#some were hurt and all were very scared but

[gyaruhana]

pls do thanos headcanons

Thanos/Choi Su-bong - headcannons

Synopsis: just sfw and nsfw headcannons of thanos

A/N: i love him so much he's the silly

Warnings: drug mentions, choking, thanos is rough, use of whore, clit pinching, penetration duh

SFW:

➠ Thanos my perfect husband where do I even begin?

➠ He’s slightly off the rails, sure. Just a little. But he has a good heart !!

➠ He makes rap songs for you all the time and they always include something about how pretty you are

➠ Would absolutely kill for you especially if you both were in the squid games.

➠ He’d likely keep playing the games because he needs that money but he WILL be protecting you at all costs.

➠ You are never not by his side because he couldn’t handle not having you in arms reach in a deadly game. 

➠ He doesn’t like when other guys flirt with you. It pisses him off and he always gets aggressive about it and tells them to back off.

➠ Highkey likes the idea of matching things like nails or clothes or bracelets..

➠ To him it’s like a sign that you’re his and he really likes when people can clearly get the message

➠ He’s not overly possessive, he’s just very open with his relationship and likes to show you off just as much as he likes for you to show him off

➠ PDA king

➠ Really doesn’t shy away from any sort of PDA

➠ In fact he’s always touching you. Whether it’s holding your hand, a hand on your waist, his arm draped over your shoulder - he’s never not touching you

➠ Would share his drugs with you if you need them because you’re stressed or scared. 

➠ Overall, just a silly guy who loves you so much and does not hesitate to show it

NSFW

➠ He’s rough, let's be real. 

➠ He really likes making you cum over and over again 

➠ He’s very vocal and will gladly groan as loud as he wants too but it’s also partly to encourage you to be loud because god he loves your voice !!

➠ Even though he’s rough, he makes up for that with words of praise

➠ ..okay sometimes he throws in the word whore but he always specifies that you’re his whore or his slut

➠ Honestly, sometimes takes a pill before sex because he”s so much more energetic when he’s high and it means he has more stamina

➠ Accidentally over-stimulates himself sometimes though because he can NOT !! get enough of you

➠ Don’t think he’s a big fan of putting you in pain. Some light choking, yes, maybe he’d pinch your clit while fingering you - but he wouldn’t hurt you enough to make you cry. 

➠ He only wants you crying from pleasure not from pain !!

➠ Tbh he likes to cum all over you. Inside, outside, down your throat- everywhere

➠ Overall, he rough in bed but not abusive bc he could never hurt his princess !!

"C'mon, you can cum one more time for me, yeah?" he spoke as he thrusted in and out of your tight hole. He had already gotten you to cum four times but he was going for a fifth. His thrusts were sloppy but his cock reached so deep inside you that you were seeing stars. Meanwhile, his thumb was playing with your clit, rubbing circles on it and occasionally pinching it. "Fuck.. yeah. Cum on my cock princess. I wanna feel my whore cream,"

[calypso-apologist]

Could you do Hermes and/or Apollo head-cannons if there s/o is like a princess but her father (the king) was both verbally and physically abusing her thx :)

tumblr user arsonist123 really making me reconsider adding the heart after every post's title but i'm commited to the aesthetic

Hermes and Apollo with an abused princess darling ♡

Hermes

Hermes is the type of guy to straight up kidnap you. Consensually, of course. If you'd let him, he would absolutely just pick you up and fly off, giggling loudly.

But of course, you're too kind for this world despite all the suffering and hardships you've endured and you don't want to leave the people in your kingdom with the tyrant king.

It's adorable, of course, but come on, the kidnapping thing would've been so much fun!

Still, Hermes adores your cute self too much to just go against your wishes like that. And so he starts to think of a plan to get you to himself. He might be getting some tips from Athena, but he decides those are too boring. And then he has the brilliant idea to ask Zeus for help.

Because asking Zeus about romance obviously always works well.

Still, no matter who helped, Hermes did come up with a plan! Sort of.

His plan is to quite literally scare your father shitless. He uses his role as the Messenger God and delivers your father a very scary (and very fake) prophecy from Apollo himself. Yes, he got his help to write it. To make it more believable.

And then cashed in a few favors, getting Zeus and Poseidon to cause some nasty storms around your island. Maybe some shitty crops if Demeter agrees to help. And maybe a tiny plague with Apollo's help.

And the "prophecy" clearly states your father has to give up his crown to you and leave the palace to live as a beggar among his people.

And it also includes you making a visit to a certain god's temple to get his blessings and so the curse placed on your land is undone. A temple that belongs to someone who's not afraid to... send a message.

Of course you go to his temple, knowing damn well who the "prophecy" was about. And you confront him about it, flicking his nose.

"You've made the whole prophecy thing up, didn't you, Hermes?"

You only get laughter in response.

Apollo

When he learned that his precious little ray of sunshine is getting hurt, he comes up with a plan.

Now, of course, he'd be delighted to simply shoot your father, but that would put you at risk of being given away to one of your suitors.

The suitors you, of course, keep refusing, absolutely enamored with the God who composes songs and speaks poetry just for your ears each night.

And so, he plans to free you in a way that you'll probably consider very sweet and romantic.

He disguises himself as an artist, a musician, who wishes to work in your father's palace and asks for your hand in marriage.

Of course, while your father laughs at him marrying you, he does enjoy music, so he lets the mysterious man stay and play for him.

He is immediately the only one you care about, sneaking away whenever you can. You're happy! You're just so happy that he's there, always giving you that soft, adoring look as he subtly serenades you, his words so masterful that only you understood, everyone else assuming his songs were about the beauty of nature.

Eventually, even if it takes weeks or maybe even months, he softens your father's heart and asks again to have you as his bride.

It's worth noting that with just how your father has grown to adore the new musician, he's also stopped harming you in any way, easily soothed into sleeping if he was nearby, charmed by Apollo's words.

And then, once the king finally agrees, Apollo reveals himself as the god of music and poetry, taking you away from your father's kingdom...

And then he still shoots him, of course.

[elysiae]

do you think operator & drifter treat their warframes wildly differently?

somewhat insufficient TLDR: i think the operator and drifter are emotionally attached but in vastly, strikingly different ways, and it manifested very, very differently too.

in operator's case, it isn't that they dont *care*, but they know how durable a warframe is. they know they can take one hell of a hit, and they'll be okay because that warframe takes the brunt of it (albeit with some phantom pain if the damage is bad enough). theyre less comfortable outside the confines of those large, bulky war machines because they know they're ultimately safe. those warframes can take hits. they cannot. the operator knows they were people, but they never met those people before the tragedy. besides... a lot of them really are just empty shells. they're hardly the people they once were, especially since they recreated those warframes from blueprints. don't get me wrong, they do remember the anguish of the originals - they were there, they lived it, and they still have empathy for them... but the operator knows the limits of every warframe like the back of their hand - they can maneuver however they want, they can take hits, they can run into armies and not be too afraid because they (as in the operator and the warframe this time) be fine. even if the warframe is damaged, they can fix the damage, so no harm done.

but drifter on the other hand? at first i think they never really realised the power they had. in their mind they were still them, just running, rolling on the occasion, it took them ages to maneuver those things *properly*, and probably only ever really learned with the operator's guidance. they would not let a warframe take a hit, not because they felt empathy for it (at least not a lot, last i checked you kind of need at least *some* to have effective transference?) but because they were so used to walking around vulnerable. yknow, not inside a killing machine. but what would've really solidified the difference was after they went to 1999. sure, hearing that these things used to be people is one thing, but at the end of the day, to drifter, they're still just machines. drifter never got to experience what the tenno did, they never had to deal with reaching into their freshly scarred minds to ease their anger, sorrow, fear, rein them in like the terrified animals they were turning into and hush their cries with understanding - they only knew the dead inside remnants... but it's an entirely other thing when you go to the past and see the people who were hurt. you meet them and you get to know them, become their best friends - maybe even date one of them - and it hit drifter like a fuckin' freight train. they have this entirely different view on warframes from that cold perspective they had at first. they weren't just war machines. those are people. every time they go into the head of those machines, they're looking through the eyes of *people.* people who had families and desires and hobbies, things they looked forward to, entire futures ahead of them that were snuffed out. people who were scared, people who didn't know what was happening. people who knew what was happening, who lived in fear knowing they weren't able to stop it... people who lived in fear of losing themselves. and i think it hit drifter a lot harder than they'd ever admit.

but thats not to say one of them is more attached than the other - both of them care deeply about their warframes. it's just that, they have different ways of looking at them. after all their experiences were so vastly different, it'd be impossible to look at them the same way.

(too lazy to type it out all over, but i have an example in the tags i think kinda helps pull it together more)

[ttwwiiissttyy]

arcane characters, but with things that have happened to me in the year of 2024:

caitlyn: broke up with my ex (of a year n some change) then got asked out the following day after i told someone i was newly single.

maddie: fell for multiple people that were not over their exes.

vi: fucked up my knee because i fell down the stairs with the third worst cramps i have ever experienced in my life while dressed up as a bbq dad for spirit week.

mel: reconnected with a different ex and laughed at all the dumb shit we did during our relationship/friendship (became rlly good friends again).

ekko: fell for a girl that left me on delivered for 2 months, only for her to respond with a photo of a spider to a very heart filled msg i wrote.

viktor: sat in direct sunlight for an hour after my grandpas funeral and got a sunburn all over my chest and arms. then proceeded to sit in the car for an 8 hour drive that same day going back down south with the sun blasting on my burns.

jayce: was taking a photo of the city scenery and accidentally got a beautiful shot of my friends ass.

jinx: had my own friends debate over my gender and prns in front of me, aware i was in fact there and listening.

heimerdinger: js let a snake wrap around my throat because i thought she was pretty and was too scared to let the snakes attendant know it was starting to hurt.

[simpingforbots]

Transforers Animated.

Optimus Prime

Already having to deal with his team, Prime was not looking forward to taking care of another human. He already had to deal with his team – Bumblebee who acted more like a sparkling, avoididng his responsibilities to have fun and cause mischief, then there is Prowl, who even if was well behaved, his “mysterious aura” did not help him at all to be part of the team, Bulkhead, bless his soft spark, was a bit clumsy time to time and had no control over his strength, which far to often angered Ratchet, their only medick, who loved to grumble about every thing. So he was not looking forward to any more humans to keep optic on. Though you proved to be more capable and responsible then Sari, who of course was a child compared to you, but in retrospect, all humans were like children compared to him, so young and small. You were soft, kind and respectful, a shoulder to vent when ever he felt overwhelmed, reassure him that he was a good leader and that he knew what he was doing. For that Prime was very thankful, feeling a bit more support now. He strated looking forward to your scare visits as you were an “earth adult” with your own responsibilities and rocks on your shoulders. Which was not to bad, but Optimus wanted for you to visit a bit more often and when Sari moved in due to her circumstances an idea popped in Optimus processor - what if you moved in here, there was enough space in the base after all, half of it being used for storage while the other part was left empty. With this in processor, Prime strated arranging things and learning about humans and what kind of habitats they preferred, like warm environment to function and rest in, colder to have a good recharge, preferring different types of colours and styles to decorate the living space, just like any other bot. The room that Prime “chose” for you was by his quarters, so that he can check on you time to time, to make sure you will be okay and safe, knowing how clumsy time to time you were. It was a bit difficult to do this in secret, but explaining all this paint buckets, equipment and other stuff as for Sari’s room, which was not half of a lie, some of it was, Prime was lucky you were so trusting. Though not as lucky as decepticons suddenly attacked your street, causing mayhem and over all damadge. Prime did use this moment as to guide one of the attacks to actually damage your building, putting blame on the decepticons, which you bought quite quickly and Prime was on cloud nine when you accepted the GREATFULL offer of moving in. After this Prime team noticed how “attentive” Optimus become towards you, acting a bit worried for them. He was always around you, checking, making sure you were alright, helping you get to work, of you were hurt he would attend to you, basiclay treating you like some kind of sparkling, even if you were an adult. Ratchet did grumble about it time to time, though he was happy that with you Prime got less in to trouble. When you started dating someone, Optimus was very against it, pulling all kind of strings to make sure that they woud not last, like checking their background, what they did and would go as far as stalk them, even scaring them of time to time. Basiclay being a protective dad-bot over you, so get used to disapproving looks when ever you try to date someone new and them suddenly ghost you.

Bumblebee

Bee did every thing in his power to have fun on this new planet – races, trouble, playing with Sari, videogames, Tv, just anything but work. It was so boring to patrol the city for decepticon’s. What he, a small bot, would do against someone as nut loos as Blitzwing Or Starscream. He just wanted to have fun. He ran in to you in front of the videogame store, staring at the new game called Doom, captivated by the action shown on the TV with wide optics until someone tapped on his peds, making him look down, you were standing there, extending a copy of the game he was staring at, with a smile on your face. It took a while to register what was going on, gently reaching out towards the copy and grabbing it. You thanked him for that one time when he saved you during one of the attacks, and seeing how bot constantly was spotted around here, staring at the display of different game, you decided to buy one for him. Bee was hapy that he got a new game and thanks you from the bottom of his spark. And just like this you two started hanging out more often. You met Sari as well and three of you just hangout, having fun playing games and getting in all sort of trouble. Though as you were an more mature, despite your young age, you also acted as a mother of the group, managing to keep tabs on them and surprised that out of all those alien bot’s the yellow one was the youngest, acting like a teenager, too bored to be cooped up inside and do missions. Bee was also kind of happy that you were there and would get a upset when both you and Sari would have to go attend your human life, like school and work, leaving him all alone. And because of this Bee become more clingy, especialy towards you, wrapping his servos around you when ever you were here, which looked very funny when a bot bigger then a human clung to a small adult like some kind of child, not wanting to be left alone. He did started following you around as well, and the only human he would actually listen to as you did sort of used carrot and the stick method with him. It did help that you used to baby sit your siblings so you knew how to deal with him, even if he was an alien teenage robot. Clingy one.

Bulkhead

This soft giant loved painting - a completely different hobby to what he supposed to be. Of course it was a better choice as he can avoid causing trouble at the base, like breaking Ratchet’s equipment and breaking things. He joined a small club of other artist, joining them in the park to paint scenary in peace and quite, enjoying this peaceful time without much worry. One of this outing you joined in, a new friend to make in this small circle of “people who were familiar with each other” and joined for the class. Bulkhead could see that you were not as good at this, probably trying out something new, and quickly regretting as you looked around, scared. Bulkhead decided to step up, moving a bit closer and showing his canvas, making you calm down a bit as you saw his painting, with him reassuring that you do not have to be perfect to enjoy something, even if you are not good at it. You did calm down a bit, no longer feeling ashamed of your art  and quietly chatting with the bot, asking about him. Soon they started meeting up alone, enjoy the compony of each other, sort of ditching the art class to enjoy their own progress and compony. Though with decepticons your life was in danger at one of the attacks, with Bulkhead having to keep you safe and show his destructive ability, fighting a bigger con – Lugnut. They were measuring in strength, with Bulkhead doing his best to keep the fight away from you and telling you t hide. After this experience big bot avoided you for some time, scared that you will be terrified of him, but to his surprised you were actually seeking him out, worried for the big guy and bringing him more art equipment. So sort of this fight brought you two even closer.

Ratchet

Ratchet was not a big fan of humans and it will take a miracle for him to become friends with one. Or one being a mechanic or engineer. Ratchet would stumble upon you when you were helping Bee out after this reckless idiot got one of his limbs hurt again, leaking oil to quickly and Ratchet could not make it there in time, screaming instruction in to intercom on what to do to prolong his activity. Once he arrived there, medic bot was shocked to see human welding the cuts and stopping the dangerous oil leak on Bee’s body, helping to stabilize young bot’s system. Shocked, Ratchet rushed in, though was pleasantly shocked to see how good the job was done. Grumbling, he moved human away, mumbling a thankyou as he attended back to young bot. The next time he sees this human again was after the battlefield with decepticons, attending to Bulkhead this time, who had a huge hole in his chest. Ratchet, this time, decided to watch how human will manage to fix, ready to shove them out of the way any moment they do anything wrong, kneeling beside them. You just greeted them, too focused on stooping leaking oil and trying to wire things back correctly. It was a good thing as your small hands were of better advantage, quickly fixing up what ever small damadge there was before attending to big one. Ratchet watched you, adding commentary as you worked, which you followed immideatly and soon enough you found your self under his wing, learning how to fix big alien bots for free. You did not complain, preferring to know how to help those huge alien bot’s who were the best line defence against big bad alien bots known as decepticons and their evil plans. Ratchet had you train on small machinery, helping them fix a few things here and there, taking you back to the ship they were on and help fix it up a bit, as much as both of you could, progressing quite well with your small help, able to fit in small spaces and fix issue. And even after that he still kept you under his wing, making sure YOU were alright as well. Any harm fall upon you from decepticon will send him in to rage and he will wreck havoc upon them. Any human will get a scare of their life and if you managed to somehow harm your self – you are not allowed to LEAVE HIS SIDE FOR DAYS!!! It’s not to long after you are officially his subordinate and a new human friend to grumble and fight with autobots when they break something, learning a few colourful words from each other.

Prowl

Prowl would love Earth for the live it had on it, fascinated on how the circle of life functioned here. Thing must die for a new life to thrive, with new life coming from joining of two others and how beautiful it is in all. He would hundred percent would love visiting shrines to feel tranquillity and joing meditation with humans, birdwatching, walking in a park and in general practise tranquillity. Though one day this tranquillity was disturbed as he heard a yelp, opening his eyes and scaning around. A human, hanging of the tree, holding for their dear life, all while the branch was snapping loudly, clearly not able to hold their weight, forcing Prowl to act immideatly, jumping in between trees to get momentum and as the branch finally snap, he managed to get you,  landing carefully on to the ground with you in arms, while you held something else. After some time it something made chirping noice and he looked down, shocked to see a baby chicks, snuggled in your arms, chirping for their mother. Looking up Prowl noticed one of the their creatures of Earth – snake, slithering away from the nest. He can guess why you had a chicks now, you were trying to safe them. Checking on the human, he was pleased to see you well and when he asked what it is you were doing up the tree, you only confirmed his though, though you did add that the chick belong to endangered species, with their mother passing away to keep them safe. Also that you can take them in as you worked in sanctuary. A new place for Prowl to visit and he did, checking on chicks and you as well, learning more about you in return. He found that you were very caring veterinarian, eager to help any living being, though terrified of spider to extend of climbing Prowl when ever the was one in sight, pleading for him to take care of it. It was sort of fun. After some months that Prowl spend in sanctuary helping taking care of chicks it was time to set the free in to the wild, with bends to help track and identify them in case anything goes wrong. Both of you watched them fly away as soon as the cage was opened, up and away. With that you thoug Prowl will no longer visit the sanctuary you worked on, though you were pleasantly surprised to find him there the next day. And the next. Honestly his compony was noce, both caring for life and Prowl did even thought you a few moves to self defend just in case anything goes wrong. And with time you grew on each other, enjoying the presence of your new co-worker, a big alien robot ninja.

[confusedshades]

Okay you know what would work best? Either Steph or Cass. But the dreams start before they're really part of the family.

Here's how it see it going forward (maybe)

CASS

For some reason, she's started having dreams. She's not sure who the boy is or what he wants. He's hurt for sure - she can see the wounds and open fractures etc. but she can't read him. That's what scares her, for the first time in her life she can't read someone through his body language and she doesn't know what he wants.

He always seems to chatter and get her to sit with him. He tried playing a game with her once but that didn't seem to work out well. So now, he invites her to sit next to him and chatters. She doesn't understand any of it. The sounds don't sound like anything else she's ever heard people making to each other; not that she understands any of those sounds either. But sometimes she'll watch his hands as he makes noises and get lost in the soft kind motions of those hands.

It feels nice to have something nice and soft all hers that can't be taken away and isn't anyone else's.

STEPHANIE

Stephanie is tired. Her dad's back from prison again and talking big as he always does. She used to sort of not mind it much earlier - maybe because she didn't quite realise how badly it affected her mom or maybe because she just didn't understand what she was seeing. But maybe it's just that Stephanie doesn't want a repeat of the last time when the police came into their house and broke things and made a mess which she had to clean up because her mom was being asked questions very loudly in the hallway. Or maybe it's because she snuck some computer time at the public library and read various papers about what exactly her dad had done and how many people were hurt. Maybe it's all of them maybe it's none of them.

So yes she's tired and her dad's back and she likes not having to worry about nightmares or waking up more tired than when she went to bed. She's a little confused why her mind's conjuring up Robin, much less an injured one but she's glad when she she's able to meet him in her dreams. Sounds don't make any sense in the dreams and none of the writing they tried in the sand made any sense either (sounds carry across like someone is gagged and mumbling underwater. The one time she tried writing it looked like an infant's scribbles with crayon.) They spend most of the time playing games or just sitting in silence or making noises that make no sense as if telling stories.

She'd once asked a teacher about recurring dreams but that had led to some very strange questions so she'd dropped it. Now she just enjoys the little amount of time she has with something light and the one thing that's uncomplicated in her life.

She also takes it as a sign that maybe her idea of putting on a mask to spoil her dad's plans isn't a bad one. After all, Robin is visiting her dreams most nights. If that's not a sign then what could be.

Prompt:

A bit of dream and time magic become tangled on accident and result in robin!Jason sharing a dreamscape with one of the batfam post Ethiopia.

They can’t talk to or hear each other. They can only see each other.

It takes a while for the future Bat in question to figure out this is not just a nice dream where they get to spend time with a happy, carefree, safe Jason. And now it’s a race against time to find a way to convince him not to go to Ethiopia without using words. :)

[vulpixisananimal]

[A:3 C64] [???] |???| <???>

<<< <<< <<< <<< <<< <<< <<<

[You were watering the small plants outside the greenhouse, listening through the closed doors as you cared for each stem. You liked sticking near where the action was, just in case you were needed. Usually, it was easy to see into the greenhouse, but, not today it seems.]

|You were happily digging up some dirt with your comically oversized shovel for your little body. But that didn’t matter! This was your garden! You had a nice sun hat, and antlers! You wanted a big shovel, you got one. The plants were really restless today, though, why’s that?|

<You were sitting at a table, in a covered patio out of the sun. Your eyes were closed as you mindlessly shuffled playing cards in your hand. You’re not much of a gardener yourself, you liked helping out, sure, but you much prefer cards.>

"-An Islander you say?"

[The voice is muffled by the greenhouse. Again, usually it’s as easy to look through the greenhouse glass as looking through your own glasses! But now it's like there is fog you can't get through. You felt the body talking, responding.]

"Yeah! They raised me. If it wasn'---t----em--"

[You pause watering the plants, stepping back, shaking your head. Something's not right. . . Starsdammit. You bang on the greenhouse door. You need to see what's going on!!!]

|Is everything okay? You walked up to them. You want to see too, what's going on?|

[Now's not the time, you're, trying to focus on what's going on. You bang on the door. Try to open it.]

|Shh, I’m listening. . .|

". . --uld help, after all, just let me take a lo-- a--"

[What are you doing you idiot. What's going on?!? You knew something was up and you shouldn't trust those two, what was that dumbass doing!!!]

|I'm scared, you're scaring me, what's going on?|

[S-sorry, kiddo, I'm sorry I'm trying to remain calm. I just. . .]

". . . -Deal."

[You feel your body shake someone's hand.]

|. . . . . .|

[. . . . Do-]

<Something wrong. You bounded over. Something's very, very wrong!>

[In a blink your mindspace had been invaded. There was a man standing in your garden. He wore a tattered school uniform of some sorts. His hair was a mess, and his body was covered in scars. He was looking around, crouching to see the plants. Who are you! What are you doing here?!?!]

(You turn around. . . Oh! Hello! I didn’t expect to see company! Don’t mind me, I’m just doing some spring cleaning.)

<Sorry but this is a members only garden. You threw a card at the stranger. The card burst into flames midair. What, what in the. . .>

|Get, get outta here!! The plants don't like you, you, y-you BATFACE!!!|

[Why are you here?!? Explain yourself!!]

(No, no I don’t think I will. . . You think for a moment, ah part of the deal was. . . Yes, to help them get stronger and clear up their head! And that meant that, well, sorry, but that means you need to go.)

[In an instant you feel the world warp. The garden you had spent so long to maintain was being, changed, unearthed. Vines were overgrowing.]

<You tried swiping at the stranger but you were just thrown back. No, not going to work, greenhouse! You run to the greenhouse, it wont open- Dammit there’s a lock!!>

|I'm scared.|

[What are you doing?!?!? WHY are you doing this!?!?]

(It won’t hurt, I promise. Just relax, it’s just a long, long nap.)

[You feel the earth open up beneath you. You fall into the dirt, the world closing in around you. You open your mouth to scream. Nothing comes out. You can't escape.]

[You're buried alive, in your own mind.]

[. . . . .]

[. . . . . Can, anyone else hear me?]

[. . . . .]

[. . . . You're getting sleepy.]

[. . .]

[. .]

[.]

>>> >>> >>> >>> >>> >>> >>>

[Your hand pierces the topsoil for the first time in what feels like months, years, even. Yet at the same time it was like only a few moments passed! Your whole body, head, mind, soul, all felt so tired and dead and exhausted and. . .]

[. . . . The garden. . .]

[Your plants, so carefully tended to, all dead. The gardens were all overrun with mint. Mint that was slowly dying. You look around, everything was a mess, and the sun was gone. Maybe that's why the mint was finally dying. . . Wait.]

[A few feet away there's dirt trying to move. You pull yourself out and walk over. With a hand you find whatever's in the dirt. Please be okay please be okay please be okay- Jasmine!!! Are you okay?!?]

|Sniffle. Alex. . . Alex my garden. . .|

[I'm sorry Azzy, stars I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what happened I'm, oh stars. . .]

|Are, a-are we gonna be okay?|

[. . . We're going to be okay. We can rebuild the garden, okay?]

|Okay. . .|

[. . . I need to go check on the greenhouse. You'll be okay, Jasmine, okay? I just need you to do something for me, okay?]

|O-okay?|

[Can you try and find Altiare for me?]

|M’kay! I c’n do that!|

[Alright, good luck, talk soon. You walk to the greenhouse. There was a lock on it that had long since rusted. You force the door open.]

[You cover your nose and mouth as soon as the smell hits you. It was metallic, bloody. You smelt rotting, and fertilizer. Metal, rot, fertilizer. Someone died here.]

[. . . . .]

[. . . You step inside.]

[You bolt upright in bed gasping for air, startling someone at your side. You're in your room, YOUR room. The one in your guardians house, not your dorm in Jouvente. The person, two persons, beside you are confused. One tall girl, one kid, both dark skin, similar jewelry.]

". . . Oh thank Change Ramos you're okay." [The taller one sighed.] "We were getting pretty worried there!"

[. . You blink.] "I. . . What. . ."

"Y'got hurt or, uhm, something like that, in 'Frins head." [The kid responded.]

[What? You don’t remember that. Or remember coming home, or a ‘frin’, or who these two were! You look at the two of them, then rub your head. Names, names names name names! You never had any memory problems before, why now- RIGHT. That ASS.]

“PERCI!” [You jump up out of bed.] “Where’s that sonnofa-!! I’ll beat his ass so hard he’ll WISH it was only stars he’ll be seeing-”

“LANGUAGE!!” [The taller one shouted.] “Listen so would I but lie DOWN! You just recovered!”

“From what?!” [You walk to the closet and look for fresh clothes.] “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t know who you two blinding are!”

“. . . Oh Change.” [The older one put her head in her hand. The smaller one walked up to you.]

“. . . You feel okay?” [They ask.]

[You pause for a second, looking at them.] “Well, apart from losing. . .” [You look at a calendar on the desk.] “. . . five months of memory? I’m feeling pretty good!”

“Five months?!?” [Tall one again.] “We only met you like, three months ago!”

“And in that time I guess I finally went and changed.” [You grab some clothes, and go to a mirror, looking at yourself.] “. . . not my style, but. . . Not bad. So, I'm not Jasmine any more? Alright. What about you two?”

“Pétronille (she/her). Just Nille’s fine.” [She walked over to you.]

“Boniface (they/them). Or just Bonnie.” [They pouted.]

“Bonnie and Nille, got it.” [You hold up a vest- wait.] “Bonnie? One of the saviors?”

“Uh huh!!” [Bonnie nodded enthusiastically.] “Only the crabbin�� best outta all of ‘em!!”

“Langu- oh forget it.” [Nille shook her head.] “Yeah, we’ve all been traveling together, us three, Mirabelle, Isabeau, Odile, and Siffrin.”

“Heh, glad they’re all still-”

“CRAB!!!” [Bonnie jumped and ran to the door.] “IF YOU’RE FINE THEN ‘FRIN AND THE OTHERS ARE IN TROUBLE!!”

“AH CRAB!!” [Nille ran to join her sibling, then turned to you.] “Listen, ah, I know you don’t know me but I know you! We gotta check on the rest of our party now! Five minutes to get ready and meet downstairs! We’re probably gonna be fighting that sonofacrab, alright?”

[You grin back.] “Make it three minutes.”

[Those two left the room. The logic was already connecting in your head as you got dressed. Ramos makes a deal with Perci. Perci locks you and others in the ground. Ramos lives life, no need for imaginary friends. Somehow that actually affects your memory. It’s just daydreams, so why would it affect your memory? And why did being buried alive feel so real? Stars. . .]

[You use your bandana to tie your hair into a ponytail. Well it was probably some craft that affects the head, and your head then interprets that in your daydreams. So maybe if you’re daydreaming and someone crafts you, and buries your imaginary friends alive, that affects you? So what-]

|AAAAALEEEEEEXXXXX|

[You look over in the greenhouse, Jas? What’s up.]

|TTTHHHERES A BIG BUG!!!|

[. . . What?]

|THERE’S A BIG BUG AND NOT A NORMAL BUG!!|

[Is it dangerous?]

|I DUNNO IT LOOKED AT ME THEN RAN AWAY!! IT LOOKS COOL!|

[Change, well, I can’t help with that right now just, run if it seems angry at you, okay?]

|M’KAY!! IMA MAKE FRIENDS WITH IT!!|

[You’re done getting dressed, you grab Ramos’ tonfas and hook them to your belt. Stars, you're out of practice. You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with these. You walk over to the desk and look for your favorite pen. You twist the ink cap, and a thin, sharp blade springs from the front; a hidden knife. You twist the needle back in and put it in your pocket.]

[You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Ramos. You’re Ramos now, huh? Not Jasmine. Not Alex. Ramos. Ramos is your name now. . . Eugh, that didn’t feel right. But, fine. You walk to the door, muttering to yourself; you’ll be alright, you’ll be alright, you’ll be alright.]

[Ready.]

>>>

[While You, Nille, and Bonnie were running to the library, they caught you up to speed. Ramos, mind craft, got controlled, turned into a sadness, saved, joined them, the inn stuff, fighting Merlon and Perci; it was a lot to take in, but you took it. Good thing too, because you didn’t have much time.] 

[You knew these streets like the back of your hand. Jump over this fence, take this backroad, skip over the creek here. And in no time, you were at the library entrance. There was a housemaiden struggling to stand, that’s Mirabelle. Isabeau was knocked out on the floor, and there’s a cloaked figure kneeling on the ground, who by process of elimination, must be Siffrin. You grimace at Isas unconscious form, but you had to move quickly!]

“FRIN!!!” [Bonnie yells. Siffrin turned, eye wide. You dash past them.] “‘OZ IS OKAY!!”

“T-they’re-” [You can see the look of relief on his face.] “Oh stars above-”

“What in the-” [Merlon was taken aback as you dashed towards her.] 

“Hey, Merlon.” [You hold out your paper sign, and swing. Before pulling back at the last second, instead you stab with your pen, [Page Turner!] Merlon doubles over in pain.]

[You take the chance, and run past into the library. You ignore Merlon yelling after you, where was he?!? WHERE. WAS. THAT. BITCH!?!?!]

[Like a hunting dog finding prey, you found him, an old lady sitting across from him. Both were catatonic to the world. You dash at him, and grab him by the back of the head-] >>> [-WHAM. WHAM. WHAM.]

“ARE YOU FUCKING SORRY YET?!?”

[You throw Perci back, taking a second to breathe. STARS your heart was beating a mile a minute! At least your body was kept in good shape. You hear the old lady stand up behind you.]

“Hey! Lady!” [You turn to look at her, grinning.] “You alright? You can have an existential crisis later but if you can still fight I’m gonna need you.”

“You. . .” [She’s staring at you, dumbfounded.] “. . . Ramos?”

[Your smile spreads to a grin.] “The one and only!”

“I highly doubt that.” [She grabbed her notebook and walked around the table to join your side as Perci got up.] “Not just a few hours ago you were catatonic.”

“Funny, because for me a few hours ago I was still in Jouvente!” [You laugh.]

“What?!?” [She looks at you in shock.]

“You blooded animal!!” [Perci finally got up to a knee, holding his nose, broken. His mask was slipping.] “How DARE you!!”

“Ha ha.” [You roll your eyes.] “Well at least he matches how he looks in headspace now!”

“So he does.” [The lady comments, smirking.] “Well, Ramos, it’s good to get reacquainted! My name is Odile.”

“Charmed!” 

[The library entrance doors blast open, Merlon running in and was next to Perci in a blink. Behind her, Bonnie, Nille, Isabeau, Mirabelle, and Siffrin were all following. The later three were all still hurt from their earlier battle, so you should finish this quickly.]

“Look at me. Look at me Perci.” [Merlons concerned yet commanding voice boomed through the library. Perci looked up at her, she grabbed his nose, and with a twist and some craft put it back in place.]

“MOTHER OF-” [Perci yelled, then stood up fully, glaring at you in hatred.] “Why are you all being so DIFFICULT!!”

“Dear.” [Merlon turned to look at the five who had gathered on the opposite side of the room. The Monets were pinned.] “We should leave.”

“TH’ CRAB YOU ARE!!!!” [Bonnie yelled.] “WE’RE GONNA BEAT YOU TO A CRABBING PULP!!!”“Let’s go! Everyone!!” [Nille called confidently to the others.]

[herearedragons]

A Waelite Indeed (Secret St. Waidwen exchange 2024 gift for @yelly-ink)

Happy New Year!!!

AO3

For the next hour or two, Aloth has the room all to himself.

The others have gone shopping, and then probably drinking. He claimed to be unwell, still recovering from the blow he'd taken down in Defiance Bay's catacombs — half true; his head does hurt, still, and not just from the usual foreign presence within — and stayed behind, winning himself... some peace and quiet? Not quite.

But, at the very least, a chance to have a conversation in private.

Iselmyr surfaces, as always, with pressure within his skull; it's a familiar and expected discomfort, but even fifty years later, he remembers how badly it scared him the first time this had happened. Part of him thought that his head was going to burst.

Now he knows better, and so he grinds his teeth and lets it come, trying to anchor himself in his own body even as Iselmyr takes some of the space.

It feels like being locked together in a small, narrow closet, with not nearly enough room for two.

Took ye long enough, she says, a teasing edge to her voice.

That annoys him. What he was supposed to do, converse with himself in broad daylight and be whisked away to the sanitarium?

On a better day he might have had more patience for Iselmyr's antics, but today… Today has been strange enough as it is.

"Well, excuse me for having other matters to attend to — such as handling the aftermath of your outbursts!"

Ye mean jawin' with the Watcher? Mayhap it's better she knows about us.

"Telling her… was a relief, yes," he admits begrudgingly — and immediately adds, "It still doesn't excuse you!"

Iselmyr chuckles in his head, her amusement like a taste of too-strong liquor on the back of his tongue.

Come tae, lad. What's done 's done.

That's just like her. Doing as she pleases and never taking responsibility — no, that always falls to him. And what if the Watcher wasn't as understanding as she was? What if she scorned them, turned them away? What would they do then?

He can argue his point until his voice gives out, but Aloth has done that enough to know that it's useless. Some ideas, it seems, Iselmyr just can't comprehend.

He forces himself to take a deep breath, master his own irritation. Anger is an unpleasant emotion; when it takes over, finding the line between himself and her becomes too difficult for his liking.

Finally, he says:

"I will admit, I didn't expect such… instant acceptance from her."

He can still see Izel's face in his mind's eye, her big eyes stark yellow against her dark fur, like two moons in a night sky. Staring a hole through him, excited, as she questioned him about his condition.

He had counter-arguments prepared, dozens of talking points to convince her that he was not dangerous; that he could manage Iselmyr enough for her to be a minor nuisance, rather than a large problem.

There was no need for that. Izel simply accepted his story at face value, and when he gathered the courage to ask her for help, agreed to his request within a heartbeat. If anything, the prospect of delving into the details of his condition seemed to excite her.

She's a fine lass, Iselmyr says.

She's a Waelite indeed, Aloth thinks; fascinated by the unusual and mysterious, ever curious.

He's still not sure how he feels about finding himself in the sights of that curiosity.

"You were trying to tell me something, back on the street," Aloth says. "What was it?"

Shortly after they'd emerged from the catacombs. He was still answering Izel's questions, and whatever Iselmyr was trying to say was lost at the edges of his awareness, settling between his eyes as a dull headache; one that would worsen and worsen until he found a safe space to hear her out.

Aye, she says, her voice suddenly more grave. About the Watcher. Fine she may be, but ye should keep an eye on her, lad.

That takes him by complete surprise.

Iselmyr, of all people, urging caution? A short, nervous laugh escapes him before he can fully compose himself.

"You're… worried? About Izel? Just what has gotten into you? Didn't you just say you approve of her?"

Certainly, Izel has been… forceful, somewhat, in her questioning, and it's not hard to imagine it becoming troublesome if she keeps at it.

But, above all else, she's an ally. They've never had a true ally before; even his Leaden Key supervisors have always remained distant by necessity, allowing him to do his own research as long as it didn't interfere with the Key's goals, but never stepping in to lend a hand themselves. Never promising anything.

And, now that they have Izel's alliance, the help of a true Watcher who is Awakened herself, Iselmyr has doubts?

Stop fretting, lad! I dinnae say she was wickt. But ye saw her down there with the Key. She liked what she was seeing.

Oh, there's the reason. Of course Iselmyr doesn't like her attitude towards the Key. Or, rather, to be more precise, she doesn't like that Izel's perspective doesn't align with her own.

"You're just upset that your ravings fell on deaf ears," Aloth counters. "So, unlike you, she's a woman who can appreciate order and discipline. What of it?"

Fye and coxfither to that!

"Now you're just being juvenile."

I was out in the world 'fore your auld man was a twinkle in HIS auld man's eye. An' I know sure as you do those fiends care nye for order - they just dig up what's rotten an' bury it even deeper.

Aloth presses his lips together, stifling the urge to respond with a more biting remark. In the end, all he says is:

"That is your opinion."

They've been over this countless times before. Whatever he says, Iselmyr will never accept it and simply keep at her own line of reasoning. He wouldn't have bothered with this discussion at all, had she not brought the Watcher — currently, their only hope — into the equation.

All I'm sayin' is, if she dinnae see they're foul, she's blind. An' if she saw it and liked it, mayhap we're better off finding a different Watcher.

"There won't be a different Watcher."

He can still barely believe they've stumbled upon this one.

Better nye Watcher at all than a wickt one.

"Izel's not wicked," Aloth says. "She's just… eccentric."

He doesn't want it to sound like a plea, but it does.

To his surprise, Iselmyr hesitates. He can feel the pressure behind his eyes ebb just for a moment, as if… as if her resolve had faltered.

Mayhap you're right, lad, she says finally. She was kind to us, an' mayhap I wirry for nothing. But if she tries somethin' with us, I'll brek those furry little arms.

"Please don't," Aloth says flatly.

Even if Izel did turn out to be evil incarnate, assaulting a woman half his height and half his weight is not the kind of blow his reputation can take.

Just keep an eye on 'er.

He sighs.

"…I will."

[pomefioredove]

I really liked the advice for writing about Rook ;u; I was thinking if there was one for writing about Vil's character too?) :'0

I can try!

I think what you want to avoid is making vil a stereotypical "mean girl", for lack of a better term. he has a low tolerance for bullshit but he's not a bully. he's just... german...

he's also not perfect. like, that, to me, is a huge part of his character. when I write him, I give him a sense of humor, I give him flaws, I make him a little... uglier, so to speak, because that's who he is to me. especially with yuu

what makes him an interesting character (to me) is his relationship with morality. he definitely has insecurities about his appearance, he's very meticulous and critical of himself, he has an eating disorder, to me, at least, but... like, that's not what makes him tick. vil is extremely insecure about his morality. he thinks he's a bad person, an irredeemably bad person, an intrinsically bad person, and he believes, in some way, that he's unlovable. he hates who he is, he hates that he can't be good enough, or innocent enough, or nice enough, like neige. it's not about looks, not really. it's also fucking insane to me how all the adults in his life profiled him as a villain and put him in that role again and again, both on stage and in real life. being told that you're a bad person really fucks you up as a child

so, feeling like he's inherently evil and unlovable, he pours all of his effort and time and care into his appearance, because, unlike his morality, that can be changed. he needs that control. of course, the result of this is that he becomes really insecure about his body, and is always looking to improve, because it's never enough to heal what actually needs to be healed

he puts on this mask of indifference and perfection, he acts like he think he should (or how other people assumes he should), he makes himself untouchable because he feels like he doesn't deserve to be touched, but god, is he scared. and so, so lonely. and jealous. and sort of resentful of everyone for making him that way, but dependent on their comfort and approval all the same

people don't really look at vil as if he were human and I think that bothers him. even though he makes himself inhuman, godlike, he doesn't really want that. he wants to be loved for who he is, he wants to be reassured that he's not broken, he wants a break from being looked at, he wants to be felt instead

I read a post once, forgive me for I do not remember the OP, that said that it wasn't jealousy or rage or bitter ugliness that had caused vil to overblot. it was when he realized that he was about to hurt neige, and that he had become the villain everyone already saw him as. his conflict with his morality is the most interesting part of his character and it's rarely explored, he's rarely even humanized

tldr, uhhh, vil is a person, he longs to be seen as a person, he is not a mean girl. got emotional writing this bc I love vil so muc,

[yonomori-rei]

Tanizaki’s Entrance Exam – definitely involved Yosano...

A/N: Hey all! Rei here! Tanizaki had once stated that his entrance exam was so traumatic that he had buried it deep within his memory, but I hate secrets so I’m gonna try and decipher exactly what is going on... 

Why I think Yosano is involved:

Like I mentioned above, Tanizaki had stated that he had some very traumatising memories of his entrance exam that he wished to bury deep in his consciousness when Atsushi had enquired him, and therefore I wondered...what is Tanizaki scared off? If it had been something to do with Naomi being hurt/in danger, that would have set Tanizaki off and he would have been more furious than terrified, so, it had to be something that had hurt Tanizaki himself. It is also canon that Tanizaki is dead scared of Yosano...so that definitely meant (to me, at least) that Yosano is involved.

Who found him:

It obviously couldn’t have been Kenji, Atsushi or Kyouka – they haven’t even joined the Agency. Neither could it have been Yosano, because the person involved in the entrance exam couldn’t be a member the rookie knows (as seen with Atsushi’s entrance exam). It would’ve been adorable if Ranpo had found him – but let's be real, this sweetheart would have been too busy munching away at his infinite stock of candy or terrorising all the police officers in Yokohama. 😂 And Dazai would be too busy slacking off (and something tells me that Atsushi was the first and ONLY member he found cuz of their sweet (but possibly toxic) relationship + he only acts as a mentor to Atsushi). Therefore, it is likely that either Fukuzawa or Kunikida (the responsible adults...and probably the only sane ones).

What had happened:

Tanizaki probably was following Kunikida, and Dazai would have most likely decided to tag along to annoy our fav glasses man (Ik, that’s such a horrible nickname XD) AND cuz he knew that he was in for some entertainment – or maybe, Dazai was the one who came up with the whole idea for Tanizaki’s exam... And our bundle of bundle of bandages would no doubt have been too happy to terrify poor Tanizaki.

By the time they’d reached wherever they were meant to be, Tanizaki would be shaking from the stupid shit Dazai had told him and Kunikida would be too annoyed with Dazai to reassure Tanizaki. And Yosano being the “crazy criminal” Tanizaki has to save everyone from would just make matters worse for this poor rookie (why do I feel that Yosano would absolutely enjoy her role 😭😭).

So, when Tanizaki had to deal with Yosano, he was really brave and passed, but he must have done something extreme and got inured – this could be something a small or big injury. Either way, Yosano would be absolutely eager to heal him. Now, we all know what would happen. She’d go FULL OUT with NO MERCY and our two, lovely mentors would have escaped the room (let’s be real, Kunikida is waaaaaaaay to scared of Yosano and Dazai is a lazy bastard who has no need to save anyone) and from that moment onwards, Tanizaki has been diagnosed with severe PTSD due to his entrance exam. 😂 + 😭= 🥲

A/N: Tanizaki is one of the most mysterious characters in BSD, so I can’t wait to see what Asagiri-sensei has planned for him... 😊

[spoonfulofmilo]

Mick x driver!male!reader but childhood friends to rivals to lovers trope pls?

been writing this for so long, but I love it so much, and I'm finally happy with it :)

if you want to participate in my 400 followers event, look here :)

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

mick schumacher x male!driver!reader - childhood friends to rivals to lovers

2004

---

“Micky, Micky!”

Michael watched as the 2 kids smiled at the camera, both struggling to hoist their trophies up for the trophy. He saw the trophy tilt and tried to cry out, however it was too late.

Y/N could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as his head hurt. He’d heard his friend Max’s dad say that men don’t cry, and unless he was dying, there was no reason to cry. But he was 5 and the impact that the metal trophy had made with his head had really hurt.

But before the tears could fall out, Mick had already placed both his and Y/N’s trophies on the ground and was giving his best friend the biggest hug, and trying to stop him crying.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay You’re okay. This only hurt because it scared you. It doesn’t hurt as badly as the karting crash from last month, you’re okay, aren’t you.”

Y/N wiped his tears and nodded, trying to smile as he gasped to get his tears under control. Mick gave him the biggest hug ever as he stopped crying and picked up his trophy again.

Michael watched as the photos began again and the 2 kids smiled. Those 2 were going to do great things some day, he knew it.

---

2009

---

Michael didn’t think that Y/N would be happy when he got out of the kart. Mick and him had been fighting the entire race, miles ahead of anyone else and it had looked like Y/N would win it.

Until Mick went for a daring dive down the inside of Y/N’s kart, resulting in a spin for Y/N. He’d gotten back, gotten up to close to Mick again, but that spin had been costly, as Mick crossed the line and Y/N crossed it in second.

Michael didn’t even try to look for Y/N’s parents. They either would’ve gone home, expecting Michael to bring him home, or they’d be waiting in the pits for an opportunity to berate their son.

If they had done the former, Michael reckoned he would simply decide to let Y/N stay over for a sleepover tonight. He needed it.

As Michael wandered down to the pits where the drivers were finishing and parking up, he tried to blend in. It was easier than it used to be, back when he was racing he’d spend a while after every race taking photos with a couple of kids, talking to them, trying to convince them not to give up on their dreams even when it’s impossible. But now, ducking through, he was almost invisible.

And as he approached the two 10 year old boys, all he saw was jubilation. The 2 kids were happy, celebrating each other.

‘Papa! Papa! Did you see that, I won!’

“He did very well, even though I’m not exactly happy about that dive down the inside.”

Nothing about Y/N’s face indicated that he was unhappy, except for the darted around eyes that signalled he was looking for his parents.

They weren’t here. Clearly. Michael pulled Y/N into a hug. “C’mon, let’s get you 2 on the podium, and then we can head home. You wanna stay at home tonight?”

Michael didn’t even realise he had referred to his own home as Y/N’s home, as he saw his face light up.

“Home sounds good,” smiled Y/N, as he darted off to follow Mick to the podium.

---

2019

---

“Mick. I get that we were friends, back in karting, but life happens. Stuff happens. We’re both gunning for the championship and the f1 seat.”

“That doesn’t mean that anything has to change between the 2 of us, Y/N. We never let that stuff get between us usually. We were fighting for seats our entire childhood, and it never got between us then.”

“Yeah, well, this is the big leagues, Schumacher, sink or swim. I would wish you good luck out there, but I think I need it more.”

Y/N smiled at Mick, but it wasn’t a nice smile. It was a planned smile, like he knew what he was doing the whole time. Then he turned and left the driver room, heading towards the garage.

Mick tried to stop his eyes welling up with tears. First of all, Y/N was his friend. He didn’t know where this competitive spirit had come from. Well, Y/N had always been competitive, but not an asshole. And right now, he was being an asshole.

And Y/N knew of all people how much he hated his last name. How he hated when people referred to him as Schumacher, how he wanted to be seen as his own person, not his father’s son. And yet Y/N had called him Schumacher.

“Fucking asshole” was all Mick thought to himself as he prepared for the race.

---

2020

---

Y/N looked like he was going to throw something. Or murder someone. Or crash his car into a barrier. He looked positively fuming as Prema surrounded Mick, congratulating him on his driver championship and celebrating the team’s championship.

But Y/N, the person who’d been with him since karting, since they’d both been born. That was who he wanted to see and talk to. He bounded towards where the other prema driver was getting weighed.

“Y/N! Y/N, we got the championship!”

Y/N didn’t respond, just simply nodded, before listening to whatever the official was saying and wandering away from Mick.

As if he didn’t exist.

“Y/N” he called again, seeing him take out his headphones, maybe he hadn’t heard Mick’s calls. He could hear his family and team calling out, ready to celebrate. But he wanted to celebrate with Y/N.

Mick called out again “Y/N.”

“The fuck you want Schumacher?”

“I… wanted to celebrate the win with you. We won the teams championships. We should be celebrate.”

“Yeah, congrats. Congrats on your seat for next year as well.”

“I- oh, c’mon Y/N, you’ll get a seat. I bet Christian Horner’s just seeing how long you can hold out before he gives you the Alpha Tauri seat.”

“Yeah, well. Currently you have a contract and I don’t, so excuse me if I’m a little salty.”

“Y/L/N.”

Mick saw the way his jaw tightened, as he heard his father’s voice.

“I have to go, now Mick. Enjoy your win, and congratulations.”

Mick watched him walk off, towards his father. He saw the way he curled in on himself, as his father slung his arm around his shoulders.

Days later, when Y/N’s seat at Alpha Tauri was confirmed, Mick messaged him congratulations.

Y/N didn’t message back.

---

2022

---

“When did you start hating me Y/N?”

Mick was pissed. Y/N had nearly taken him out early in the race. He hadn’t spoken to him in years, since the end of 2020, over a year ago. He missed his childhood friend, and the fans had too.

Finding childhood photos of the 2 of them, often with Michael, had brought up more painful memories than he would like to admit.

Y/N was hyper aware of the cameras following them through the paddock, and so continued walking until he could pull Mick into a quiet corner where the cameras couldn’t reach them.

Inevitably, Y/N thought as he pulled Mick into the side of a motorhome, this will end up on the next season of drive to survive, but god do I care, no.

“I never hated you Mick. I tried to make myself hate you, but I couldn’t. You could hate me, and I would still love you.” 

Y/N tried to retract the ‘l’ word as soon as it came out of his mouth, covering his mouth and praying that Mick didn’t hear him correctly. Yeah they’d said ‘i love you’ to each other as kids, but that was when they were young, and kids and they didn’t understand the word, or the world that they lived in, or themselves fully. It was just another silly childhood promise.

Besides, while Y/N understood himself as queer, there were never any queer drivers, and he was probably about 95% sure that Mick was straight. He’d been spotted with girls through the junior formulas and he’d even been introduced to a couple of the girls. They were all lovely, but they never seemed to last a long time.

Mick's eyes widened as he heard the love word come out of Y/N’s mouth. Honestly, he was confused as to how he never saw the signs of Y/N’s queerness. The fact that there was 1 girl in karting, when he was 14, and then she never showed up again. The way his eyes had always lingered just long enough that it was unusual, but not long enough to cause any real suspicion. The way he’d gone on a few dates here and there, but always been super hush hush about the whole thing, not mentioning it until after it had happened. The way those dates had always had they/them pronouns, or they hadn’t been named.

“Y/N…you love me?” Fuck, Y/N had really fucked this up.

“No,” Mick’s heart dropped “No, I, fuck fine. It’s not like I’m ruining any friendship. Yes. Yes. I love you. And I have since, well not the day I met you. Maybe when we first got into single seaters… fuck i don’t know, but yeah i love you.” Y/N took Mick’s silence badly and just decided to walk out towards his driver’s room.

Mick didn’t follow him.

---

2025

---

Y/N couldn’t even be pissed as he crossed the line second behind Mick. The Ferrari just seemed happy, even from 5 seconds behind.

“AND MICK SCHUMACHER CROSSES THE LINE FIRST TO WIN THE GERMAN GRAND PRIX AND CLAIM HIS FIRST EVER WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP, and there’s his father on the screen looking every part like the proud dad that I’d imagine he is right now.”

“That’s right Crofty, it may not be the 7 world championships that Schumacher Sr achieved, but still this championship must mean so much to him.”

Mick pulled in to the pitlane, behind the number 1 stand, and he just sat in the scarlet Ferrari crying.

He had done it.

He had won a world championship.

Y/N pulled up beside him in the dark blue red bull, smile evident even after losing the championship.

He watched as he pulled off his helmet, watching as Mick embraced his family, his mum, his dad, his sister, his niece. He stood to the side high fiving his team, and thanking them for a great year. Next year would be their year.

And he didn’t exactly try and stop Mick as the German ran towards him, helmet off, and pulled him into a kiss.

---

taglist: @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @anicega, @badblondebisexualboy, @ghostking4m, @koalapastries, @camelliaflow3r

[charliedawn]

Hi Charlie! I love your work, but I was wondering, what about something about Bowers gang from IT and a reader? (Sorry for mistakes, English is not my first language)

Henry Bowers

The first time you met Henry, you thought he was just a terrible bully who just liked to inflict pain. But with time, you learnt to differentiate true evil from scared evil. Henry was scared and because being a bully gave him that sense of power he thought he needed—he kept being violent.

Henry grew up in a highly abusive household. His father, Butch Bowers, was a violent racist who subjected Henry to severe physical and emotional abuse. This trauma warped Henry into a sadistic bully who takes his frustrations out on others.

His bullying of the Losers' Club was fueled by hatred and a desire for control.

Therefore, you decided to confront him about it. You were brave and knew that if you wanted to help him, you needed to be gentle and patient—very patient. So, you kept trying to talk to him. At first, he mocked you and pretended he wasn’t interested in anything you had to say…

But little by little, he realised that you truly wanted to help him. One day as his father had hit him a little too hard, he came crawling out of his house and decided to call you…

You didn’t even hesitate before running to get him—knowing that he needed help and that he had called you first for a reason.

You found him and helped him up before inviting him into your house. True, he was dangerous and could sometimes borderline on psycho behaviour…but you recalled how desperate he was on the phone and decided that this was for the best. You patched him up and when he woke up—he firstly panicked before realising what you had done for him…

Since that day, Henry seemed a little less inclined on trying to bully the Losers, or spending time with the gang and spent more time observing you…He noticed that you liked flowers, cookies and ice cream…

So, he decided to pay you back for your kindness by buying (stealing) you all three of them. After that, you became quite good friends and for some reason…Pennywise’s voice seemed to dull at the back of his head before disappearing completely.

He had another voice of reason now.

And turns out ? It felt pretty good…

Vic Criss

Vic was the most reluctant member of the gang when it came to bullying and it showed. He often went along with Henry’s plans but often showed signs of unease when things escalated too far.

He tried to stop the gang a few times from going too far, but nothing could stop Henry or Patrick when they decided they wanted someone to suffer…He told you that. He always wanted to stop, to stop being so bad and violent but…he couldn’t.

He was scared of Henry and of being alone.

He knew he wouldn’t survive on his own.

One day, he cried because of it and that’s when he met you. You didn’t judge him and only wordlessly sat down next to him—offering him company…You offered him your hand. He took it.

You knew he was always more quiet and reluctant than the others. You could feel it. So one day, you decided to take him away from the gang to talk to him. You took his hand and ignored the rest of the gang who threw insults at you and once you were alone with him, you turned around and said that if he wanted someone to watch his back…then you were there.

You told him he didn’t need them or to be scared of them. He was strong—stronger than he gave himself credit for…

He refused—of course.

But the next time you found yourself in trouble with the gang and Patrick almost hurt you, that was when Vic snapped and punched him in the face before you both ran away from the rest of the gang. Once you were far enough, he asked what you were going to do next…

And then, you told him with a large grin that you had bought two tickets out of Derry—if he was interested.

Vic grinned and hugged you tightly…

Belch Huggins

Belch is a follower and acts as the gang’s enforcer, providing physical intimidation when needed. But deep down ? He is a sweet kid. He just learnt how to…turn it off because it usually ended up with him being hurt.

He was a lonely kid in middle school until he met Henry. Henry gave him a purpose, he made him think he was useful—but just as a mindless follower with big arms. So he followed and punched whoever Henry said. He was loyal to him because he felt he owed it to him.

…Until Henry asked him to punch YOU.

He had never told anyone, but he had a soft spot for you. You had grown up together. Your parents were basically friends and you were neighbours.

He hesitated as Henry shouted at him to punch you, hurt you, turn your face to mush. He was holding you by the collar—his fist raised in the air…but he felt tears in his eyes.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t hurt you.

He released you and you tried to run away, but Henry suddenly lunged at you. He tried to hurt you and before you knew it, Belch was throwing him off you. He then shouted at you to run, and you did. He held Bowers back as long as he could until Patrick and Vic got him off and Henry started beating Belch up—quickly followed by Patrick.

Belch was in pain and suddenly, there was a loud honk. They all looked up to find you inside your car…ready to charge. Henry, Patrick and Vic quickly got out of the way and you stopped just next to Belch before opening the door.

"Get in !"

He didn’t need to be told twice and jumped inside before you started the car again. You then drove away and once you were far enough, Belch relaxed.

"Thanks…"

You smiled.

"No problem…"

Patrick Hockstetter

Patrick was a true monster. There was nothing kind or particularly positive about him. He took pleasure in tormenting others…He was detached from reality and viewed himself as superior to everyone else, showing clear signs of sociopathy. He drowned kittens and killed his own little brother !

You called child services.

He would thank you later…once a little better and not surrounded by so much violence.

You would visit regularly though, to check on him and give him news from Derry and the gang.

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

“Mai deserves so so much better from the fandom. She barely did anything wrong, especially compared to Zuko. "She's mean!" No, she's sarcastic. You just only see her with a girl she fears and a peppy bubblegum girl. Also it's implied to be a front because of her fear and probable hate of Azula. Also, while it doesn't excuse the fact she supported the FN in her actions, she never did ideologically, only going along with Azula because she was afraid”

What do you think of this? I agree that Mai is overhated but I disagree about her secretly hating Azula (at least show wise. Comics are different from what I’ve heard.)

I think this is the worst kind of "In defense of..." type of meta: the kind that refuses to engage with the character's canonical flaws, including the ones that are a core part of their arc.

While fear and control is absolutely an element in nearly every single dynamic that involves Azula, and Mai did grow to resent her for it and it led to their falling out, the simple fact is that Mai, for a long time, genuinely liked Azula and joined her in book 2 WILLINGLY. She always goes wherever she believes she'll have the most agency, and her parents were so awful that a control-freak Azula actually was an improvement.

Now, don't get me wrong, Mai was well-aware that, from the moment Azula showed up, she'd try to do something to force her hand if she had said no - hence the show making her question what the hell Ty Lee was doing there when she had been much happier at the circus, and also jokingly asking Azula is she was there to kill her.

But that doesn't change the fact that Mai was raised under the same tyranical rulers as both Zuko and Azula, and while she wasn't really a patriot that would set herself on fire if it made the Fire Lord happy like they were, she was still fed enough propaganda that she saw nothing wrong with the war and believed the Fire Nation had every right to just kill anyone that got in the way of their goal of world domination.

Much like Zuko, she was hunting down the last survivor of a genocide, constantly attacked the Gaang (and taunted them when she thought she won), and helped Azula take Ba Sing Se because she saw nothing wrong with any of it. She just didn't feel as strongly about it being her "duty" or tied to her "honor" like he did

(Hell, she refuses to obey Azula in "The Drill" because she doesn't want to be covered in mud, and is fully ready to face the potential consequences for it. If she had literally ANY genuine objection to all the racist/imperialist things Azula was doing, she would not have participated in it, no matter how scared she was of being hurt or killed)

But it's exactly because she knows Zuko and how strongly he feels about their nation that it shocks her when he changes side, especially when he says he did it to SAVE the Fire Nation. She doesn't truly understand what the hell he means at that point, but she trusts him enough to know that, if he of all people turned against the current system, he had damn good reason to do so, and thus she takes a leap of faith - and once again, follows the person that gives her more agency.

Mai doesn't care much for any ideology, but she WAS fed one from birth and it affected how she viewed the world. And because of her very strong attachment to PEOPLE and a desire to connect to something for once, she allowed herself to actually think about what she was contribuiting to. And while she still wasn't at a point where the harm the war did to the other nations would register to her, she saw first-hand the damage it did to the person she loved the most, and how her own parents were terrible to her because that system allowed them to get away with it, encouraged it even.

Much like Iroh and Zuko starting to question everything only after Lu Ten's death and the disastrous Agni Kai with Ozai, Mai's change of heart about imperialism could ONLY come after some kind of personal tragedy because that's how war propaganda works - it dehumanizes anyone that fits into the category of "other", to the point that you don't see their pain even when you're the one causing it. Once they had doubts about all the happiness and glory they were promised, they could see the role they played in other people's misery and actually feel any guilt over it.

The whole fandom loves Iroh and Zuko despite their past (that they felt WAY more "righteous" about than Mai ever did), it makes no sense to act like Mai going along with the exact same shit somehow makes her a fundamentally garbage person. We don't need to erase that flaw in her character to defend her from dumb people that are just bitter she's the one who made out with Zuko instead of their fave, we just need to point out the clear double-standard of them forgiving Zuko but not her, even though she changed sides almost IMMEDIATELY instead of rejecting chance after chance like he did for nearly three seasons (once again, propaganda is not that easy to get over).

As for her being "mean" - yeah, she is mean sometimes, much like Zuko could be a real asshole and downright verbally abusive before his redemption.

Now, do people exagerate how mean Mai tended to be in order to make her look worse? Absolutely (and they also exagerate how strong of a reaction other people had to it, see zutara fans acting like Zuko was deeply hurt by her "I just asked if you were cold" comment in The Awakening, even though he doesn't get mad at all AND actually turns to her for support again in Nightmares and Daydreams)

But there were moments where she DID cross the line from simply sarcastic teenager into "You're just being a bitch right now" (joining in on the trashing of Chan's house comes to mind), and that's okay, because it was the point. It was a flaw that she got better at handling as she opened herself up to loving and being loved, to not mistreating people just because she could/was ordered to, and that's why she was an engaging character who earned her happy ending. She learned from her mistakes.

[arixella]

Fractured Hearts

╰┈➤ pairing: Eustass Kid x female! reader

a/n: none

summary: Kid and the reader have a heated argument about their strained relationship, but their daughter interrupts, prompting them to reflect on their actions and come together for the sake of their family.

wc: 1.2k

contains: super angst to fluff

It had started like any other evening. Kid had come back from a long day of business, and you were tending to the house, trying to juggle everything as usual—cooking dinner, making sure your daughter was entertained, and managing the chaos of life. You were tired, frustrated, but you loved your family, and that love kept everything going, even on the rough days.

But tonight was different. Tonight, the weight of everything that had been building for weeks finally erupted.

"Why do you always do this?" Kid's voice was raised, sharp and cutting as he threw his coat aside. His eyes were blazing with frustration, his jaw clenched tightly. "You act like I don’t have enough on my plate! You think everything’s supposed to be perfect when I’m not around? You don’t get it, (Y/N). I can’t just drop everything for some perfect little world where everything goes the way you want it to!"

You froze, feeling the sting of his words. The air in the room thickened. "You think I get to live in some perfect little world, Kid? Maybe I don’t want to have to manage everything alone! Maybe I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one trying to hold this family together!"

Kid’s face twisted in anger, but behind the rage, you saw something darker—a hurt, a frustration he wasn’t expressing. "I’m not perfect. I never said I was, but I’m doing the best I can!"

"You think this is ‘doing your best’?" Your voice cracked with emotion, the rawness of your feelings coming out all at once. "You’re barely here! I’m doing everything I can to make this work, and it feels like you don’t even care anymore. What’s the point of being together if we can’t even—"

The words were pouring out of you now, as if they had been waiting to be unleashed for so long. You hated fighting like this, hated feeling like you were losing the man you loved, but this—this constant feeling of being abandoned was eating away at you.

"I’m right here!" Kid roared, his fists tightening in frustration. His face was flushed with anger now, the weight of everything weighing down on both of you. "But if you can’t see that—if you can’t understand that I’m just trying to make sure we have a future—"

"And what about now, Kid?" you shouted, your chest tight with tears. "What about our daughter? What about us? We’re falling apart, and you’re too damn stubborn to see it."

There was a heavy silence. You stood there, panting with anger, tears brimming in your eyes. Kid’s gaze softened just slightly, but the tension was still thick between you two. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, as if the universe had chosen that very moment to break the silence, you heard a small, quiet voice.

"Mama? Papa?"

Your daughter, standing in the doorway, looked up at both of you, her innocent eyes wide with confusion. The weight of what you were doing hit you both like a brick.

She had been standing there, probably listening to the whole argument.

You both froze, staring at her for what felt like an eternity. Your daughter, a beautiful mix of both of you, stood there with her little hands clasped in front of her, a deep frown on her face as if she didn’t understand why the two people she loved most in the world were fighting.

Your heart shattered as her gaze shifted between you and Kid, her tiny brow furrowed. "Why are you both yelling?"

It was like everything suddenly stopped. The anger that had been simmering between you and Kid evaporated, leaving behind a hollow, aching emptiness.

"Sweetheart…" you whispered, your voice trembling as you quickly wiped away a tear. You rushed over to her, dropping down to her level and pulling her into a tight embrace. "I’m sorry, baby. We didn’t mean to scare you."

Kid stood there, frozen, his own anger replaced by guilt and remorse. He wanted to move, to say something, but his words were stuck. He hadn’t realized what his anger had been doing to her. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

"Papa?" she asked softly, glancing up at him, her little face full of concern. "Are you mad at Mama?"

Kid's breath caught in his throat, and without a word, he kneeled beside you both, gently placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. His voice was hoarse, broken. "No, sweetie… I’m not mad. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice."

You both sat there for a moment, the weight of the argument still lingering in the air, but softened by the quiet innocence of your daughter’s presence. Slowly, you stood, lifting her into your arms as Kid watched, feeling like a failure.

After a long silence, you looked at Kid. The rage had melted away, replaced by something more vulnerable, something you hadn’t seen in him for a while.

"You can’t keep doing this," you said softly, but firmly. "We can’t keep doing this. She can’t keep seeing us like this."

Kid looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. He didn’t know how to fix what was broken, but he knew he had to. You both had to.

"I know," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I just… I don’t know what to do anymore."

"Then figure it out, Kid," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "For her. For us."

Kid nodded, swallowing hard as he stood and approached you, his hand brushing against your cheek, the touch almost tentative. "I’m sorry," he whispered. "I never wanted to hurt you… or her."

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. "I know you didn’t. But we need to be a team. We’re a family, Kid. We’re her family. You can’t keep pushing us away. Not anymore."

He nodded, the weight of your words hitting him harder than he’d ever expected. His daughter, his little girl, had been the wake-up call he needed. He had been so focused on everything else, he had neglected the most important thing in his life: his family.

"Okay," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Okay, I’ll do better. I promise."

You kissed your daughter’s forehead gently, then turned to Kid, offering a small, tired smile. "We’re in this together. We’ll work through it. But we need to start thinking about her—about us."

Kid’s face softened, and he reached for your hand, holding it tightly. "Yeah… Yeah, you’re right."

Your daughter, oblivious to the complexity of adult emotions, smiled up at both of you. "Can we all play together now?"

You smiled through your tears and nodded. "Of course, sweetheart. We’re a family, and we’ll always be a family."

♡♡♡

[sorceresssundries]

The Warden's Watcher

Chapter 4

AO3 link

Pairing: Emmrich x Female Rook

Warnings: Talks of death, angst. Will become explicit in later chapters.

Little note - Taash's journey will be covered briefly in this fic, and as such their pronouns will be altered in line with the events of the game <3

Emmrich Volkarin had the misfortune of having the sharpened mind of a logician, and the malleable heart of a hopeless romantic. The two, in concert, had not always been conducive to romantic success. 

He had fallen in love many different times and in many different ways. There were the small, fleeting loves that ignited in a burning summer, where the heat rose too quickly, too fiercely, consuming what little fuel existed before collapsing into ash. There were the easy loves, ones he slipped into like a pair of well-worn slippers, but that very familiarity meant they frayed and worn out far too soon.

Some loves were born of wild, heady promises, their allure so intoxicating that they obscured the bitter taste of the realities lurking beneath the surface of those who clung to them. Others, he realised in hindsight, had never truly been love at all - mere illusions conjured between yearning souls. Two people who had believed they’d discovered fire, only to find it was nothing more than a borrowed light from another time and place. 

So, when Grace declined to pursue a deeper connection with him, Emmrich was not surprised. She was, after all, exceptional, and he—well, he was on the cusp of an age where the soft heart in his chest had become more a liability than an asset. 

That heart was not broken, but it was certainly bruised enough to hurt. 

Sat alone at his desk, he could not help but mull over the events of that evening, of his idiocy. What a careless, insensitive fool he had been to discuss his own fears of mortality to a Grey Warden. To a member of the order who signed their own death sentence the second they joined. 

And how weak and foolish he must have seemed, to be so scared of the very thing he surrounded himself with, devoted his life to, and that she had to face far sooner than he. At the time, it had seemed like the easiest thing in the world - to tell the beautiful, kind woman who had accompanied him all about his deepest fears. To offer pieces of himself up to her, in the faint hope she would return the favour and he could hold the bright shards of her up to the light, to take in every refraction of her technicolour spirit.

Alas, it was not to be. He would be grateful for the shades of her he was allowed to admire from a distance, and devote himself to her cause under the banner of friendship. 

It was still a privilege after all, to be her friend.  

There must be a way for him to help her, to use his talent for study and research to unravel the mystery of the blight. Antoine’s findings in the wetlands had been intriguing, but Emmrich had begun to feel out of his depth. His expertise had always been in the Fade—spirits and the magic that bound them. Yet, as he spent more time in the crossroads, he began to suspect that everything might be more interconnected than he had originally thought.

The blight had been unleashed from the fade itself by the Gods, from their prison, and they had the ability to control it. It was a tool. A deliberate creation of the Evanuris used as a weapon in their quest for domination. Perhaps if this tool was further investigated, understood, it could be repurposed or dismantled… 

He had his own sample now. He had taken it from the wetlands, determined to help. To do something.

Many times now, he had ventured into the crossroads alone, notebook and equipment in hand, eager to uncover what he could learn. He conversed with the spirits that lingered there, studied the strange figures—ancient elves turned to tree bark—and pored over the letters he discovered, piecing together clues that might unravel the riddles of the Fade.

Each time he returned to the lighthouse, Grace would be waiting in the study, curled up in his armchair as if she belonged there. The fire’s warmth would tint her cheeks a soft pink. A book was always in her hands, though she never marked her page when he returned. Instead, she would set it down and watch him, her eyes bright with curiosity, her gaze softer than usual. She listened intently as he paced, rambling through his discoveries, weaving together theories that were still half-formed, until they began to make sense. Occasionally, she would ask pointed, sharp questions, pushing him to think deeper, to consider new angles.

One evening, utterly exhausted, he returned so tired it took him until he’d hung up his coat, removed his collar pin, and unfastened his sash before he noticed Grace curled up in the armchair by the fire, fast asleep. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her head resting against the backrest. Her beautiful red curls cascaded over her face, and the book she’d been reading lay forgotten on the floor.

He had quietly taken his coat and covered her with it, brushing her hair away from her face, gently removing her shoes, before settling into the armchair opposite—the one that had mysteriously appeared one day after she had spent several hours in his company.

He supposed that wouldn’t happen any more. He wondered if, soon, there would only be one armchair in front of the fire once more. 

“Neve said you wanted to see me.”

Emmrich broke away from the thought he’d been engrossed in. Standing in the doorway, arms folded, was Taash. Her sharp gaze swept the study with barely concealed disdain, lingering on the cluttered shelves and tables. Her eyes landed on Manfred, busy dusting a bookshelf, and he turned and gave a small, surprised hiss to see her watching him. He slowly turned back and started dusting a little more diligently than before. It had become clear to Emmrich that Taash’s habit of staring unblinking intimidated him a little. 

“Ah, yes! Come in, make yourself comfortable,” Emmrich said brightly, gesturing toward a chair at the other side of his desk. 

Taash did not move. Manfred slowly peered back over his shoulder again, before slowly shuffling across to a bookshelf further away, never stopping his dusting. 

“Right, then,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “I have something that might interest you.”

He slid open a desk drawer, rummaging through a chaotic pile of parchment scrawled with diagrams, notes, and occasional smudges of ink. After a moment of muttering and rustling, he retrieved a small flask filled with luminous blue liquid.

A self-satisfied smile curled his lips as he set it on the desk with a faint clink. The liquid shimmered and swirled within, catching the light like sun-dappled ocean waves.

So far, his attempts to bond with Taash had been met with... resistance. He had expected this. People not of Nevarra were often at best skeptical, at worst horrified by his dedication to the necromantic arts. But knowing that didn’t make the misunderstanding sting any less.

Taash, in particular, was somewhat of a fortress. She kept her distance when they traveled, her aversion to his craft evident. She disapproved—loudly—of his use of necromancy in combat, though it had saved her life more times than he cared to count. Not that he’d ever remind her. He preferred his bones unbroken. 

He tapped the flask with a finger. “I read the list of numbing herbs you requested from the market to ease your discomfort. I thought I’d try distilling the main ingredients into a more potent liquid—enhancing its effectiveness and eradicating any unpleasant side effects. I added a few extra components for balance. Dragonthorn, for instance, to act as a stabilising agent.”

“Does it taste like crap?”

“Erm, well,” Emmrich faltered, shifting in his chair. “The art of alchemy is not exactly renowned for its—”

Before he could finish defending his hard work, Taash reached over, swiped the flask from his desk, and pulled the cork out with her teeth. She sniffed it, her sensitive nose wrinkling almost immediately.

“Smells like crap.”

Emmrich sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “I didn’t design it for flavour, Taash. It's a potion, not a refreshment.”

“S’fine,” she said, “Probably tastes better than Harding’s cooking.”

“Don’t worry, alchemy is something of a hobby of mine, and I’d say I’ve developed quite the talent for it. I assure you, it’s perfectly safe—though, of course, I’d recommend starting with small doses and gradually increasing them with each use.” He smiled warmly at her, he liked Taash. She possessed a wonderful knack for brevity. 

“Is that why you took some of the blight?” She asked, the shade of her voice never shifting. Making it difficult to know under what context she was asking him. More disdain, perhaps?

“Ah, you noticed. I was hoping to exercise a little more discretion.” He sighed and pulled out a notebook from another one of his desk draws, brimming with added bits of paper and further notes. 

“I thought that, as we were collecting samples for Antione to inspect, it may be useful for me to conduct a little research of my own.” 

His gaze drifted from his notes, to a small bunch of Andraste’s Grace in a bottle next to his inkwell. 

“The blight is changing, evolving, showing signs of mutation”

“Like.. a disease?”

“Quite. Think of the Blight as a corrupted form of life. It acts as a parasite on its hosts, but unlike a mere fungal infection or plague, it’s far more dynamic. It doesn’t just corrupt; it repurposes . I’ve observed elements of cellular degradation in reanimated corpses that mimic necrotic tissue, but also evidence of regeneration—twisted and unnatural, of course, but regeneration nonetheless.”

He was no longer talking to Taash, but more to himself, to the books and notes and space around him. To the world. To anyone or anything who would possibly listen. 

“The Blight is beginning to present differently. In places like the Hossberg Wetlands, there are physical manifestations—boils, cysts, pustules of Blighted growth spreading the corruption outward. These cysts are brimming with dark ichor, capable of infecting anything that comes into contact with them, but what’s most concerning is that these manifestations aren’t passive. They spread. If left unchecked, I suspect these growths could contaminate vast areas, rendering them uninhabitable for generations. The Hossberg Wetlands are just one example—a fertile region turned into a festering swamp. Who knows how far it could spread, and as for the wardens…”

He let his head fall into his hands then. He had not slept. Candles had burned down to nubs in their holders, cups of cold tea sat untouched in a sombre crowd around the room, marking the places he had stood, pulling various books from the shelves, sitting in his chair in front of the fire and fiddling with various pieces of equipment which he may find a use for. Piles of books which had not proven to be of use to him were becoming columns on the stairs, on the balcony, on the floor. Poor Manfred was trying his best to keep up with the clutter the professor left behind him, his curiosity teetering into concern. 

“You shouldn’t be poking around with that. It’s dangerous. It’ll make you sick. Then what would Rook do? She needs you.”

Emmrich sighed heavily, his fingers digging into his scalp. “I don’t know if I can help her. The Order is so secretive... Maybe if I could access—”

“No,” Taash interrupted, her voice firm. “Not as a warden.”

Her words snapped his attention up. He blinked, his exhaustion momentarily breaking down the walls of logic he had so carefully constructed.

Taash rolled her eyes and made a sound of frustration. “Rook likes you. It’s obvious. She spends half her time around you flirting and making stupid puns to get you to laugh.”

Emmrich blinked again, slower this time, as if the weight of her words was just sinking in. “She... was making those terrible puns... to flirt with me?”

“Yeah. I didn’t say she was clever.”

He cleared his throat and straightened in his chair, though the motion did little to make him seem any more composed. “I think you’re mistaken. Grace is vivacious, yes, but she’s equally warm and affectionate toward many of our companions. Including you. It’s just her nature.”

“Ugh. You’re just as clueless as she is.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s Kashlock. With you it’s Taamlock.”

The bemused look did not leave his face, just as the frustrated one did not leave Taash’s.

“With the others she’s flirting for fun. Kashlock. With you it’s serious. Taamlock. You want each other. I can smell it. It’s disgusting.”

Emmrich felt the heat creeping up his neck to his ears, his face crimson. He opened his mouth to respond but managed only a spluttering noise.

“Look. You like her. She likes you. She needs you around. Don’t fuck around with the blight and get yourself killed. ‘Kay?’

Still speechless, Emmrich could only gape at her as she turned on her heel to leave. 

“Bye.” she said

“Wait, Taash..” 

He did not want her to leave so soon, even though he could not place the exact moment their dynamic had soured, he was certain of one thing: they could not afford to remain at odds. Besides, if she had anything more to add around Grace’s behaviour, he would be more than interested to listen. 

“Please, feel free to stay for a spot of tea,” Emmrich said, gesturing toward the chair opposite him. “Manfred has been experimenting with infusions. I’m sure he could add some ginger—I recall you’re rather fond of it.”

Manfred paused his dusting, turning to hiss enthusiastically.

Emmrich knew better than to expect a warm reaction. But the gesture, however modest, was meant to ease the wariness she held for him. Time spent in conversation, he hoped, might convince her that her mistrust was misplaced. Yet, her continued guardedness was beginning to sting. He hadn’t seen her smile - not once - and it was becoming more and more difficult not to take it personally.

Taash remained where she stood, her boots rooted firmly to the wooden floorboards. She didn’t move forward, but neither did she retreat.

With an inward sigh, Emmrich decided to treat her as he would one of the Necropolis’ elusive cats: patient, unobtrusive, and willing to let her make the first move.

“You call him a ‘he.’”

“I’m sorry?” Emmrich asked, glancing up from a book.

Taash’s gaze hadn’t wavered. Her eyes remained locked on Manfred, her brow furrowed as if puzzling out a riddle she hadn’t yet solved. Emmrich knew she hated riddles.

“Manfred,” she said, her voice slow and deliberate, “You call him ‘he.’ How do you know he’s a ‘he’? Does he have… boy bones?”

“Ah.” Emmrich closed the book softly and returned his quill to its pot. “His bones are from a variety of donors, male and female. Some skeletal components require a match from the same biological sex, but others fit together without regard to such concerns. However,” he said, smiling gently, “just as with us, Manfred’s identity has nothing to do with the bones themselves.”

Taash blinked, her frown easing ever so slightly. “Oh.”

“It’s quite simple, really,” Emmrich continued. “He just let me know.”

“But I thought he could only hiss?”

“He finds his own ways to communicate. Many spirits, especially ones as curious as Manfred, wish to join the living and experience life. When they do, they start as something simple—a facet or idea that represents them—and, with encouragement, develop into more complex beings. For some spirits, I suppose gender becomes part of that identity.”

“Only some spirits?”

“It isn’t universal,” Emmrich explained, leaning back in his chair. “Some spirits feel no need for such distinctions. Gender, after all, is a construct. Perhaps they pick it up from the body they inhabit, the living beings they observe, or simply from something that brings them comfort. It helps them feel closer to what they wish to become.”

He watched as Manfred stopped dusting to offer a soft hiss and wiggle his skeletal fingers at a stray wisp that had floated through the window.

“Spirits,” Emmrich added, watching the exchange with quiet amusement, “aren’t so different from us in many ways.”

Taash’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So you didn’t question it at all?”

“Why would I?” Emmrich replied. “Who am I to argue when someone tells me who they are?”

“Huh.”

Emmrich let the silence linger before clearing his throat. “Now, about that tea? I assure you, Manfred’s steeping technique has improved immensely.”

Taash hesitated, her eyes darting briefly toward the skeletal steward before returning to Emmrich. For the first time, she seemed to seriously consider his offer.

“All right,” she said at last, lowering herself into the chair. “But tell him not to hiss at me. It freaks me out.”

Manfred inclined his skull politely, then shuffled off toward the teapot.

A fleeting smile crossed Taash’s face as she settled into the chair. It was small, but Emmrich caught it all the same. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯ ♜ ⎯⎯⎯⎯

Emmrich’s resolve had only deepened since his conversation with Taash. The mystery of the blight had taken root in his mind, consuming him with an urgency he couldn’t shake. He and Antoine had been exchanging letters, delving into theories and testing various hypotheses out in the wetlands. Yet, it had been days since he'd heard from Antoine, and a nagging worry gnawed at him. Had they reached a dead end?

With his trusty notebook in hand, Emmrich had just stepped out of his study when he heard raised voices drifting from the atrium. He paused, torn. He should turn back, respect their privacy, or announce himself to avoid the suspicion of eavesdropping. But then he heard Grace’s voice, sharp and fired up and he halted. Something in the tone of her voice made him hesitate.

“I’m not arguing with you about this, Davrin. Varric put me in charge. I’ve made the call.” Grace’s voice was taut, each word pulled so tight they might snap. It was a sound Emmrich recognised well. That edge of strained control, of barely holding herself together. He’d heard her like this before, countless times - pushing forward even as the weight of the world tried to drag her back twice as hard.

“You are not my senior Warden,” Davrin shot back, his tone colder than Emmrich had ever heard. 

“I’ve been a Warden for much longer than you—” 

“Length of service doesn’t correlate to rank,” 

“Davrin. You’re not listening to me. I’ve been a Warden longer than you, and I have much less time left…” 

“No. Stop that. You’re the only one with the link to Solas, and that’s our play against the other Gods.”

“You mean The God of Lies? The God of Trickery? We can’t trust him, Davrin. Maybe it would be for the best if—”

“Absolutely not.” There was a sound like hands being slammed on a table.  

Grace didn’t back down. Her voice didn’t waver, not even a little. She was a wall. 

“You need to protect Assan! You need to get the griffons back—they’re the last ones alive.”

“They will die anyway if the Gods win!” Davrin hit back. “The griffons, the people—they’ll all die if we don’t make the right decision now. You think I’m being noble? I don’t give a shit about trophies or statues or glory, Rook. This is the right decision, and you know it.”

Something shifted then, that once moved could not be put back.

“I can hear the Calling.” She said, simply and brutally. A lance through his heart. 

No one moved. No one spoke. The warmth went out of the room as though her words were a spell that leeched the heat from the stone. 

From the shadows, he stepped forward, his boots heavy against the stone floor. Her head snapped up toward him, her face draining of color as her eyes met his. He caught the flicker of surprise, quickly replaced by something else—guilt, perhaps.

“How long?” His voice was calm, too calm, the kind of calm that masked a storm.

“Emmrich…” Grace began, her tone soft, placating. “Apologies, our conversation just got out of hand. I didn’t mean to—”

“How. Long.”

The words came harder, sharper this time, slicing through whatever excuse she was about to make.

She hesitated, her eyes darting away before she spoke. “It started just before I met Varric.”

“Bullshit,” Davrin cut in, his voice a whip crack. “You’re lying. You’re just saying that so I’ll let you kill the damn dragon.”

Grace sighed, running a hand over her face. “I’m not lying, Davrin.”

“Why does it matter who kills the dragon?” Emmrich interjected, though he already dreaded the answer.

Grace turned to him, her expression grim. “Because the only way to kill an Archdemon is for a Warden to do it. When the Archdemon dies, its essence transfers to the Warden who strikes the killing blow. And that Warden dies too.”

“What?!” His mind raced, struggling to piece together the implications. “That’s absurd. What’s the science behind it? How does that—”

“It’s confidential. Warden secrets.” Grace said flatly, her tone closing the subject.

“Is now really the time for secrecy ? ” Emmrich snapped, his voice rising. “What if I could help? I’ve been studying the Blight, it’s connection to the Fade - it’s changing , there has to be a way to—”

“Even if there was a way,” she interrupted, her voice quieter now but no less resolute, “it’s too late. The Gods are moving on Weisshaupt. We just got word from Evka and Antoine.” She glanced at Davrin, her gaze steeling. “Get ready to leave.

Emmrich felt his breath catch again, his mind scrambling for some way to hold onto the unraveling threads. “Grace—” he started, but she was already turning away.

“There’s nothing else to discuss,” she said without looking back. “Prepare what you need. We’re all going. And we do what we must.”

And then she was gone, her silhouette vanishing into the dim corridor beyond, leaving Emmrich standing in the silence.

Perhaps, it was not merely a bruise that bloomed across his heart after all. 

He could not leave it like this. The image of her marching toward certain death, stubborn and resolute, gnawed at him with a relentless hunger. If he did nothing, if he stayed silent, if he didn’t act—he knew he would never forgive himself.

He followed her into her room, as she began grabbing hold of various things littered around and stuffing them into her pack or her pockets. 

“You weren’t going to tell me?”

She owed him nothing, he reminded himself, but that didn’t stop the hurt clawing its way up his throat. She wasn’t his to lose or mourn, and yet here he was, desperate for something from her—anger, indignation, anything to hold onto before they faced a god.

“No point.” Grace shrugged, her voice clipped as she rifled through her pack. She didn’t meet his gaze, didn’t even pause as she tucked a couple of small potions and a delicate gold locket into her pockets. “If I told anyone I was this close to the end, they’d look at me differently. Like I’m weaker. Like I’m already gone. I don’t need that. I just need to finish this, to make my death mean something. I will not go to the deep roads”

His laugh was bitter, humorless. “You are vexingly reckless! Persistently charging headfirst towards death as though it’s the only option. You’re the first in a fight, the first to take a hit you haven’t calculated. You gamble with enemies that would gut us all for sport, tamper with artifacts you don’t even bother to study—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

“And you never learned to swim ,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Yet you fight at the water’s edge in armor that would sink you like a stone, without a single care for the consequences!”

Her anger ignited, the dam breaking as she spun on him. “Because I don’t give a fuck about the consequences!” she shouted, the words raw and cutting. “The consequence is I die, Emmrich! That’s the only outcome for me, one way or another. At least if I kill the arch-demon, I get to choose how.”

His breath hitched, the fury in his chest burning hotter. “And I suppose it matters very little to you that we’d have to watch it happen? That we’d be the ones to carry your broken body back after you’ve thrown your life away?”

“It shouldn’t matter,” her voice was quieter now “That’s what you do, isn’t it? That’s what we do? Watchers bury the dead, and Wardens become them.”

“You think it’s that simple?” he asked, his anger softening into something rawer. Anguish.

Her eyes flicked up to his defiant fire still burning, but now tempered with something else. Guilt. Fear, maybe. “I don’t—”

“You do,” he cut in, stepping closer. “You think I care so little about you?”

She opened her mouth as if to respond, but no words came. Her fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight. He saw her retreating further into herself, fortifying the walls she’d built long before he’d met her.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” he said, his voice softer now, fragile. He let his knuckles brush lightly against the back of her hand hesitantly, as though the simple gesture could break something between them. He wanted to hold it—to hold her—but didn’t dare.

Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. “It’s easier if I do.”

“Easier for whom?”

She turned away from him then, her face half-hidden in shadow, but not before he caught the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes.

“For everyone. For me. For you.” Her voice cracked, but she pressed on, “I’ve done everything alone since I joined the Wardens. Gave myself to the cause completely. Became a really fucking good Warden. And you know what I learned? If you keep your distance, it’s safer. I stopped talking to my family. I never fell in love. I protected my heart. I stopped thinking about tomorrow or the day after that, because it hurt too much. I figured... if I never start anything, I never have to face it ending.”

“Grace…”

How desperately he wanted to kiss her, to give her something worth fighting for. To show her he didn’t care if she was dying, or blighted, or infuriating. She deserved hope. She deserved a chance at something more than the void she kept her distance from. She deserved moments of softness, of connection, before her time ran out.

He may have feared death, but Grace feared living - and that, he thought, was a far greater tragedy.

“Would you do me a favour?” His voice trembled slightly, but he steadied it when her eyes—deep, green, full of unshed water—turned back to him.

“Be a little less reckless, please. I know what calls to you. I know the temptation for someone as stubborn and fiery as you to do everything on your own terms.”

He reached out then, the urge to wipe away the tear that had escaped her eye as strong as gravity itself, but he dropped his hand before it could reach her skin. He resisted, unwilling to push her away further with the wrong touch.

“Give me a chance. Give us a chance. To find another way. The Archdemon must die, but that doesn’t mean you have to be the one to do it.”

Her blaze reignited. “I will not ask another Warden at Weisshaupt to make that sacrifice.”

“I know,” he said quietly, “but no one is asking you either.”

He sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment, trying to push down the growing knot in his throat. “Please, Grace, for me. As someone who thinks of you as more than just a Warden... more than just Rook. .. would you—”

She kissed him then.

It was gentle. Her lips brushed his with a softness he hadn't expected, the surprise so complete that he had no time to respond before it was over. She stood on her tiptoes, her lashes wet and heavy, her lips soft and kind, and it felt like the world held its breath for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Emmrich,” she whispered as she pulled away “In another time, another life... I could have been someone different for you.”

He wanted to protest. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t need her to be anyone else but this , but she was already stepping back. Already pulling away. Her Warden’s mask slipped back into place, the distance between them stretching wide once more.

“Time to go,” she said, her voice steady, her eyes never meeting his as she turned and walked toward the door.

He stood alone once more, her taste lingering on his lips, and Emmrich thought of what a great and terrible shame it was. She was hurtling headlong toward death, while he had spent his life clawing his way in the opposite direction, desperately trying to outpace it. They were like two stars in opposing orbits, drawn together for a fleeting moment before spinning away, unable to meet where their paths might align.

And in that cruel divide, there was no space for them to pause, no time for their lives to intertwine in the quiet spaces between battles and burdens. Instead, they were left with a single kiss to taunt them with what might have been.

That’s when he saw it, on her dressing table, only slightly concealed beneath a hand mirror. An envelope with his name on it. 

The temptation to tear it open and devour the words it contained was strong, but the fury and heartbreak that surged within him were stronger. There were things she had left unsaid, things she was willing to put down in a letter for him to read after she was gone. After she was dead. 

He had spent his life with the ability to bring back the last words and thoughts and feelings of the recently deceased, and in many ways it was a privilege and a blessing. In others, it was a heartbreak. Many times, he had heard the souls of the dead come back to spill out the final things they did not have the opportunity to say in life. A lot of the time, they were said only to him. In a crypt, alone. Words of love or regret, that fluttered out of their mouths as the most precious and delicate whispers with nowhere to land. He always listened, and made notes of what was said and by whom. How tragic, that people so often died with so much left to say.

He left the letter where it was. He would not read it. It was not a whisper he wished to hear.

He would hear whatever she had to say from her rosy, full lips. Or he would not hear it at all.

[daflangstlairde-art]

"Extremophile" 3/4

Part 3 of ocean depths

Summary:

You drown every minute, every second, with every breath you take. You haven’t breathed for so, so long. The icy waters are inside you, deep, deep inside you. All you could ever feel is cold and colder. You haven’t seen the sun in... so... long. It was so far away from you that you couldn’t even picture it anymore. And here was the sun himself. Here was that gasp of air that burned. You’ve been so cold for so long, the warmth feels like death. — Alt summary: It's not easy but boy do I drag Killer (and everyone around him) kicking and screaming towards a healing arc

Chapter 3: "an orchid" 4293 words

—

Killer was bored. He was bored as hell. When wasn't he bored? 

“Hey,” Dream greeted, with a small smile and a wave, “I guess I don't have anything to pass onto you today, so, I brought something of my own?” 

Luckily there was a clown here to entertain him. What a delight. 

“It’s also a bit of a... an apology gift?” Dream continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “Last time I was here, I... kind of freaked you out, and I didn't mean to,”

Killer shrugged. “Whatever,” he hadn't even bothered to stand up upon Dream’s arrival, why would he care about that? 

“Right,” Dream strode over, holding out... 

“...A russian nesting doll,” Killer deadpanned, though he did take the object to inspect it.

(Pointedly avoiding even the smallest point of physical contact with Dream. Not even a brush of their fingers.) 

“Yeah! I– Night told me about... your conversation, and... I agree with him,” Dream said. “Oh! Ink helped me paint it!” 

It was customized. As Killer opened it up, all the dolls had black eyes and a replica of his soul painted on. He snorted. This felt like mockery, honestly. And the thought of Dream of all people being a bully was very funny.

It was made from hard wood. Killer discovered this as he tried to crush one of the pieces with a hand and it didn't buckle. Shame. It would've been fun to watch Dream hide away the hurt that would've caused. 

“Well now that that’s out the way,” Killer stored the thing in his inventory, pushing himself to his feet. Dream stepped back to give him space. Or maybe he was (justifiably) scared that Killer would attack him again (he might). “Take me to– ugh, Underfell,” 

Dream blinked, confused at the changed topic. 

“Where Dust is,” Killer clarified for him. “I’m sick of this place,” 

Dream paused. Then, his expression brightened with a grin like a sunrise, though what that was for, Killer hadn't a clue.

“Yes!” Dream exclaimed. “I mean– of course I can,”

And in barely a few minutes, they were in Dust’s Underfell with Dream knocking at the door. Killer mimed rolling his eyes.

It was some time late in the afternoon. There was the sound of several locks being undone, and then the door opening. 

Red regarded them with a flat look. 

“What,” he asked. 

“Hello!” Dream greeted. 

“Hi?” 

“Here for Dust,” Killer cut in, directly to the point. 

“Right,” Red turned to the inside of the house. “EY DUST BUNNY! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!” he yelled. Killer snorted. 

Dust appeared in the space next to him, a hand on Red’s shoulder. Already prepared with a glower, but it eased up when he saw them. Probably because of Dream’s presence. 

...Except he pushed Dream away. And stepped toward Killer. And put an arm around his shoulders, punching him in the sternum with no harmful intent behind the action. You could even call it friendly. 

“Finally decided to stop sulking?” he teased.

...What. 

Since when was Dust so damn touchy? Since when was he... what, affectionate? What the hell did this place do to him? Wasn't this Universe supposed to be, you know, rough around the edges or something? Violent? What? 

“I don't sulk,” Killer shoved him in return. 

“Sure, and I've never killed a soul,” Dust rolled his eyes, amused, though he did let go. “Seriously though. It's nice to see you here,” 

...What? 

This was like that ‘you're my friend’ bullshit that Dust pulled. 

Dream was beaming at the two of them. Killer stepped on his foot harshly, making him yelp and stumble away. 

Dust whacked him upside the head for it. Killer elbowed him in the ribs.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Red muttered, dragging a hand down his face. Turning around leaving them to it like he wasn't associated. 

“You’re as much of a freak as ever,” Killer replied to Dust’s comment at last. 

“And you're as much of a jackass as ever,” Dust replied, not offended even in the slightest, just grinning in amusement. Damn him. “Thanks for bringing him,” he turned to Dream. 

“Of course! Anytime.” Dream nodded, smiling still. “Will you be staying here, Killer?” 

“Sure,” Killer shoved his hands back in his pockets, “Beats being bored.” 

“I support your decision entirely,” Dream stated, and Killer narrowed his eyes, considering stabbing him. “In that case, Dust, you should expect to see us around occasionally, if that's okay?” 

“Sure,” Dust shrugged. “Just don't forget to knock,” 

“Of course,” Dream nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it!” he waved at them with a smile, and in a flash he was gone.

“Come on,” Dust shoved Killer inside. “I wanna see you try Edge’s cooking,” 

“Not worried I’ll dust him on the spot?” Killer teased. 

“Good luck trying,” Dust immediately countered, closing the door behind them and redoing the locks. “If you're going to be an asshole I’ll just kick you out and back to your depression hole. Have fun being bored out of your mind,” 

Good point. Currently it would be more interesting to have people around. When they got boring, Killer would resolve to pain and murder, but he had no reason to waste resources right now.

—

The ‘fell brothers got him a mattress in Dust’s room. That’s where Killer spent of his time really. Just used to it. 

Except when Dust kicked him out of bed to do random shit. Like cleaning the house. Or watching television. Some of it boring, some of it a little less boring. 

At least there were things to do. Even if they kind of made Killer itch for violence. So far, the only decoration to his side of the room was grooves in the wall where he threw his knives in boredom. 

...And that stupid nesting doll from Dream. 

Well. Killer wasn't going to complain (that's a lie, he complained a lot) — at least it wasn't the emptiness. 

...In the dark of night, sometimes Dust couldn't sleep. Sometimes Killer was awake as well, restless with a craving for something to fill the void. And they... chatted. Like they did before, when they were both still with Nightmare. 

It was... 

...nice.

—

When Killer’s name was yelled from the living room, he already expected it to be Night or Dream. 

“Hello,” Night greeted passively. 

“Should've closed the door on his face, maybe a broken nose would make the sight nicer,” Killer commented and Red snorted.

“Hell no, I’m not getting involved with y’all,” Red didn't waste a moment to leave. Fair enough. 

“Test number one,” Night mentioned, lifting... a folded chess board? 

“All you'll succeed with that is boring me to death,” Killer pointed out, striding over to drag him inside because the idiot still hadn't entered. What, was he going to play chess from the doorway? 

Close the door, lock all those stupid locks because apparently this was just how Underfell is. 

“Well. Give it a chance,” Night reasoned. 

“Whatever,” Killer walked over, flopping on the ratty couch. Might as well indulge him so he leaves quicker. If Night wanted to sabotage his own stance by intentionally boring Killer, well, that was his business. 

There was no chair across the low table. Killer watched as Night, hesitantly, sat on the couch too. As far away from Killer as he could. Killer snorted. 

Night opened up the board and started quickly setting up the chess.

“You are familiar with the rules,” Night stated. It wasn't a question because he already knew the answer — Corrupted Nightmare had played with him once. 

“Nope,” Killer said, just to be annoying. “Never even heard of it,”

Night had the audacity to roll his eyes. He even looked amused. Where did all that guilt and hesitation go, huh? 

“You take white,” Night said before Killer could instigate his suffering. 

Killer sighed, and played some classic first move. 

He already knew how this match would go. It was obvious — chess was one of Night’s favorite things, the nerd, and he’s had decades to get good at it. Killer wasn't an idiot if he could say so himself, but chess? It never really caught his fancy in particular. He wasn't much of a strategist. 

They weren't even talking. Just sitting in silence, moving some wooden pieces around a checkered pattern. It was nothing.

Time ticking forth. The quiet sound of the pieces hitting the board.

As Night started snatching his pieces off, it was only being confirmed who’d win. And it wasn't even taking long. 

“...You’re not actually putting effort in, are you,” Night finally caught on. 

“I told you,” Killer sighed, lounging on the couch without much care, “it’s boring. And you’ll win anyway. What's the point?” 

“That’s unfair,” Night huffed, “You agreed to play fair. That was the deal.”

Killer groaned, letting his head flop back. 

“It’s stupid,” he growled. “This is a waste of time. I agreed to your damn bet, not to play pointless games,” 

“Yes,” Night reasoned, “and this is part of the bet.” 

“No, this is you being an annoying asshole,” Killer said cheerfully. “Haven't you learned? No one actually wants you around. At least when you were a mean asshole, you were an asshole with a personality.”

With how he was leaning back, Killer couldn't see the other’s face. But he didn't need to. The pause that followed made the hurt audible. 

Night quietly breathed in. Breathed out. 

“...You’re frustrated,” he stated.

Killer mimed rolling his eyes. “Fantastic counterargument, totally defeated my point,” he returned sarcastically. 

“No,” Night corrected, “you're frustrated. I know that because I can still sense the emotions of others. When you get bored, you get frustrated. That's an emotion.” 

Silence. 

“What a delightful existence,” Killer spoke slowly. Cold and venomous. Pushing himself to sit up so he could stare at Night. “Being able to feel either emptiness or frustration.” 

“But it’s a feeling,”  

“It’s torture.” Killer growled. 

“But it's a feeling,” Night insisted, and in a blink Killer threw a knife at him. 

Night yelped, but barely managed to dodge to the side. As if Killer could put a dent in his HP that mattered. 

“And when you’re bored, you want to do something!” Night continued, even as Killer got to his feet. “That’s a feeling too!” Night also scrambled to his feet to avoid the next stab, the blade sinking into the couch instead. 

“I’ll show you what’s a feeling,” Killer snarled, grinning. “Ever heard of pain?” 

But before he could throw the next readied attack, there was a ping! 

His soul was grabbed and he was slammed back into the wall. Not enough to be a killing blow, barely chipped anything from his HP. 

“Don't put holes in my couch,” came Dust’s flat voice from the stairs. “Do you know how hard it is to get furniture around here?” 

Killer breathed harshly, still glaring at Night. He dissipated his conjured knife, huffing. Whatever. 

Night was wrong. This yawning chasm inside him wasn't an emotion. It was a feeling the way hunger was a feeling. It was a desperation, a self-preservation instinct from the brain’s desire to not self-destruct. It was cold. 

“My apologies,” Night’s gaze had moved to Dust, a little wide eyed. “Dust– I–” 

“Yeah yeah, you already delivered your sorry’s,” Dust waved a hand dismissively. “Look, man, it’s not like you ever hurt me in particular,” 

Night’s eyes, perhaps unintentionally, flicked to Killer before returning to Dust. “But I intentionally kept you in the worst possible mental state you could–” he rushed out.

“Yeah, and I left,” Dust shrugged. “And you're not that guy anymore, right?” 

“Unfortunately,” Killer chimed in. “You gonna release me now?” 

“Are you going to damage more of my property?” Dust fired back. 

“I’ll damage your face.” 

“Oh you want me matching your ugly, Tar-Eyes?” 

Killer barked a laugh. “Damn you! I’m prettier than you could ever be,” 

“My boyfriend would beg to differ,” 

“Boyfriend?” Killer raised his brow ridges. 

Dust cleared his throat, glancing away. Killer started laughing. Oh now this was news, how interesting. 

Throughout their interaction, Night’s gaze had flicked back and forth between the two of them. Observing them with something pinched in his expression. 

“Game over, Nighty,” Killer stated as his soul was finally released from the directed gravity. “Pack it up,” 

“...But we didn't complete it,” Night pointed out. 

“And we aren't going to, because quite frankly? I cannot be bothered,” Killer nodded generously. 

“Better listen before he starts dishing it out again,” Dust chimed in, amused. “Trust me, he ain't scared to take it,” 

“Oh like you’d know, you can barely leave a scratch on me,” Killer taunted. 

“It barely takes more than a scratch for you to crumble,” Dust fired back easily.

“Wanna test that hypothesis?” Killer growled, grinning. 

“Yeah, let me go put my egg-handling gloves,” 

There was a quiet snort, and Killer looked over to see Night covering his mouth. Killer could still tell he was smiling, though god knows why.

“I’ll uh, leave you two be,” Night cleared his throat, back to awkward. Swiftly gathering up the chess pieces and folding the board.

—

It’s clear the ‘fell brothers aren't exactly keen on your company, but they tolerate you. Perhaps they even mildly respect you, if only out of fear.

...Dust... interacts so easily with them. It’s clear he cares about them, and that they care about him. 

(He’s been carrying himself so much more easily ever since he left Corrupted Nightmare’s whole operation. 

...Good for him.)

“Hey,” 

What’s more peculiar, weird even, is that Dust acts that way with you, too.

“You okay?” he asks, even though you've done nothing but lay in bed all day. Staring at the ceiling. Getting lost in the passage of time. The damn passage of time. 

“Couldn't be better,” you reply with a flat look, grinning. It is the truth.

Dust rolls his eyes. 

“Move over,” 

“Oho, baby want cuddles like the good ol’ times?” 

“Move over or I'll move you myself,”

“You know what they say, don't threaten me with a good time,” you tease and prod. Always pushing buttons. Always looking for a reaction. For something to fill the emptiness.

Sadly there’s no longer a Corrupted Nightmare to rip you apart and make you feel tangible enough to be ripped part. 

All Dust does is shove you to the side with a foot. You can't be bothered to protest. He flops down beside you, easy and comfortable. He isn't scared of you. He doesn't cower and cry like some frail minnow. It's what you respect about him.

“Found some books about ancient human philosophy recently,” Dust mentions. 

“Uh-huh,” 

“It's pretty interesting. Most of them say incredibly obvious things, just in a fancy way,” 

You both chuckle. 

“A lot of them are from this place called ‘Ancient Greece’ and stuff, a lot of what I’m pretty sure are the classics...” 

Aaand so Dust starts telling you about some ancient humans with different sorts of beliefs. How different schools of thought or sciences developed from their statements. 

It's... it's whatever. It's pretty boring really. Philosophy isn't your thing. Mostly because nothing is your thing. Nothing interests you. 

...But... 

The time doesn't pass as slowly, when it’s being used for something. The silence isn't as suffocating, broken by Dust’s... company. 

So. 

It's not that bad.

(...It’s nice.

...

...maybe you missed this.)

—

“Nothing? Really? You didn’t feel anything?” Dream was frowning at him where he sat across their impromptu beach blanket thing. 

“Nope!” Killer affirmed cheerfully. 

“Did– did you really have that bad of a time?” Dream’s frown was tinged with some sadness. 

Killer shrugged. “Not particularly, no. It was mostly just...” he flicked more sand off his arm, “...boring,” 

Dream’s idea was to take him for a ‘beach day’ for a couple of hours. His hypothesis being that if Killer was relaxed and in a very pleasant space, he’d feel... ugh, “safer and more comfortable” to... “express his emotions”.

It failed. Sure, the sun against his bones was pleasant sensation-wise, and so was the sound of the waves close by, but that was about it. The most Killer got out of it was relentlessly teasing Dream for “taking him out on a date”, trying to get a reaction from him. Dream was annoyingly composed and used to his bullshit. Killer ended up trying to manually catch fish by stabbing them with his knife. 

It lasted a few short hours. The sun was still high and bright. Killer’s jacket was off. They were basically having a beach picnic right now, how romantic! 

“Right,” Dream sighed, face in his hand. He always looked exhausted. He couldn't hide it even from Killer. It got better as the Stars slowly chipped at Corrupted Nightmare’s defenses, getting Dust and Horror to turn over a new page; and it got a lot better as Corrupted Nightmare was un-corrupted; but still. Killer assumed there was a lot of damage control to be done, even with the help of Night. 

That’s the prize you get for living like that. Dream does this to himself, in Killer’s humble opinion. 

“Well, thank you for giving it a shot,” Dream re-composed himself. Still trying to look on the bright side. Jeez, Killer was getting tired just looking at him, hah. 

He shrugged in response. “Just a waste of my time. Nothing new.” 

Dream studied his expression. Probably trying to figure out where he went wrong. Killer would advise him to look somewhere much farther, more along the lines of the distant past, such as: the moment he was born. Were these ‘guardians’ born...?

“...Aside from that,” Dream picked up conversation yet again. Maybe this was just an excuse for him to have a break. “How have you been?” 

Killer blinked slowly at him. 

“You know, the usual,” he leaned back on his hands, “Killing parents, torturing their children, that sort of thing,” he counted off casually. Even if he’d actually done nothing of the sort. He’s mostly been chilling with Dust. And when the itch to cause harm got stronger, when his soul began going crazy, Dust usually indulged him with a fight. It wasn't ideal, but it was keeping him more or less on his feet. 

There was a quirk to Dream’s expression that almost looked like amusement. 

“Right,” he nodded. “I... guess you want me to return you to your... fun activities?” 

Killer sighed, leaning further until he laid his back on the blanket thing. Watching the bright blue sky and the even brighter sun above. 

“...Eh,” he shrugged. “I’m not in a rush,” 

Dream chuckled. 

It seemed he was content to remain in... peace-adjacent silence. Listening to the timid waves sloshing against the shore, just a few paces away from them. 

As calm as it was, however, the minutes ticked on. Eventually, they started to grate on Killer. Silence was boring. 

“Why are you trying so hard to ‘help me’?” he brought up, since Dream had never properly answered. “You are aware I’m one of the worst people just in general. And I’m not “corrupted” like your brother.” 

“I’m aware,” Dream confirmed. “But, well, the whole idea of ‘I believe anyone can change and be good’ wouldn’t hold much weight if I didn’t believe anyone can change and be good, if they tried,” he pointed out. Killer could respect his integrity. 

“But that’s not really where the catch is,” Killer pointed out. He was pretty sure they’ve had this conversation before. “The catch is in the last part. Whether they want to. Whether they try,” 

Of course anyone had the potential to be just about anything. Willpower is one hell of a force. But pure potential wasn't the matter. That demonic god that destroyed his world over and over until they finally got to him could choose, at any time, to not do that. They had that power more than anyone. 

But they didn't. They made those choices. And so did Killer. 

“...Do you want to be evil, Killer?” Dream asked calmly, after their brief pause. When Killer turned his head to look at him, Dream was watching the waves with a tired expression. 

Killer scratched his skull. He shrugged. “It can be fun,” 

“Yeah,” Dream nodded, and Killer blinked. “That’s the thing. You don’t want to be evil for the sake of being evil, do you?” 

...Hm. Interesting that he thought so. 

“And I think,” Dream reasoned, “like Night also thinks, that if we figure out the core reasoning behind your actions, we can find what you really want. And we can work with you. And we can help you,” 

Fun theory. 

“That didn’t answer my question however,” Killer nudged the topic aside with a foot. “Why do you want to help me that bad?”

Dream huffed a soft laugh. “It’s what I do,”

“Oh please,” Killer scoffed, “Don’t give me that cop-out,”

“...Why do you want to know?” 

“I’m bored, sunshine,” as if it was anything new. 

Dream glanced at him. Again, that slight quirk to his mouth, like he was amused or something. 

“...You’re curious,” he offered a correction. 

“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” Killer shrugged. Curious, sure, why not? People are freaking weird. Might as well try to figure them out. It’s one of the few varieties in life. Better mental stimulation than the sameness of everything else. 

“I...” Dream looked down at his hands. “Well, you can look at it mathematically if you want. There isn’t much worth to just... hating you forever, punishing you for your actions. That doesn’t get us anywhere. But if a bad person becomes good, to use simple terms... that’s an overall net gain, isn’t it?” 

...Huh. Much more pragmatic than Killer expected. He would’ve betted on something a lot sappier. 

“And everyone has a will,” Dream continued. “It’s not that you can choose to do good at any time, sometimes it’s a little more complicated, but when you remove any external factors forcing people’s decisions... I do think they can choose to do good. No matter what they’ve chosen in the past.” 

“But why not just kill me? There, that removes a bad person,” Killer pointed out. It’s the solution he’d always utilized. Simple and effective. 

Dream frowned a little. “...Did Corrupted Nightmare prefer killing?” he posed a leading question. 

And the truth was... no, not really. He wasn’t against it, obviously, especially when the death of one person could cause the grief of many. He rarely stopped Killer from indulging in it. But he got all prissy when the gang would do nothing but murder (even if it was literally their speciality). 

“Do you expect a corpse to feel bad?” Nightmare had snarled. 

“If we go down that route, ad absurdum, it would just be... endless destruction until nothing is left,” Dream answered. 

“Which wouldn’t exactly give you an increase in positivity,” Killer finished. He supposed it made sense, if he was trying to understand Dream’s point of view. 

“...I wouldn’t say it like that, my goal was never to make all of the Multiverse wholly positive, but... yes, sort of,” Dream nodded. 

“Really?” Killer glanced at him. “I thought that was the idea. Good and evil fighting to win, blah blah blah,” he waved a hand. 

“...No?” Dream blinked. “Although I suppose I understand the confusion. Many people think that.” he reasoned. “...It’s what got Night...” he muttered quietly, trailing off. His expression pinching with a concoction of emotions unfitting for his title. He shook it off quickly. “No, the idea had always been about balance. That’s why I fought against the Corrupted Nightmare. He wasn’t negativity as it should be, he was more. He was an overwhelmingly consuming force, tipping the balance towards his extreme,” 

“And you’re not doing that?” Killer asked. “You don’t want everyone to be happy, Dreamboy?” he teased. 

“No!” Dream exclaimed, to his surprise. “That’s not good for anyone. I want to help people, not– people have a natural range of emotions for a reason. Negative feelings are just as important — sadness is essential to processing grief, anger is what tells you to defend yourself or what you stand for–” he began ranting, in a way that was clearly repeated many times for many, many years.

“Besides you of course,” Killer interjected, and Dream stumbled over his words. 

“What?” he looked at Killer. 

“You’re not allowed to be sad, are you?” Killer pushed at those buttons, grinning. “Because it’s all about mathematics, right? People need the Guardian of Positivity to always be positive. And you serve the people.” 

Dream stared at him, mouth flat, brow ridges pinched. 

Killer chuckled. He was so good at striking a nerve.

“You’re a liar. So desperate to prove your stance true, you’ll tear yourself apart for it and not even let anyone see,” he continued, until Dream turned away, unable to look at him. “And you’re cruel, to claim everyone is right to feel bad, but then turn around and never do that yourself. What sort of example are you setting, sunshine?” Killer mocked. “You want me to accept and show my emotions? Where are yours?”

Dream stiffened.

He was a fool if he expected this evening to go any differently, really. This is what Killer did. He was made of hurt. His own, others’, it didn’t matter. He was fluent in all the dialects. 

And so they sat in silence. Dream likely didn’t have much more desire to talk to him after that, which was fair. Though the conversation was a degree of... enlightening. Killer had discovered nuances to Dream’s thinking he hadn’t expected.

He also expected this to be the end of it. 

...So he was reasonably surprised, when Dream spoke up, quiet but steady, 

“...Yeah. I guess you’re right,”

(...They stayed there for a little longer.)