd see other artists, so passionate about art, living and breathing it as if it was something that they would be incomplete without. Meanwhile I was burning out, needing time to recover every time I delivered a piece. I started questioning if I simply wasn't cut out for it. All my life all I wanted was to be an artist but there I was, working with art in the field I always hoped for, and it felt like torture. "Is this it?" — I'd push the thought to the back of my mind, as I'd force myself to draw, to the point that my body started to fail on me (which certainly didn't help with any positive associations). We oftentimes tie our identity to being an "artist", and mushing your personal identity with that can be a real problem.

"If I'm not cut out to be an artist, what am I good for?".

You start to take failure personally. But what counts as failure can come in many forms; being too slow, making a piece you're not happy with, missing a deadline, making a post and looking at it one hour later only to realize you missed something obvious. It can be as simple as "Why can't I get those details right after so many hours on this? Why is this so hard?". Eventually you get things right, and you hear the compliments. But the more you try the more you feel like a fraud. An identity crisis ensues.

Very often our drawing skill isn't up to par with our perception. We get frustrated by the difficulty to translate that knowledge onto paper. Get frustrated enough times, and the brain start making some unpleasant connections.

And that's the tricky part, because to improve and bridge that knowledge vs execution gap we need to fail, we need to DO the thing and work our muscle memory. But it's so hard not to get boggled down by taking it as a personal failure. From Artist to Student

There's a quotation I always liked, that I feel applies to a lot of artists as well:

"I hate writing, but I love having written".

I started getting paralyzed by my own perfectionism, by my fear of failure. And I realized the only way out of that trap was to try my best to drop the "artist" identity, and reclaim the "student" one. If my focus is no longer on results, but on learning, every mistake is a learning experience; it is progress, rather than failure.

That pulls the focus away from the results, from the frustration of not living up to what we envisioned, from being disappointed in ourselves. It makes the process no longer feel like the torturous means to the final piece, but rather the best part of the experience. The process can be fun once again, because that's where you're learning new things, and you can take pride in knowing that you're leveling up every time you understand how to do something new, or seeing where something went wrong so you can apply it in your next piece. It takes away a lot of the pressure to perform, and the quality of your work improves by natural consequence, as an extra treat. Given that the process is longest part of our interaction with art, making that process pleasant goes a long way into keeping us interested in doing it again. ADHD and Productive Procrastination One of the things that can work (albeit haphazardly) is setting up “productive procrastination” chains, never having only ONE big important task, but sort of multiple meaningful tasks/projects that you can rotate around. That way you can procrastinate the dreaded one by doing another productive/creative task, instead of falling prey to some easy dopamine hit (such as doomscrolling on social apps or binging on shows).

The problem is that the brain oftentimes goes like: “I see what you’re doing fren! You can’t fool me!”, and actually getting those tasks going in a way that won’t turn your life into an overwhelming chaos is pretty hard in practice. It's easy to fall into the trap of watching art videos, buying courses or tools and feeling like you're moving forward without actually getting anywhere because you're still avoiding drawing. So tasks have to be set up in a way that drawing becomes the thing you steer towards so to avoid the other tasks, but both tasks have to be meaningful to you and worthwhile! That way you have the reprieve of going the other direction some times, while also moving forward toward your goals. Easier said than done, of course. Doing important things first

Another thing I realized is that the first things you do in a day tend to set the tone for how you'll interact with it as it goes by. If the first thing I do is checking messages and emails, or watching a show, I can easily fall into "responsive" mode where the brain just sort of expects for things to happen so it can respond to, rather than initiate. It's hard to switch gears to "production" mode, specially as our energy levels deplete as the day goes on. So initiating tasks feels much more forced, which an ADHD brain particularly hates. Besides having a lower resistance at the start of the day, starting the day off by doing a productive task can be a good way to create momentum and give you a little dopamine hit of "yay, I did the daunting task" thus helping build better associations in your brain. Having company

It also helps to build connections and making friends that inspire you. Having people around you striving for the same goal and sharing their progress with you can help light that spark that makes you want to do art! Seeing my friends' effort makes me proud, and inspires me to work harder also. If it weren't for those connections I probably would have quit art altogether.

Mirroring (eg. doing art with someone together — be it in person in a shared coworking space or during a sketchcrawl; or online by hanging out on discord and screen sharing) works wonders, but parallel play goes a long way too! Some times just getting out of your usual environment and being with a friend who’s also working on something (eg. friend is coding and you’re on your sketchbook drawing while in the same room) can help put you in “productive” mode. ---- All that said, it's not easy overcoming those blocks, even when we try to come up with methods to trick our brain into letting us do the things we want. I guess at the end of the day we just have to keep seeking these little accommodations to make our brain work in our favor. 

i feel like i had a massive breakthrough with understanding in hindsight how adhd has affected my relationship with art, and i sat there for about an hour just like

[tehuti88-art]

11/17/23: r/SketchDaily theme, "Music Week: Free Draw." In the absence of a specific song I just did my regular Free Draw Friday.

This week's character from my anthro WWII storyline is Private First Class Amaranth Rat. He's a young intern and medic who ends up taking Indigo's place later in the story. Still learning the ropes but has a level head even under pressure. There'll be more about him later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

TUMBLR EDIT: Firstly, I believe Amaranth spends much of the story as a PFC yet gets promoted later, so if you see him referred to as Lance Corporal (like in Nikolas's entry), that's why.

Amaranth's character and personality aren't too developed just yet; he's a relatively minor character as things currently stand, though I could easily see him earning a bigger role. This in fact happens near Reunion's end, when Indigo is killed in action and someone is needed to take his place in the medical ward; Amaranth, who spends most of the series in a role secondary to Indigo's, accordingly steps forward, albeit reluctantly, to do the job. He should probably get a bigger role elsewhere in the story so his new role at this late point is more poignant. So, there is certainly room for him to do some more.

What little I know of him so far: He's one of the few characters I originally created as a different race, in this case African-American; it isn't dwelled on much, but the Trench Rats are an integrated battalion, though of course the vast majority of them are Caucasian. I tend not to create many characters of non-Caucasian races (or draw many non-Caucasian people in my art) as it makes me feel very ill at ease trying to depict them without them becoming a caricature or, at best, a character based solely on race representation; I grew up and live in a pretty non-diverse area, and have known literally two Black people in my entire life--both of them adopted into white families. I believe "Write what you know" has loads of exceptions (I mean…look at what I write), but race isn't one of them. Case in point, two more characters I haven't drawn yet, who played important roles in the older versions of the story but have since faded into the background, Red Rat and Purple Rat. These two are also intended to be Black. And their original depictions in the story were…just awfully, horribly racist. ;_; Not with any ill intent, but the racism was still there. I was just unable to figure out how to indicate in the text that they're another race without it devolving into caricature. And it's just horrible and I'm truly sorry. In an effort not to make such a mistake again, I simply avoid mentioning race, so as far as anyone can tell, Amaranth is Caucasian as well. It's unfortunate, it's a kind of whitewashing in itself, but I haven't figured out a way around it yet. There it is, though, I've made it known.

One plot detail I can imagine taking advantage of this is Amaranth interacting with Copper Rat at some time. Copper's ethnicity is very much made a plot point: He's mixed race, being Louisiana Creole, and this plays a big role in his personality and interactions--he knows he perplexes people, and takes advantage of it, especially when it comes to the Nazis, who find his very existence abhorrent. I can easily imagine these two confronting each other in an uncomfortable fashion; while Copper makes a big point of his race, I suspect Amaranth downplays his, so that might be a way to illustrate the issue.

In regards to personality, Amaranth is quiet, polite, studious, hardworking; does not seem like the sort you'd find in the middle of a noisy bloody battlefield; yet despite his unassuming appearance, he can hold his own, and he doesn't lose his cool easily. He dislikes having to take a leadership role, and does experience some doubt regarding his own talents; this becomes especially obvious when he assumes Indigo's job and is the one in charge of trying to save the infected legs of Nikolas (see Nikolas's entry); while he does manage to save one leg, he can't save the other, and chief surgeon Burgundy steps in to amputate the limb. Amaranth is left rather depressed by what he considers only a partial success, even though Nikolas thanks him for what he was able to do. So he does seem like a bit of a perfectionist and high achiever, yet definitely not an attention seeker (he expresses regret over the loss of Indigo more than once--he prefers playing second fiddle).

(Another possibility for character development is depicting his interactions with Indigo. Perhaps he mentions him after he's gone as the two had a close professional relationship…? Meaning he deeply misses Indigo as a mentor and possibly as a friend.)

Aside from this, I don't really know much about Amaranth yet. I do believe he'll remain at best a side character, though as I suggested, I'm open to him developing a greater role; I simply have yet to figure out how.

[Amaranth Rat 2023 [‎Friday, ‎November ‎17, ‎2023, ‏‎1:00:07 AM]]

[losingherface]

stay

Ellie x fem reader.

Warnings: did not proofread :D

Info: Silent tension in the house between ellie and reader causes some confrontation.

A/n : something short to pick me up right where i left off, sorry for any mistakes, and if anything is inaccurate let me know lol, enjoy ! and thank u

•

A few years has passed ever since Ellie and you made that decision. Ever since, Ellie has made you feel guilty for making her a mother after her father passed. And since she was terrible at speaking her mind, you two barely spoke at home.

You felt trapped in this large farm house, with an angry wife who you happened to be carrying her child.

Most nights, Ellie would be asleep in the attic, or in the living room. Leaving you in that large, cold room, experiencing pregnancy symptoms alone.

You couldn’t understand Ellie at all, she was happy and excited after some time and now she’s upset and frustrated. And every night this bought you to tears. Not only were you stuck here but you couldn’t ever actually leave- Ellie was your wife and you really wanted this large gap between you two -to finally close and things get back to normal.

Dina had stopped by about a month ago and helped you decorate the babies room. She also took you to the ultrasound where it was revealed you and Ellie would be having a little girl. It sucked terribly because Ellie was missing out. This was her daughter not Dina’s.

•

It was a windy day, perfect to do some laundry. You had been wearing a beautiful yellow night gown that shaped out the round belly perfectly. Your hair was long and smooth with your skin clear, dewy and moist. You looked beautiful and felt like it too.

As you were hanging up clothes on the clothing line, you glanced over at the kitchen window, Ellie had been sipping on a glass of water before briefly glaring at you and walking away. You tied your hair up and began walking towards the house to try to get to Ellie.

When you arrive, Ellie, who’s sitting at the kitchen island chair reading a comic book and still drinking her water, you stand at the doorway for a moment staring at her back before making your way to face her, standing in front of the kitchen island.

“Come on. Why can’t we talk?” You blurt out- desperate for an answer.

“Not right now okay. I’m tired.”

“Ellie, you’re always tired now. You didn’t even come to the ultrasound, that’s….” You stop yourself to stare at Ellie. It was your reality now and it sucked.

Getting married to Ellie was embarrassingly the best thing that ever happened to you. You also left behind your family and friends to come and live in an old, isolated, farmhouse with her.

Then, you decide you want children and you want to move forward with her and she agrees only to shut down once it’s really happening. You were embarrassed and hurt. But giving up on her wasn’t even a thought that crossed your mind.

She was a mess. She was eaten up by grief and she didn’t want anyone to point it out.

At this point it had been a few years since Joel died, Ellie never got over it. She still spends days in the art room drawing out memories of the two. Often Joel’s face never is finished. When she would go out to the store or to work, you’d take a peek in the room and feel the cold air every time when you walked in and looked at the paintings.

The worst part to you isn’t that Joel passed, it’s Ellie not moving on. And it was not only killing her but also the once strong relationship you two had.

•

“Please can we talk?” You asked her, mentally on your knees. You wanted her to say something even if it was horrible, it would give you so much clarity. But she was difficult and stubborn. Not even a baby in your stomach can get her to talk.

After waiting in silence for what felt like forever, Ellie turned towards you, staring at you and you knew she was, causing you to look up at her fast.

“What do you want to talk about?” She asked, playing with fingers.

“Um maybe this?” You pointed to your belly with an obvious growing child in it that took forever for you and Ellie to ‘make’.

“The gown looks pretty. You actually look like a mom.”

“Ellie, seriously, why are you treating me like this? You said yes, you said you wanted a child. I don’t get it.”

“I know……I just feel.. forced into all this.”

There it was, your clarity. You could see yourself a few minutes from now packing your things and leaving her alone in this giant farmhouse. But you knew you couldn’t.

“But I guess not really. I’m just upset Joel won’t get to see her.” Ellie said. You never told her the gender of the baby either, which made you think.

“How do you know it’s a girl?”

“You keep everything in a little box in the closet upstairs. I go through it all the time.”

This made you smile inside and kind of disappointed in yourself for thinking about leaving. Yet something just made you stay.

“And I’m sorry. I don’t want to keep taking it out on you or her. I know it’s stressing you out and that’s not good at all for you or the baby. So I’m really sorry. Can you come here?”

You stared at Ellie as you slowly walked over to her. She placed her lovely hands on your belly and couldn’t resist blushing and smiling. She pulled you closer to give your stomach a kiss while looking up at you- giving you a soft kiss yourself.

You wanted to cry but you cried enough, all you could do was smile and hope she didn’t take Joel’s loss out on your relationship again.

The night ended with you two sharing a bowl of noodles, coming up with potential names for the baby and looking through furniture magazines. And it was the most peace you’ve felt in a year. <3

[thehaitanis]

𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔧𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰: 𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔷𝔲, 𝔯𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔪𝔞

❮★❯ summary: how will sanzu haruchiyo, haitani ran and hanma shuji act when they get jealous.

❮★❯ warnings: none, maybe bad writing.

❮★❯ disclaimer: english is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes.

sanzu is definitely one to get jealous and he is more than conscious about this. he knows himself and you enough to know that not everything you do is a reason to put him in a bad mood, but sometimes he just can’t help but feel like you’re doing all of that on purpose, is it really that bad that he wants to make sure you’re by his side every time you’re together? no, sanzu is just trying to protect you while he does his job assisting muto.

it doesn’t take him any more than just one second to make him feel like someone’s trying to take you away from him, like, he just needs you to look uncomfortable for him to act, leaving whatever he’s doing to appear by your side and, even if he’s not as tall or as strong as other toman’s members, his cold eyes and the fact that he has peculiar scars are everything he needs to scare the person away. he won’t even try to hide how jealous he is, he doesn’t care really, sanzu just wants them away from you so he could continue with what he was doing before someone decided to try their luck.

he tends to be mean to people he doesn’t like, so expect no less of him if he happens to open his mouth because what’s about to happen will leave with a pounding headache and the reminder to never have an argument with your boyfriend.

it’ll be pretty obvious just how jealous he is, you would know what he is feeling but not the reason behind it and it’s not like he will tell you, so you’ll have to investigate the possible causes for his sour mood. it’ll look like he is mad but, in reality, he’s just going through the very same scenario that made him feel like that, thinking of different ways he could’ve approached the situation to not make it that obvious.

sanzu will accept his jealousy only if you push him to. he’ll gladly die with his envious feelings before even coming close to accepting the fact that he doesn’t like to see you paying attention to anyone that’s not him, at least not the special attention you always give him. that is something he holds dear to his heart and would completely refuse to share.

he doesn't get jealous, not at all, he has never in his life felt jealous, not even when stupid guys try to get closer to you by faking some kind of accident, no, he never feels the need to beat their faces until they’re not recognizable anymore. that, obviously, is a lie because haitani ran is the ceo of reading to dirt anyone that thinks they can get close to you with those intentions without any consequences.

as confident as he is, it wouldn't take long before he begins to feel jealous. it would start as mere amusement, finding funny that someone had the guts to approach you when you’re clearly being surrounded by the haitani brothers and a bunch of other dangerous criminals that act under their command, but ran let’s them be, observing with interest as this stranger tries to get you to give your name and your phone number. then he’ll make a stupid joke in hopes of getting you in a better mood and there is where ran will draw the line. he knows you’re only laughing because you’re nice, but that doesn’t take away the fact that he feels the sudden urge to kill that idiot right there.

he’ll approach this person with confidence, a fake smile plastered on his face and an aura that can repel whoever is around. he’ll be “nice” every moment he gets to talk, making hurtful comments that will either make the stranger leave or make the situation extremely uncomfortable. whatever it is, you just need to be prepared for ran to be in his absolutely worst mood once he scares the person away.

although he won’t treat you any differently, you’ll know something it’s up with him the moment you’re alone. usually, ran is the one always doing the talking, speaking of everything that comes to his mind but now it’s you the one who’s doing all the talking

he won’t ever admit his jealousy mostly because he doesn’t want you to think lowly of him, trying to keep the oh so perfect image he worked so hard to keep, but he will definitely be way more affective with you for the rest of the day to compensate for his behaviour.

i think hanma is one of the characters that can get the most jealous in tr mostly because his personality is very volatile. as we have seen before, hanma only acts under his own interests so it wouldn’t be rare to see him getting mad when something doesn’t go the way he planned or when something takes his fun away from him.

even if he gets easily jealous, it would take a lot of time before he realizes what he’s feeling, mistaking it at first by simple annoyance when he sees you leaving to talk to someone else. just where are you going? weren’t you telling him about your day? his relaxed smile dropping the moment he sees you laugh with the one he was left for. it would take someone else to point out the fact that he might be jealous for him to realize that he actually is and, the moment he accepts it, it’s the moment all the fun you were having is gone because there’s no way you can ignore the tension in the air when suddenly you feel hanma’s arms circling your shoulders, his chin resting on top of your head while he gives an obviously fake smile to the person in front. it’ll be best if you just leave, pretending you both have something else to do in hopes hanma will let the problem go.

hanma is pretty much an asshole to everyone except you, so as you can imagine his behaviour towards the other person will be anything but kind. he’ll pretend as if nothing’s happening, including himself in the conversation you were having in hopes the person will get the point that he’s only faking his laugh. i feel like he’ll also be the type to put threats into his words in hopes to create a fight like the troublemaker he is.

i’ll be pretty obvious to you that he’s jealous, this guy won’t even try to hide it because, at the end of the day, it really makes him feel like you’re the only one that can get him that worked out without even being responsible for it.

hanma will one hundred percent admit his jealousy and he will do it in the most hypocritical way, finding it funny that even someone like him can get jealous. this will also show you just how much he cares about you, so please don’t go talking to other people if you were previously beside him.

❮★❯ requests are: closed!

[fluidfox]

I've been lucky enough to not encounter any weird harassment or hate in this particular fandom myself, but I completely agree with courtney-deserved-better. And I can't speak on drawing, since I'm no artist, but I will give my thoughts with regard to writing!

If someone reads your entire fic, then leaves a comment saying how much they hate it... the main question that enters my mind is, "then why did you read it?" If someone doesn't like something, or it's just not for them, they have the power to simply stop (or not click on it in the first place). People who choose to continue, then choose to get angry or mean about it and express it publicly are simply angry and mean people. There's no good reason for what they did. Your work, the quality of it, and you— none of these are the actual reason someone did this. People who don't even finish reading but leave a hate comment anyway are even worse.

You don't owe these people anything. You wrote and posted a fanfiction story on the internet for free. No one is being forced to read it. They were not lied to or swindled. At most, all they lost is the time it took them to read it— time which they spent willingly and under no duress. It truly is a reflection on them if they choose to tell you they hate this, or your premise is crap, or you're a terrible writer, or you should jump in a pit, etc.

This is not good faith criticism coming from a well-meaning place with the intent to help you. When someone IS doing that, it's typically pretty obvious— maybe they'll describe what they liked about it, their language will be friendly, they might provide suggestions for how to improve, or they'll point out something specific which you got wrong and how to fix it... it's night and day the difference between these types of people.

BUT! For the record! You are also allowed to say that you don't really want any artistic criticism, even if it's constructive, because this is a fanfiction you made for fun. This ain't your job, and it's not that serious if you don't want it to be. In general, I would personally encourage listening to those who do want to help or have some advice. Improving your writing in your own eyes makes it easier to create work you're proud of and happy with. And that's what this is about— making stuff that makes you happy! But you don't gotta if that's not what's gonna make you happy. It's as simple as that.

And as an aside: Remember that these types of comments are not an attack on you, or declarations that you or your work are wrong or bad. It can be pretty easy to feel like that, especially if you're not used to it. For instance, I myself am incredibly and irrationally prone to guilt, and I feel awful if I get something wrong, even if it's something small... And experience and practice haven't really seemed to lessen this tendency much. But it's important for me to remember the person pointing it out is helping me, not saying everything I've done is garbage, that nobody is perfect, and it's okay to make mistakes. I've been able to get by fine by keeping these things in mind. In fact, I've had a rather pleasant experience in most tumblr fandoms, including this one!

Back to assholes: it's easier said than done to "just ignore the haters," so I think it's more productive to not completely ignore them. Look at what they've said and realize that the true meaning lies not with what's written, but the fact that it exists at all. Does this person actually seem to want to help you? Are they being polite? If not, it's not even remotely worth your time, because anyone who leaves hate on a FANFIC they CHOSE to read is a clown with nothing better to do and misery in their heart.

And it kills me that there's creators out there who've had their spirits broken by trolls, or who never even started out of fear. Because that's a very real fear. I almost succumbed to it myself back when I started writing as a hobby— it took a lot of guts to finally post my first fic. It's not a fault to be hurt when someone is TRYING to hurt you, and it's not a fault to be afraid of that happening. As I said before, no one is perfect.

If it helps, picture them as silly, angry little gnomes, jumping around and squeaking out gibberish and trying desperately to get your attention, but ultimately powerless. Because metaphorically, that's what they are! And all you gotta do to shut them up is kick 'em away (delete their comment or block them)! And who knows— you might not even encounter many, or any at all!

TLDR: This is my very long way of saying prev is totally right and people being assholes are not worth your time because the very fact they left hate means they're just mean people. I feel VERY strongly about this and accidentally went on a rant... sorry!

For fanfic writers and artists here, I have a question.

How do you handle criticisms/hate thrown at your work? I'm planning on starting this AU featuring the reboot cast, but I'm not confident in my writing abilities and drawing skills. Knowing how brutal the internet can be, I'm scared of the potential bullying especially if the writing can be OOC or the drawings aren't good.

I'm sorry if this is not the right blog to ask this kind of question.

[calzona-ga]

In her unauthorized book, Lynette Rice explores the stories behind some of the ABC drama's biggest moments, including — in this exclusive excerpt — the factors that led to McDreamy's shocking death.

In How to Save a Life: The Inside Story of Grey’s Anatomy, author Lynette Rice recounts the ABC medical drama’s eventful 16-year history, revealing new details behind some of the show’s biggest departures. Included in the unauthorized, 320-page oral history (St. Martin’s Press, Sept. 21, $29.99) is a chapter that offers new insight into leading man Patrick Dempsey’s shocking exit in season 11 of the Shonda Rhimes-created drama. In the chapter, Rice speaks with Dempsey’s co-stars and exec producers who were present during filming of his final days on Grey’s Anatomy, and reveals claims of “HR issues” that contributed to the death of his alter-ego, Derek “McDreamy” Shepherd.

“There were HR issues. It wasn’t sexual in any way. He sort of was terrorizing the set. Some cast members had all sorts of PTSD with him,” recalls exec producer James D. Parriott, who was brought back to the series to oversee Dempsey’s exit.

In more than 80 interviews with current and former cast- and crewmembers, Rice, an editor-at-large at Entertainment Weekly, also explores the show’s early days, recounts the thinking behind some of its more polarizing storylines and offers exclusive details about the show’s behind-the-scenes culture.

“After 17 seasons, fans still can’t get enough of Grey’s Anatomy,” Rice tells THR. But what went down behind the scenes was just as dramatic as what viewers saw every Thursday. I’m excited for fans to read what I learned about those early days, along with what it was like to work for Shonda Rhimes, and why the drama was so freakin’ headline-prone.”

Below, The Hollywood Reporter shares an excerpt — the full eighth chapter — from How to Save a Life, and tune in Friday to TV’s Top 5 for an interview with Rice about her book and the other big reveals she uncovered in her reporting for it.

(Reps for ABC, ABC Signature, Shondaland, and Dempsey declined comment on the reveals in Rice’s book.)

“He’s Very Dreamy, but He’s Not the Sun,” Or, How Grey’s Anatomy Loved — Then Learned to Live Without — Patrick Dempsey Ellen Pompeo may have played the titular role, but for many fans over many years, Patrick Dempsey was the real draw to Grey’s Anatomy. Some of it had to do with his celebrity: Dempsey was the most famous member of the original cast at the time of the pilot and brought with him quite a cult following from his 1987 movie Can’t Buy Me Love. But a lot of it was due to the way Rhimes wrote her McDreamy and how Dempsey depicted him. James D. Parriott I would say, “The guy would never say that,” and Shonda would say, “He’s McDreamy. He’s the perfect man. He would say that.” I’d say, “Okay. It’s your show.” Eric Buchman Shonda had a very clear idea of how important it was to keep Derek as this almost idealized love interest, not just for Meredith but for the audience. Naturally, the writers—especially writers who had been working on one-hour dramas for a while—were like, “Well, maybe have McDreamy make a big mistake in surgery and kill somebody. Or he develops an addiction of some kind. What is his deep, dark secret?” Shonda was very insistent: that’s not the character we do that with. Even when you find out he’s married, that was done in a very sympathetic way that kept him being a hero. He was wronged by his spouse and in spite of it all he was still gonna give his marriage a second chance. Stacy McKee Shonda was protective of McDreamy, but it was really with an eye toward being protective of Meredith. I don’t think the two were separate from one another. I don’t think she wanted to put something out there that maybe on the surface might seem a little frivolous. At its core, there was something really substantial that she wanted to say. She wanted to be very specific about the type of relationship values that she put out there. Tony Phelan I was in editing with Shonda once, and it was the scene where Meredith and Derek had broken up. He comes over and she’s like, “I can’t remember the last time we kissed.” And he says, “I remember. You were wearing this and you smelled of this …”

Joan Rater “Your shampoo smelled like flowers, you had that sweater on …” He described their last kiss. Tony Phelan Typically in editing you start on Derek, then you cut to Meredith for a reaction, and then you’ll go back to him. I noticed that we weren’t ever cutting back to Meredith. I asked why. Shonda said, “Because the woman in Iowa who’s watching this show wants to believe that Patrick is talking to her, and if you cut back to Meredith, it pushes them out of it.” In those special moments, we would just lock into Derek and let him do his thing. Joan Rater And he was a master at it. Patrick Dempsey He’s the ideal man, and that’s what Shonda constructed. There’s a projection [of him] onto me when you come in contact with fans, certainly with the younger and older fans. There is a certain amount of expectation. There is a responsibility to it. It made me grow, too. There were good qualities [of his] that you work on to obtain. Off camera, Dempsey was equally as charismatic to his fellow actors, crew members, and anyone who would come to visit the set. Lauren Stamile I was going in to meet him, and I remember I had this little cardigan sweater on and I took it off before I got into the room. Dempsey is one of those people—it’s almost like there’s a light shining around his body, and you feel like you’re the only person in the room. I got so hot and I remember saying, “Gosh, I would take off my sweater if I had one on because I’m so hot, but I took it off.” I was just babbling. He said, “You look nice,” and I said, “You look nicer.” I felt so awkward and he was so gracious and lovely. I was having a nervous breakdown. It’s like this “it” factor. I was like, God, whatever he has, I wish I had. I think it was very obvious how nervous I was, and he went out of his way to make sure he introduced me to everybody and made sure I felt comfortable, which he certainly didn’t have to do. But he did. Joan Rater He knew I had a giant crush on him, and he loved it. And when we’d go to table reads—I was an actress at one point in my life—they would always give me Meredith if Ellen wasn’t there. And I’d be getting my chicken tenders at craft services before the table read and he’d come up behind me and say, “Are you reading Meredith?” in my ear, like, so sexy. I’d be like, Oh my God. I mean, I could barely … I could not look at him. Tina Majorino I worked with Patrick a ton. I love him so much. We had a really great time working together. I think he’s such a great actor and he really made me laugh a lot. I feel like we had a good dynamic in scenes together, and it was always fun to play opposite him. Yes, he’s that charismatic in real life. Yes, his hair is that awesome. Yes, he is dreamy up close.

Chandra Wilson Patrick Dempsey will forever be known as Grey’s Anatomy’s McDreamy. Derek Shepherd is a permanent part of television history.

Norman Leavitt He is a big, personable guy.

Jeannine Renshaw We all love Patrick. Patrick is a sweetheart. If I saw him on the street, I’d give him a hug. I love the guy.

Mark Wilding I’ve always had a soft spot for Patrick. He really does try to do the right thing. Brooke Smith, who played Dr. Erica Hahn, remembers how Dempsey defended her when the decision was made to fire her from the show in 2008. Brooke Smith I remember calling him and saying, “Oh my God, they said they can’t write for me anymore, so I guess I’m leaving.” And he was like, “What are you talking about? You’re the only one they’re writing for.” Which at that time, it kind of did feel that way. But I guess someone didn’t like that. They gave me a statement [to release, about her departure] and I never said it. Patrick said that he actually took it out of his jacket on The Ellen DeGeneres Show and read the statement. He won’t let me forget it. He was like, “I defended you, see?” And it was true.

By season eleven, however, fans saw a disturbing break in MerDer’s once unbreakable bond. Six episodes had gone by without a peep from Derek, who was supposedly in Washington, D.C., where he had apparently made out with a research fellow. Fans began threatening to bolt if their hero didn’t return soon to Seattle. “I have never missed one episode,” wrote a fan on Dempsey’s Facebook page. “But I swear if [Rhimes] kills you off I’m done.” But there was a critical reason for Derek’s strange absence: behind the scenes, there was talk of Dempsey’s diva-like fits and tension between him and Pompeo. To help manage the explosive situation, executive producer James D. Parriott was brought back in to serve as a veritable Dempsey whisperer.

Patrick Dempsey [That] was the first year that I haven’t been in every episode. I [was] in every episode since the pilot— close to 250 episodes. That [was a] huge run. James D. Parriott Shonda needed an OG to come in as sort of a showrunner for fourteen episodes. There were HR issues. It wasn’t sexual in any way. He sort of was terrorizing the set. Some cast members had all sorts of PTSD with him. He had this hold on the set where he knew he could stop production and scare people. The network and studio came down and we had sessions with them. I think he was just done with the show. He didn’t like the inconvenience of coming in every day and working. He and Shonda were at each other’s throats.

Jeannine Renshaw There were times where Ellen was frustrated with Patrick and she would get angry that he wasn’t working as much. She was very big on having things be fair. She just didn’t like that Patrick would complain that “I’m here too late” or “I’ve been here too long” when she had twice as many scenes in the episode as he did. When I brought it up to Patrick, I would say, “Look around you. These people have been here since six thirty a.m.” He would go, “Oh, yeah.” He would get it. It’s just that actors tend to see things from their own perspective. He’s like a kid. He’s so high energy and would go, “What’s happening next?” He literally goes out of his skin, sitting and waiting. He wants to be out driving his race car or doing something fun. He’s the kid in class who wants to go to recess.

Patrick Dempsey It’s ten months, fifteen hours a day. You never know your schedule, so your kid asks you, “What are you doing on Monday?” And you go, “I don’t know,” because I don’t know my schedule. Doing that for eleven years is challenging. But you have to be grateful, because you’re well compensated, so you can’t really complain because you don’t really have a right. You don’t have control over your schedule. So, you have to just be flexible.

Longtime Crew Member Poor Patrick. I’m not defending his schtick. I like him, but he was the Lone Ranger. All of these actresses were getting all this power. All the rogue actresses would go running to Shonda and say, “Hey, Patrick’s doing this. Patrick’s late for work. He’s a nightmare.” He was just shut out in the cold. His behavior wasn’t the greatest, but he had nowhere to go. He was so miserable. He had no one to talk to. When Sandra left, I remember him telling me, “I should’ve left then, but I stayed on because they showed me all this money. They just were dumping money on me.”

Patrick Dempsey It [was] hard to say no to that kind of money. How do you say no to that? It’s remarkable to be a working actor, and then on top of that to be on a show that’s visible. And then on top of that to be on a phenomenal show that’s known around the world, and play a character who is beloved around the world. It’s very heady. It [was] a lot to process, and not wanting to let that go, because you never know whether you will work again and have success again.

Jeannine Renshaw A lot of the complaining … I think Shonda finally witnessed it herself, and that was the final straw. Shonda had to say to the network, “If he doesn’t go, I go.” Nobody wanted him to leave, because he was the show. Him and Ellen. Patrick is a sweetheart. It messes you up, this business.

James D. Parriott I vaguely recall something like that, but I can’t be sure. It would have happened right toward the end, because I know they were negotiating and negotiating, trying to figure out what to do. We had three different scenarios that we actually had to break because we didn’t know until I think about three days before he came back to set which one we were going to go with. We didn’t know if he was going to be able to negotiate his way out of it. We had a whole story line where we were going to keep him in Washington, D.C., so we could separate him from the rest of the show. He would not have to work with Ellen again. Then we had the one where he comes back, doesn’t die, and we figure out what Derek’s relationship with Meredith would be. Then there was the one we did. It was kind of crazy. We didn’t know if he was going to be able to negotiate his way out of it. It was ultimately decided that just bringing him back was going to be too hard on the other actors. The studio just said it was going to be more trouble than it was worth and decided to move on.

Stacy McKee I don’t think there was any way to exit him without him dying. He and Meredith were such an incredibly bonded couple at that point. It would be completely out of character if he left his kids. There was no exit that would honor that character other than if he were to die. Patrick Dempsey I don’t remember the date [I got the news]. It was not in the fall. Maybe February or March. It was just a natural progression. And the way everything was unfolding in a very organic way, it was like, “Okay! This is obviously the right time.” Things happened very quickly. We were like, “Oh, this is where it’s going to go.”

So that was that: McDreamy would die in episode twenty-one of season eleven, even though Dempsey was in year one of his recently signed two-year contract extension. Rhimes wrote a script that was befitting of her lead’s heroic persona: she began “How to Save a Life” by having Derek witness a car crash and helping the injured. Once it appeared everyone was out of harm’s way, Derek continues on his road trip but is suddenly broadsided by a truck.

Rob Hardy (Director) The paramedics leave. He’s there by himself. He’s having a moment. The nice music is playing, and all of a sudden, bang. It comes out of nowhere, which, you know, is how accidents happen. So as opposed to watching it as a viewer, we saw the accident happen through Derek’s perspective. Derek ends up at Dillard Medical Center, a hospital far from Grey Sloan and the talented doctors who work there. His eyes are open, but his brain is severely damaged. No one hears his plea for a CT scan; he can’t speak. To help keep the episode a secret, the scenes were shot in an abandoned hospital in Hawthorne, California, about twenty-two miles from the show’s home studio in Los Feliz.

Mimi Melgaard It was really hard on all of us because it was so secretive and we had so many different locations. We shot at this closed-down hospital that was absolutely creepy haunted. All the scenes there were so sad anyway, and in this yucky-feeling haunted hospital? It was really weird. His whole last episode was really tough. Patrick Dempsey It was like any other day. It was just another workday. There was still too much going on. You’re in the midst of it—you’re not really processing it. Rob Hardy Here’s a guy who’s immobile. Now you’re inside of his head. We were trying to make that feel scary from the perspective of a person who’s used to being in control, from a person who usually has the power of life and death in his own hands. But now he doesn’t have the ability to speak on his own behalf.

Samantha Sloyan When I went to audition, I didn’t recognize any of these doctors’ names. I assumed they were just dummy sides so people wouldn’t ruin the story line or anything like that. All we knew is that we were dealing with a man who’s been in a car accident. I had no idea that it was going to be Derek. I just figured I was going to be a guest doctor and that whoever this person was who was injured, was going to be just a character on the show. Once it became clear what we were working on, I was like, Oh, my gosh. I can’t believe this is the episode I’m on.

Mike McColl (Dr. Paul Castello) I signed an NDA before they would release the script to me. I was reading it in my house, and I was like, “Oh, my God.” I didn’t tell anyone, including my agents. I just said, “This is a really great booking. It’s a great role on Grey’s.” And they didn’t know anything until it aired.

Savannah Paige Rae (Winnie) The first scene I shot was actually the sentimental scene when I’m saying, “It’s a beautiful day to save lives, right?” I’m in the hospital room with Derek and talking to him. Even though I never watched the show, I recognized the value of the episode I was in and just really took it to heart. It was so special that I got to be a part of it.

Rob Hardy [Patrick] had a lot of emotions during the whole shoot, which evolved. I think when we first started, he was very calm and cool … the same Patrick that I remembered when I worked on the show a year or so before. With each passing day, he was a lot more emotional. A lot more was on his mind, and that would show itself in different ways. The finality of the episode and for his character was setting in. You’ve become a global icon on this show and then in five, four, three, two, a day … it’s over.

James D. Parriott Patrick was very cooperative and good.

Mike McColl When I met Patrick, he’s lying on a stretcher and we’re rushing him into the ER. I just introduced myself, shook his hand, and was like, “Man, I cannot tell you what an honor it is to be the guy to take you down.” He loved it. He could not have been nicer to me and was funny through the whole shoot. He was on the table in front of me there when I cut his chest open and all that stuff. He gave me a hug at the end. It was a real privilege to be a part of TV history in that way.

Samantha Sloyan I remember him being incredibly kind. They had his neck in a brace, and he’s strapped down to the board, so there wasn’t a ton of chatting. I remember him being really kind, but it was clearly intense for him.

Stacy McKee It was such a beautiful piece of storytelling. I knew this event was going to be a really sad, horrible event for Meredith, but I also knew it was going to be the beginning of such an incredible chapter for Meredith.

Dempsey completed his final hours of shooting on a rainy night. There was no goodbye party, no goodbye cake. Maybe that’s because some cast members were left out of the loop. James Pickens, Jr., told ABC News that the cast “didn’t know a whole lot. It was kind of on the fly. So whatever information we got, we pretty much got it kind of right before it happened.”

Caterina Scorsone (Dr. Amelia Shepherd) I didn’t get to say goodbye to Patrick when he left. I do think that helped, because I’ve been using the character of Derek in my internal landscape since Private Practice. Derek was the stability in Amelia’s life. He became a father figure after they watched robbers shoot their father. When he was suddenly gone from the show, we didn’t have that closure, so I got to play it out. She’s about to use drugs again before Owen confronts her in a way that she finally talks about her feelings about losing Derek. She doesn’t end up using.

James D. Parriott The day he left, that was my last day. There was a certain sadness to it, but I think he was relieved. I mean, I think it took a toll on him, too.

Rob Hardy I didn’t see other actors showing up and saying, “Hey, it’s the last day! Wanted to come and wish you well.” I didn’t get that. It was more the Patrick show. We were in the Patrick world, and then Ellen came, and there was definitely a lot of emotion that both of them had individually … not necessarily together. It was more so her being there on the day that he died. He had his own way of being with that, and the same thing with her. It was like two people who grew up together and … here we are. They had their own way of reflecting.

Patrick Dempsey I very quietly left. It was beautiful. It was raining, which was really touching. I got in my Panamera, got in rush-hour traffic, and two hours later I was home. Big news like this doesn’t stay quiet for long. Both Michael Ausiello—who left EW in 2010 to launch the news site TVLine—and Lesley Goldberg of The Hollywood Reporter learned two weeks prior to Dempsey’s final episode that he would be leaving the show. No reporter worth their salt wants to sit on a scoop—least of all one as huge as this—but Ausiello and Goldberg didn’t want to spoil the outcome for fans, so they agreed to hold the story until after the episode aired. I eventually found out, too, but in the nuttiest way imaginable: I was standing on the set of CSI: Cyber, watching Patricia Arquette talk about some droll techno-criminal. Unfortunately, the publicist also cc’d Dempsey’s manager and ABC publicist while trying to give me a major story, so I couldn’t immediately report the scoop. But I did use the information to successfully negotiate the one and only exit interview with Dempsey. Two weeks before his final episode, I met him and his publicist at Feed Body & Soul in Venice, California, for a story that would hit newsstands on April 24. He seemed a little shell-shocked and at one point choked up, but at the time he said nothing about how his on-set behavior may have contributed to his ouster. My editor, Henry Goldblatt, wanted to put him on the cover of Entertainment Weekly, but he couldn’t guarantee to ABC that no one would see it before the episode aired. Good thing we didn’t: some subscribers got the issue on the morning of Dempsey’s final episode— and one actually tweeted the story. Our PR department tried to get the tweets removed, but the cat was out of the bag: some fans found out early that McDreamy was about to be McHistory. Outlets like Variety reported how the story got out early, while our PR department released this statement: “We are surprised that an EW subscriber may have received their issue a day earlier than planned. We always try our best to bring readers exclusive news first. We would like to apologize to fans of the show that learned the news ahead of time.” Dempsey’s final episode was watched by 8.83 million viewers—the show’s largest audience since the premiere that season. Variety even pontificated whether the ratings boost was due to my exclusive with Dempsey.

Lesley Goldberg (The Hollywood Reporter) I’m used to working with networks to hold news as part of their efforts to guard against plot spoilers. But the way Patrick Dempsey’s exit was handled involved a layer of paranoia and secrecy that has been unlike anything I’ve seen in my reporting career. News that he was leaving, and his character being killed off, would have been a major story considering how big the show is domestically and internationally. However, it also would have meant spoiling the episode and, more important, damaging key relationships I’ve worked hard to build. At some point, publishing the news of Dempsey’s exit before the episode aired became an ethical question of what was more important—a big story and its subsequent traffic, which would have come no matter what, or the relationships and trust that it took years to craft. Ultimately, I still published early because EW subscribers received the issue with Lynette’s Dempsey interview before the episode aired.

Mike McColl The morning after Derek’s last episode aired, my daughter sent me a link that was on YouTube or Facebook or something. I actually pulled it up to look at it, and it was a Grey’s Anatomy showbiz cheat sheet. It asked the question “Who is the attending doctor who killed Derek ‘McDreamy’ Shepherd?” It included a photo that I posted from the set. I had on a bloody rubber glove and was in my scrubs and mask. I never obviously would have posted this before it aired. I posted it well after the episode aired, and I [captioned it] “McDeadly.” This writer said something like, “Kill McDeadly.” Maybe that’s why the producer didn’t choose a big-name actor to be the one who killed our beloved McDreamy! I want to be ultrasensitive to these hard-core fans because it means so much to them, and I certainly didn’t mean in that case to make light of it. It’s just, I’m an actor, and I recognize it for what it is. Is everybody clear on the fact that this is just pretend and Patrick knew he was going to be leaving the show? It was just like, “God. He’s okay. He really is okay.”

Peter Horton Derek was going to be there forever with Meredith because you went through a whole journey with them. That was incredibly fulfilling. So even if he’s not there, he’s there. I don’t think any of us really worried about that going away because by then you were so invested in it. The show can last as it has for years.

Patrick Dempsey Lots of people [miss him]. “It’s good to see you alive” is the comment I get. I’m like, “Yes, I’m very much alive in reruns.” People were really invested in that relationship. I knew it would be heavy. Very happy to have moved on with a different chapter in my life.

Samantha Sloyan The montage just killed me, when Meredith says, “It’s okay, you can go.” God, I’m getting choked up just thinking about it. The chemistry they have as a pair and the way they were able to build that and sustain it! So many of these relationships are, like, “Will they, won’t they,” and then it wears thin. They sustained it for the duration of their relationship on the show, and it’s just, I think, a testament to what those two created. It was just unbelievable.

Pompeo addressed Dempsey’s departure with a tweet that focused solely on his character, not on how she spent eleven years working side by side with him: “There are so many people out there who have suffered tremendous loss and tragedy. Husbands and wives of soldiers, victims of senseless violence, and parents who have lost children. People who get up every day and do what feels like is the impossible. So it is for these people and in the spirit of resilance [sic] I am honored and excited to tell the story of how Meredith goes on in the face of what feels like the impossible.” Meanwhile, fans futilely created a Change.org petition to reinstate McDempsey, while other, more desperate ones simply tweeted “We Hate You” to Rhimes.

Shonda Rhimes Derek Shepherd is and will always be an incredibly important character—for Meredith, for me, and for the fans. I absolutely never imagined saying goodbye to our McDreamy. Patrick Dempsey’s performance shaped Derek in a way that I know we both hope became a meaningful example— happy, sad, romantic, painful, and always true—of what young women should demand from modern love. His loss will be felt by all.

Talk about the mother (father?) of all postscripts: In November of 2020 Dempsey reprised his role as McDreamy in the season opener—but only in Meredith’s dreams. Stricken with COVID-19, an unconscious Meredith “imagined” reuniting with her husband on the beach. After talking exclusively to Deadline and saying how it was “really a very healing process, and really rewarding,” Dempsey would return for more beach-based episodes that would ultimately stand out as the best moments of season seventeen. “It was a second chance thing,” one ABC executive told me at the time. “Shonda likes a comeback. Also, they wanted him in their last season.”

[laurensprentiss]

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 13:

Gif credit: @hqtchner

A/N: I toyed with several ideas for this one, but I wanted the reader to be strong in her own right which is why this takes the direction it does.

Warnings: Strong depictions of violence, assault, blood, vomiting. Graphic injury, choking, gun violence.

———

“What you remember saves you.” - W.S Merwin

———

“You don’t like what I’ve done with the place?” 

“Jordan.” You breathe. “What did you do?” 

His jaw sets. His expression goes from glee to fury and he’s next to you in a flash, nose to nose, dragging your head back by the hair on the nape of your neck. A wince escapes your mouth when the pulling sends a sting up your scalp. 

“What do you mean, what did I do? Isn’t it obvious?” He sneers, punctuating his words with another pull of your hair. 

You cry out in pain, your neck straining. The rabid look in his eyes and his bared teeth send shivers down your spine.

He continues, “I made sure you were going to stay all...mine.” He whispers, releasing his grip, smoothing the top of your head. “Isn’t it sweet? I did it all so I could have you all to myself… and instead of thanking me, you’re acting like you’re above me. Like you always do. Maybe I need to teach you how to be grateful-” 

“I’ll be grateful.” You offer in a quick breath. “I mean- I am. I am grateful. I was just so…” You swallow thickly, tearing your eyes away from the pictures, “Surprised that you did all this. For me.” You fight the tears pricking your eyes. 

“You mean that?” 

You swallow the bile rising in your throat. “Yes. I do.” 

“Good. Y’know all I ever wanted was us to be together? When you broke up with me, I admit, I was angry. I thought you were fucking somebody else.” He paces the length of the room and that’s when your gaze falls to the gun he has tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “But I realised you couldn’t possibly.”

You brace yourself when his gaze falls to his handiwork on the walls. 

“But then…” He inhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I saw you with him.” His volume rises steadily. “I send you gifts, I send you letters, I give you clues, I even draw blood for you and you repay me by parading around another man?!” 

You cry out when he delivers a blow to the left side of your face, a crack resounding in the room. Your skin blisters red hot where he strikes you, you swear he’s torn open some skin on your cheek. It sends your head spinning, you figure you’re already nursing a concussion, this just makes it worse. 

“That’s not-”

“Don’t you interrupt me.” He spits, his face close enough for you to smell the bourbon on his breath. “You had him come to my house today, try to scare me? He thinks he’s a big powerful man, FBI… that badge doesn’t mean shit, he doesn’t know who I am.” 

“Jordan-”

“What was it about him anyway? You could’ve had me, you know, we could’ve been a dynasty.” He’s grandstanding. Always did have a problem with his fragile ego. He turns his back to you, scanning the pictures on the wall. “He’ll get what’s coming to him. I’m having it taken care of.” He mutters.

Your blood runs cold. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re not stupid, you couldn’t possible have thought that I’d let him live?” 

Your heart skips. The ‘other guy’ that was to be taken care of - Hotch.

“Jordan, no. It wasn’t like that, I swear.” He turns slowly, rage behind his eyes that’s only thinly veiled by a psychotic smile. “There’s nothing between us! Please don’t do this. I’m begging you, don’t do this.” You plead.

“Why do you care?”

“-What?”

“Why… do you… care?” His eyes are fanatical, nostrils flared. “If nothing happened between you, why do you care what happens to him?” 

You know why now.

“Because I don’t want anyone to die! Him, Emily, anybody! I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” You stutter through your sobs. “Please don’t do this.” 

“You don’t want him to die? How stupid do you think I am?” He grabs the back of your head and directs you to a picture of you and Hotch on the gazebo - the day you’d met. “You look at him like that because he’s a friend?” He spits. 

He’s right, though - that’s the thing. 

You don’t know how you didn’t realise sooner, how you didn’t see it sooner. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t see your own face when you were around him, but the way you look at him, your smile. 

You don’t think you’ve looked at anybody like that before. 

Tears roll down your cheeks now, eyes welling over. 

He smooths over your hair, straightening out his own shirt. “I will make it quick though. Humane. I owe him that much.” 

“What?” 

“I owe him. How do you think you got here?” When you can’t formulate the words he continues, “Hm, let me spell it out for you.” He continues his rapid pacing, fingers compulsively scratching his neck. “We break up, you betray me, so I leave the country. I come back, try to get you back, you betray me, again. FBI man comes into the picture, his girlfriend feels neglected, said girlfriend then conveniently runs into me at a bar after an argument, confides in me and starts sleeping with me. She’s a real peach, though. Total Type-A, wouldn’t let me fuck her raw.” He adds, rolling his eyes. 

You feel nauseous. 

You wonder if Hotch knows. 

He goes on, “I fuck her, she tells me everything I want to know. Including the fact that she thought he was cheating on her.” He laughs bitterly. “I thought we might have had something when you called me a few months ago, remember that? That was a good time.” Your stomach turns when you think back to the worst mistake you’d ever made. “But then you stopped taking my calls, I put two together from there, figured you were fucking him. I knew then that he had to die.” He rolls his eyes. 

His smile reveals a row of eerily straight teeth but there’s nothing behind his eyes except a sick kind of glee. 

“It wasn’t like that, I swear to you, he never touched me.” You plead with him, desperately. You reckon with the fact that if you couldn’t regain control of this situation, Hotch would die. “Look, I’ll do anything.” 

“Anything?” 

“I swear. Anything. Just call it off, please.” He considers your statement for a moment, kneeling down between your knees again. He makes a point to flash you his gun, the silver glinting, before reaching for a switchblade that’s tucked into his back pocket. You flinch when he brings it purposely closer to you but he cuts you free. 

“I’m going to test you. Stay here with me. You run, I kill him.” He lays the knife flat against your bruised cheek, “Then I kill you.” He whispers. You wince when the sharp edge breaks a thin layer of skin and you feel a warm trail of blood on your cheek. 

You nod desperately, agreeing. “I swear. I’ll do anything, just call it off.” 

Just as he finishes cutting you free, his phone vibrates against the wooden table under the window. He excuses himself, face lighting up for a moment. You try your best to hear, but the voice on the other end is indistinguishable. 

Jordan’s responses are short. 

“Fitz.”

“Hello?” He presses the phone closer to his ear. “Lawrence? It’s done?” He smiles at the response from the other side. 

“30 minutes.” He hangs up and rattles off a quick text message before setting the phone down again. 

He sighs, concealing his unhinged glee when he turns to look at you. “Bad news babe.” He says tutting, knowingly with a disturbing smile. “I know I said I’d call it off but,” he waves the phone in the air, “it’s already done. Your friend, Aaron?”

Oh please, no. Don’t say it. 

“He’s dead.” 

———

Once the first bang reverberates in the nurses’ station, time seems to move in slow motion. McCall yells for everybody to get down, cocking his gun. Panic erupts for a moment before everybody falls to the ground, the first shot already fired. 

Where it comes from, who fires first, it isn’t clear, the whole thing in reality is over in a matter of seconds but time still seems to stop. 

Now, McCall kneels over a dead body, hyper-aware of eyes on him, “He’s gone.” He whispers. 

A hand grips his shoulder from behind as he stares down at the corpse in front of him laying in a pool of blood, three bullet holes in the chest. 

His ears still ring. 

“Hey. Emily’s fine. I had two cops posted outside her door.” He turns to find Hotch, who can’t tear his eyes away from Officer Lawrence’s dead body in front of them. 

They’re about to let medical personnel clear out the area and wheel him away in a body bag when Hotch spots something in Lawrence’s scrub pockets. 

“Wait! Hold it a sec?” He asks, retrieving a piece of paper and cellphone from Lawrence. They make their way back to Emily’s hospital room in unison.

McCall looks at him, puzzled. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, why?”

“That was the first person you ever shot, right? He’s dead. You’re allowed to not be okay.” 

“I’m fine - I need to focus. I need to get her back.” He’d be lying if he said his hands weren’t trembling but he has more pressing matters on his hand. The need to get you back safe and sound outweighs any personal conflict for him. He unfolds the piece of paper, muttering aloud a series of numbers. “It’s a phone number. What’d you wanna bet it’s Jordan?” He does a double take when he sees his own name written in capital letters on the other side of the paper, passing it to McCall. 

“Some vendetta, hm? He was sent to kill you.” McCall takes the phone from Hotch and starts to dial when Hotch places a stalling arm on his. 

“Wait.”

He dials Garcia’s number deftly, asks her to search for a location on the number before they call it, but to his disappointment, it’s a prepaid. He then has Garcia set up a track and trace before he lets McCall dial the number.

“Ready, Garcia?” 

The phone rings three times before it’s answered, Jordan’s voice curt and straight to the point, assuming it’s Lawrence. Hotch can hear Garcia’s typing and beeping but when McCall doesn’t say anything, Jordan takes matters into his own hands. 

“It’s done?” Jordan asks outright. 

“Yes.” McCall replies with little inflection, keeping his voice even so as to not arouse suspicion. Jordan gives McCall a time - 30 minutes, before snapping the phone shut. 

McCall tries the number again, but it’s dead. Destroyed. 

“Garcia, anything?” Hotch asks desperately. 

“No, sir, it was barely long enough to triangulate the call, I’m sorry.” 

“Keep searching, Garcia, we need this address. Look for something in isolation, out of the way. It’s gotta mean something to him.”

“Yes, sir. Typing as we speak.”

Hotch rubs an exasperated hand over his beard, “Y’know the media can’t get wind of this, if he has access to a TV or radio and sees I’m alive? He’ll kill her.” He shudders as the words leave his mouth, making way for the possibility that he does not want to reckon with. 

You might already be dead. 

He dials quickly “Chief Barnes? I need a favour.”

———

He’s been pacing the length of Emily’s hospital room for the past twenty minutes, waiting for Chief Barnes to call in every favour he can to keep the media at bay so they can keep up the charade. He increases the TV volume opposite Emily’s bed when he sees a news report flash across the scene. 

“Good evening, everybody. We come to you live tonight with some breaking news.” 

He braces himself. Did Barnes manage to cover the hit on him?

“The daughters of two US Ambassadors have reportedly been involved in what appears to be a multi-car collision in the Virginia countryside, earlier tonight.” 

Two pictures appear side by side of you and Emily. 

“The daughter of Ambassador Prentiss was rushed to hospital earlier tonight and remains in critical condition at Bridgepoint Hospital after sustaining multiple injuries. The daughter of the US Ambassador to France however, is reported to be missing. The Ambassador himself is reportedly unaware of his daughter’s condition, presumed to be en-route to Paris tonight. Three people were pronounced dead at the scene, including Metro PD officers Evan Matthews and Howard Denton.”

He waits anxiously for any mention of his own name or Jordan, Lawrence, but the anchor passes over to the correspondent.

He sighs in relief, just as his phone rings. 

“Garcia?”

“I think I finally have a location on Fitzgerald. I checked for any and all properties under Senator Fitzgerald’s name, his second and third wives, his spawn’s name, even the Fitzgerald Family Trust. Nada.” She pauses for breath. “So. I dug down deeper. I searched instead for any properties under Sloan Marie Fitzgerald - still nothing. But then I chanced a search under her maiden name, Hamilton, and wouldn’t you know - the Hamilton family had a cabin between Rock Creek Park and Montgomery County. The late Mrs. Fitzgerald would take him to said cabin most summers before she died.”

“Alright, good work. Send us-”

“I'm not even going to let you finish that sentence, because it’s quite frankly insulting. Coordinates are on their way to you now, Sirs.”

Hotch huffs a laugh, it’s the most he can muster right now. He knows he owes Garcia a massive bouquet of flowers after all this is over. 

He grabs McCall by his jacket. “Suit up. We’ve got an address.” 

———

‘He’s dead.’ 

The onset of shock and unmistakable rise of nausea had caused you to retch violently and empty the contents of your stomach into the nearest toilet. 

Your legs had given out then, and you’re now planted on a dusty armchair, finding yourself staring into nothingness, your body still stinging with the shock and injuries you’d sustained. 

It’s all you’ve done for the past fourty something minutes. The blood stays rushing in your ears, and the pounding in your head is unrelenting. You haven’t said a word since, your body’s energy drained. You’re almost catatonic, unable to even shed a few tears for Hotch’s death. 

He’s dead. He’s dead because of you. 

You think back to the first time you met, he’d been so bright eyed and optimistic. Disarming. You think about the way he’d told you about his hopes and dreams, his plans for the future as a profiler. He’d had so much to live for. All of that had been ripped away from him because he’d gotten involved in your case. It was your fault he was dead. 

And you didn’t know how you were going to make it out of this. Your limbs feel like concrete - fatigue, shock and grief make it hard to formulate any kind of rational thought. Jordan’s hand comes to smooth the top of your head once again, but the gesture is far from comforting or loving. 

“It’s okay. You’ll see in time, this was for the best. This way, there aren’t any distractions.” He whispers. He’s been pacing the length of the cabin, repeatedly checking his second burner as though he’s awaiting some news. 

He resumes his pacing when you finally break your silence, your voice hoarse. 

“You killed a man.” You whisper. 

“What’s that?” 

“You killed a man.” You sob quietly. “You had someone killed, that doesn’t mean anything to you?” 

“Oh I did more than just have your little lover killed. I made sure your father and that Prentiss bitch were taken care of too.” 

Your vision tunnels, a high-pitched whine penetrating your skull. You feel like the ground has just been ripped from under you, like you’re falling. You can feel your heart shatter, the splintering fragments of your life piercing your skin. 

“My father? He’s not here. He’s-”

He glances at his watch. “-On his way to Paris?” You feel the bile rising again. “I know. Like I said, I’m having it all taken care of. They’re all dead, babe - or will be, soon.” He brings a hand to your face, brushing his thumb over your cut. “Don’t you see? I did it so I could have you all to myself.” 

The glee in his voice provokes something in you, a rage you’ve never felt before. You figure you have nothing else to lose, everything and everyone you ever loved is dead, you’d either fight and die quicker, or you’d stay and die slowly. 

In a move that stuns even you, you spit on Jordan’s face and bring your hand up to strike him notwithstanding the piercing pain in your ribs. The flat of your palm makes sharp contact with his bearded cheek. The sound echoes in the room, and your own hand stings from the force, but a minute satisfaction settles into your bones. 

He takes a minute to steady himself, but when he turns to look at you, his eyes flash with something you’ve never seen in a person before. In one fell swoop, he drags you to stand by your hair, pushing you into a glass frame against the wall. 

The glass shatters, puncturing the skin on your cheek and forearm where you bear the brunt of the impact. He lands two blows to your stomach, causing you to keel over, winding you. The pain blooms to your already bruised ribs, your breaths ragged. He grabs you then by the throat, pinning you against the wall, your breaths coming short and constricted. 

He shakes you against the wall, his hand tight around your throat, cutting off your air. “You ever pull something like that again, I’ll kill you in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine.” He growls in a low voice. “Do you understand me?” You can feel the blood pumping in your face, your eyes starting to bulge. 

You drive your knee into his crotch with all the force you can muster, exactly like Hotch had taught you. You then go for his shin that only gives you mere seconds to grab your breath when he lets you go in pain. 

You fall with him, knees giving out when you gasp for breath, and when you see him charging towards you again, you reach to your right for a dusty glass vase that sits on a single table. You manage to get yourself back on your feet right as he’s about to make contact with you again, the butt of the vase smashing into his skull. 

He cries out in pain as he falls to the ground again on all fours, blood streaming down his face. A gash on his forehead seeps blood and several pieces of glass are embedded in his face. 

You’re still trying to catch your own breath when you spot the silver glint of his 9mm catch the light in his back pocket. 

This is your chance.

You half-crawl, half-run to him, landing a violent kick to his stomach to strike him down. You grab the gun from his back pocket, stumbling a little from the adrenaline coursing through your veins, your hands trembling. You check the magazine and load it as fast as your hands will allow.

You grip the Beretta just as Hotch had taught you, wrapping your dominant hand around the magazine, your index finger parallel to the chamber. Your other hand wraps around your dominant, as you stand over him.

“Get up.” You snarl. “Get up, NOW!” You order him through your coughs. 

He turns around slowly, slipping twice on his way up, groaning with the exertion. His face mirrors your own, a gash on his lip and forehead, blood streaming down his cheek. 

He chuckles darkly, revealing a set of shark-like teeth that are covered in his blood. “Oh… you think you’re hot shit. You even know how to use that thing? Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” 

Your body aches feverishly and you swear you could pass out at any minute, vision blurry. You can feel your grip loosening and you’re trying to centre yourself when Jordan takes advantage of your momentary slip. 

He lunges for you in a flash, knife in hand. 

———

“We’re about a mile out, I want sirens and lights off. He can’t know we’re coming.” Hotch says into his radio. He’s watching the road ahead as they get deeper into the woods, the off-road terrain making it hard to keep control of the SUV. 

They’re backed up at rear by three MPD police cars, Chief Fuller’s attempt at making nice with Hotch after their earlier altercation.

He swallows thickly, his mouth like cotton. He knows he can’t afford one wrong move, not here. Not with you. He needs to get you back. He made a promise to Emily. 

He’ll die trying. 

He keeps a firm grip on your chain, rubbing it one last time for steady luck before tucking it into his shirt pocket. 

A clearing of trees reveals another path to them. It leads off into the distance, to a small wooden cabin around 80 feet away. It’s illuminated by amber light emanating from a single window. 

“Alright, guys. Nice and slow, headlights off, we’re gonna dismount now. Everybody out.” He whispers into the comms once they clear another 50 feet. 

Leaves rustle underneath their feet as they stealthily approach the cabin, guns cocked. Hotch has three cops flanking him and McCall brings up the rear, covering the back exit. 

They’re almost at the entrance when a loud bang resounds from inside, and Hotch short circuits, his knuckles white around his glock. 

Inside the cabin, you send Jordan flying with a shot to his shoulder, the smell of gun smoke burning your nostrils. Your hands tremble violently, your mind temporarily blanking - you feel like you’re swimming. Your ears ring from the noise, a high-pitched whine piercing your brain. 

There’s another bang almost immediately after Jordan stumbles backwards but you’re sure you only fired one shot. 

Jordan’s body in front of you is your only focal point, so much so that it’s only when you see McCall and two cops approach him writhing on the floor that you come back into your body. 

You realise the second bang had been them kicking down the front door. Your hands on the Beretta loosen just slightly and you let out a deep exhale. The voices in the room are still swimming as your brain slowly catches up. 

“Grab her.” McCall’s voice calls out. He shouts into the comms that he needs medics, and suddenly there’s a distinct feeling of a hand on your wrist and a body next to you. You reassure yourself that Jordan is on the ground so you let your hands fall limp, dropping the gun and it falls to the ground with a sharp clack. Your eyes are still trained on McCall pressing on Jordan’s wound. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” The voice cuts through your still-ringing ears. 

You know that voice. 

You’d know that voice anywhere. 

Your heart thunders, and your lips start to tremble as you try to reconcile everything you thought was reality with what’s really in front of you. 

You turn slowly to find an achingly familiar pair of warm hazel eyes. 

He’s alive. 

“Aaron?” You sob. You reach out for him but he catches you before you can stumble, his arms steady around your waist. He whispers into your hair, bringing a protective hand up to cradle your head as you sob into his chest. 

“It’s okay. I got you. I told you I’d come for you.” 

His voice is the last thing you hear before you black out, your body finally offering you some well-earned reprieve.

———

Tags:​ @oreogutz @andromedasstarship @galacticnerd-78 @izzyl13 @bananabucky @crying-river @purpledragonturtles @gabbysblogthingy​ @archiveofadragon​ @yoshigguk @acidicbloody @jeor @ivebeenthinkingboutu​ @bauslut @averyhotchner @vashanatasha @hotchwhore15 @pjmjams @slxtherinchxser

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[kstewdeux]

For a span of a minute that felt like an eternity, the entire world focused in on one singular point. A small painting. It’s edges well worn. Finer details faded and lost due to the passage of time but otherwise, in shockingly good condition.

But for all it’s antiquity, there was no mistaking the young woman who had been depicted. Whoever wrote the small exhibition label had simply labeled it:

Unidentified Artist, Japanese

Late Tokugawa Shogunate, Edo Period, 1853-1867

Young Woman

Painting on Parchment

H. Nakamura Trust, 88.251

According to the small blurb beneath the exhibition label, this tiny piece of parchment, clearly kept over the past century with meticulous care, had - at some point - apparently been studied by scholars to prove it was genuine. A fact that had been in dispute because the style diverged so greatly from art styles of the period but Kagome knew what the artist had been trying to do.

A photograph. He’d tried to mimic a photograph. Not perfect by any means but as close as someone in that time period could get. Which was shocking given (a) she had no idea he could draw and (b) that he would’ve taken the time to draw her.

Jaw trembling, Kagome had to remind herself to breathe. A task made more difficult as her friends joined her and began commenting on how the girl in the drawing resembled her.

Of course it did. It was her.

Her blurry vision flicked to the date and what registered felt like something cold was crushing her heart. If this ‘unidentified artist’ was him, Inuyasha had survived their quest and lived hundreds of years clearly hoping to see her again. At some point, he must have realized he simply wasn’t going to make it and…

Exhaling shakily, Kagome swallowed and decided it would be easier to simply leave. She was getting worked up over nothing. It was entirely possible that all of this was a coincidence. That she was reading too much into it. After all, Inuyasha wasn’t an artist by any means and most certainly would not have spent hundreds of years thinking about her. They were friends. Just friends. Unless something changed, which seemed unlikely, he had no interest in being with her that way. Besides, surely there were other women who looked like her throughout history. Everyone had a doppelgänger, right? Hers just happened to be some random woman in 19th century Japan.

It was just a painting of her doppelgänger.

Hopefully. Hopefully that’s all that it was.

“I have to go,” Kagome mumbled hoarsely as she took a step back and tore her eyes away from the painting, “I need to go.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Yuka asked worriedly, “Do…”

Unable to hear anything over the ringing in her ears, Kagome’s eyes wavered as they flicked back to the blurb that, upon closer inspection, described the other sketches and accompanying notes that detailed the artist’s ‘love’ for the young woman depicted. Various photographs of said notes had been attached slightly below said blurb and one of them had her shaking her head in mild horror.

‘I will not know your name next time we meet…’

“I need to go,” Kagome repeated breathlessly before turning on her heel and damn near running for the entrance. After that, she wouldn’t’ve been able to tell you how long or far or even which direction she ran from the mental image of an elderly Inuyasha writing out those notes he had to believe she’d never read. It might not even be him. Couldn’t be him. He didn’t draw. Couldn’t say something poetic much less write it. It had to be a coincidence. Just a coincidence but the image continued playing in her mind until she was blinded by tears. He died alone. Even…even if she did end up with him, she would’ve been dead by the time he wrote that. Long before he even picked up that brush. It…it…

It was all becoming too painful to even imagine.

Coming to an abrupt halt, Kagome clutched at her chest and used the side of a cement building for support. Inuyasha died over a hundred years ago and while that made sense, the realization that all her friends had died sometime in the past five hundred years hit her with all the force of a Mack truck.

Whimpering softly, her legs gave out and she slid down to the cold sidewalk. It was a coincidence. Just a coincidence. The probability of it all…

Well it just wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be him. It just…

“There you are,” came a hoarse, relieved whisper from far too close before two strong arms scooped her up and pulled her off the ground, “What happened? I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“Inuyasha?” Kagome mumbled stupidly before she whined and pressed her face into the corner of his neck - a gesture which had him stopping and doing something strange. His face turned slightly and buried his nose into her hair.

“What happened? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what happened,” he chided anxiously as he gave her a light squeeze, “You hurt?”

Opening her eyes, Kagome glanced around the dimly lit streets and realized how late it was. No wonder he’d come after her.

“M’fine. Got lost is all,” she lied lamely and she felt him inhale deeply then sigh.

“Bullshit. What happened?” he asked again before adding in a clear attempt to get her to smile, “I don’t mind killing people ya know. If someone hurt you, I’ll make them pay, ya know, if you want.”

“Nothing happened. Just got lost on my way home,” she mumbled and with a somewhat exasperated grunt, Inuyasha continued walking again.

“You’re a terrible liar and an idiot,” Inuyasha opined firmly - adjusting his hold on her and shaking his head, “You could’ve gotten hurt out here by yourself, stupid. Anything could’ve happened.”

“I was…”

“Sometimes I swear you’re trying to get yourself killed,” he continued chiding as some of his anger began bubbling to the surface, “What would’ve happened if I didn’t come looking, huh?”

“I said I’m sorry,” she protested weakly - her nose subtly nuzzling the flesh at the base of his neck, “I…”

“Sorry isn’t good enough. You need to do better,” Inuyasha snapped angrily before pausing mid-stride and sighing, “I swore to protect you but you make it so…so hard sometimes. And you don’t even care. You just…just go around getting kidnapped or disappearing and…and getting hurt when I’m not looking.”

It was strange but hearing his voice berate her and feeling his irritated breaths actually improved her mood considerably.

“I waited. Like an idiot I waited for you to come back from that school thing of yours instead of coming to get you like normal but…but then the sun went down and…” Inuyasha continued to huffed and grunt while his arms held her slightly tighter, “I can’t be there all the time dammit. I can’t. I’d like to be but…but I just can’t so…so you just have to fucking do better.”

Lifting her head slightly at this strange command, Kagome studied his face for a moment before leaning forward and absently placing a kiss on his tense neck. Inuyasha went stock still and then rigid but she couldn’t find it in her to care.

“I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll do better,” she promised tiredly as she pressed another lazy kiss on his shoulder. At least in this moment, he was alive and loved. Right now, he wasn’t alone drawing paintings and writing notes to someone who was either dead or hadn’t been born yet. And while true that the ‘unidentified artist’ was probably anyone else, that mental image of it being him continued to haunt her.

Taking a deep breath, Kagome stubbornly told herself that the ‘unidentified artist’ couldn’t be him. It simply wasn’t possible. For so many reasons.

“You kissed me,” Inuyasha finally blurted and mercifully distracted from her inner turmoil, Kagome hummed in the affirmative. A second passed then two and he forced out a strangled, “W-why?”

“I wanted to,” Kagome offered tiredly as she focused on the feel of him and the knowledge that, as of this moment, he was very much alive. And yes, now that she was a little calmer, it was fairly obvious that the ‘unidentified artist’ wasn’t Inuyasha. He didn’t think of her in that way. Never had. Never would. They were friends. Best friends. But he loved someone else and had made it very clear he wasn’t interested in her that way.

As Kagome continued talking herself down, Inuyasha remained motionless for a long time before he finally began walking back towards the shrine. Slowly. Every so often he’d pause and take a few short breaths like he wanted to say something but stopped himself.

“Why did you want to?” he finally asked hesitantly as he turned a corner, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Because you’re you,” she mumbled as her consciousness began ebbing. With a soft sigh, she relaxed more fully against his warm chest and offered up an additional explanation, “It made me happy.”

This response clearly bothered him judging by the increased tension in his muscles.

“Why did kissing me make you happy?” he pressed after another long moment of silence.

“Dunno. Why do you think it…” Kagome trailed off into a yawn and Inuyasha let out a small groan.

“I don’t know. That’s why I was asking,” Inuyasha interrupted with a huff of frustration, “You always make things hard. For no reason.”

Instead of getting angry, Kagome simply cooed and snuggled into him which seemed to both bother and calm him.

“You’re so stupid,” he continued to grumble as he adjusted his hold, “Ask a simple question and you just…act like you.”

“How else am I supposed to act?” Kagome hummed with mild amusement and Inuyasha grunted.

“Whatever. You need to sleep,” he changed the subject miserably as he finally made it to the shrine and began climbing the steps, “But don’t think I’m gunna take it easy on you. I’m serious. You can’t do shit like that again. You could’ve gotten…”

“Will you stay here tonight?” Kagome interrupted tiredly and Inuyasha once again stopped mid-step. His hands flexed against the flesh they were gripping as he licked his lips and averted his eyes.

“Only if you tell me why you really kissed me,” he repeated his earlier question - before continuing with an unease tinged with hope which surprised her, “I think I deserve some answers after the stupid stunt you just pulled and if you’re trying…if you did that to just…just distract me, it won’t work. Won’t change nothing. You still gotta be less stupid.”

“I did it because I wanted to,” Kagome repeated before gasping when he suddenly set her down and glared.

“Well what if I didn’t want you to?” Inuyasha huffed - something strangely hurt behind his expressive amber eyes, “You’ve never tried to mess with me before. Never. And…and do you have any idea how scared I was when you didn’t come home? I searched for you, Kagome. From the…the 6 to the 9. Do you know how hard it is to track scents here? To listen for you? It’s a literal miracle that I…”

“I said I’m sorry,” Kagome insisted and Inuyasha looked even more hurt. Breathing heavily, he visibly tried to control whatever reaction was brewing under the surface but unfortunately, his confusion and hurt bubbled over.

“I DON’T WANT AN APOLOGY!” Inuyasha bellowed - his hurt escalating into full blown anger with such speed it nearly gave her whiplash, “YOU COULD’VE DIED. YOU COULD’VE BEEN HURT! AND I’M NOT SO DESPERATE THAT A STUPID KISS IS GUNNA MAKE ME FORGET THAT! WHY DID YOU KISS ME?!”

“I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you!” Kagome snapped and Inuyasha looked a hair away from strangling her.

“THAT’S NOT AN ANSWER! YOU’RE JUST TRYING TO COVER YOUR ASS AND…” Inuyasha began to rail against her once more and it was at that point Kagome’s mind officially hit It’s breaking point. He wanted answers, huh? He wanted to know why she ran and why she kissed him and why she was so upset?!

“FINE! KNOW WHY I DID THAT?! BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!” Kagome screamed bitterly and Inuyasha froze like a deer in the headlights, “I KISSED YOU BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! THERE! HAPPY?!”

When Inuyasha continued gaping at her with a shell-shocked expression, the full ramifications of what she’d just admitted hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Forget it,” she breathed miserably as she turned and unsteadily began climbing the stairs with her arms curled tightly around her stomach, “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t do…any of that again. Just forget what I said.”

“Wait. Wait,” Inuyasha’s strangely panicked voice called out - a single clawed hand gripping her shoulder to force her to stop, “I don’t think I heard that right. W-why did you…”

“Let me go Inuyasha,” Kagome hissed but the hand didn’t release her.

“C-can I tell you w-what I heard?” he asked with a mixture of fear and desperation, “A-and I could be wrong but I just…”

“You hear everything Inuyasha,” Kagome huffed acidly as she pushed away his hand with all her might, “You heard what I said…”

Even as she climbed the stairs, she could hear his harsh rapid breaths which honestly had her moving a little faster. Everything was ruined now. All because of some stupid little painting that she’d just…

“You…you said you…you loved me,” he repeated barely above a whisper, “Right?”

Closing her eyes, Kagome let out a long sigh before squaring her shoulders and deciding to face her mistake head on.

“I do love you but I don’t…” she began as she turned to face him before being cut off when a pair of lips captured her own. Two strong arms snaked around her waist for but a moment before his calloused hands suddenly cupped her face in an effort to force her to respond.

When she finally did and when he finally pulled back, his slightly euphoric expression faded into mild horror and panic.

“Y-you said you l-loved me back, r-right?” he asked worriedly as he released and took an involuntary step back, “That’s…that’s what you said. Two, no, three times. You said that…”

“That I loved you…back,” Kagome repeated slowly and Inuyasha gave a jerky nod in response.

“That’s what you said,” he insisted miserably - his amber eyes flicking in the direction of the well, “So…and I mean, you did start the…the kissing so I…and you were an idiot. Scared me half to…”

“Know what? That is what I said,” Kagome hummed in a resigned fashion as she reached out and gestured for him to take her hand, “Come on. Let’s go inside. It’s late.”

Swallowing thickly, Inuyasha eyed the beckoning hand with weary apprehension before accepting the gesture and allowing her to lead him into the house. And up the stairs. And into her bedroom. And then onto her bed. A bed upon which he found himself awkwardly waiting while Kagome proceeded to change and get ready for the night.

“Where are you gunna sleep…” he began nervously when it finally dawned on him that she seemed to be intending for him to sleep on the bed. That’s where she led him and where she told him to stay after all. Which was strange but it had been a strange night. Maybe she was trying to make him feel better. Do him a favor?

“In the bed,” Kagome hummed as she ran a brush through her hair and gave him a warm smile. A smile that faded when he stood up and began nervously glancing around with a marked blush.

“Inuyasha, where are you going?”

“You’re gunna sleep on the bed,” he muttered as he prepared to sleep in his normal position on the floor, “And you…well I was gunna…”

“If you want, you can sleep in the bed with me…”

Amber eyes widened as a single impulsive ‘oh’ left his lips but instead of sitting back down on the bed, he remained standing and staring at her with that same shell-shocked expression.

“Is that…okay?” Kagome asked nervously.

Seeming to come back to himself, Inuyasha nodded fervently and quickly sat down atop the mattress.

“Y-yeah thats…that’s…yeah. Yeah. We can do that…”

That night was the first of many nights he spent cuddled up against the woman of his dreams. Letting the warmth of her body span the length of his own as he relished in the knowledge that somehow this woman loved him. How, when or even why didn’t matter. She loved him back and that first night, as he held her small frame against him, he very nearly cried in relief. Honestly, before that night, he had already decided he was going to let her go rather than say anything. There was no way she’d ever love him back, he’d reasoned. No one would ever want to be with a half-breed, right? He’d never been so happy to be wrong.

Weeks went by after that and the funny thing was, when Kagome absently mentioned the painting from the museum to her friends over lunch, none of them had the faintest clue what she was talking about. All they remembered was her leaving in a rush. While Kagome chalked this up to the art not being memorable to anyone else, the truth was that no one else would ever remember this art because it simply never existed.

The second she’d admitted her feelings - emotions he fully reciprocated but had suppressed - all those drawings and notes faded from the annuals of time because that painting- which had been loaned to the museum by a well meaning unrelated widow who thought the unique artwork would make for an interesting exhibit - turned out to be a butterfly which was inadvertently crushed. As the years rolled on, Inuyasha never needed to paint something to bring him comfort in the midst of crushing regret and loneliness.

Why would he?

Thanks to a merciful series of events, he woke up to his favorite smiling face every day for the rest of his life.

[caffeinatedseri]

Dazai and No Longer Human’s Yozo

It’s no secret that BSD’s Dazai draws heavily from his real life counterpart, especially from his semi-autobiographical work: No Longer Human. To preface, No Longer Human is written from the perspective of the main character Yozo, with the book itself being a documentation of Yozo’s notebooks (essentially his journals) throughout his life. 

As you progress through the novel, it becomes increasingly clear that Yozo lives an extremely two-sided life; his foolish personality acts as a facade to others in attempts to hide the darker nature within him. 

Dazai shares that obvious similarity with Yozo, but Dazai is characterized in a somewhat vague and mysterious way that leaves a lot of his inner thoughts up to interpretation and inferences. Thus, I’ll be going through some of my favorite quotes from No Longer Human and analyzing Dazai’s character through his similarities to Yozo.

(For the sake of readability, excerpts from No Longer Human will be in pictures, and quotes from the light novel will be in regular block quotes).

Dazai and Yozo’s Participation in Clownery

To start off, Dazai noticeably participates in the same “clowning” as Yozo, which in particular stands out with PM Dazai.

““How did your leg get hurt?” I pointed to the bandages, thinking that it must be the result of some violent fight. “I was reading a book titled ‘How to Prevent Accidental Injuries’ while walking when I accidentally fell into a ditch.” I wasn’t expecting such an abnormal response.” — LN 2, Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era (Oda’s POV)

This is pretty standard Dazai behavior, but the interesting part is how Yozo specifically used the word “deceiving.” If we were to assume Yozo’s true thoughts are Dazai’s as well, then it would imply that Dazai feels as if he’s manipulating people with his absurd claims (such as the above). However, in actuality, his clownish behaviors sound more like a joke, or some type of self-deflection, rather than an attempt to manipulate people. (Yozo also states that he would often incriminate himself by overexaggerating certain things, but I don’t think Dazai does that).

The second statement Yozo makes implies that he doesn’t care about ethics, morality, or the supposed “right way” of living life that’s described as “righteousness.”

Yozo’s statement on “righteousness” parallels Dazai’s in Dark Era, but Dazai’s statement carries a slightly different sentiment. Rather than being indifferent to the likes of morality, Dazai says that he’s “hated” by the concept of morality. 

I’ll be speculating a bit here → It’s heavily implied that Dazai had some sort of dark past that led him to joining the mafia, since he was already suicidal prior to doing so. This suggests that something affected his life so drastically to the point where he could no longer trust in such things as “righteousness,” because righteousness has wronged him in the past.

First, Yozo expresses his fear of people discovering his true nature under the mask of clownery, which would then lead to them pestering him for further inquiry. However, his real fear is that people would mistake his true nature as another part of his typical clownery.

More so than before, this attitude reminds me more of Dazai in the agency, rather than him in the mafia. Even though Dazai danced around darker topics in his conversations with Oda, he was still able to talk about them without much conflict. However, in the agency, Dazai doesn’t talk much about himself or any of his personal issues at all. 

Although this scene has comedic overtones, it’s interesting to see that no one would help Dazai if he was actually dying. Still, it could be argued that the other agency members knew it was just Dazai’s regular antics. (or that Dazai wouldn’t die in the first place). 

This scenario repeats itself another time when Dazai gets kidnapped by the mafia, and the other agency members kind of just brush it aside. As much as they may trust Dazai to take care of himself (which I’m sure he can do), it’s worrying that the other members may not be open to Dazai’s possible attempts at reaching out for help, if he were ever to make one. 

In LN 4, 55 Minutes, Atsushi addresses this issue by asking Dazai why he wants to kill himself, but the answer is left open-ended, with Atsushi himself not remembering the answer (or if Dazai even did answer). You could interpret Dazai’s change from his time in the PM as an improvement of his mental state — which I have no doubt that has happened — but Dazai needs to face his issues head-on if he truly wanted to reconcile with his past.

“Perhaps someone should persistently tie Dazai up, open the lid over his chest and stuff the head of a vacuum cleaner in. They have to let Dazai, who should be screaming in pain and resisting, settle down. Following which, the difficult things in his heart must all be dragged out under the sun and stepped on mercilessly.“ — LN 2, Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era

Oda, the man who understood Dazai more than anyone else could at the time, even specifically stated that the pain in Dazai’s heart must be forcefully dragged out, because he knew that this would ultimately be the most beneficial for Dazai’s sanity.

Throughout No Longer Human, Yozo is often misunderstood by others, or other people simply don’t care about him.

When Dazai goes to visit Oda’s grave in Dead Apple, Atsushi finds him and assumes that he’s visiting the grave of someone important to him, as an act of respect or remembrance, something of the sort. However, Dazai makes the automatic assumption that his “clownish words of deceit” (as stated by Yozo) will always be prioritized over the truth, which is why he chooses to brush off his actions as a joke. 

Although I made the point earlier that the agency members don’t give Dazai opportunities to open up about himself, Atsushi is notably different, similarly to Oda, because he’s able to take Dazai seriously and persist even through his antics. 

Atsushi takes Dazai’s act of visiting a grave seriously, even when Dazai plays it off, because he knows Dazai is a person just like anyone else. This understanding between them leads to Dazai telling Atsushi about Oda, thereby allowing Dazai to divulge a crucial part of his past.

Dazai and Yozo’s Friendships

Similarly to Yozo, Dazai’s attempt at “disentangling” himself from these relationships only serves to wear him out in the end. However, they also slightly differ in a way: Yozo is unable to form any friendships for his whole life, but Dazai had Oda. I would argue that Oda was Dazai’s only friend, mostly because of this quote:

“Odasaku understood him far beyond what Dazai had ever thought. He had already reached close to his heart, the place near the center of his heart. Before this, Dazai had never noticed there was someone who understood him so well. For the first time in his life, Dazai wanted to know something from the depths of his heart.” — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

Oda was special to Dazai because Oda was able to understand him — maybe even more than Dazai could understand himself — which is why Oda is the only person that Dazai asks for advice from. 

However, Dazai does the same thing as Yozo when he “plays the clown” as a form of self-protection from such valuable friendships. (which is probably preventing him from becoming closer to the rest of the agency).

“Things that we don’t want to lose will definitely be lost. Now that it has come to this, I have no more feelings anymore. Things worth pursuing will always disappear the moment before you get them. Nothing is worth prolonging a painful life to pursue.” — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

Interestingly enough, Dazai says this when Ango is revealed to be a spy — before Oda dies. If Dazai was in this state of distress from Ango’s betrayal, you could only imagine how devastating Oda’s death was. 

Dazai speaks as if he’s speaking from experience, which suggests that he’s faced a similar loss in the past. Despite this implied experience, he still became friends with Oda (and Ango to an extent), fully knowing that it would only bring him pain in the end. Dazai's statement here acts more as a front that makes him sound cold and detached from the situation, only to hide how he truly feels about losing one of his only friends. 

To give some context to this passage, Yozo’s partner, Yoshiko, had been sexually assaulted by a coworker, of which Yozo attributes the cause to her overly trusting nature. Thus, this leads to Yozo’s belief that trustfulness is inherently wrong or creates weakness.

Dazai’s hesitance to form friendships most likely stems from this same inability to trust others like Yozo, but Dazai does trust a few people, namely Chuuya, Oda, and Atsushi.

With Chuuya, there’s a different type of trust between him and Dazai. Their impeccable trust is obviously a key factor in their partnership as SKK, but there’s a certain limit with this trust. They certainly trust each other in battle, but I’d argue that this trust doesn’t extend to their personal business. 

As of now, we don’t know a lot about how SKK interacted with each other during their time in the mafia (which could change with the new LN), but I doubt PM Dazai would feel comfortable with confiding in Chuuya with anything because they (kind of) hated each other. The level of trust required for a friendship would involve a mutual understanding between two people, but Chuuya and Dazai haven’t necessarily shown us that they were able to do that.

Dazai essentially broke his trust with Chuuya by leaving the mafia on a whim, but he also intentionally antagonized himself to try to make Chuuya hate him.

This scene also has comedic overtones, but it suggests something a bit sadder about Dazai. There are possibly two motivations as to why Dazai chose to do this: (or a mix of the two)

1. Dazai didn’t want Chuuya to be incriminated as his accomplice when he became an enemy of the mafia.

2. Dazai wanted to push Chuuya away because Oda — Dazai’s most trusted friend — had just died. As a form of self-protection, Dazai broke whatever semblance of friendship he shared with Chuuya in order to prevent the same pain that came with Oda’s death. 

It’s also important to consider that trust is a 2-way street; both parties have to have the same level of trust in each other. Just like Yozo, if Dazai is unable to trust anyone, then he may have cut Chuuya off to protect him (since Chuuya may have trusted Dazai more than Dazai was able to reciprocate).

In contrast, Oda and Dazai have a level of unspoken trust that basically motivates Dazai to change his entire life. 

“Odasaku’s eyes radiate with conviction. The words are clearly said with some sort of strong basis. Is it past experience? Or perhaps someone’s suggestion? — He is trying to show Dazai the path he once walked. Dazai understands this. Dazai can trust it.“ — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

Returning to Yozo’s question — “Is trustfulness a sin?” — Dazai answers it by showing us the strength of trust in this moment. Trust insinuates blind faith in another person, the willingness to believe someone else without logical reasoning, which makes it all the more important when PM Dazai — the genius prodigy who operates on a solely logical basis — is able to trust Oda and change his path in life. 

Atsushi is most likely the one that Dazai trusts the most in the agency, due to the aforementioned issues with the other members. However, it seems more like a budding trust that’s growing to become like Oda and Dazai, but it still requires Dazai to take that step forward to further their trust. 

Dazai and Yozo’s View of the World

In this scene, Yozo had made a decision for immediate gratification, but that choice caused him insufferable pain afterwards — supporting his belief that the world was a “place of bottomless horror.”

This parallels two of Dazai’s statements: one from Dark Era and one from Dead Apple.

“Please, take me with you. Wake me up from this rotten world of a dream. Come on, come on, come on!” — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

(Dazai wasn’t talking about himself here, but the allusion sets up a situation where he can talk about himself indirectly — I talk about it more in my other post here)

We don’t really get a reason for why Dazai is suicidal, but from this we can infer that it’s something more complex than he makes it out to be — something like an issue deeply rooted within the world, with no easy solution. 

One could guess that this was the result of an unfortunate decision (like Yozo), or the realization that the world was simply a terrible place (possibly because no one cared for him as a kid and he had Mori as a “parental” figure instead).

Yozo expresses his lack of understanding in the compassion of human nature, but Dazai (as we know) seems to understand other people perfectly, as least enough to manipulate them.

However, this forms somewhat of a paradox: Dazai understands people so well to the point that he can’t understand them.

Dazai understands every flawed aspect of a human being — the tendency to manipulate, lie, kill, etc. — most likely because of his past as a young child. “Human beings never did teach” him the hopeful aspect of human nature  — the ability to love and cherish others.

Shibusawa in Dead Apple reflects this mindset, but take note of what Dazai says: “You wouldn’t be saying that if you actually had friends” — clearly a reflection of Dazai’s personal experience, by knowing how important friends are.

Yozo’s deathly fear of society tames itself when he comes to the realization that society is really just made up of a bunch of individuals working for their individual benefit, so he has no reason to fear society as a whole.

I don’t believe Dazai has this same fear of society, but he does reflect this individualistic mindset in the way he acts. Often enough, Dazai doesn’t tell anyone about his plans and would rather manipulate people into following such plans, even when it would be easier to cooperate. He always takes care of conflicts by himself, and by his standard.

Yozo’s fear of society possibly manifested into Dazai’s ostracization from society. More speculation here, but → My guess is that Dazai was alienated not only as a genius isolated for his intelligence, but also for his ability. There seems to be some division between regular society and ability-users’ society, but I can see Dazai being rejected by both because he’s the antithesis to all abilities. 

Regular society would either shun him like other users or attempt to exploit him for their personal gain (possibly for his intelligence AND his ability), or ability-users would see him as a threat and/or menace to their safety.

When Yozo considers a double suicide with his partner, he comes to this unsure conclusion of whether or not he actually wants to go through with it.

This reflects what Oda believes about Dazai:

“I thought you and Dazai were very similar, unable to see the value of your life, hoping for death, hence jumping into a world of violence and fighting. But that’s not the case. That guy is just a child who’s too smart. Just a crying child who’s been left alone in the darkness, a world of nothingness far emptier than the world we can see.“ — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

At the end of the story, Gide and Oda are different from Dazai because they face an inevitable hopelessness. However, Dazai has a small spark of hope to live on that persists beyond the other two. 

This is represented in Dazai’s own statement to Oda, when Oda is set on walking to his death: “Go and rely on something, hope for something good to happen next, that something will definitely happen.” 

If anything, this sounds more like a plea to himself than to Oda, but it establishes an important point: hope is built upon the assumption that the future will treat your present desires well. Vice versa, hopelessness is built upon the expectation that the future will neglect your present desires.

It’s a bit wordy, so I’ll elaborate on. Right after Dazai says this line, they proceed to talk about their desires → Dazai wants to find a reason to live, so he joined the mafia; Oda wanted to become a novelist, so he didn’t kill anyone. 

Now, the difference between hope and hopelessness:

Oda feels hopeless because he expects that his present desire (to become a novelist) won’t be fulfilled in the future. By losing the one qualification that he felt he had to follow (not killing anyone), he no longer believes that he can become a novelist.

Dazai has hope because he assumes that his present desire (to find a reason to live) will be fulfilled in the future. He doesn’t know that for sure, but he persists onwards regardless of having full assurance or not. 

Dazai’s hope and trust in Oda brings him to where he is in the present, and takes him one step closer towards discovering his reason to live. 

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Ahkmen’s new school year starts with a bang.

Notes: guess who has imposter syndrome!!!! heres my next work i think??? idk where my inspiration is gonna pull me at any given time. i just wanna say this takes place when ahk’s pretty young! not like ten or something lmao but lets just say hes not an adult. by the way, the reader is indian (indus valley, at the time). WC: 7.3k

+

"Don't we look like a dream?"

A sharp inhale brought his eyes to shoot open, staring through the cold air to the blank ceiling above him. For a moment he frowned, as his bed had a silk canopy above it, but he quickly realized he had passed out in his friend's room again. He groaned softly, raising his hand to rub his face.

"What... happened last night?" He grumbled, his voice turning to a whisper when the volume of it left him wincing.

No response.

"Piye?"

Ahkmen raised himself, though very strenuously, and looked over the tables and stools thrown beside him. Splinters nearly dug into his fingertips, but he jerked away before anything could lodge.

Piye was much in the same position. Quite literally, with their limbs strewn about, hair a knotted mess upon their head. The only difference was that Piye was lying face down, their face squished into one of the table legs. He almost laughed, but even the spreading of a smile sparked a headache, so instead he poked his blacked out friend.

They groaned, loudly, but did not move. Ahkmen continued to poke them until they finally had enough, pushing themselves upwards.

"What the hell do you want?" They asked, their voice low and scratchy. Even their eyes had yet to open, stuck shut with crushed eyelashes.

"What did we do last night?" He asked in a mumble, resting his weight on the thin edge of a fallen table.

"You invited Panya and she killed us with beer," Piye breathed out, shielding their eyes from the sun with their hand.

"Fuck," said Ahkmen. "An... what day's today?"

Piye breathed very deeply before opening their mouth, letting out a roar of a yell, "DAD?!? What's today??"

Ahkmen winced away, covering his ears until Piye lay back down, still relaxing into the pile of chairs and tables.

"It is the eleventh of Khuiahk," came Adom's voice from around the corner of the tiny hallway leading to the door of Piye's room. Ahkmen heard a flip of papyrus before he spoke again, "you have school today, if that's what you're wondering."

"Ah... shit," Piye sighed.

"That means I have school too," Ahkmen said with widening eyes, a pitiful sense of dread overcoming his hangover. "I can't learn like this. I haven't showered since yesterday, I – I barely have a hold on my thoughts, I can't stand loud noises –"

"If you can still gripe like that, you're fine," Piye said flatly, lying for a moment more before their eyes opened, making way for them to sit up and stand.

"But –"

"Calm down, my Prince," Piye said with a derisive bow. "It's quite alright. I'll get us ready within the hour."

Having Piye as a friend came in handy a number of times, but especially when it came to maintaining his image of a perfect son. His parents adored him dearly, but Ahkmen was convinced that that status could be stripped at any moment, and that they would begin to treat him as they did his brother, Kamun. Thus having Piye to excuse away his mistakes was beyond helpful to him, let alone the secret capabilities of the palace physician's child.

In a calm-as-ever demeanor, Piye shoved both him and themself into clothes too warm for the sunshine already beating down on them through windows. The Prince felt a little off––a little more disgusted with himself than usual––but his discomfort was quickly remedied with a stop by the Nile, where the two quickly washed themselves.

Returning into clothes was made easy by the sun that dried the water on their skin within a minute of leaving the river. The two dressed, shoving their legs into skirts and golden bands as they walked, stumbling through the streets with soaking wet hair.

"One last stop," Piye said before they reached the center of the city, pulling Ahkmen off down a hidden alley.

Boxes and carts of goods had been stacked as wide as the thin alley, but they were easily climbed, and the two found themselves in an entirely different part of town.

"How quick is this stop going to be? We're already going to be late," Ahkmen said, but continued to follow Piye without fail.

"Wouldn't worry about it," they assured as they directed him into a tent of red and purple drapes.

Smoke welled in the ceiling, already uncomfortably low for Ahkmen, and even worse for Piye. It must've been important, whatever Piye was trying to do, as they were particularly sensitive about their height at times, and tried not to draw attention to it. The only true light inside the tiny shop was the burning incense, and what little sun could make it through the dark fabric that made up the ceiling and walls. When Ahkmen caught the scent, he recognized it easily––myrrh.

"What are we doing here?" Ahk whispered, trying to look over Piye's shoulder as they led the way through continuous halls of silk.

"Yogi?" Piye said, knocking against the first hard surface they could find.

There was a moment of silence before the wall of satin before him rustled, rippling till it split open to reveal you; a small, foreign child about his age, with a bright red dot on your forehead above wide eyes. His heart thumped erratically as you met his gaze. While he couldn't directly place where you were from, the style of your home and lavish clothes as well as your facial features assured him you were not Egyptian.

"Be needing something, Piye?" You said in a thick accent, looking up at the magi who towered above you.

"One of your drinks," they said. You nodded and ducked back into your room.

"We don't need more to drink," Ahkmen whispered.

"It's a hangover cure. You'll be wanting it."

"Oh."

A moment later you returned, two clay cups in hand swirling with a red mixture. Ahkmen looked suspiciously into the liquid, trying to decipher the ingredients, before Piye knocked their whole cup back and swallowed it in a single gulp. Scuffing his sandal against the floor, he copied his friend's movements.

Sweet, but thick. Like dough, but slimy, and the sensation of it slowly sliding down his throat only brought about more questions as to the ingredients.

"You must be one of their friends," you said once they both finished, handing their mugs to you.

"Well, um..." Ahkmen looked up to Piye, "yes. We're on our way to Osiris' temple."

"You are, then... students?"

"Yes. I study language and morals, Anpu here studies law," Piye answered for him, patting Ahkmen's shoulder.

"The bell will start soon. You should go, the priests are not made of give," you said as you set the cups aside, showing them out the door.

Blazing sun burnt the back of his eyes as he stepped outside, back into the radiating heat and the empty street, which lay an alley's walk away from the Temple of Osiris. He squinted, searching for the boxes he'd climbed earlier.

"Over here," Piye directed him, and he followed.

"Where's your friend from? Doesn't sound like –"

"- like Egyptian is their first language," Piye finished. "I've never bothered to ask, but if I had to guess, somewhere in the east. Our friendship is mostly limited to school, and medicine."

"They study medicine?" Ahkmen asked incredulously. If you weren't native to Egypt, and it was painfully obvious you weren't, it would be a feat beyond God to achieve any form of education concerning the human body.

"Not proper medicine, mind you. It's back-alley magic," Piye said, opening the door to the temple and allowing Ahkmen to pass in front of them.

"Quite literally," Ahkmen mumbled beneath his breath, scanning the main temple for any sign of the priests.

"Right."

"And what was with that fake name?"

"I don't think they –"

"I cannot imagine it will be a fantastic impression on your teachers that you are late on your first day of schooling," came a voice from behind them.

Both Ahkmen and Piye whirled around, wide eyes meeting the High Priest of Osiris, an older man named Yafeu that had never been fond of the royal family. Fortunately, he would not be teaching anyone––the High Priest's position was 'too important' to concern itself with the younger generations teachings. Osiris and his temple required constant cleaning, as well as regularly cleaned offerings of jewels and flowers, plates of delicacies that reached the knee of the massive statue sat at the head of the temple.

In fact, that was where Ahkmen stood; before the statue of Osiris. Somewhere he was not supposed to be.

"We're having trouble finding our class," Piye said before Ahkmen could even think of how to reply.

Yafeu raised a single brow, scanning the both of them with an unimpressed expression. He raised his finger to point at a small door behind Osiris.

"That way."

"Thank you, sir," Piye said with a small bow, taking Ahkmen's hand and rushing him out the door.

While the temple of Osiris held much land, and much of it was occupied by caretakers both priestly and humble, who worked to please Osiris, commoners and non-priests were generally not allowed. Gardens bloomed around the sacred lake, lovingly tended to fit the needs of the temple.

As Ahkmen and Piye walked down the long, open hallway, which on the left side held the many rooms of those working in the temple, and on the right displayed the wealth of the courtyard, the Prince wondered upon the subject of the temple. Very few people were allowed inside––hence his apprehension upon being caught––but considering the amount of people it took to care for the temple, it seemed to him a little unfair that others couldn't come to bow at the statue's feet.

Perhaps the priests, and his father, did not want commoners coming to Osiris with petty issues.

"You handled that quite well," Ahkmen said as he noted the arch to class approaching.

"I fucking hate priests," they seethed, but the expression gave way for a smile in an instant when they both entered the room.

Yafeu might've been old, but the priests that retired into teachers were much older. Last year, Ahkmen's teacher had been a much younger scribe, but this year his class of four would be taught by a priest who had spent his better years tending to Sobek's temple, and consequently had lots of experience with crocodiles. That was about the only interesting thing about the man, except for the fact that his name was Setet, which according to Ahk’s classmate meant 'Daughter of Set'.

A very strange name indeed. Ahkmen let the thought of it occupy his thoughts for a minute or two, but grew quickly bored of the subject, and eventually his mind wandered back to the events of the morning. If Setet had the gall to be this uninteresting, Ahkmen could be allowed time to think and gather himself.

Last night, he thought, chewing on his bottom lip. What had happened?

The details were fuzzy in his head––more a mess of mangled half-memories soaked in beer and wine. According to Piye, who now sat cross-legged on the carpet beside him, something had happened with his friend Panya that made both of them drink a lot of beer. A drinking contest, maybe––Ahkmen was, at times, too prideful for his own good.

Panya couldn't really be considered a friend. She was rarely ever kind to him, and he treated her in much the same light. Despite her crude behavior, she was quite beautiful, and attended the same prestigious school as he did––only in a different class.

What is he talking about? he thought to himself blearily, trying to focus back in on the man in front of him talking.

Then there was the question of you––the pretty little potionmaker––and with that thought implanted in his mind, he left the classroom in every way imaginable except physical.

Ahkmen very rarely met anyone from other countries that weren't royal, so the sudden presence of you was something he could think about for a good, long while as he waited out the school day. He thoroughly enjoyed any research into the cultures and activities of citizens in countries his own and not his own.

You came up about to his shoulder––which meant you were only as tall as Piye's elbow––and your skin was of a darker, more vibrantly red color than those of the Egyptians he usually related himself to. The lighting in your tent had been subpar, making it hard for him to recall what color that dot on your forehead had been. All he could remember was that it existed.

The hangover remedy you had concocted had, without Ahkmen entirely noticing, taken away his headache and minimized his sensitivity to light and sound, which convinced the Prince that you had some sort of schooling behind you. Maybe you weren't as poorly as you looked––all respect to you, of course––and, maybe, you were someone of similar noble standing.

He wasn't sure which theory he liked more.

Unfortunately, he couldn't remember your name, and now that class had started he would have to wait until lunch to ask Piye.

When midday finally did come around, he, Piye, and the other two students in his class were excused to the garden. In the center of the courtyard, the High Priest readied himself for the midday ceremony by bathing in the sacred lake placed there by hand. Clerks and jewellers flitted about from place to place, carrying the finished products of beautiful works that would never see the light of day beyond Osiris' temple. Similarly, weavers and barbers tended to Yafeu as he bathed in preparation.

"What was that eastern brewer's name again?" Ahkmen asked, tugging on Piye's skirt as he attempted to catch up with their long strides.

"The one from the alley? Yogi," they said with a curious tilt of their head. "Why?"

"Oh, I've been thinking about it all morning. I couldn't remember but I know you called them by name."

"Right. Hungry?" Piye asked, stopping before the door to the kitchens.

"I want to find Panya first," Ahk said as he scanned the courtyard.

"Well I want to eat. If you want to try and wade through that crowd for a woman who hates you, go ahead," Piye said, waving him off before promptly slamming the door behind them as they left.

"... right," Ahkmen muttered to himself under his breath.

There were far too many people going about the temple that, standing from his position, it was impossible to see everyone. One thing he did know about Panya, though; she always brought her own food and always sat alone.

Ten minutes later Ahkmen found himself yelling up into a tree that Panya had managed to scale.

"Get lost, goldie!" She yelled from above, picking one of the dates and lobbing it at his head. He dodged, eyes darting down at the ground, where the date had made a dent in the dirt.

"Come on, I just have a question!" He said, squinting from the sun shining directly above him.

"The answer's no. Now go away! You're going to attract one of the priests with all that yelling," she said, cocking her chin into the sky.

"Oh, fuck you," he muttered as he at last looked down, his neck sore from craning it so long. So much for figuring out last night.

As he made his way back to the kitchens, he crossed the middle of the courtyard and spied through the pillars of stone the open door of the inner temple. Inside grew an ethereal blue light, surrounding the figures of stone, warped with smoke as Yafeu knelt to his knees before Osiris. His mouth moved in constant prayer, but Ahkmen could not hear from his distance. He could only watch.

Until one of the clerks shut the door.

He frowned, but headed on his way, soon sliding in next to his friend, Piye. They had taken a seat on one of the many carpets set out on the floor, the open roof allowing sunlight to flood the otherwise dark room. All that protected the students and chefs from the heat of the sun, as well as the heat of the ovens, was the thin tarps covering the majority of the ceiling, though not entirely. There was still room for a couple rays of unbroken sun.

"Find her?" Piye asked through a mouthful of food.

"Yes, but she wouldn't talk to me," Ahk said, irritant in his movements as he began to eat his own lunch.

"Sounds like her."

By the end of school, the sun was already cresting the horizon of low mountains, leading his shadow to tall heights as he walked with Piye, their backs to the sun. Inside the courtyard of the temple, servants and workers planted seeds in the black mud gathered from the Nile's banks. Outside it, however, bustled the busy life of Memphis markets that always received the most amount of patrons after school and work was finished for the day.

Wading through the crowd had always been more of an art than anything, though Ahkmen couldn't practice that art very well with Piye beside him. They stuck out horribly, too tall to duck beneath the swaying barrels and baskets, and unable to pass people by without seeming rude.

"Oh shit!" Ahkmen exclaimed in a moment of remembrance, raising his hand to stop Piye. "I remember why Panya came over."

"Really?" They pulled both of them to the side, pressed against a restaurant wall. "What was it?"

"Drinking contest. Remember last Friday? We had that bet and then I lost, and I had to give her one of my necklaces, but I couldn't part with any of mine, so I just stole my mother's. Then my mother started asking questions, and... oh fuck. Mother's going to kill me," Ahk said with wide eyes, raising his hands to cover his mouth.

"I would love to help you out with this problem, but she's really not going to do anything, and I need to help my father collect ingredients from the market. Is that alright?"

"Yes, I... I understand. Any advice though?"

"Go find Yogi. They might be able to help. See you," they said as they turned and left, all but their shoulders and head disappearing in the crowd.

Ahkmen had little on his persons except the clothes he wore, and the bands he had on his arms marked him as royal. They could not be sold, bartered, or traded in any way, as any non-royal found wearing them was jailed or enslaved. He could not give them to Panya in exchange. Panya might've been annoying, but she didn't deserve something like that.

Since that was the only idea he had, he found himself sneaking back towards Osiris' temple, and going through the streets leading to it in hopes of finding that alleyway once more. It was less of an alley and more of a space between two close buildings, but that distinction easily led him back to climbing over boxes of storage.

In the warm blush of evening, it was hard to make out the different alleys leading to this singular space between buildings, where nothing had been built except that tent of yours. It appeared as though you had blocked it off purposely––made your home secret for a reason.

Questions swarmed his head as he ducked beneath the flap of your home, watching his head for anything hanging too low. He raised his hand, searching for a hard surface––something to rapp his knuckles on, as Piye had.

"Uh... Yoshi?"

"My name is not that. Do not call me that," you said, walking out from behind what Ahkmen thought was a wall. He nearly jumped at your sudden appearance.

"Sorry. I was, um, here this morning, with my friend Piye? They said you might be able to help me," he said in a rambling manner, playing with his fingers.

"What help you need?"

"I had a bet with this girl from my school, and she ended up with my mother's necklace, and I need that necklace. My mother was asking me about it earlier, so I know she's noticed."

"Hmm..." you glanced to the side, placing your hands on your hips. "What was.. your bet on?"

"Drinking contest."

"Ah," you said with a sudden smile. "No problem. You find your girl, bring her here. I will give her my beer."

"You brew beer?" Ahkmen asked incredulously, his eyes widening. Beer-making was something generally reserved for adults.

"I do many things. Do not worry. She will not die," you said, shaking your head as though that would assure him.

"Why would she die?!" Ahkmen asked with even larger eyes.

"I just tell you she will not die! Now go grab her. I will be here with your cups. Tell her you want to do it again," you said, pushing him out the door. He was not at all swayed by your efforts, but allowed you to move him anyway, and soon he stood outside in an evening where the sun had set too fast.

A chill ran over his skin, at which point he acutely missed the warmth of your tent. How you kept it so comfortable, as well as clean in there was a mystery, but that was not at the forefront of his thoughts. Instead he tried to recall where Panya might be––perhaps at school, perhaps at home, or maybe with her friend. She only had one.

After clambering back over the wall of boxes and crates, he snuck back into the courtyard of the temple, keeping a careful eye on any movement he saw. The task proved hard after about five seconds of being in there, as the next ceremony was soon approaching. The Priests would put Osiris to rest for the night.

In several of the rooms he passed, he found other children of noble bearings discussing quietly with the older priests and clerks, who passed the time of their elderly years raising the next generation. He checked each door, but in the end he found Panya on the edge of one of the creeks that ran like veins with the lifeblood of the Nile.

"Can we talk now?" He asked, taking great enjoyment in her surprise as she turned.

"I'd prefer we didn't," she said, turning back to look at the river.

"If I recall correctly," which he did not, "I won last night's contest, right? That puts us at a tie."

"You big liar," said Panya, who also did not recall the events of last night. "I quite distinctly remember rubbing your face in my win."

"Come now, all I'm offering is one more drinking contest. You get to get drunk for free. If you win, I... I'll owe you one favor. One thing you ask of me, I'll do, no questions asked. If I win, I get that necklace back."

"You're vain sometimes, you know that?" She said in a quieter voice as he stood to face her, watching her fingers play with the massive emerald that now dangled from her shoulders.

"So are you."

She raised an unimpressed brow, scanning the Prince before she sighed, closing her eyes.

"Very well. Is Piye going to be overlooking it again?"

"No, no," Ahk said with a dismissive hand, dropping his other to grab Panya's hand and direct her along. "They're busy tonight. I've got someone else on board."

It took a little convincing to get the noble girl to climb up and over the boxes for a secret part of the city, but he eventually won her over and directed her inside your tent. She was about your height––maybe a little taller––and had no problems standing in your low-roof home. Ahkmen on the other hand took a seat as soon as he could.

You introduced yourself with a small bow, bringing forward a low table with a long strip of embroidered cloth, upon which you placed four small cups built of what appeared to be clay. All of this you did in a smooth, practiced swoop that lasted only a moment before Ahkmen was forced to face Panya once more.

Ahkmen might've been a desperate man––in more than one sense of the word––but he would not resort to cheating by stealing. Not to good people. Thus he would keep his word concerning the prizes of the competition, no matter how certain he was that he would fail.

He was a prince, accustomed to constant fine wines and thick beer that smelled strongly of alcohol. A sipper in small amounts.

Panya was not. She had quite a lot of money like his family, but she was far more connected with the world of other teenagers than Ahkmen was.

"I like you to state what you will win if you... win," you said, standing beside the table Ahk and Panya sat at. "That way, it is honest."

"If Panya wins, she can tell me to do one thing that I must do without question. If I win, I get that necklace back," Ahk said as he pointed to each of the things he referred to.

"Okay. Let us begin!"

Four cups. Two on either side of the centerpiece of the table. Ahkmen reached forward at the same time as Panya, grabbing the cups from the right and downing both of them quick as he could. The less he thought about it, the better. Panya soon copied him, finishing much faster than he had, and slamming the cups down so hard he nearly jumped.

"Good start," you said with a nod. "Feel good?"

"I feel about myself," Ahk offered.

"Then you have not drinking enough." You brought out another four cups in a flash. "Try not to let any of it fall!"

It burned his throat––physically burnt it from the alcohol level. No beer or wine had ever done that before, and he nearly spit it out, but managed to swallow it and hide his teary eyes at the same time. He then watched Panya carefully for any reaction, and noted the same surprise in her expression.

"Is a bit stronger. That is how my game works. By your six rounds, it only takes a cup to get a little," you grinned and rolled your eyes in two different directions. Ahk raised his brows, unable to look away, but said nothing.

"God damn," Panya said after downing the second cup of her's on the table. "Where do you get this stuff?"

"I make it. It is levels of dizziness."

"Do you mean drunkenness?" Ahkmen asked, looking apprehensively down into his second cup.

"Whatever. It is family's secret. I sell it to markets, get a good price, people like becoming drunk," you said with a shrug, taking the old cups, and refilling them with yet another mixture.

"Come now, Ahk," Panya chuckled from across the table. "Gotta finish that second cup if you're gonna challenge me to this kind of a competition."

Ahkmen glared at her for a moment before raising his cup to his lips, knocking it back as he attempted to once again ignore every sensation happening in his throat.

"Good boy," you said, taking his cup and setting it on the shelf behind you.

Four more cups were then placed on the table, and the drinking continued.

By the fifth round, he was already inebriated, his tongue soaked in the numbing powers of this drink you had concocted. There was a part of his not-all-there brain that thought you had taken this drink from the underworld; some sort of backwards world where the Nile flowed with pure alcohol.

If you were telling the truth, and he quite well trusted your word this far, he could be dizzyingly intoxicated with your next drink. He barely had the state of mind to look at Panya, much less decode her own level of drunkenness. That left him blind to the status of his likelihood of winning. And yet, when the next cup was set down in front of him, he gulped it like a sober brewer. Panya did the same.

"Feeling a little of it now?" You asked with a grin.

"Some... something dike lat," he mumbled, his mouth smushed against the hand he supported his head on.

"Do you one finish?"

"... what?" Panya asked, her brow furrowed as she stared intensely at you.

"Do one of you give up?" You tried.

"Hell no," Panya said with an adamant shake of her head. "Get me another!"

"Me too!" Ahk said, raising his hand high as his head fell to the table, knocking against it with a loud thunk. He hissed, curling back on himself with little grace.

Panya snorted, leading into a long laugh as she cherished the look of drunken disdain painted over the Prince's face. You said nothing, but went to fulfill their requests, returning with the same drink as the last one.

"This my strongest drink. What you had before. It is good for you!"

"It may be good for me, but I think my friend over there is going to pass out," Panya said, grabbing you by your collar and forcing you to lean down so she could talk closer to your ear. You giggled.

"You have big strength," you said, stepping away as she downed yet another drink.

"Thank you, uh.. what's... your name?"

"... it is Yogi."

"Well then, Yogi. Another!"

If you had some sort of secret plan to get him to win, he was desperate to see it. This drink of yours had only seemed to be detrimental to him, not to Panya, and anxiousness stewed as he glanced into his cup. She was already ahead of him––to equalize the cards, he had to drink another cup, just to be equal.

You reentered the room as he knocked it back, carrying two more cups. When he set his cup down, you placed the others in front of him, and grabbed the empty one to clean it.

Ahkmen looked up, and through the haze of his thoughts, he might've seen you wink at him with a sly smile. Maybe. It was also possible you had just blinked and his eyes were being slow.

He grabbed his cup, and before he could think about it he chugged it. In a horrifying moment of clarity, he recognized the drink he'd had that morning––some sort of hangover cure that felt like smooth, squishy mud in his mouth. You returned a minute or two later, more drinks in hand. By then your mixture took effect, and much of his wooziness faded away, bringing him back to the land of sobriety before being offered his next cup.

It was all he needed.

Panya went on for a good long while, but without the special concoction she lost by the tenth round. During that time, Ahkmen had plenty enough beer, and had returned to the spinning thoughts of his alcohol-fueled brain, now focused on the one who had helped him so readily––you.

"What are – are you gonna do with... her?" Ahkmen asked through a half-stuffed nose, gesturing weakly to Panya, who had passed out in the corner only moments earlier.

"Do you know her parents?"

"... sort of," he answered vaguely. He definitely knew about them. Her father was Yafeu, and though he did not like Ahkmen, Ahkmen had a fair amount of information about him.

"Will they... scared, about her going.. missing?" You said, slowly piecing together a sentence you had clearly never said in Egyptian.

"You mean does she have to be home tonight?"

You nodded.

"She'll be fine. Her father will... worry, a little, but she can say she was sleeping in a friend's house. They won't.. uh... worry," he said in a mumble, laying his head to rest on your table.

"Then we put her to sleep. Let her rest for a while," you said, bowing your head as you collected the rest of the cups, disappearing behind yet another wall.

He tapped his fingers against the wood, keeping them close to his eyes so as to see his hand better. A long sigh left him.

"Will you go home? Or stay?" You asked upon your return.

"I – I have a lot of answers for you," he said, suddenly quite vindictive and stern as he pointed to you with a shaky finger. "And I want you.. to question..."

He trailed off as he realized his mistake. Embarrassment was clear on his face as he shriveled into himself, but you just giggled, sitting down across from him with a large bag in your lap.

"What is your questions?"

"What's your name? Your full name. You don't... seem happy when.. people say Yogi," he said, resting the majority of his weight on the pillows built up against one of the rare solid walls.

"Well, I come from a long travel. My name is not something many know here," you said with a shrug, digging your hands into the bag and rooting around it. "It is Yogasundari."

"Y.. yogetsury?" He tried on his clumsy tongue.

"Yogasundari. It is okay you can not say it. It is why most call me Yogi."

"So – where do you come from then? If y-you come from," he pushed down a hiccup, "from far away?"

"The east. My city was named Harappa. We live in a beautiful river, like you," you said, smiling a soft, thoughtful smile as you recalled images of your past. "Our city was great. Had all things. But my family is poor and it is easy to live here. We can make our own great.. um..."

"Riches?"

"Yes! Gold, and – and silk, you have, but we change the shape of iron," you said, your grin spreading into excitement. "We have good drinks. You want them here, so we come here, and we live much better than we live in Harappa."

"So you're... here with your family?" He asked in genuine curiosity, looking up at you from his collapsed position on the floor.

Your expression fell away, and an anxiousness overtook your demeanor.

"I was," you said, then frowned with spiteful eyes. "Those kings of yours kill my family, sell them. I love this, the river, but your kings are unjust. They take my parents and I never saw them again."

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It is okay. It is not your fault. I have a good home and I know how to stay away from soldiers. They go everywhere in this city. Not like my home. So that is why I am here," you said, gesturing to the patterned cloths that made up your ceiling.

"And it's just you here?"

"There is the cat," you said, looking back down to his chest, where unbeknownst to him, a thin, hairless cat had made a bed.

"Oh," he whispered softly, taken aback.

The purring was nice––actually, most of the cat's presence was nice, except when he went to pet it, and it raised its' head. At that point he saw the gaping holes where eyes were supposed to be, where they probably once were, and he just about jumped out of his skin, and would have if its' claws weren't kneading at his stomach.

"What the fuck," he whispered in a tense breath.

"She is good. Very kind. You do not worry."

"Where'd you find her?" He asked, eyes darting between you and the cat.

"On the street," you said, nodding. "She comes in for eating at some times."

"... delightful."

"What of you?" You asked. "What are you from?"

"I..." he paused, recalling your contempt for the royal family, and then the much earlier occurrence of Piye using a cover name. "... my father's a priest at Osiris' temple. Not the High one, but.. one of them. That's why I go to school there, and that's how I met Panya."

"Are you good friends?"

"Not really," he chuckled. "We have our fights but I respect her, most of the time."

"More with Piye, then?"

"Mm... yeah. How'd you meet them?"

"You have to ask them. They came in my home one day and asked for my brew."

"Which one?"

"The good one," you said with a wink that had Ahkmen snorting. "I have forgot to ask your name. Your friends name you two things."

What had Piye called him that morning? Panya had used Ahk, that he knew definitively.

"Ak'anpu," he answered after a moment's thoughts.

"It is a nice name," you said, bringing your lips to a glass contraption. With one flame on the other end, you breathed in deeply, exhaling thick clouds of smoke that easily outweighed the smoke of incense already flooding the ceiling.

"What is that?" Ahk asked with a groan as he brought himself to sit up, forcing your cat to jump off his middle.

"Shemet. I get it at the markets, by the river. It is good to sleep and calm down. Want to try?" You offered the tool to him.

"Sure," he said, though he was fairly certain he'd already had this before, and that you were simply pronouncing the name strangely.

From the taste alone he recognized it as something he and Piye had used extensively at some points. It didn't pair well with beer, which he knew from experience, so he took only one more puff before handing it back to you with a quiet 'thank you'.

"I must get home to my father, he's –" he tried to stand, falling back down when he tripped over his own feet. "He's gonna want to see me in the morning."

"You are a little... drunk to be seeing a father yet," you said, a grin tugging at your lips.

"That you are most certainly 'bight'," he said as he, again, attempted to stand.

When he nearly caught his head in one of your hanging scarves, you jumped to your feet, grabbing his arm and pulling his whole body back before he ran into it. He stumbled backwards, spinning around just in time to catch himself on the wall with you in front of him.

"Oh..." he stuttered, a warmer blush filling his head as he looked down at you. "I'm.. sorry."

But you just laughed, much harder than the times you had before, till a dark flush built in your creased cheeks, stark against your bright eyes.

"You are funny. It is alright," you said, patting his bare chest. "I don't think I trust you will get home safe."

"Is this because I'm drunk?" He asked in a teasing tone, leaning in closer with his own cocky smile. For a moment he worried your hand on his chest would feel the thundering of his heartbeat.

"It is because you are stupid," you said, ducking out from his grip and pulling the necklace from Panya's neck, handing it to him.

You took his hand in yours, carefully leading him out of your home without wrecking any of it. The ascent over the crates was a little more clumsy than usual, but in the end you both landed safe back in the regular streets of Memphis, the temple of Osiris to your right and the palace to your left.

"Which way is your home?" You asked, looking up at him after you confirmed it to be a vacant street.

"Easy there," he said as he raised his hands defensively. "I'm – can't go home this.. like this. I'm gonna go down to the Nile, and... I'm going to wash up."

"They say not to go by yourself," you said, following him when he turned to the right. "Dangerous animals."

"More guidelines than rules, really," he said as he shambled along. "And I have you now, d–don't I?"

"If fish eat your ass, I am not saving you," you said with a certainty.

Ahkmen spluttered into a laugh.

"What?" You asked, your own smile growing as you watched him, confused.

"Don't – don't ever say that again. Don't talk about anything eating ass," he said through a massive grin.

Once the two of you reached the river, which didn't take long at all, Ahkmen stripped himself of his garments, setting aside his jewelry in a neat row on the banks. His mother's necklace he set on his clothes, making sure not to dirty it in any way.

"It is funny how you Egyptians do this," you said, perching on one of the boulders present.

"Do what?" He asked, looking over his bare shoulder. Your eyes darted up from staring at something lower.

"Wash in the river."

"Not everyone does," he said, kneeling in the water. "A lot have small pools in their homes. Mostly the rich, I guess. Everyone else just bathes here."

"Maybe I am just... not knowing much about being without many clothes," you attempted to translate, the words clearly spinning in your head. You looked to him to see if he understood you.

"That I can see," he said, bringing the water over his legs and chest, trailing up to his face. "You've got quite a style. Very.. colorful. It looks expensive."

"I make my own clothes," you said with a small, but proud smile.

"You're a seamster?"

"I am many things."

"So I've seen," he chuckled. "How do you know so many things?"

"I had to learn. I had to teach me, from what I could see my family doing," you said, your feet wagging back and forth from the boulder's height. "I get not many people who.. who buy. But I have many things. I think it helps."

"Impressive," he said softly as he returned to washing himself.

By dunking his whole head into the cool water, he hoped to return more of his senses to himself, and with it his more prolific words. He didn't need drunken sentences messing up your understanding of him further. Besides, it was hard enough on its' own to try and piece together your own sentences that were jargled and brambled words of what you'd picked up in Memphis.

"Are you ready to go?" You asked after having fidgeted for several minutes, now letting your head hang upside-down off the rock.

"I suppose so," he said, rising to his feet. "I think I can probably bathe more once I get home. And if not, the morning will come, and I can wash then."

As spiritual an experience as it was to bathe in the lifeblood of Egypt, Ahkmen couldn't deny he missed the lavender soaps and gentle oils massaged and soaked into the skin.

He stumbled his way back to shore, slipping easily on the slick mud beneath him, making up the fertile silt of the Nile. You laughed from your vantage point, knocking your head back with the loudest belt of a laugh he'd ever heard. It was made especially amusing by the fact that such noise could come from someone so small. By the third time he slipped, though, you spared a little pity and climbed down from your tower to help him.

"You are funny," you said with the brightest grin he'd seen, offering him your hand with a long reach in an attempt to keep your shoes clean. Unlike Ahk's, they were made of a sort of fabric.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his legs shaky from his laughter and yours. "This doesn't usually happen."

He reached forward, setting his hand into yours, and allowing you to direct him forward. To your unfortunate surprise––though, still, very amused surprise––his weight ended up pulling both of you down, slipping into the shallow reaches of the river.

"Oh Gods," he said as he resurfaced. "I am so sorry, I -"

Your clothes, and you, were then soaked in both water and mud that easily stained to the palms of your hands as you hauled your heavy clothes out of the river. Wide eyes looked to him, your mouth open in surprise. He cringed backwards, a horribly apologetic look on his face as he watched you stand, shaking your body to test your new weight.

Glancing around your legs, midsection, and arms, you found mud dug into your elbows, your knees, around your hips, and all across your shoulders.

You laughed. Relief flooded him upon the sight of your smile, covering your mouth with a dirty hand.

"Don't we look like a dream?" You giggled.

[mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune]

Crossover Yandere Delta Warriors And Kris’s Three Souls

-----------------------------

Credit for Steven Universe Series goes to Rebecca Sugar

Credit for Deltarune & Undertale goes to Toby Fox

Credit for Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss goes to Vivienne “Vivziepop” Medrano & Spindlehorse

Credit for Yandere Simulator goes to YandereDev

------------------------

I do plan to post this drawing at the other place I post fan art at.

also the reason why Ayano has different color eyes,

has to do with the Genocide Route, Neutral Route and True Pacifist Route of Yandere Simulator.

like depending how we play, if we go full Geno-Route

our eyes, well Ayano’s eyes....become Red.

but if we befriend a rival and help other students, and not kill anyone in yandere simulator.....

Ayano’s eyes will become blue.

why Sans is wearing Steven Universe’s clothes and Pink Steven being right next to him should be obvious.

it has to do with Sans and Steven being one in the same.

and when the Human Half of Steven died, he was reborn as Sans

but the gem half that makes “Pink-Steven” reforms but Human-Steven is not close by and most likely left to maybe to go live with his new family, his new Dad that speaks in hands and his new little brother Papyrus.

the dark purple soul belongs to Knight, the light turquoise blue soul belongs to Kris, and the Red Soul belongs to the Player.

I believe that before the Player’s Red Soul ends up in Deltarune (in Chapter 1), the Knight who is the Dark Purple Soul had made Kris’s life miserable by pulling dark pranks on others, even if Kris could pull some pranks....they would not willingly cross the line, that would be the Knight’s doing.

yeah I have a theory that the Knight had done dark pranks by making Kris do them and making everyone believe it was Kris, while technically it was but at the same time it was against Kris’s will.

think about it, we never did any of those dark pranks that those in Deltarune mention.

so it makes sense that it is the work of the Knight, who’s soul has been controlling Kris before we got there.

and the only time Knight does take control,

is when they are about to do something sneaky and they rip our soul from Kris’s body and the reason why Kris doesn’t fight back is because the Knight is much stronger than them.

it is possible that the only time we are stronger than the Knight, is during the day time in the Lightner’s World and when we are in the Dark World.

but once Nighttime happens, the Knight has the power to control Kris and pull us the Players.

so if this is true, this means that Kris has two souls in them trying to fight for control.....one being the villain known as the “Knight”

and the other being us the Player, the Red Soul.

I see that as fan headcanon.

in theory if the Crystal Gems and Connie, didn’t know that Steven died and became Sans.....

like it happen some time after the end of Steven Universe Future.

Sans might have Alphys help with that, by cloning a homunculus steven body, that the Pink-Steven will be put in and make it so that no one knows Steven had died and became a Magical Talking Skeleton.

well that could be one way to keep the Crystal Gems, Connie, Greg and everyone else from Beach City from finding out what happen to Steven....if he had died off-screen and was brought back to life by Gaster as Sans.

I would like to see a crossover fan art with the meme

Gaster: *hugging Sans* stay away from my Son. 

Greg Universe: but he’s my Son!!

Gaster:.........Stay Away From YOUR Ex-Son......who is now MY Son.

even if we love Steven Universe

(and some of us do love Steven Universe Future)

at least we now know now that the Steven Universe Future,

was NOT the start of Steven’s problems......it was just the boiling point.         

Greg was not a great dad, something we should of seen from the start of the first Season but couldn’t.

I plan to re-watch the first series of Steven Universe, to really watch it

and notice the stuff that we never truly notice before....

like even if the Crystal Gems did make some mistakes with how they treated Steven most of the time during his childhood.

and Amethyst did start to become a better big sister to Steven,

like with the whole finding out his Mom is Pink Diamond.

even if not a lot of fans liked Steven Universe Future, because of different reasons....

but we have to acknowledge the problem Steven was having didn’t start in the Steven Universe Future.....it started in the first series.

even if Steven had his good days, he did end up with trauma and he didn’t see a doctor until Steven Universe Future....

which you can thank his “Ex-Dad Greg” for that.

most families have excuses for not being able to go to a doctor.

after becoming rich, Greg could of hired Steven a tutor

and send him to school.....though I don’t think you have to be rich to do that.....at least I don’t think so.

but we can’t place the blame on Steven, even if his Human and Gem Family loves him dearly....

it doesn’t help that Greg and Connie form a “Human Beings Club”

kind of excluding Steven and making him feel a type of negative emotion.

I believe what Steven was feeling when he also says “human beings.”

was a type of negative feeling, but like still wanting to be included in the human bonding that his Dad and Best Friend (Future Girlfriend) were having.

Greg was a bit disappointing in the episode where he took Steven to where his parents lived.....

just when Steven was becoming more better and even enjoyed finding out about his Dad’s past.....Greg only made things worse again,

when he couldn’t understand why his own son was upset with him.

 there might of been more to the story of Greg’s Parents than what Greg told so far.....it is possible that one of Greg’s parents had very sensitive hearing and couldn’t handle really loud music.

and Greg could of broke that rule many times and that is why his parents don’t allow any music in the house.

even if that episode tried to play that Greg was a victim, it might not be 100% true.....

yes Pink’s punishments were unjust at times, but we have to remember how bad she was before she given Earth.

so most of her punishments were just, meaning she deserved them.

while other times she didn’t deserve them at all.

the problem might be that both Greg’s Parents

and Blue & Yellow Diamond, would punish Greg and Pink even at times when they didn’t deserve it.....

but it could be that before they did start punishing them,

they let them get away with so much and one point both of them crossed a line that it became too much for Greg’s Parents and even Yellow & Blue, and they had no choice but to ground them

to Greg’s Room and Pink’s Tower.

once again the problem with Steven

didn’t start in Steven Universe Future,

it started at the very beginning in Steven Universe.

the the boiling point maybe started in the Steven Universe Movie,

then the breaking point started in the Steven Universe Future.

not all fans of Steven Universe, have to like Steven Universe Future.

I happen to love Steven Universe, Steven Universe Future and the Movie.

but we have to try to come to terms that the problems Steven was having, didn’t start in Steven Universe Future.

it started in Steven Universe, and even if not a lot of fans will accept that.....well it is their choice, and they should accept it by their own free will to.

I do plan to re-watch the first series to see if Steven had more than one bad experience which would of been one of the first problems he had before his breaking point in Steven Universe Future.

I know at first I thought of the Steven Universe Future

as the time he had his boiling point, but in correction it would be his breaking point that would get worse over time.

the boiling point would be the first stage, which would start in Steven Universe Future.....when more of his mother’s past misdeeds would come to light.

 the breaking point would slowly consume and get stronger for Steven, to the point where he would end up becoming Monster-Steven.

Steven becomes a gem monster because of all the negative emotions,

he only gets better once everyone realize what they didn’t do for him.

being there for him when he needs it.

at times we could pretend that everything is fine for others,

like acting like we are only a little sad but doing pretty okay now.

but that might not be for the best....even if we might think it is.

          Sans might be a future version of Steven,

who had gotten better and learned from his past, but could still hold on to some form of bitter memories.

like what if the one calling Connie, when Steven proposed to her...

wasn’t Connie’s Mom but was a Boy that Connie was Dating.

and she still liked Steven, but couldn’t bring herself to tell Steven.

well hopefully that isn’t true and that was just Connie’s Mom.

we know that a lot of fans were worried for their ship.

well the Sadie and Lars Ship had became the Friend Zone Ship.

meaning it went from “I Ship It” to “I Bud It”

Shep seems nice though, when I did first see them on the opening I didn’t know if they were a boy or a girl.....

but it turns out they are nonbinary, so it’s nice that the episode where they officially appeared on (as well as their bio.) had confirmed Shep’s identity.

I think I still need to figure out the whole Gyno-Agender

or Feminine-Nonbinary thing.....

I wonder how many fans of both Yandere Simulator and Undertale/Deltarune.....

would think that Fun-Girl from Yandere Simulator,

reminds them of Gaster....?

well Fun-Girl does remind me of Gaster, it be nice if both games did canon crossovers.

well there is that Yanderetale,

but maybe that is only Semi-Canon.....maybe?

there is another crossover drawing I did, that has to do with Undertale/Deltarune and even another game....

but I will wait until tomorrow to post it.

hope some of you like this drawing.

I wonder if it be weird to Crossover ship Sans x Collin....?  

I will think about it, but it might leave me a little sheepish. lol