#sorry for all the tags i just needed it together in here

[joeburrowshaircurl]

A Lovely Night Part 2

summary: You've become friends with Joe over the past few months. Training camp is right around the corner, Joe wants to take things to the next level.

pairing: Joe Burrow x shy anxious reader

warnings: fluff

words: 1,125

a/n: here's part 2! Sorry it took so long, life has been busy. Happy reading!

You sighed with exhaustion as you set the last of the groceries on the counter in the kitchen. Apartment living had its perks, especially since it was the first place you ever had by yourself. But sometimes you wished you had someone to help with carrying the groceries so it took fewer trips. But there was no time to rest, Joe would be coming over for dinner and a movie so it was time to start prepping and cooking.

Movie night had become a thing between the two of you. Sometimes Ja'Marr and Tee would tag along with Joe but most of the time it was only Joe. Sometimes you'd watch a movie at home or if something came out at the theatre, you'd go there.

Joe had revealed his job to you and the fame that came with it and at first, it had surprised you. The way he had arrived to movies during or after the previews made sense, he hadn't wanted to be recognized. You'd never been around anyone famous until Joe, but to you he wasn't famous, he was just a regular guy who also enjoyed to watch movies.

After you put away your groceries for the next few weeks, you put some music on your bluetooth speaker and got busy making dinner from scratch which would be spaghetti and meatballs with salad. The sauce would take the longest to cook due to needing it to simmer so you started on that first. You had no Italian blood in you but you found joy in cooking and baking for others. But it was also a fear of yours that no one would like what you made, so you rarely did it. You were going out on a limb to show Joe another side of yourself, and as worried as you were, you wanted everything to be perfect.

You hadn't realized how much time had past as the sauce was simmering on the stove, the meatballs were done and cooking in the oven, and you were in the middle of kneading the pasta dough when the buzzer went off for your apartment. Knowing it was Joe, you quickly went over to the door to hit the button "Come on up." You unlocked the door for him and cracked it open, some remnants of dough and flour ending up on the inside handle, but you'd clean it off later. Your priority right now was to finish shaping the dough.

"Hey." Joe greeted as he shut the door behind him and took his shoes off. "I got you some canned mocktails to try since I know you don't drink alcohol. I'm going to try some too."

You smiled and looked over at him before you started rolling the dough out to fold and slice. "That's sweet of you, thank you." No one done that before, you were touched.

"What are we watching tonight?" Joe asked as he put the drinks in the fridge and examined the pot on the stove. "And what are you making? I'm intrigued."

"Ummm well I'm making spaghetti, meatballs and salad. The spaghetti and meatballs are from scratch. I wanted to make garlic bread from scratch too but that was going to take too much time. Oh and the sauce on the stove is from scratch too." You explained as you finished kneading and folding the dough to start shape it into spaghetti.

"And we are watching The Godfather, I know its a long movie but we don't have to watch it all tonight." You glanced over at Joe as he took it upon himself to help you by putting together the salad. It could make or break the friendship for you if he didn't like the movie.

"Sounds good to me." Joe replied as he chopped up some vegetables.

"Yeah?" You smiled as you moved to the stove to put the pasta into the pot of water that was now boiling. "Good, because I kind of centered the dinner around the movie. And thank you for making the salad, I appreciate it."

Your anxious thoughts seemed to disappear around Joe, but you still had them depending on the situation and if it was a bad day. But all in all, he had become your rock since moving to Cincinnati. You had only known each other a few months but you felt like you had known him your whole life.

"Its no problem." Joe smiled as he finished combining everything for the salad into one bowl.

"Everything's just about done, go set up the movie and i'll get everything ready." You turned the music of on the bluetooth speaker as Joe moved to the living room to set everything up. The one bedroom apartment in downtown Cincinnati had been much more affordable than your apartment back home in Boston. You even had a view of Paycor stadium, which you hadn't planned but it amused you.

You decided at the last second to combine the sauce with the pasta adn put the meatballs in their own separate bowl instead of putting everything on each of your plates incase Joe wanted seconds. Having everything on the living room table would save from having either of you from having to pause the movie.

"Alright! I hope you like it!" You smiled as you set everything onto the table and grabbed a little bit of everything before you got comfortable on the couch as the movie started.

"This is delicious, thank you for cooking." Joe said before he took another bite.

"You're welcome." You smiled, your cheeks flushing a little.

"If you were my girlfriend, I'd have a hard time staying on track during the season."

Joe had said it so simply, it had made your eyes go wide.

"I-I'd like to think I'd make foods to help you stay on track during the season." You said after your brain was able to think again.

"I'm serious. I want you to be my girlfriend. I know we haven't known each other long but it feels right. I know we will be able to get through training camp, I'll help you adjust."

First and foremost you were friends first, and you loved that. Over the past few months, feelings had grown that you had tried to ignore and kept secret. You couldn't imagine someone wanting to be with you, it had never worked out that way. But you didn't want to openly say it and ruin the moment.

"I-I agree with you." You said softly before you looked over at him and smiled, your cheeks felt like they were on fire. "So its official then."

"Its official." He put his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close against him. "My girl." Your heart was hammering. Surely you had to be dreaming.

[emilys-bangs]

first hello's | e.p

Tags: established relationship, fluff, mom!emily, pregnant emily (just gave birth), no use of yn, this is just sugary sweet tbh

Summary: Eloise has just arrived and you and Emily can't stop fawning over her. Requested here.

Word count: 0.9k (baby blurb for baby Ellie <3)

A/n: I heard that some people don't like pregnant Emily? If that's the case with you please just scroll then, I don't need to know about it! Don't like, don't read <3 ALSO I'm officially done with my midterms.... for that one anon who called me out </3

Everything is quiet. The nurses have finally left and taken their flurry of activity with them; now it’s just you and your wife and your baby—your girls. Your family. Two has finally expanded to become three, and Eloise is perfect. 

You swear Emily is glowing. She’s smiling down at Eloise—who’s tucked into the crook of her elbow, wrapped in a soft pink blanket—as she traces your daughter’s features with the gentlest fingertips. Even disheveled she’s still ephemeral; her hospital gown slips off of one shoulder, her hair still in the braid you’ve put it in—unraveling at the ends, messy and loose from hours of labor. The way her lips are parted, her eyes still shiny as she takes in slow breaths, tells you she’s still trying to absorb the enormity of this quiet, tranquil moment. Her knuckle traces over the baby’s cheek, drawing a light stroke down to her chin. Eloise is asleep, but she doesn’t stir at Emily’s soft touches.

The love in your chest is almost unbearable. You try to expel it by letting out a quiet breath, your hand joining Emily’s on your daughter’s cheek. She’s petal soft, her eyes firmly shut, lashes not even fluttering when you brush your finger down the skin between her brows. Her mouth and nose are yours, but her closed eyes are all Emily.

“God, look at her.” Emily whispers. Her voice is choked, shaky; she clears her throat, waves away the water you try to hand her. “She’s perfect.”

“Of course she is.” You set the bottle back on her bedside table. “She’s half you.”

Emily finally looks up at you. She wrinkles her nose, poorly feigning disgust, but you can tell she’s trying to hide a laugh. “Don’t give me that sappy shit.”

“Uh, one: language—”

“She’s only a few hours old,” your wife interrupts quietly, but she looks down at Eloise with a docile smile. “But I’m sorry, bug.” She coos, her voice instantly turning cloud-like in its softness. “Mommy’s gonna have to get used to censoring her words around you—”

“And two,” you speak over her, grabbing her unoccupied hand, “you literally just spent three hours pushing her out. I’m going to give you that sappy”—she raises a pointed brow—“…stuff,” you substitute lamely, “and so much more.”

Emily smiles and laces your fingers together. “Maybe we can start with a shower, yeah?” Her voice is teasing but the sweep of her lashes is tired, her hair curling from dried sweat.

“Whenever you want it, sweetheart,” you say immediately. Emily’s smile widens, turns smug, but you don’t even care. “I’ll stay with Ellie, you go clean up.” 

It’s so breathtakingly natural for you to call her that. You’ve never even tested out the nickname before today but your mouth is ready, the sweet, miniature version of your daughter’s name rolling off your tongue with ease.

Emily tugs her hand out of yours and turns her attention back to Eloise. “I just want one more minute with her,” she murmurs, tucking the blanket down so she can get a closer look at her sleeping face. The whole length of her is shorter than Emily’s forearm, all bundled in soft pink; the tag reading Eloise Prentiss is hidden beneath the downy depths of the blanket.

You lean against the handle separating you and Emily, your forehead gently pressing against hers as you both look down at your daughter. She breathes evenly, her little chest rising and falling in equal intervals. It almost hurts your heart how small she is against Emily’s chest. You smile at the soft pout of her mouth, unable to stop yourself from gently cupping her head.

“We did a pretty damn good job, didn’t we?”

“We did.” Emily says, the smile audible in her voice. 

Suddenly desperate, you lean further out of your chair, curling your hands around Eloise’s small body. Emily gets the hint. She eases her into your arms and your heart thumps, almost painfully, against your ribcage.

Emily leans over the handle of her bed, seemingly magnetized to the newborn. You kiss the warm edge of her jaw—a poor apology as you hold Eloise to your chest.

“I’m gross,” she protests softly, trying to shy away from your lips.

“You’re magnificent,” you murmur. For extra measure, you give her jaw another kiss.

Emily blushes. She chews on her lip and wraps her hands around the handle of your chair, trying to tug even though it’s flush against her bed. You shift in your seat, offer out your shoulder, and she lays her head on it. The silence settles over you again as Emily’s hand rests on top of yours. It stretches, undisturbed but for the sound of your collective breaths as a family of three. 

The two of you watch, soft-eyed, as Eloise shifts in her cocoon with a low coo, her mouth parting for a second before it falls closed again.

Your heart turns to mush.

The soft gasp next to your ear tells you your wife is equally affected. “Is it bad that I want her to wake up?” Emily whispers.

“No,” you laugh softly. You turn your head, kiss her disheveled hair. “I wanna meet her too. But we’ll be getting more than our fill of that, baby. Soon we’ll be wishing she’s asleep.”

She sighs, content but with a hint of her usual impatience. 

“Can’t wait for soon, then.”

“Me either.”

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights

[m00nl1ghts1vt]

You Like Me? II - Matt Sturniolo

Read First - You Like Me? Pairings - bsf!Matt x bsf!Reader Summary - The morning after Matt confesses his feelings for you, he's sober and remembers everything from the night before. Warnings - Strong language, making out, mentions of alcohol use, suggestiveness, fluff, lil bit of angst W/c - 1479 A/n - I got a couple requests to write a second part so here it is!! I hope everyone likes it ❤️ Tags - @lvrsturniolo @thepubeburgler @unknvhx @ribread03 @m11rx @emely9274 (I believe I got all the tags, if I missed anyone comment below!!) Masterlist City of Love. Part 2. - current series

The morning sun beamed through the curtains, making Matt toss and turn. It had been hours since his confession. Your brain didn’t let you get a wink of sleep, you were up contemplating your next move. You didn’t know if he was completely shitfaced or if he was being serious when he told you he had feelings for you. You knew you needed answers, though. 

Knowing Matt wouldn’t be awake a couple more hours, you kick the covers off of your body, rising to your feet, and making your way to the hallway bathroom. You try to ease your panicked mind by splashing water in your face, standing there for a while before you hear a light knock on the door. 

“Y/n/n?” Matt’s voice sounds quietly from the other side. The familiar lump lodges itself in your throat, making it hard to talk, “y-yea?”

“You okay?” he croaks out, concern laced through his words. You don’t give your thoughts any time to collect themselves before you swing the bathroom door open. Matt stands there with a sympathetic look stuck on his face. His eyes told you he was one hundred percent sober and remembered everything from the previous hours. 

“Morning,” you give him a small smile before sneaking past him. You needed him to tell you why he had been keeping a huge secret like that from you for so long but facing him only made you want to run and hide. This whole time he’s known you, he’s liked you? You weren’t mad over the fact that he had feelings for you. You were pissed he didn’t have the balls to tell you. You always vowed to keep zero secrets in your friendship, so it felt like betrayal. 

‘Hey,” he calls out as you turn the corner to his bedroom. You can hear his bare feet hitting the ground as he picks up his pace to reach you. Once he appears in the doorway of his bedroom, his body brings him to a halt, “are you, like, mad I told you?” You watch as he scratches the back of his neck in a nervous manner. Matt lets his eyes bounce around the room, almost like a child not wanting to look their discipliner in the eyes. You let out a sign, knowing it was stupid to be mad at a sweet face like that, “no, I’m mad you didn’t tell me.”

“Sorry,” he runs a hand through his hair, “I thought it was obvious.” It was very clear Matt was no longer drunk. His words weren't slurred, and his face told you he was fighting a mean hangover. You felt bad but one hangover wasn’t nearly enough of an excuse. He had been hiding his true feelings for over a year. 

You couldn’t keep that big of a secret from him if you tried and it made you wonder if you really even knew Matt. “I don’t know how you’d think that, Matt,” you sit on his bed, knitting your brows together, and crossing your arms over your chest.

Watching as Matt fidgets, picking at the skin on his fingers, “I don’t know. I guess I just did,” he lets his head hang low, not meeting your eyes once.

“Matt,” you keep your tone soft, convincing him to look at you, “come sit with me.” You pat the seat next to you and he reluctantly moves towards the bed, making sure not to sit too close. Sighing at him, “I just wish you would’ve told me sooner.”

In the last year and a half, Matt had seen you with numerous hookups and random tinder dates, and you told him about all of it. You were a very detailed person, so you made sure your best friend knew everything. It wasn’t just letting him know how it went, you told him if the sex was good, you told him if you liked the guy or not. Thinking back on it, the only detail Matt was really interested in was if you were going to be seeing the guy again. Your answer was always no, nobody sparked your interest enough to keep them around. Unlike Matt who definitely did the first time you met him. You were always into Matt, but you had never known a man not to make the first move on you. So, when Matt didn’t initiate anything more than a friendship, you kept it at that, not wanting to force the idea of a hookup or anything more on him.

“I was going to, but I didn’t know how,” he keeps his gaze fixated on his feet. Finally clearing his throat, “by the time I got the courage to, we had been friends for a while. I don’t know, I figured you weren’t into me like that,” he rambles on, not letting his eyes meet yours. Redness shows on your face, “I mean when we first met, yeah.” 

Your words make Matt pick his head up. His eyes meet yours and he opens his mouth to speak, “but not now?” You could tell by the tender look on his face that your next words were going to make or break him. You suck in a breath, “I didn’t say that Matt.” His face twists in disapproval of your words, “then what are you saying?” his voice comes out a bit stronger than before.

“I’m saying you should’ve told me you liked me when you met me or made a move. You could’ve given me a hint, but you hid it from me instead. That’s bullshit Matt,” your words spewing out like venom. Matt opens his mouth to talk but you hold a finger up, “a year and a half! We’re best fucking friends! You could’ve flirted with me, you could’ve told me, Matt. Fuck, you could’ve kissed me, and I wouldn’t have-,” before you have the chance to lecture him anymore, Matt gets the sudden courage to press his lips to yours softly. Your rambling being the main encouragement for him. His lips move against your slowly, like he’s savoring every millisecond. Matt had been waiting so long for this exact moment. His hands travel up your thighs to pull you closer to him, all while his head spins from having you so close, closer than you’ve ever been before. 

Matt taking control of the kiss told you how desperate he was for it to happen. It was out of character for him to take the lead in any situation. Matt trails his tongue across the bottom of your lip, and you allow him access. The slow and sensual kiss rapidly turns into a heated one as your tongues fight for dominance against each other. It seems like hours before you decide you don't want to take it too far too soon, pulling away from his lips and staring up at him. His flustered expression matches yours.

You watch as he gazes at you, his eyes filled with passion. Suddenly, it seemed like you and Matt switched places, leaving you nervous and him more confident than ever. You suck in a breath, “I didn’t know you were such a good kisser.”

“There’s lots you don’t know about me, Y/n/n,” a sly grin pulls at his lips, and he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “And I’d tell you everything if you’d let me,” his tone was convincing like he was trying to persuade you somehow. Matt didn’t know you had already made your mind up when he was passed out cold next to you - you wanted more than a friendship with Matt.

"I do have one question," you blurt out. There were so many questions burning a hole through your brain. His confession had your mind spinning in loops, and the kiss only made it more surreal. Matt raises his eyebrows, telling you to continue, "what did you mean when you said it was your plan, that everyone knew?"

Your question makes heat flow to his cheeks, "It was obvious, Y/n. They figured it out a couple months in." It made sense, they knew him better than anyone else.

"Well, you didn't have to get completely shitfaced just to tell me," you tease at him. Your mood was a lot more playful now that you and Matt talked it out. It felt like a million pounds had been lifted off your shoulders as soon as he kissed you.

A smirk pulls at Matt's lips as his face goes back to its original color, "liquid courage," he tells you, shrugging.

You let out a giggle, a laugh from him following quickly after, "next time I want to know your secrets, I'm feeding you Tito's all night long." Hearing the name of the liquor makes Matt's head throb, "never again," he groans before letting his body fall back onto the mattress.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Happily ever after

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, November 2024 edition

Prompt: guard, 532 words

Rated: T

Tags: POV Chrissy Cunningham; Fantasy AU; Magic AU; Domestic fluff; Married Steddie, Chrissy has a crush on Robin

Notes: More from this universe

The light behind the stained glass windows of the tavern beckons Chrissy closer as she locks up her flower shop - colorful patterns mingling with the painted blossoms on the walls.

“It's for Steve,” Robin told her, back when they first met. “He needs lots of color and noise.”

She never explained, and Chrissy never asked, but she's seen how Steve smiles when she brings the leftover flowers by.

Voices and the scent of food engulf her as she opens the door. The inside is as vibrant as the outside, every wall sporting colorful paintings and tapestries. Robin is nowhere to be seen, but Eddie is lounging by the fireplace, regaling the neighborhood kids with a story. Chrissy sets her flowers down and pulls out a chair to listen.

“What happened then?” Lucas is just asking.

Eddie tilts his head.

“After the thief rescued the guard from the sky vault,” Dustin says impatiently. “Did they get revenge?”

“Nah,” Eddie laughs. “They ran away like the thief promised. They settled in a country far away, where nobody knew about magic, and started a new life. The thief found a house for them and their loved ones, and they filled it with life and color and laughter. And they lived happily ever- what, Michael?”

Mike scowls. “That's a lame ending. What about the thief's magic? He should get it back and find the guard's family and- ouch!”

Max smiles sweetly and lowers her hand. “I think it's a very romantic ending.”

Beside her, El nods. “What about the thief's other promise? That he'd never stop kissing him.”

“He didn't,” Eddie declares proudly. “The thief loved nothing more than kissing his beloved. Sometimes, he'd kiss him for hours on end, in all the places he could reach, until he'd beg-”

“I don't think they need to hear that,” says someone behind Chrissy.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie exclaims, flying out of his chair to sweep Steve into an embrace. “Finally. My heart's been longing for you all night.”

“I was just in the kitchen, you big drama queen,” Steve grouses, but doesn't fight when Eddie pulls him in for a long, noisy smack on the lips. “Sorry, Chrissy. Robin will be here any minute.”

Chrissy waves him off. “Don't worry. Your husband is an excellent entertainer.”

“I see that,” Steve says, turning to the kids. “Shouldn't you be home? It's way after dark.”

They start to protest, but Eddie cuts them off.

“Nuh-uh, you little pests, off you go. Story's over, and I have a beautiful man to kiss.”

They shriek in disgust, and Eddie cackles as he ushers them out the door, hand never letting go of Steve’s.

“Ugh, they're such saps,” Robin mutters, walking out of the kitchen with a bowl of hot stew. Their fingers brush as she shoves it towards Chrissy.

She shrugs, watching how Eddie whispers something into Steve’s ear, making him blush. “I think they're cute. You can see that they've been through a lot together.”

Robin smiles. “You're right about that.”

One day, Chrissy thinks, she's going to ask about that particular story. For now, the old house is full of noise and color, and that's all she needs to know.

Tag list:

@sourw0lfs @bananahoneycomb @firefly-party @whoneedscanon @steddie-island

@sidekick-hero @theheadlessphilosopher @extra-transitional @penny00dreadful @medusapelagia

@mugloversonly @0happyeverafter0 @stevesbipanic @acingthecounts @sweetheartprincess28

@starryeyedjanai @sailing-through-hawkins @original-cypher @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important

[beanarie]

this was inspired by chatter in the tag earlier in the week about tommy not having the reflex to ask for help, not having an emergency contact, etc. bucktommy nation, i'm loving it here.

more a request than a proposal

Wednesday afternoon, as the 118 drove back from a small grease fire, Buck received a text from Tommy.

gonna need a raincheck on hiking Saturday

He kept his expression neutral so his friends wouldn't notice and start giving him a hard time. No problem. Everything okay?

yeah of course. brunch instead? I'll order in

He spent the rest of the week telling himself there was probably nothing wrong.

Saturday, at the agreed upon time, Buck showed up at Tommy's door, looked down at the boot Tommy was wearing, and felt a burst of something ugly which he instantly tried to squash. At least he wasn't getting dumped. "Uh, hey. What happened there?"

Tommy rolled his eyes at himself. "I broke my foot a few days ago."

"What?"

"Yeah, Tuesday night. I'd just maxed out my flight hours and-" He cocked his head. "Why is your face doing that?"

Buck walked away, got in his car, and sat there as Tommy stopped blinking in confusion and went back inside.

Ten seconds later, Buck was ringing the bell again.

Tommy didn't raise an eyebrow, but the muscle twitched like he'd considered it. "I'd ask if you left something behind, but you didn't actually get through the door."

"I was off on Tuesday," Buck said.

"Okay?"

"You knew that. We compared both our schedules for the week. That was how we settled on Saturday."

"I recall." Tommy grimaced. "Look, can we go inside? Standing is not my favorite right now."

"Oh!" Shit. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

Following close behind as Tommy settled on the couch, Buck grabbed a throw pillow for his foot to seem marginally less useless. Now inside, surrounded by all things Tommy, he felt decidedly off-kilter. "Do you... want me here?"

"I thought I did," Tommy said, laying his head against the arm of the couch with a tired sigh. "Go on, tell me what your problem is."

From there, Buck could see the kitchen table laden with takeout containers and a pitcher of orange juice. "Food's getting cold," he pointed out.

"I didn't have much appetite anyway. The food was my clever way of luring you here." He smiled at that, a little, rueful one.

Buck wanted to smile back. He wanted to say Tommy was the only lure he needed. "How did you get home from the ER?"

"I mean, my crew still had more than half a 24 to go, so." He lifted his phone and shook it a bit.

"Uber," Buck said, wanting to break something.

Tommy melted more against the couch as the penny dropped. "Evan, we've been dating three months. I didn't want you to feel obligated."

"It's been a big three months," Buck said.

"Yeah." Tommy gave another little smile. "Sinking ships and runaway grooms and drug cartels, oh my."

"You showed up for me on multiple occasions in that time." The only other options for seating were too far away. Buck knelt on the carpet near the couch.

"You look like you're proposing." Tommy snorted, then looked mildly alarmed. "Take out a ring right now and I'll scream."

"Shut up," he said with a quiet laugh. Tentatively, he reached for Tommy's hand, and smiled as Tommy let their fingers tangle together. "Sorry for being weird. It's just, I like you a lot."

"Ditto," Tommy said, rolling his wrist a few degrees, watching their hands with a strange light in his eyes.

"It hasn't sucked, right? Being my next call after my family when something happens."

"No." Tommy looked thoughtful. His thumb rubbed the back of Buck's hand. "Sucked is not the word I'd use."

"You've been in pain this whole time and I had no idea. I hate that."

The second sigh was more weary than the first. "Evan, it's okay. I'm-"

"If you want me to- to go, I will." They were still so new. Buck couldn't insist on anything, he could only offer. "I know you can take care of yourself. You don't have to, though. Not all the time."

Tommy tugged on their hands, pulling Buck closer. "Stay."

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 26

PLEASEEEEEE NOTE: this is a Maturity rating chapter. heed the content warnings below etc etc

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this one was supposed to be merged with chap 25 but it was getting long and i felt like this motive reveal chapter should be isolated anyways

one day i will write a full thing about fucking nasty style and post that online without the 25 chapters of leadup

ty @digitaldollsworld for the peer review and validating me specifically :)

Content warning tags: blood, physical violence/roughhousing, biting, making out (while bloodied. mild bloodplay?), mildly dubious consent becoming unspoken consent given enthusiastically becoming dubious consent again, coitus interruptus, mild (nonsexual) breathplay, murder plot suggestion, unhealthy relationship dynamics...Please let me know if there's anything I'm missing

< previous - from start - next >

To his surprise, they don’t continue on the same path together.

Instead, they split, with Kirigiri walking towards the stairs, and Makoto in the opposite direction. Without exchanging words, or even a glance.

It gives him pause for a moment, but the choice is ultimately easy. Kirigiri, for all her mysteriousness, does not seem like the kind to be swayed by money, or most other things for that matter, and would certainly not hesitate to point out his current state. He goes after Makoto instead, trailing him some steps behind into the supply room.

The place is the same as ever - stacked with materials, shelves crammed snug with crates of all sizes, and with the air disconcertingly clean and free of dust, as if Monokuma vacuumed every day - and the overhead lights hum and buzz, glowing with an insufficient yellow light. Makoto is crouched near the far wall, over a box on a bottom shelf. Byakuya approaches, making no effort to conceal himself.

For a moment, neither of them say a word. Makoto continues to rummage, and Byakuya simply watches, arms crossed, waiting patiently as the silence stretches to minutes. 

Finally, Makoto turns over his shoulder. “Uh…hi?” He doesn’t sound startled or surprised by Byakuya’s presence, but more bewildered by it than anything. “Do you need something?”

Somehow, it doesn’t sound sarcastic or spiteful. On the other hand, he sounds so genuine that it dissipates any tension that might’ve been in the air. Byakuya sighs, a little exasperated, but less bothered than he thought he should be.

He was going to ask what Makoto’s feelings were about the motive reveal, but suddenly the atmosphere is all wrong for it, and such a conversation feels too exhausting to have now. “What are you doing?” He asks instead.

“I’m…” Makoto trails off, turning back to look into the box. “...Looking for something.”

“Yes, I gathered that much.” He rolls his eyes, and steps nearer. Even standing right behind him, it was impossible to determine the exact contents of the box just by looking, and he didn’t remember the exact locations where all the products were stored either. “I’m blind, not stupid.”

And he blinks, surprised by what he just said; that hadn’t been the snide remark he wanted to make. It feels like it should have been harder to say, and yet the words had left his mouth easily, like he’d been waiting to finally say it for himself. Makoto startles a bit, just as taken aback by the admission as he.

“I…” Makoto starts, then looks back down. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.” 

The response is so meek it’s annoying, and not the kind of answer he was wanting from someone who had been sneakily butting into his life the past few days, and he scowls. Whatever light-heartedness had been previously present was now slipping quickly away into irritation. “I don’t need your pointless scraping. What are you looking for?”

Makoto doesn’t answer. Rather, he continues to dig through the box, acting as if he hadn’t heard Byakuya’s question at all; a complete reversal from the previous sheepish, meaningless apologizing. It’s almost jarring, if it wasn’t also something entirely infuriating - he couldn’t remember the last time someone had the gall to ignore him, other than his father - and Byakuya childishly aims a kick at his shin. “Answer me.”

“Ow,” He says instead, unconvincingly. “Okay, okay, um. Do you promise not to get mad?”

“I’m going to be even angrier if you keep talking in circles.” He snaps, the last threads of his patience thinning. “I know for a fact that you’re not this wimpish, so speak up.”

Even despite the demand, Makoto is silent a little moment longer, rummaging still. Byakuya is about to kick him again, when he stands up, a tiny, blue box clutched in his hand.

“You, uh…you were shaving this morning, right?” He takes a deep breath, then holds the box out. “You’ve got a little blood here-” And he taps a finger against his cheek, somewhere below his ear; Byakuya mirrors the movement, reaching up to feel that thin line of roughness, the scab tugging at the skin. “And…I remembered my dad gave me this brand of razor, it’s really easy to use-”

Byakuya smacks the thing out of his hands before he can even finish speaking, sending it spinning across the floor, beneath some other shelf.

For a moment, the two of them stand there, stock still. Byakuya can feel his pulse thrumming in his ears, throbbing against his eardrums; he’s not sure which of them is more shocked, to be honest. Makoto’s hand is still partially outstretched, now empty.

Then: “What the hell is your problem?!” Makoto demands, instantaneous and loud and cracked with a slight note of hysteria. The sound bounces tinnily between the metal shelving units, before being swallowed into the wooden surfaces of the crates.

“What is your problem?” Byakuya shoots back, just as furious. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want your pity?”

“It’s not pity if I’m trying to keep you alive,” Makoto grabs his arm, shoving it upwards. His hand is nowhere big enough to wrap around it, but the grip is tight anyways, fingers digging into the hollow junction of his wrist. “You barely eat, you don’t talk to anyone-”

“I’m trying to keep myself safe-”

“That’s shit, that’s bullshit. You look,” He breaks to breathe, to laugh, and his grip tightens, grinding the bones. “You look like such shit, and it’s not even hard to tell. It’s so obvious that you’re trying to hide it but you can’t, and everyone can see that you’re falling apart and it’s so pathetic but you won’t let anyone get close enough to tell you that -” He’s shaking, or maybe that’s Byakuya himself. “Just-”

And falls silent - no, not entirely silent. Byakuya can hear his uneven breathing, the quiet squeaks in his throat. Stifling the sound of his crying, still only just audible over the hum and clanks of the building’s internals, and the ring in his own ears.

Why was he crying? The thought is fleeting, and should have just been a blip in everything else. “I am not,” He starts, and the latter half of that sentence never even becomes coherent in his own mind.

Instead, he tries to wrench his hand backwards and away from Makoto’s grip, and Makoto just follows him, pushing him, until his back meets the hard, uneven edges of a shelving unit, digging into his shoulders.

“You are, you so are,” Makoto wheezes. His hand shakes violently, but Byakuya still can’t break out of it; his wrist is being pinned to the metal frame, the cold surface a shock against his skin. “You - fuck, you can’t even take care of yourself. You try to act so cool but you’re so helpless it’s lame. You’re trying so hard to predict where the next threat is coming from but your biggest threat is yourself. You can’t even see what’s happening around you, so you don’t even try to find out - I just -”

And he stops, taking another deep, shaky breath, head dipping down until his forehead rests against Byakuya’s collarbone. His other hand is bracing the edge of a shelf, next to Byakuya’s hip, and Byakuya can feel it by sheer proximity, the warmth bleeding impossibly through the layers of Makoto’s jacket and his own thin shirt.

He-

should say something. Anger and indignation boils in his gut, how dare Makoto say such things? Who gave him the right? Didn’t he know who Byakuya was?

But-

what can he say, when it feels like he’s suddenly been struck stupid. Like he’s a child again facing his first real defeat at the hand of one of his siblings’s lackeys, kneeling with scraped knees weeping blood into his pants as he’s being taunted, the words hysteric and victorious. Like he’s trying to argue with Kirigiri, but she’s already had the last word and is simply walking away.

So he resorts to the same answer he had the first time he was forced to concede to one of his siblings, and kicks Makoto in the shin.

It’s not a very strong blow. Caged in against the shelf as he is, he doesn’t have enough space to pull back very far; but it makes Makoto grunt, surprised, and his hold loosens. Byakuya shoves him backwards, and glances to his side, where the white light spilling from the open door marks the exit.

He could leave. He doubts Makoto could catch him if he ran seriously. But his legs refuse to move; it would feel too much like conceding. He’s been losing too much these past few days to forfeit again, now.

Makoto is standing in front of him, the overhead lights above providing just enough illumination for Byakuya to make out the location of his nose, the curve of his brow, and in the split second before he can do anything Byakuya reaches out. One hand snags fingertips into Makoto’s hood. The other grabs his face, slotting his chin almost tenderly into the space between forefinger and thumb.

The effect is instantaneous, Makoto’s cheeks heating beneath his fingertips. “Hey, wh-”

Byakuya feels his face pull, an undignified baring of teeth that’s barely reminiscent of a smile, before he drags Makoto forward and knees him in the gut.

He prefers more dignified solutions to things, but violence is the most universally understood language, and he can admit to its usefulness when the need calls. Like now, as Makoto wheezes, bent over, his hands clutching unsteadily in Byakuya’s shirt to keep himself upright.

This is how it should be, he thinks, as he looks down at the crown of Makoto’s head with a twisted sense of triumph. It hardly lasts long before Makoto’s moving again with an animalistic growl, fingers twisting so tightly Byakuya can feel some threads snap in his shirt, before he’s shoved backwards with a rattling clang against the shelves.

It’s hardly enough to stun him, but he winces anyway, at the metal frame digging between his shoulder blades. Far more effective, is what comes next - Makoto sways, resting his forehead against Byakuya’s chest - before surging upwards, colliding the top of head against his nose.

The taste of copper is an afterthought to the sharp, explosive burst of pain. Byakuya screams - snarls - with it, blood tracking a hot line down his upper lip, stinging against raw skin. He sinks his hands into Makoto’s hair, and yanks roughly, trying to drag him off.

It’s unsuccessful. He doesn’t have the strength in his arms to move the weight of another teenage male, but it’s not wholly ineffective either. He hears a sharp intake of breath, and he’s managed to drag Makoto’s head backwards enough to see his face.

A face that, even in the dim yellow light of the supply room, is flushed darker than usual. And with eyes that are blown wide, the blotted shape of iris-pupils very, very dark against the whites.

It takes a moment for him to put together what that means through the haze, before Makoto’s hands are resituating themselves in Byakuya’s shirt collar, and yanking him down to - kiss him.

He freezes for a moment, mind once again going utterly blank. It’s nothing more than a hard press of lips, almost far too innocent compared to their previous state. Makoto’s lips are warm and slightly chapped, and sliding slightly against his as he smears the blood over his mouth.

It continues for a long moment, the two of them frozen in place, until Byakuya realizes that Makoto was beginning to pull away, his hold loosening; willingly seceding control over, meek again, and anger works its way up in Byakuya’s skull, spiking sharp and precise through the delirium.

He twists his hands, fingers tightening in the locks of Makoto’s hair, and forces him still, bowing his head down to bite at the seam of Makoto’s mouth with all the composure of a starving dog, smearing blood, tongue and teeth snagging in the cracked skin of his lips.

He pulls away just enough to grin, savagely, at the sight of Makoto with a vividly dark slice staining across his mouth. “That is how you kiss someone,” He whispers, with something dark and self-satisfied curling in his gut.

The only response Makoto gives is a low, almost inhuman sound, before he’s being yanked down again.

There’s nothing chaste about it this time. Rather, it’s more like a continuation of their fight, biting, clacking teeth, hands scrabbling and grasping for purchase. Makoto matches his every move with the same exact vigor, and Byakuya tastes salt and hot metal and the over-sweet sourness of energy drinks and laughs into the kiss, breathless and triumphant at Makoto’s desperation, the feeling of hands dragging down his sides, even as he claws back, trying to drag him nearer, nails raking across the thick fabric of his blazer, down his back, over his arms. In turn, Makoto licks into his mouth, tonguing hotly over his canines, the soft roof of his palate.

Disgusting. Byakuya shudders, and lets his jaw slacken just a little more.

He feels his back beginning to slide, uncomfortably, down the frame. It’s both an annoyance and a relief - the previous angle was killing his neck - but then Makoto leans forward, weight pressing against him, sandwiching him there, and digging his spine painfully against the hard juts of the shelves.

Byakuya half-thinks to scold him for that, but at the same time, Makoto is sliding his leg between his thighs, propping him up, and the reprimand turns into a groan instead, breathy and desperate and far too loud in the solitude of the supply room.

He jerks back, suddenly self-aware again, face flushed to burning. This was - he feels his head swimming, self-appalled, rivaling the temptation to sink down a little lower, lean into the hands that are now feeling clumsily up his ribcage - utterly unbecoming of him. To give into such base temptations-

Ever persistent and apparently undeterred by the absence of his mouth, Makoto leans forward and presses his teeth to the side of Byakuya’s neck instead, and the rest of Byakuya’s coherent thoughts try to fly out with those thin, pinprick-sharp flares of pain.

“Idiot,” He still manages to hiss, even as he gives in and grinds down, against a sweet pressure that makes everything feel so - indescribably - “Bastard, you pathetic little-”

Talking was getting troublesome. He presses his hands against Makoto’s cheeks, feeling a small thrill of victory when he feels his thumbs brush the corner of his lips on the first try, and kisses him again, feeling dizzy with it.

His hands shift, seeking out better purchase in Makoto’s hood, knuckles pressing against the warm, jumping muscles in his neck, the other sinking into his hair again. This time more to keep himself upright as Makoto was apparently trying to bite his tongue off - and that thought really shouldn’t be doing anything for Byakuya, and yet -

Tap, tap. Tap.

“Makoto,” He gasps, whines, managing to pull himself away once more. This time grabbing onto Makoto’s face and pushing him backwards like an undisciplined, overeager dog - the other boy struggles for a moment, pushing back against his hands - “Wait, just - calm down, you - do you hear that?”

It takes a moment for Makoto to respond. “Wh-huh?” He manages, somewhat incoherently, which Byakuya…supposes, is reasonable. They’re still pressed against each other, and Byakuya can still feel something pressing against his thigh, which he tries very hard to ignore, in favor of concentrating hard.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It doesn’t sound like it was coming from the hallways. But it couldn’t be the heating or piping in the walls either; it was too soft, and…too dynamic, too purposeful, for that. He cranes his head over his shoulder, but the only thing behind him was the shelf, some boxes, and the flat, gray expanse of the wall.

Tap. Tap, tap, taptaptap-

The sound rises to a sudden crescendo, speeding behind him. Almost reflexively, he shoves away from the shelf, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Makoto lands on his back with a grunt, and Byakuya lands nearly on top of him, before scrabbling backwards until his back meets the shelf, self-awareness shattering his earlier insanity.

Makoto is staring at him, face still flushed and dazed. “Hey, what was-?”

“Awahwahwah!? Kyahh!!”

They jerk their heads in unison, turning to find a short, round, oblong shape standing in the doorway. Monokuma stands there with face covered by paws, squealing. “C-c-could this be?! The fabled, mythical, super-ultra-sexy-secret-rendezvous I heard about from the headmaster’s handbook?! Wah! My eyes!! My untainted, honest, adorable teddy-button eyes!!!”

“Shut up!” Byakuya snaps, voice far too high-pitched to not be damning, despite his best attempts to calm down. He surreptitiously turns away from the door, and can see Makoto doing something similar out of the corner of his eye, tucking his knees up close to his chest. Monokuma shakes, either from laughter or phony horror.

“Oh, there’s no need to worry, Young Master Byakuya. I’m a very progressive bear, after all!” It nods emphatically, and Byakuya grits his teeth at the derisive use of the title. “After all, I am your headmaster, and I want this place to be all sweet and accepting of all my students! You can talk to your classmates about it at this seminar I’m planning-”

“Get out of here.” Makoto rasps, voice still rough and a little unsteady. He sounds downright furious, more so than Byakuya remembers ever hearing him. “It wasn’t- It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh-ho? T’wasn’t it?” Monokuma tilts its head, and toddles over with squeaky footsteps. “Well then, what did happen? Because it certainly looked to me like I just blue-beared you two!” And it cackles hysterically at its own joke, the sound grating and echoing between the shelves.

“He-” Makoto’s sneakers scrape against the floor as he shifts, hesitating. “He was- trying to…trying to kill me.”

And even through the rising haze of fury, panic, and nauseating shame, Byakuya’s thoughts grind to a sudden halt.

“What?” He says aloud, at the same time as Monokuma squeals with apparent delight, drowning him out entirely.

“Oh, oh! Is that so?” And it rounds on him, all of a sudden far too close for comfort, his vision divided white and black. “Tell me, is this true? What was the weapon? What was the plan? Oh, it’s a shame I interrupted, so now I gotta make up for the lost opportunity! Spill the deets!”

So none of it had meant anything. Their pathetic, awkward fumbling in the dark, his brief delusion of control, had only amounted to this. Back to being humiliated and shamed by a grinning, faceless mastermind, and with no more authority over himself as he did before, as Makoto was trying to save him. Again.

He kicks Monokuma away, sending it spinning with a yelp into one of the shelves, and bolts from the room. Makoto is shouting after him, and soon there are footsteps dogging at his heels, but he makes it all the way back to his bedroom before Makoto catches up to him as he’s trying to unlock the door.

He narrowly makes it inside, tries to swing the door shut but it bounces off of Makoto’s shoe, jammed in just in time - and he’d wince in sympathy, or mull in the dejá vu of it, if he wasn’t currently trying to tamp down his own swell of emotions, nearing to breaking through his thinly held-together composure.

“Why did you say that,” He spits through clenched teeth. Too exhausted to try and force him out, too angry to just ignore him. “Of all the stupid, useless lies to come up with, you had to choose one that made me look even more pathetic?!”

“What were you going to say, then,” Makoto shoots back, just as irritated. “Was there anything more plausible that would’ve been better for you than ‘we were making out in the closet’?!”

He doesn’t bother to reply. Because no, that was the most believable thing Makoto could have said, which was why he was so furious now. There was the logical setting, an established motive - the set-up for a cheap, impassioned crime, with no thought or grace behind it. 

If he had said it himself, he might have barely been able to salvage his own pride. But having to be defended by his own so-called ‘victim’, having to be saved by Makoto again-

He sits down heavily on the bed, rubbing his temples. “Just leave, Makoto.” He sighs, eyes screwed shut. He’s too tired for this, and would rather try and sleep and forget it all. Or break down, which was beginning to feel like a very real possibility, which he’d rather do in the privacy of his own room anyways.

But instead of leaving, Makoto drops down to the floor with a thump, directly in front of him. “I’m not leaving until you go eat something.” He says, stubbornly, apparently recalling his entire original purpose of trying to bully him into codependency.

I was hoping he would’ve forgotten that. Byakuya feels a pulse throb beneath his fingertips, exasperation pushing through the rising fog of panic. “Must we do this now?”

“If I don’t, you’re going to ignore and avoid me and everyone else again, right?” He could almost hear the teasing smile tugging at the corner of Makoto’s mouth. “But, um. I mean. If you don’t want to talk, we could…you know…”

It takes a moment to identify exactly what he’s suggesting, but the disbelieving laugh that escapes Byakuya’s mouth is entirely unintentional, the panic miraculously dissipating in the same breath. “You can’t be serious.”

“I-I mean-! I’m totally okay if you don’t want to, I just thought…” Makoto trails off with a cough. “I…it was kind of a joke. Um- but you were enjoying it too, right?” There’s a thin note of hesitance in his voice.

Byakuya sighs. “...Yes. Unfortunately so.” Enough that if he thinks too much on it, he’ll become aware of the buzzing still lingering in his lips and the feeling of warmth beneath his hands, the low throb in his nose where the bleeding had only just stopped, and there was no good way that particular thought process was going to end. He’d almost prefer the impending anxiety attack to this.

“O-oh, okay. Cool. That’s cool.” Makoto rocks a little bit. “So…”

“I’m not having sex with you right now.” He deadpans, and Makoto has the gall to blush sheepishly, as if he weren’t the one making the suggestion in the first place.

“Right. Yeah, of course.” He scratches his head with a quiet laugh. “We…kinda took it a little fast, huh?”

That was an understatement. And he raises a hand over his face, trying to hide the heat rising beneath his fingers…much of what had happened was mostly due to his own actions. “Well, it’s not like we are in a situation where we could have a normal progression of things.”

“I don’t know, we have a pretty good kitchen. I would’ve liked to make you dinner first, or something.”

“How romantic. Forgive me if the idea of a school cafeteria meal doesn’t sweep me off my feet.”

“You won’t know if you don’t try it. I can make a pretty good omelet on a good day…if you’re okay with that.” The lilting invitation is clear, and Byakuya snorts.

“I should’ve murdered you in front of Monokuma.” He deadpans back.

Now it was Makoto’s turn to chuckle, a soft, surprised ‘ha!’ that makes Byakuya smile wholly inadvertently.

“Yeah, probably,” He agrees. “Did you want to?”

The smile slides off his face instantly. It sounds like Makoto is joking, but - it’s hard to tell. So hard to tell without being able to see if he’s smiling, if the easy tone of his voice matches his face.

“Do you want to?” He asks again, voice softer, serious.

Probably not a joke, then. He laces his fingers tightly, tight enough for his joints to ache, pressing the knuckles to his chin. “It hadn’t…crossed my mind.” Not seriously, at least. And not since the last trial.

But he could. There was no deal to uphold, not anymore. And Makoto - 

“Why are you asking?” He looks up for the first time, at Makoto, sitting cross-legged on his carpet. Staring back at him. “Surely you don’t want to die?”

Makoto doesn’t reply, his face still curiously, infuriatingly blank.

Everything that had been previously cleared comes rushing back, fury and disbelief and - anxiety, of all things, a painful, welling lump of it rising up his gullet - and before he knows it, he’s on the ground, kneeling across from Makoto with his hands around his neck.

The skin is warm. Shockingly soft, slightly tacky with sweat. The pressure isn’t enough to cut off airflow - his hands are only just resting against his throat - but Byakuya flexes his thumbs lightly, feeling the shape of his Adam’s apple beneath his fingers, his pulse beneath his palms.

And the whole time, Makoto makes no move to push him off. He had twitched, maybe, surprised at first, but that was all, now frozen stock-still - no, he was relaxing into the touch, muscles going purposefully slack as his shoulders slump.

“...What are you doing.” He whispers. Tenses his fingers, feels the breath hitch. “I could kill you right now. Why aren’t you stopping me?” Takes a deep, shuddering breath as he feels his voice begin to break. “Don’t tell me you actually want to die here!”

Makoto’s mouth is a dark cavern as he opens it to respond. “I don’t. Of course I don’t.” His voice wheezes slightly. “But if it’s you… I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

Byakuya feels his hands shake. This was too much, all of it too much - he hadn’t even concluded how he felt about Makoto yet, not coherently - and apparently, in the time he’d spent in self-isolation, something had become twisted. The most mundane person here had become wholly insane. For his sake.

I must be insane too, he thinks, for the tiny, irrational thrill of joy that runs through him at that realization.

He jerks when he feels hands resting over his, fingers tracing delicately over the fine lines of his knuckles, the hollow of his wrist. Keeping his grip steady.

“I don’t think you will, though,” Makoto continues. “You don’t really want to kill anyone. You would’ve done it already if you did.”

“Don’t act like you know me.” He grits, grip spasming, torn between removing himself from Makoto and throttling him to shut him up. “You know perfectly well there’s a difference between intent and capabilities.”

Makoto takes a shaky, raspy breath. A slash of white pulls across his face. “Then are you gonna prove me wrong?”

Byakuya hesitates for too long. In that time, the hands that rest over his pull and then press, and he flinches as his palms fully meet Makoto’s neck, almost icily cool against the clamminess of his own skin. He yanks them backwards like he’d been burned, too shocked to even scold him for - for any of it. Too flustered to wonder if he even could.

His hands shake, still, even when he clenches them into fists with his nails biting into his palms, pressing into his knees.

Makoto coughs once, massaging his neck, before he stands up slowly.

“Let’s go,” He says, still smiling as he offers up a hand. “I’ll make you an omelet.”

< previous - from start - next >

[cumbutton]

sniff sniff

[lucabyte]

Olive Branch

Wrong Move

[ruvviks]

my cyberpunk wip folder is entirely too large on account of too many ocs at this point so have these sketches i might never finish :] top to bottom left to right: ambrose, @mojaves' seb + cassidy's arm, cato, jesse, mojaves' gabriel, seb again + reuben + aubrey, mojaves' vega + reuben again, reid </3, becca <3, james & aubrey again, the butcher, seb AGAIN, kaida, vitali, and johnny!vincent

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@jacobseed, @swordcoasts

[lynxfrost13]

Maybe I’ll finally Wanze post soon

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

if dorian didn't show up, do you think louis would have shot minnie?

I do. I know some people think either he wouldn't have or he would've missed so that's why the writers had him shoot Dorian instead, but mmmmmm no, I don't personally think so. I like to think that if he had taken the shot, his shaky hands would've caused him to shoot her fatally.

Mostly because I'm already so normal about the fact that of the Ericson crew, Marlon and Louis are the only ones with a body count. Well, that we know of, but shown to us in the game, at least. Plus, we know it's Louis' first kill.

Like yeah, Clementine and AJ become part of the crew and they have bigger body counts, and if we're counting indirect kills caused by actions, then Tenn has a count... and I guess everyone has blood on their hands for blowing up the boat... but I'm talking about killed directly with a weapon like....... I lied, I'm not normal about that at all, Louis and Marlon are the ones who have killed someone in Louis' route. I'm also not normal about the fact that Louis kills Dorian and then even as he's clearly in shock, he tries to go with Clementine to get AJ, and then later on when they talk about it, he says it feels like bile but not quite and he's glad he has it in him to do it.... listen, listen, listen... I'm obsessed with that.

Anyway, so if Louis shot Minerva, I think he would've accidentally killed her and can you imagine? He's already enough of a mess after killing the woman who pinned him down and tried to cut his finger off [or succeeded] but he knew Minerva, they were friends before the twins were taken. Even Violet couldn't kill her even though that would've been the smarter thing to do, and we know thanks to meta knowledge that killing her would've saved lives, but Violet couldn't, and I don't think Louis would intentionally either.

Speaking of Violet, if Louis killed Minerva, I hate to think about what that would've done to Vi. I think she might've actually left at that point, like what was planned before it got changed to her being burned. I don't think she would've attacked Louis over it, though, like yeah she attacked Clementine in the cell but Louis? I don't know, but I don't think so just because it's Louis and he'd be a mess about it anyway.

Though if he did kill her, it would be a neat parallel to draw... y'know, because Louis forgave AJ for killing Marlon even though he was pissed and heartbroken, and Violet was annoyed with him the entire time... but could she ever forgive Louis for killing Minerva? Y'know? We already have a similar parallel with AJ shooting Tenn, but still.

If Clementine killed Minerva in that moment, though, then I could see Violet attacking her since in her eyes, Clem proved her right.

So yeah, I get why they added the Dorian kill to his route. It adds another compelling element to Louis as a character, but we also need Minerva alive for episode 4; Louis can't kill her, he can't miss, and he's not going to stay with her because we need Violet to stay on the boat and him to be on shore for all routes.

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)

[hybbat]

"You saved me so I can kill you", "my wretch of a wife", and "30 seconds" all happened in this series, yet y'all cry divorce on the ranchers.

[deus-ex-mona]

the way this was the last new image featuring daimeggle th o u g h

[pepimeinrad]

how nice - right inbetween watching M*A*S*H and watching The West Wing, I happen to watch an episode of Murder She Wrote that has Frank Burns as Donna Moss' father...

[naivety]

sorry dashboard. and i love you