#the question isn’t even why he would kill himself but rather why wouldn’t he

[lemonlover1110]

𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 2] Overthinking

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Pairing: Knight!Toji Fushiguro x Princess!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Suggestive Content, Minor Sex Talk

Story Summary: This is what'll get Toji killed... But how can he reject her when she looks up at him with such beautiful eyes? A man that's been to war won't be killed by the edge of a sword but rather the lips of a woman.

He shouldn’t lay a finger on her, but he’ll do anything that she asks him to. She’s his princess, he has to follow her every word.

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“What?” Toji almost pinches himself to check if he’s dreaming. A weird dream that it would be– But no, you’re right in front of him. You’re right in front of him, asking him to have sex with you. Alert eyes check nearby, watching out for any witnesses. Once he realizes there’s no one nearby he speaks again, “Don’t repeat it.”

“What’s your answer?” You ask, looking up at him with wide eyes and he laughs. That’s his response, a laugh; it ticks you off.

“Princess, are you a cuck?” He responds, and you furrow your brows in confusion. 

“What’s a cuck?” You answer without skipping a beat. He almost wants to burst into laughter but he’s too nervous to do anything else but stare at you. 

“I’ve got a good head on my shoulders, I’d hate to see it rolling on the ground.” He tells you, and you look just as confused. He can’t talk to you in riddles… Though he isn’t speaking in riddles, he just has to be direct with you. He clears his throat before saying, “No. I won’t have sex with you, princess. Good night.”

“Why not?” You question, as if the answer isn’t obvious. It’s not obvious for you, you don’t see an issue with it. Luckily, Toji has the common sense that you lack. 

He won’t answer the question, instead he turns on his heel and leaves you. He’ll search for your night guard, and let this die down. He’s sure that clarity will hit you tonight, and you won’t mention this again. A princess that’s so high and mighty asking to have sex with a man of his status? You have lost your mind. You let the stupid nobles get to your head.

“Toji, where are you going?!” You yell after him, and if embarrassment wasn’t slowly settling in, you’d run after him. You end up scoffing, slamming the door to your room shut and staring at it frustratedly… Did you just get rejected?

No, he didn’t hear you right. You didn’t just get rejected.

You feel… Offended? Mad? No, no. You’d feel offended if Toji had rejected you but he wouldn’t do that. Toji would never refuse an order from his princess.

You stare at the door, and your nails dig into the palms of your head. That son of a bitch rejected you. Oh, you could scream. But you're mature enough that you can suppress it and act like a true princess.

There’s something off with you, and Toji notices immediately. You’re not being your usual self…

“Why are you all dressed up, princess? You do know we’re just staying in the castle, right?” Toji asks as he escorts you to the dining room for breakfast. He does it on purpose to get the bickering started— He wants to completely gloss over the proposal from last night.

You were vulnerable, and of course your friends got to your head. He wants to show that he didn’t take things seriously, and he truly believes he’s doing a good deed. But things aren’t easy like he wants them to be. You aren’t easy.

There’s no ‘Of course someone of your class doesn’t understand the basis of looking good at all times’ and no ‘If I wanted you to speak, I would have ordered you to open your mouth’; instead, Toji is met with pure silence. You don’t even look back to glare at him.

“You’re just staying in today, right? You didn’t tell me about anything else.” He speaks again, continuing to break the basic etiquette. He should not be speaking to you unless spoken first. But that has never been a thing between the two of you. Toji gets to break a lot of rules because you’ve never cared for the rules in the first place. 

“Toji.” You finally speak, and his eyes lighten up. Only to realize that you’re in the dining room, and his presence is no longer needed. The king doesn’t like the guards to join during breakfast which usually ends up with Toji being shunned to the kitchen with the help.

“Enjoy your breakfast, your highness.” Toji tells you before walking away. He goes to the kitchen, sitting down at the table that’s for him. He’s already had his breakfast, so he isn’t necessarily hungry– But the aroma of the food grazes his nose, and his stomach growls.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything, Toji? I know you have a long day ahead of you.” Mayu walks up to him, holding a bowl of oatmeal. She wears a bright smile on her face, happy to bump into Toji first thing in the morning. Unfortunately for her, Toji just isn’t in the mood. 

“I’m good.” He answers, even when his stomach gives it away. She sits with him, knowing that she should continue her duties but her attention is on something more interesting. Someone more interesting.

“Are you upset with the princess?” She asks, a hint of mischief in her eyes. No matter how much she tries, she never hears a single bad word about the princess from Toji; but considering that last night they were cut short, she feels like his feelings have changed.

“Why would I be?” He responds, not even bothering to look her in the eye. He fails to see the frown that comes to her face when he answers. That’s not what she wanted to hear, but she won’t get too bummed out about it, she guesses it’s part of his job.

“What did she need last night?” She continues the one-sided conversation, and Toji tries his best to remain composed. You absolutely did not ask him to have sex with you. You didn’t even look at him. Nothing happened. Who would even believe him if he told the truth either way?

“She needed me to kill a spider.” He lies, and she begins to laugh. Before she can even begin to ridicule you, Hanako walks over to the table.

“Care if I join you two?” The old woman smiles, and Toji points to the chair across from him. Mayu ends up sighing, but she ends up faking a smile. Hanako begins to eat her breakfast, and Toji stares at her. 

The woman that’s across from him has been like your second mother, and it makes Toji wonder if she knows. Did you end up telling her anything this morning? Toji has figured out that you two are close, but how close are you exactly?

“Do I have something on my face?” Hanako questions when she notices that Toji is staring her down. She always ensures that not a single hair is out of place, but she was in a bit of a rush this morning.

“No.” Toji ends up saying. His eyes search for a clock, needing to know how much he has left before he follows you around for the day.

“Ignore him, Hanako. He’s acting weird.” Mayu ends up saying, offering a smile to the woman. Hanako raises her eyebrows in curiosity, but she won’t dare pry. She won’t ask about Toji’s private life, it isn’t her place. “Ever since the princess interrupted us last night, he’s been out of it.”

“The princess?” The woman nearly chokes on her food. Hanako wipes the corners of her mouth with her napkin before asking the obvious, “What were you two doing?”

“Well we were–” Mayu begins but Toji glares at her.

“It’s not because of the princess.” Toji cuts her off, and Hanako clicks her tongue.

“I’m not asking because I care about your feelings, sir.” Hanako replies. “I want to know how to deal with the princess.”

“She’s not a child, she can handle two adults making out.” Toji argues before he bites his tongue. He regrets opening his mouth the moment he makes eye contact with Hanako. He’s right, you aren’t a child and being sheltered is what led you to ask such an inappropriate question last night. But perhaps saying those words to Hanako isn’t the smartest move.

“You are going to apologize to the princess, sir, and you are going to make it good!” Hanako begins to scold him, and he sighs. He has to deal with this and with an angry princess… It’s going to be a long day.

Work today is pure torture. He thought that the obnoxious parties were the worst that the job had to offer, but this is it. You’re acting like proper royalty and not engaging with him whatsoever. Toji didn’t know how much he enjoyed the bickering until he realized how boring the job is without it.

He’s following behind you as you take a stroll through the garden. A garden that’s so well loved and taken care of because of you. These walks aren’t unusual, but the silence that accompanies it is. He doesn’t even understand the point of the stroll when you’re not conversing with anyone.

“Your highness, are we expecting anyone?” Toji asks, the deafening silence getting the best of him. You don’t even look back at him, instead you keep walking. You keep walking as if he didn’t exist.

Toji sighs, at the very least wanting to know where you’re headed. You’re walking around like a headless chicken. Sure, the garden is nice but there’s these pesky bugs that love to get all over Toji. Plus, it’s warm out and his uniform doesn’t help.

“Will you go inside and get my basket?” You ask when you come to a sudden stop. He frowns, confused why you even ask the question until he lowers his gaze and realizes that you’re by the strawberries.

“I can hold them.” He answers, and you scoff.

“It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order.” You respond, slightly annoyed that he’s defying what you say. Toji never dares to defy your wants– Except right now… and last night.

“I can’t leave you without supervision.” He argues, and you furrow your brows. You cross your arms and finally turn around to face him.

“I’m safe within these walls, am I not?” You question, and Toji sighs. This isn’t the bickering he wanted.

“My job is to watch you, and I’m not taking my eyes off you. You can order me to do whatever you want but I’m your knight, not your maid.” He ends up answering, and you roll your eyes at him. You miss the simpler days where you didn’t need a knight, alas, that isn’t your situation now.

“Fine. Cradle your arms.” You order as you get on your knees to grab the fruit that’s ripe enough to collect. It’s finally strawberry season. Toji crouches down and cradles his arms, just as he was ordered.

He’s watching as your gentle hands pick the strawberries apart one by one. You bring one to your lips, slowly biting down. The juice drips down your chin, goes down your neck and eventually reaches your cleavage– Toji has to tear his eyes away as sweet temptation consumes him.

“Do you want one?” You end up offering, grabbing a big strawberry and holding it in his view. He should refuse, but you’re finally speaking to him. He won’t risk making the situation worse, instead he bites down on the sweet fruit. You chuckle, your thumb going over his chin to clean up the juice that drips down. “They’re juicy and sweet.”

“They cheered you up.” He comments, making you roll your eyes.

“Let’s go back inside.” You stand up, dusting off your dress. “Perhaps the strawberry I fed you rolled around in the dirt before I picked it…”

“I’m still honored.” He teases as he slowly rises. He didn’t even realize the amount of strawberries till he had to maintain balance to keep them from falling. Toji’s eyes remain on the fruit that he holds, making sure that not a single one falls over.

“Good morning, princess.” Toji hears, his eyes darting up to see the fellow knight that walks by. He smiles brightly at you, waving your way. Toji clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes at the lack of courtesy from the knight.

“Good morning, Sir Ino.” You respond, and the sudden stop of Toji makes a couple of strawberries fall to the ground. His brows furrow as he replays the scene in his head… You remembered the knight’s name, you never remember any of the staff’s name unless you’re close to them.

“Hi, Toji.” Ino waves at Toji as well, only to be met by a harsh glare. Toji ignores the knight and follows behind you again, picking up a bit of speed since he’s fallen a couple of steps behind.

“Your highness, how do you know Sir Ino?” Toji questions, as if he has any right to ask you the question. You quickly remind him of his place by ignoring the question. Of course, you’re not going to give in so easily.

Toji knows that you’re still upset with him so he’ll try not to overthink your lack of words. And the man never gets into his head about anything, but it’s weird that you know someone’s name. Toji isn’t special, he knows he isn’t. The question you asked him last night was because he was the first man that came to your mind, and now that he’s rejected you he fears that you’ll attempt to go to someone else for help.

“Put them in the kitchen. Tell the staff I want strawberry shortcake tonight.” You order as you enter the castle. 

“Where will you go, your highness?” Toji asks, wanting to know where exactly he needs to go after dropping the strawberries in the kitchen.

“I have my piano lesson, remember?” You remind him, and Toji’s eyes almost widen. If there’s one person that he doesn’t trust you around is that damned piano teacher that makes you giggle like a fucking schoolgirl.

“Here, I have to go.” Instead of doing the task himself, Toji dumps the responsibility of the strawberries to the first maid he sees. A bunch of strawberries fall to the floor as he lets them go in the arms of an unaware maid. He doesn’t take his gaze off you as you begin to walk to the piano room. “Princess wants a strawberry shortcake tonight. She likes it extra sweet.”

“Princess, don’t get too far ahead! You know the king doesn’t like when you’re locked in that room with Mr. Kong alone!” Toji yells, nearly running to catch up with you. He feels like he’s going to die early, and he knows who to blame that on.

He’s ignored again, but this time he understands. This has never been something that he’s cared about. As a matter of fact, he usually stands outside to not hear the awful music you claim you play. He has no ground to stand on.

“No smoking indoors, Mr. Kong.” Toji can’t believe he’s setting rules, but apparently this is what he gets paid for. This is the man that Toji has left you alone with for so many times– The idiot is leaning against the mahogany piano, smoking a cigarette while gawking at you.

Worst of all, you’re smiling. Giving the man a soft look while you listen to his instructions. Toji, who is supposed to stand in the corner without even being heard, grabs an ashtray and snatches the cigarette from the man. Toji makes stern eye contact with Shiu as he puts the cigarette out.

“The king won’t be too happy if he smells that awful stench.” Toji comments, a passive aggressive smile coming to his lips.

“Sir Toji, it’s weird seeing you in the room.” Shiu smirks, crossing his arms as he stares at Toji. “Does the king know that you’re here?”

“Does the king know that you’re flirt–” Toji begins before his eyes land on you. You’re staring at the piano keys in shame. Toji rolls his eyes before staring back at Shiu, “Don’t light another one up or I’ll put it out on your neck.”

Shiu ends up chuckling before turning his attention back to you, “Let’s get back to work, your highness. Where were we? Before we were so rudely interrupted.”

Toji’s annoyance grows as he watches Shiu work with you. No wonder your piano skills don’t get any better, the fool isn’t teaching you anything, he’s just flirting with you. And what ticks him off is the fact that you’re welcoming about it– But it’s not your fault. You’re just naïve and don’t realize that you’re being flirted with.

“Can we play? Or is that against the rules too, sir?” Mischief is written all over Shiu’s gaze. He wants to stir the pot, and it works.

“Would you like me to speak to the king? The princess’ piano skills are still awful and you’ve been with her for the past two years… You’re not making much progress.” Toji points out, and you nearly bury your face in your hands out of sheer embarrassment. 

“You dare insult your princess–” Shiu is about to respond but you stand up, getting their attention. You grab Toji’s wrist and drag him out of the room, placing him outside of the door before walking back inside to continue your lesson.

You don’t have to say a word, but Toji won’t dare walk back inside.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Toji?! Who the hell do you think you are?!” Your voice is loud and clear as he follows you to your room. You have to get ready for lunch, and on the way to your room you’ll give him a piece of your mind. You can’t keep your thoughts to yourself considering how he embarrassed you. “Since when do you care about the fucking rules?! For the past– God knows have long, you’ve left me with Shiu without an issue.”

“Shiu! That’s my issue! He’s your piano teacher, not your buddy! He’s Mr. Kong to you!” Toji argues, forgetting his place. 

“Why do you care?! You’re so annoying!” You yell. “What the fuck is wrong with you today?! Why do you think you have some sort of authority over me?! Talking to me as if you don’t know your fucking place!”

“What is my place, princess?! Do you care to remind me? Or should I remind you what you told me last night?!” He responds as you get to your door. It’s the first time he brings it up and he’d feel bad if you weren’t acting the way you are. He swore to himself last night that he would never bring it up. You were vulnerable, he doesn’t want to hold it against you– But he’s definitely had a change of heart.

You look around the place, watching out for anyone before lowering your voice, “That was a mistake. Completely forget that.”

“Good.” Toji answers, looking around the place as he thinks his next words carefully. You’re not going to give up that thought from last night, you’ll just search for someone that’s willing. Whether that’s Toji, Shiu or Ino. 

He shouldn’t get involved in this mess.

He’s not going to die by the lips of a woman.

“But if that’s what you want, I’ll do it.” Toji says, a frown coming to your face as confusion takes over you.

“Huh?” You respond, and Toji licks his lips before looking around the place one more time. He can never be too safe.

“If you want me to have sex with you, I’ll do it.”

[hiraethwrote]

just wanna say im in love with your loner!megumi x popular!reader series. you write it so well and i can’t get enough. i wanted to drop in and ask if you’d ever consider doing a jealous!megumi, rather than reader 👀 im curious to see how you’d characterize that!

an aaah tysm bby, means so much to me that you enjoy it 🫶🏻🫶🏻 sorry it took me so long to get to this. i wanted to write a little drabble for it but have been so prioritised in this one fic. to answer your question, yes, ive been wanting to do jealous megumi for some time, and the next fic will include more of it. here’s a little snack in the meantime

loner megumi x popular reader masterlist

loner megumi is all too familiar with the feeling of jealousy. i mean you are you after all! you’ve had admirers at your feet long before he had the privilege of putting his arms around you. and that doesn’t stop just because you are in university — contrary to popular belief, people do not necessarily grow more mature with age.

also being in the biggest sorority on campus, you are closely affiliated with a lot of the obnoxious fraternities around. you do, under no circumstances, go unnoticed by an array of characters.

sadly, he is more than aware of the guys who surround you, trying to get your number or your socials. he knows the attempts some of these guys try to convince you to let them take you out — you always decline harshly.

but megumi is a reserved guy, and will rarely let his jealousy get the best of him. he would never succumb to any drastic or reckless actions.

he would, however, bother his small social circle senseless by his seemingly endless negativity.

“this is pointless anyway. i’m never going to need any of this shit, so why bother to study?”

that’s yuji’s cue to start looking around. when megumi suddenly decides to come with a somewhat aggressive comment out of the blue, there’s usually only one reason — he’s jealous.

sure enough. yuji spots you with a few of your classmates, one of them a particularly handsome guy looming behind you. you don’t pay him much attention, but he has a look in his eyes with clear intent.

“you know she doesn’t care, right?” yuji says, trying to defuse the ever growing agitation in megumi, whose if looks could kill, would be a man behind bars.

“neither do i.” king of denial.

“sure dude, you’re real casual,” yuji rolls his eyes.

eventually you join your boyfriend, just as chipper as they had observed you moments ago. megumi keeps a close eye on the guy, chewing the inside of his cheek when he sees him continuing to look at you.

for the rest of the day, he is almost unbearably clingy. when leaving campus, he will loosely intertwine his fingers with yours, and you best believe he will not let go until he absolutely have to.

megumi isn’t opposed to physical affection. when it’s you, he even loves it — he is just not very good at initiating it. especially not in public. so when you’re stood waiting for the train, and his body is gently pressed up against you, a soft hand resting on your hip, you get a sneaking suspicion something is off.

“you okay, baby?”

“hmm? yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” he answers casually, gaze directed on the opposite platform.

curiosity gets the best of you, following his gaze and landing on one of your classmates who is already looking in your direction. once you make eye contact with him, he throws you a wave and a smile.

as you return the wave, you feel megumi hug himself closer to you, pressing the side of his face against your temple — he has now exposed himself.

because megumi isn’t nearly as in control of his reactions as he thinks he is. his irritation for lingering gazes resting on you are very evident, but he just does not sound his frustrations.

as mentioned, he will never make a big deal out of it. but you know. neither to you mind the subtle possessiveness. it’s nice to see he has it in him — to let people know you’re his.

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[callsign-rogueone]

splinter

Liam Mairi x reader (spark!) words: 2.3k 🏷: this one is heavy. mentions of passive suicidal ideation (wanting to die but not doing anything about it), spark goes to RSC and Bodhi is with her, canon-level descriptions of torture and injury, liam being the sweetest as per usual, some of Spark’s Issues™️ are explained, SMALL ONYX STORM SPOILER (GARRICK’S SIGNET) but that's it.

You snarl, pulling forward against the chains. “Touch him again and I’ll fucking kill you.”

The infantry officer just smiles down at you. “I’d like to see you try, cadet.”

You should have known he’d take your warning as an invitation. He turns back to Bodhi, examining him for a moment, as if deciding what would hurt most — and then takes a boot to his already-bruised ribs. 

His screaming covers the snapping sound.

Water starts to rise from thin air, filling the room.

“We’re below ground,” you tell them. “Right next to a river that has claimed the souls of thousands over the years. It won’t hesitate to take yours, either. You two do have souls, don’t you?”

The woman seems to realize you’re serious, her eyes widening, but her counterpart stands firm. “There’s one problem with your plan, cadet,” he condescends, not minding the water that’s up to his knees now. “You’ll drown, too, and so will your friends.”

Quinn is silent beside you, knowing better than to intervene. Bodhi is still trying to catch his breath, his exhales rattling and wet. There’s blood in his lungs, from the sound of it. After you’re done with these two, you’ll draw it out.

You don’t bother to tell the officer how it’ll work. He can see for himself in a minute. “One last chance to let us go.”

“I don’t think I’ll take it.”

You know exactly how long it takes to drown; you’ve walked the knife’s edge yourself many times at Tuile’s orders, in the name of eliminating weakness. “Then I suggest you use the next twelve seconds to settle up with your gods.”

The water rises, a tidal wave of murky black headed straight for their faces. It pushes forward as they step back, unable to escape it. 

“I don’t know why you didn’t do this hours ago,” Tuile huffs. “It would have made things much easier.”

You ignore her as usual, watching the officers for a sign of surrender. You won’t kill them if you don’t have to. But after all they’ve done, anything short of setting you all free won’t be enough. And even then, they wouldn’t be safe.

“It’s okay,” Bodhi says quietly, still panting. “We’re okay.”

You feel that gentle push against your power, but it’s weaker than normal — he’s too tired to stop you properly. You reel it back yourself, not wanting to exhaust him further. 

The water drains, seeping back into the ground, and the two infantry officers gasp for air. 

Professor Grady flings the door open, seeing the four of you perfectly dry as they still kneel, shivering and coughing the water from their lungs. “I told you this one wouldn’t be easy,” he says, no pity in his eyes as he looks at them.

You glare up at him. “Are we done now?”

He doesn’t answer the question. “I’ll admit, nobody has been able to turn the tables on their captors as you did,” he says carefully, “but had you killed them, three more would have taken their place, and made things quite a bit worse for you.“

“Then I’d keep going, until I found one who valued their life enough to set us free.”

Something changes in his eyes as he looks at you. “Release the others,” he orders, “but keep her here.”

“What? How is that fair?” Quinn asks.

“War isn’t fair,” the male infantry officer answers, eyeing you with contempt. He’s still soaked, trying to suppress his shivering. “Unless the both of you would rather stay here all night and watch?”

“Go,” you tell your friends, staring him down. “I can handle myself.”

————————

There are eighteen steps leading up to the second-year dorms. You take them one at a time, grinding your teeth as the movement strains your muscles. At least you don’t have any broken bones. 

Liam is sitting in front of your door, a small knife in one hand and a block of wood in the other, a little bag of shavings beside him. He’s been carving a lot of dragons lately. You’re just thankful that he hasn’t done yours. Tuile doesn’t deserve the honor, nor the hours of his time. 

He sets the materials aside as soon as he sees you, putting everything back in the bag and standing up. Neither of you have to say anything. This isn’t the first time he’s been there to patch you up, and it won’t be the last. He never asks questions, either, just gets to work disinfecting and bandaging. 

But this time, he looks at you differently. Maybe it’s the severity of your injuries. They hadn’t broken your nose, but you’re pretty sure that you have two black eyes and a split lip — you can feel that, even though you can’t see it. And then there’s the rest of you. They’d left no stone unturned, being incredibly thorough with your punishment for nearly killing two ranking officers.

The door unlocks as soon as you set your hand on the knob. You hadn’t expected it to work, after they’d forced whatever was in that little vial down your throat, disconnecting you from Tuile and her magic. That was a relief, honestly. Until they’d beaten the shit out of you, that is.

You don’t have it in you to be embarrassed as you tug off your tunic and kick aside your boots. Liam’s already seen you in a state of partial undress once, and the sooner you can get this over with, the sooner you can curl up and sleep for the rest of the weekend. It is the weekend, right? If it isn’t, you’re skipping class today. Maybe you can earn yourself another dose of that stuff, or maybe they’ll push too far and actually kill you. 

It feels like it’s been a full day since they released Bodhi and Quinn, but the days and hours have blurred together. It’s hard to guess how long you were down there, but it’s early morning now. Did Liam stay outside your room all night, waiting for you? 

You sit down in your desk chair and close your eyes, waiting. He knows where you keep all your supplies at this point; this is the fourth, or maybe fifth time you’ve done this since his arrival at Basgiath. He’s never once suggested that you see the healers — he knows better than that, knows you’ll never set foot in the infirmary here or anywhere ever again. You get by well enough with the things you’d learned from your parents, anyway.

There’s a few minutes of comfortable silence before he finally speaks. “Bodhi told me what happened,” he says softly, and you burn with shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Then why are you still here?” you ask. “Why aren’t you afraid of me, like everyone else?”

He tilts your chin back up to disinfect a cut below your eye. “Because I care about you, and because I want to understand why. I know that isn’t you — that isn’t my Spark.”

You’ve never felt such profound shame before, seeing the softness in his eyes as he gazes down at you, feeling the gentle touch of his hand on your cheek. 

He expects better of you. 

You aren’t the girl you used to be. 

You’ve disappointed him. 

That hurts so much worse than any of your physical injuries.

“I get it if you don’t want to tell me. I’m just worried about you. I don’t know what changed in the last year, or why, but I know something’s wrong, that you’re hurting, and I want to help you.”

You don’t say anything, and he drops the subject, continuing his work silently. 

But you need to tell him the truth, before it’s too late. “Everything I feel, every emotion has multiplied by five, and I can’t make it stop,” you blurt. 

He stills, looking back at you.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t think about anything but how angry I am, but most of the time it’s not even my anger, it’s hers,” you whisper, scared she’ll hear you. It’s unclear when this stuff will wear off. She could come back at any moment, hear any whispered confession and make you pay the price for your weakness later. 

You continue, your voice wavering. “Every morning for the last year I’ve woken up wondering if today will be the day that I’ll cross the line, that I’ll take things too far and Bodhi and the others won’t be able to stop me.”  You can’t stop the words from entering the air, the thing you’ve never told anyone, never admitted, not even to yourself. “Sometimes I wish she’d killed me during Threshing, that she’d hit a vein and let me bleed out in the forest.”

His eyes widen as he realizes the three thick scars crossing your collarbone were from Tuile. She’d scratched you, as many dragons do with their bonded to mark their riders — like the scar through Xaden’s eyebrow — but he’s never seen one this severe.

She must have wanted it to hurt.

He kneels down in front of the chair, at eye level with you now, and pulls you forward into a gentle hug, wrapping you in warmth. “I’m so grateful she didn’t, Spark. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

You finally crack, a soft sob parting your lips at the pressure it puts on the cuts and bruises covering your skin. You clutch at the soft black fabric of his shirt with aching hands, needing him close even though it hurts, and the idea of him taking care of you after everything you’ve done makes you sick.

He strokes your back, speaking softly. “I mean it. You’re the world to me. And we’ll get you help, I promise. I’m sure my older sister would know what to do. She knows everything there is to know about dragons. I can’t send letters as a first year, but Xaden could. And you know he’d do it in a heartbeat.”

You shake your head no against his shoulder. “There’s nothing you or anyone else can do. I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Don’t say that,” he chides softly. “Please don’t give up, Spark. I know it’s difficult, but you’re so strong, and we’re all here to help you. Me, Bodhi, Xay, the girls…”

“You don’t get it,” you sniff. “Tuile was bonded to my grandfather for thirty years. A direct relative.”

He’s quiet, not sure what this means. They haven’t covered this in Kaori’s class — they never will.

You explain in a wavering voice. “The books say that anyone bonded to a dragon who was formerly bonded to their direct relative will either get a second signet or go completely mad, and I’ve tried everything, but all I can do is the water.”

Garrick had gotten a second one, as did Imogen and a few of the others who had riders in the family. But you ended up with your piece-of-shit grandfather’s piece-of-shit dragon, who probably decided that you didn't deserve a second signet, that you were too weak, too soft.

“That’s why I can’t control myself half the time,” you say in a cracked whisper, your breathing unsteady. “I’m already starting to lose my grip.”

He rests his chin on top of your head, keeping you tucked into his arms. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl.”

Nobody else has ever apologized to you about this, just given you pitiful looks and kept their distance — except Bodhi. But he’s only stuck with you out of responsibility, because he can keep you leashed with his own signet. 

“I’ll stay with you until the end. Even if you forget my name or try to kill me, I’ll be by your side.”

You manage a bitter laugh — a dry huff of air that makes your bruised ribs throb. “That might actually happen.”

“I know,” he says softly, still rubbing your back. “But if it does, I’ll know that it isn’t you, and it isn’t your fault. None of this was your fault. But I’m so proud of you for telling me, and for making it this far. And I promise you I will do everything I can to help slow this down, and to make life easier for you.” 

Your tears have dried, leaving you with a hollow feeling in your sinuses, but Liam still holds you, your breathing now synchronized with his. 

You take the opportunity to try some of the advice a friend had given you, that had seemed like complete and utter bullshit at the time, but might be worth it now.

Three things you can feel: the softness of Liam’s tunic and the warmth of his skin against yours, the ache of the bruises covering your body.

Two things you can see: Liam’s arm around you, and the definition of the muscle there. The mess of used medical supplies on your desk. 

One thing you can taste: the coppery blood that still coats the edges of your teeth. 

You’ll drag yourself to the bathing chambers to brush before you go to sleep. Should probably shower, too. It’ll be exhausting, but if you’re truly disconnected from Tuile and her magic, you won’t have to worry about drowning.

You hate to admit it, but you feel a little better now, a little safer with the familiarity of your room, and Liam in it with you. 

The bells ring — each of the six chimes making you wince. “Y’ should get to formation,” you murmur. 

His hand smooths over your hair once more, not minding the blood, dirt, and grease in it. “Are you gonna be okay on your own?” he asks softly. He doesn’t say it outright, but you know what he’s really asking.

“Mm. Jus’ gonna shower and sleep.”

He’s satisfied with your answer, but still lingers a moment longer. “I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

“For surviving this long. For not giving up, and for telling me what’s going on.”

You don’t tell him that he’s the only reason you’re still going. 

Your words blur together with exhaustion. “Thank you. Fr’ cleaning me up.”

He lays a featherlight kiss to your forehead before he pulls away, careful not to brush the bruises there. “Always.”

[tgmsunmontue]

Wild fields of forget-me-nots - 3/? WIP

During the training for the mission Jake has an accident which results in him losing 10 years of memories.

A lot has happened in ten years. Bradley broke up with him. DADT was repealed. He got and air-to-air kill and a new callsign.

And he doesn't remember any of it.

PART ONE PART TWO

PART THREE

                Javy gets to stay, because unlike fucking Bradshaw he’s listed as Jake’s next of kin. He’s lucky he never deleted Bradshaw’s number from his phone, but he had changed the name to Shithead and made the contact photo the poop emoji. He doesn’t like the guy. Fucked if he knows what they would have done if Jake had insisted on Bradshaw staying. No doubt they would have thought of something. He’s glad Jake’s been told he can’t have screens, because he doesn’t have to explain the fact that Bradshaw isn’t even a contact in his phone anymore, let alone the lack of photos.

                He hates that Bradshaw is a little bit right though. Telling Jake right now probably isn’t the best idea, not with his injuries and how everything has happened. Waiting to see if his memories come back naturally seems like a smart move. However, he’s very firmly in Jake’s corner in this, and Bradshaw can fuck right off when Jake’s back in his right mind. Javy doesn't know why Bradshaw broke up with Jake, didn't get a reason beyond we just don't match which Javy had thought was a bunch of bullshit, because he’d have placed good money on Bradshaw being just as much of a goner as Jake and he hates Bradley for making him be so wrong.

                He comes back from the hospital cafeteria nursing a cup of coffee which is somehow worse than the stuff they get on carriers. Bradshaw is standing outside Jake’s room, just staring at the door and Javy scowls, doesn’t even want to greet him but what is best for Jake right now is… well. Rest and not getting excited or upset about things. Him punching Bradshaw is probably not going to help matters. Bradshaw clearly hears him coming, shoes squeaking on the floor and he turns toward him, looks hesitant.

                “Any change?”

                “Nope. Still thinks he’s married to your dumb ass…”

                “Uh. They give any timeline on…”

                “Nope.”

                That’s a complete stab in the dark on his part, the doctors haven’t even done their rounds. It’s not been five hours since Bradshaw left, but Bradshaw looks like he managed some sleep. At least the bags under his eyes are not as dark or pronounced and Javy supposes he likely slept in his actual bed rather than in a chair at Jake’s side like he did. So Bradshaw shouldn’t be asking dumb as fuck questions. He’s pushing the door open, not giving Bradshaw any more time to fortify himself or whatever the fuck it is he thinks he’s doing standing out in the corridor with a bag at his feet.

                “Hey man… look who I found…” he forces himself to say when he sees Jake is awake and far more alert than he had been in the middle of the night. The way his face lights up, smile just stretching that little bit extra when he sees Bradshaw makes him want to scream.               “Hey Jake…” That sounds fucking weird too, like Jake saying Bradley yesterday, hearing Bradshaw say Jake’s name with such soft affection is unsettling. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay last night…”

                “No… don’t apologize. I know how much you hate hospitals. You wouldn’t have gotten any sleep last night.”

                “Hardly got any anyway…”

                “Come here and give me a kiss… make me feel better…”

                “Uh… your injuries…”

                “Pretty sure I didn’t land on my lips.”

                Javy has to hand it to the man that he clearly has guts, because despite the glare Javy is sending his way he still doesn’t hesitate in placing what looks like a feather light kiss on Jake’s upturned face. Then Bradshaw is placing a bag on the bed, pulling out clothes, and they have to be his own because where the fuck would he get any of Jake’s right now? Javy sure as hell hasn’t had time to drop by their accommodation and grab anything. And yet here is Bradshaw with a fucking bag, and he’s pulling out Texas Cowboy pajamas and Jake is laughing, reaching for them.

                “Ten years and I still have these. God. It’s so worn out, you can probably see through them…” then Jake’s sliding his eyes toward Bradshaw, expression sly. “Unless that’s exactly why we kept them…”

                Javy chokes on his tongue, because sure enough, there's a mix of t-shirts that must belong to both Jake and Bradley and a new pair of sweats. The socks have to be Bradshaw's because there's no way Jake would wear plane-themed socks, although he’s taking them and rolling his eyes affectionately so maybe there’s a story he doesn’t know. He really wants to talk to Bradshaw alone, because he’s starting to feel a little wrong footed and he doesn’t like the feeling at all. Can blame that on Bradshaw too.

                “Did you bring our rings?”

                “Yeah…”

                Javy leans forward, because this he has to see, what kind of rubbish Bradshaw managed to hunt out in a Walmart or pawn-shop in the very few hours he’s had. He’s pulling out a gold ring from the front pocket of his jeans, and it looks… fine. Normal enough. Then he’s uncurling Jake’s fingers and pressing it into his palm and immediately Jake is holding it up and squinting at it in the dim light.

                “Oh wow. It’s… it’s so pretty. I have good taste…”

                Bradshaw flushes at that, the back of his neck going bright red and Javy’s always been able to tell when he’s embarrassed.

                “I… uh. I actually designed them.”

                What the fuck? He watches, jaw tight, as Bradshaw slips the ring onto Jake’s finger at his request before he lifts Jake’s hand to his mouth and kisses it. It’s sickeningly sweet and reminds him of how they would be in their most private moments before.

                “Back where it belongs,” Jake says, and he’s grinning and Bradshaw is looking like he’s about to fucking cry and okay, Javy has more questions. Some pretty big fucking questions. None of which he can ask right now. Then Bradshaw is holding out a second fucking ring, and it looks like it matches the one he just slipped on Jake’s finger. What the actual fuck?

                “You want to put mine on me?”

                “You know I do…”

                Bradshaw is biting the corner of his lip, moustache twitching in a way that Javy knows he’s feeling emotional and he can’t parse what those emotions might be right now. He’s so fucking confused.

                “Tell me about them?”

                Then Javy is listening to a story about the fighter jet that’s engraved on the inside, along with a fucking flying-v formation of tiny diamonds meant to represent migratory geese, how flocks support and take turns being at the front and support one another and he’d call bullshit except for the way that Bradshaw is talking, voice quivering a little and the shine of tears in Jake’s eyes as he listens. Then he’s telling Jake that the rings were made from melting down his parents wedding rings and a gold bangle of his mom’s and Javy’s questions just keep mounting up but he’s already pretty certain he has some answers.

PART FOUR

[writeyouin]

I love your writing so much! Honestly you need more credit. Could I get a request for a medic femme that died while saving another bot on a mission and their s/o (Rodimus, Rung or Whirl) had/is having a funeral service? Thank you so much and I hope you have an awesome day 💕💕

MTMTE / LL Bot X Reader Drabbles – Funeral

A/N – Hey, this was a long time coming, so I hope you’ve had many good days in the time you have waited for this.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

RUNG

Rung thought he knew what heartbreak was.

He has been around for a long, long Yet, he never felt old until now.

He has seen friends come and go. The deaths of so many people he knew, but he wasn’t close to any of them, or rather, not as close as he could have been.

He never lost an Amica Endurae, or worse… a Conjunx, until now.

So many of his therapy sessions revolved around him comforting other bots through the worst losses imaginable. He has seen this before, known what it looks like, and felt the related compassion, but to go through it himself? Nothing can compare to this feeling of emptiness.

You were a medic. You followed the rules. You really believed it when you said: “Do no harm.”

Rung had seen you do commendable things. You even had to be dragged from a DJD bot once because you refused to distinguish between any bot that needed medical care.

It was Ratchet who had dragged you away, knowing that you were wrong and that the bot wouldn’t be thankful for your help; he would have killed everyone around him as soon as you brought him back online.

You had cried for weeks after that, letting Rung comfort you over the loss of a prospective patient.

For you to die when you weren’t even fighting- For another bot to murder you while you were trying to resuscitate a fallen friend- It was unspeakable.

Rung removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor, overcome by grief and tears.

He vented a few puffs of air through his systems and tried to compose himself, surprised when he felt a servo resting gently on his back.

He looked up to Drift, who nodded grimly at him, eyes alight with understanding.

Rung nodded back, replaced his glasses and stood up.

He would cry as soon as this was over, but first, he had to give a eulogy in your name as was his duty. It was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

RODIMUS

“You know kid, it’s okay to- Hell, to anything! Scream, cry, break something. Please!” Hound begs. He wishes that he wasn’t the one who had to tell Rodimus but he was there when you… When Rodimus’ Conjunx Endurae died.

Upon hearing it, Rodimus didn’t say anything. He sat down against the wall and looked to the floor. It’s like he hasn’t heard a word that Hound said, but Hound knows he did. Whether he’s processing it is another matter.

“Rodimus, I-”

“How did it happen?” Rodimus asks quietly, clutching at his knees hard enough to make dents.

Hound likes telling stories. He likes to tell bots what it’s like on Earth, about the best places he’s visited, hell, he even enjoys regaling the crew with his best fights, but this? The story of your death? He doesn’t want to recount it. It’s too painful for Rodimus to hear.

Instead, he shakes his head, “I don’t think-”

Rodimus shoots up, enraged and shouting, “HOW DID IT HAPPEN?! TELL ME. HOW DID-” His voice breaks as the coolant starts pouring from his optics, “How did (Y/N)- Why did it have to be (Y/N)? Why? WHY?”

Rodimus is being irrational. They both know it, but Rodimus is hurting too much to be reasonable, and Hound isn’t going to argue.

Hound hugs Rodimus, feeling awful for the young bot. He doesn’t exactly answer the full truth of what the DJD did to you for getting in the way of their mission, albeit accidentally since you didn’t know who the bot you were treating was, let alone that he was on the DJD’s list. Yet, without answering the full question, Hound gives a half-truth. “I couldn’t provide enough cover fire.”

That much was true, but Hound wasn’t the only bot with you. It had been Drift to call a tactical retreat, and by the time everyone had looked back, you weren’t with them. You had stayed with your patient, till the very end.

They went back for you, of course they did, but they needed backup and their communications with the Lost Light had gone down over a cycle prior.

When they found your body… Hound felt sick at the memory. Sufficed to say, there wasn’t much left to find.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Hound says, and he repeats the words over and over as Rodimus clings to him. Rodimus is also stuck on his mantra. “It should have been me. (Y/N) was too good. It should have been me.”

By the time your funeral rolls around, Rodimus is a disgrace. He doesn’t attend the funeral. He hates such events. Instead, he sits alone in his room, crying. Some people come by to try and coax him out, but he ignores them all.

He can’t bear to be around anyone.

Now, after the funeral, he hates himself. All he keeps thinking is that he should have gone. He should have been there, and now it’s too late.

WHIRL

When Whirl is told about your death, there are bots on standby, waiting for the inevitable rampage.

Sure enough, it happens but at first, they leave him to it, seeing as Whirl is only destroying the furniture and given the circumstances, that’s reasonable.

Then, Whirl devolves into a shoot-the-messenger mindset, running at Rodimus with a knife he’d concealed in one of his subspaces.

Rodimus does little to defend himself. Frankly, he’s also in shock by your loss, and losing any crew member, especially one as sweet and kind as you takes a heavy toll on him.

But, that’s what the other crewmembers were for, and even though Rodimus never called for backup, they ran to defend him.

It takes Whirl a very long time to calm down, and he only does so because there’s nothing to destroy in the brig.

Whirl feels like shit. On the last day that he saw you alive, the two of you had been in an argument which he had started.

And even though he had been a complete aft, you still put your arm on his shoulder-plate to try and apologise, even though the argument hadn’t been your fault. Then Whirl shrugged you off and told you to join the slag heap.

He’d felt you sigh at that, but you somehow managed to put up with it. You told him you loved him, and to take care of himself, and- and that you’d be back soon.

Whirl can’t apologise for the things he said. Worse, he hadn’t even meant them.

The only reason he’d picked that stupid fight with you was because he was terrified of losing you.

That morning, you had brought up the subject of performing the Conjunx rites with him, and Whirl had this feeling of dread. Dread that you would be trapped with him, and by extension that he wasn’t good enough for you.

So, Whirl did what he always did. He fucked everything up and tried to push you away, even though he always wanted to be with him.

Then you had gone to work and- ARGH! Whirl didn’t want to think about how you died. You were gone and there was no bringing you back!

Still, that’s all Whirl can think about. He spends the next few cycles alone, stuck replaying the stupid argument in his head and wishing he was dead.

When Ultra Magnus has security cautiously let Whirl out, Whirl doesn’t bother to fight.

There’s no point.

Besides, he won’t do anything to jeopardise attending your funeral. It’s all he can do to make it up to you.

So, when the day of the funeral arrives, Whirl makes a speech, and for once, everybody listens to him. No hatred or derision, only sorrow.

Whirl speaks about your character, strength, and how in a perfect world, this wouldn’t have happened. He lists your greatest medical achievements, brings up your proudest moments, and shares some of his private memories of you.

Ultimately, Whirl gives the perfect eulogy. He had to. He owed you that much. It’s the only way he can think to apologise to you.

[pvlvsdog]

Hello! I have a request. Can a sinner react to a rather dangerous but calm-natured reader? Like if a sinner gets into a fight and the reader just looks at them, they'll shut up right away. The reader might have a dead-looking look. The reader didn't mean to do that. The reader just had something bad happen to them in the past, which is why they have that face.

Meursault wouldn’t question you much as to why you’re so stoic. To be honest, he doesn’t need your reasons, he just gets it. I would even go as far as to say you quickly become his favourite coworker because you don’t waste your time on unnecessary expressions and inflections. You get your job done and get to the point, communicating with you isn’t a hassle. He can vibe with that, since he tries to do the same. You two aren’t exactly alike, if asked he would probably even provide a detailed list of clear differences. Which is about the most upfront he will be in signifying he is paying attention to you (without asking at least, if you ask, he might kind of admit it). You are jaded by life, your walls are too tall to scale and many had given up, instead resorting to sneaking nervous glances at you whenever you appear in their peripheral. But Meursault is only ever impressed by your abilities and never pushes you to be a completely different person. Though, if asked, he may sometimes advise you to try and let your protective layer of numbness lower, for the sake of your own mental wellbeing

No other way to say it but Sinclair idolises you. Not in a very obvious way. But he is drawn to the mysterious aura. Scared but aroused intrigued by your presence. You are everything he isn’t. People respect you, you seem to have your emotions under your control and you fight with a deadly determination. Not much is known about you and when you do speak, it always leaves him wondering about more. He had gotten smacked a solid few times when your ferocious but calculated fighting distracted him from killing off an enemy or two. That gap between you makes him a bit too scared to approach for some time, he shrinks into himself thinking of how many of his failures you witnessed. How many times you tore through bodies only for him to cry out for a home that will never be when he is once again killed off on the side? How many corpses you fed to the strange vehicle you all travel in while he had to wipe his own gore-induced vomit off his shoes? Of course, I don’t want to make him seek like a sad wallflower, he has his moments. But this is not about him being below you or anything, I just think you excel in those exact areas he feels insecure about. And he can get a bit too focused on that to see that you’re just one of a whole group of his very traumatised coworkers and there would be no harm in approaching you, since he wishes to know you better. I think he would get the courage to do it after his canto, trying to engage you in small talk. Now it’s up to you how you react to that, but if you encourage him (to the extent the walls you’ve built allow you to), you’ll have a loyal friend. And perhaps something even more intimate, but if you don’t make the first move, I don’t promise he’ll be quick with such confessions. I do however have to note that, as he grows more secure, you two are bound to butt heads.

Now, unlike Emil, Ryoshu doesn’t waste time to approach you. Your technique is immaculate and she tells you as much. But your emotionless exterior prompts her to say “you’re N.F.” (“No fun” as Sinclair helpfully explains). Despite her claim, it’s no secret she likes to mess with you a bit. It’s nothing grand, but her presence is definitely made known and she says her quips here and there, clearly curious about how you’ll respond. She likes working with you too, since you’re pretty dangerous towards your enemies. Despite her seemingly carelesless attitude toward you I think if you were to be the next person to have to revisit your past, she’d be one of the most attentive sinners

There’s one certain thing when you interact with Gregor. You make him nervous. He is a yapper and the word count only goes up when he’s nervous. But nobody can shut him up like you, every time you give him that famous cold stare of yours. To be fair, I think Rodya would love you for it, given you interrupted more than one of Greg’s badly executed improv “performances” (brought on by some danger he’s trying to deescalate). However, he can also recognise your mannerisms well. He knows that empty look, he knows that coldness in your tone. He’d seen it in a lot of soldiers back in the day and even more often with veterans he has encountered. So even if you do make him nervous, he’s usually the first one to give you some grace if your presence is making people uncomfortable. He understands well, that there are some untold stories that keep everyone up at night. He is not privy to yours, but the least he can do is show you the understanding he himself feels (at large) undeserving of

Rodya’s a bit less merciful when it comes to leaving you be. Her carefree persona often clashes with your gruff demeanour. She likes to point out and comment on the way you act. Your “creepy expression” or the way you never try to include yourself in the collective fun. It makes her all the more jealous to see that despite how much you don’t try to be liked, you still get praise for how deadly you are in fights. Others still admire your skill and precision and you don’t even have to try for it (or so she bitterly thinks, though she wouldn’t say such thing out loud). However, I think over time she would maybe grow a little used to your presence. She only pretends your death stares don’t scare her and she’s always up to throw a small quip your way. But as your canto approaches, I could see her being one of the first people that try to talk to you. Sure, part of it is that she wants to feel like she’s useful. You’re always so professional, brave and composed so there is a part of her that gets off on the fact that she’s the one helping you. Not the other way around. Because though you might be this great employee and fighter, she’s still the outlet you need

Outis is hard to read here, but I recon you could quickly become one of her favourite coworkers. You’re not as painfully literal as Meursault, but you still get your job done well and don’t waste your time on unnecessary sentiments and flailing around. However, as soon as your indifference extends to the manager, she’s the first one to tell you off. I like to joke about Outis being down bad for Dante but I see if more so as her ‘projecting’ (from the dialogue I’ve read). As in, she can totally imagine being in their shoes and she is very aware that your attitude can sometimes be the opposite of helpful. Other than that, I can see her praising you plenty. Sure, it’s a bit like being called a ‘pleasure to have in class’ by your teacher (ykwim) but at least she’s nice? Plus I can see her offering you a little understanding when you get your painful past exposed. As much as she can sympathise with Dante, she also gets that there are situations that are bound to make one build walls around themselves. It’s a survival tactic she’s far too familiar with

Similarly, Don is mostly unbothered by your presence and the way you act. She includes you all the same and the only thing that would deter her or upset her is if you’re overtly judgmental of her ideals. Not that she would hate you. Your fighting skills and ability to appear collected are a source of her amazement for sure. I would even go as far as saying she’s one of the few coworkers that threat you ‘normally’ (though none of them are normal, with all due respect)

I can see Yi Sang, after his canto, trying to make friends with you. He can see that you are as reserved as he once was. And though you remain devoid of emotion (at least on the surface) he will attempt to get to know you more. Even if you reject it, he will not judge you. Though he wishes he got to know you more, now that he has opened himself up to the idea of closeness

One could assume that Faust is like that too. But she is a bit more judgmental (as seen in her interactions with Heathcliff) and though her own calm demeanour rarely changes, she’s more prone to commenting on your specific behaviour. Especially given that you are more of a ‘brute’ in her eyes (speak little, threatening and one of the most brutal fighters), she might make a small quip here and there if you question her plans. I think if they go in the direction they seem to, she might become more open to human error and in turn, look down on you less

Heathcliff isn’t too fond of your terrifying gaze. I feel like he is one of the sinners that experiences it more often and it annoys him that you have such an effect on him and everyone around him. He doesn’t like feeling weak and vulnerable, understandably so, if you get to know about his past. He would be more eager to tell you off but he’s not daft, he has seen you fight. Even the knowledge that he will be brought back to life isn’t reassuring enough when faced with the possibility of dying such a brutal death. He is certain that in this regard you are worse than a vicious distortion. All that aside, he isn’t the one to turn a blind eye to injustice and pain. And since your past is bound to be revealed, in those more vulnerable moments he would be much more understanding. If a bit frustrated. He knows how it is to keep building walls around yourself and let all the awful thoughts fester inside. So while he understands just how much you’ve been keeping to yourself, he will not be gentle with his words. It’s not anger, just pure frustration to see another teammate close themselves off. He has proven multiple times that seeing others go through the same he did/does hits him tenfold (being frustrated that Ish is going after a goal that is destroying her vs the winter story where he almost gets killed because of his need for revenge*). So to see you close yourself off further and resign yourself to a life of cold indifference instead of letting your companions in will not be something that goes ignored by him

I don’t think Ishmael would have much against you on the daily basis. Though she thinks your methods are a bit much (in context of the killing), she sees you more as just another eccentric teammate. And she has plenty of those. If you say something very dark and edgy, there will be a very characteristic sigh heard nearby. I think if Heath’s bored and happens to not napping on the bus, he’d try to count every time she makes that noise. It’s that much of a routine occurrence. However, although she might not always vibe with you, your reliability does provide a certain level of comfort for her. Like, she might not understand you (which is a big if a given with everyone on the bus due to how little you share) but at least her intrusive thoughts of failure are a bit eased by knowing that there are people who are competent and will try to help things go over more smoothly than what Dante can provide

Speaking of Dante. They are… not the greatest at reading emotions and people. So your lack of emotion is a factor in how they perceive you. I kind of can see a scenario where things are going terribly for you but you shrug it off (just another miserable day of existace…) and they go like <oh, okay. I’m glad you’re doing fine>. AT BEST they might think to themselves that something seems off and wonder if something did bother you a bit. Oh and also I think they also are a bit scared of being on the receiving end of your terrifying look. They might not read people well, but they do notice some patters (Greg being silent = Greg being sad, Faust looking straight at them = bad) and they know they messed up when your eyes pierce their soul. Even if you didn’t exactly mean to do that. That do appreciate your combat skills though!

Though Hong Lu doesn’t speak a lot in group settings (usually at least, he will still make inquiries and comments if something intrigues him), he can peak you apart so easily it’s scary. This is like the opposite of Dante I think. Hong Lu sees your actions for what they are - results of something horrible. Doesn’t judge you or anything. But sometimes when you do act all though and scary, he will say something that just applies to you so well. Other sinners think he’s gone mad (they don’t know how accurate his “innocent” musing was) while you’re left to wonder if the bloke has some sort of magical foresight

Wasn’t sure if you wanted romantic or not so I just did like general headcanons on how I think sinners would react to a character like this. With a little sprinkle of romance here and there. Wasn’t sure how to get it right for a while, cause this is a specific character instead of a scenario and it all honestly depends on how they act towards a certain person (like, perhaps I did get it wrong in assuming they wouldn’t side with Heath when he was still arguing with people early on or they would actually love Greg’s improv) so it’s tricky to write. So it might not be what you wanted, I get that

[thebookworm0001]

Spoilers for the end of veilguard and specifically how solas’s story is handled under the cut

And seriously I do mean the very end of the game and I’m gonna talk about stuff that happened before then too

You have been warned

I felt satisfied with the ending.

I was able to collect all the solas memories/regret murals and very much felt like the way the ending unlocked by that was handled well.

Solas has always been a man bound by his regrets. And this game spent a lot of time establishing is primary regret is Mythal. Yes, he cares deeply about helping people and wants that world restored, but it’s less to do with the elven people and more to do with him feeling like he’s made mistake after mistake.

He’s been living in a sunk-cost fallacy for millennia and cannot see a way out. He really, really doesn’t want to do this - he knows how many people he’ll hurt to do it, but can’t see another way because if he stops now he feels like it’ll be just another betrayal of mythal when he’s already betrayed and failed her so many times. She’s the reason any of this happened.

That’s why it has to be mythal telling him to stop. He wanted to stop for a romanced lavellan - his letter says that explicitly. But he regrets mythal’s death (and his resulting actions) so much he just. Can’t let it go. What does his life mean if he can’t fulfill the wishes of the goddess that called him to service, to a body? The friend he murdered, in the end, to make up for the first time she as killed.

He was a spirit of wisdom mythal corrupted - it’s another version of Cole and the Templar who killed the human Cole. That confrontation has to happen for him to move in any direction.

And the way he absolutely crumples when he sees her? Damn if that didn’t sell me on how deeply he cares for her, beyond the murals that show how ashamed he is of what he did with and for her.

He’s always needed someone to tell him there was another way, but nobody besides mythal could absolve him of the actions he took, because they aren’t her. It’s not a matter of the nature of their relationship, rather that he cannot untie himself from the way his spirit was warped by her and the actions he took in response to her.

Idk I know people will have very different feelings and opinions on how that went down, but it made sense to me.

And my solas-romanced lavellan acted exactly how I expected her to. Granted, Ellana is the kind of lavellan who would immediately forgive him and would, no questions asked, go with him on his journey to atone. I had a whole fic planned out where she did that exact thing - even if the details weren’t what happened here.

If you have a lavellan who isn’t as sad as mine and who wouldn’t join him, yeah this ending may not work for you. But I went from being pissed at him for trapping my rook and lying about killing varric to immediately being back on my ‘fuck you’re just a deeply sad and broken man please let yourself be happy’ lament when he talked about how he failed both the world and mythal in different moments.

It worked for me. I’m satisfied by how it was handled and think the ending makes sense for the read on Solas I’ve had for the last several years. He’s just a deeply sad man who thinks he has to make up for his failures - and the one person he’s failed more than anyone tells him it’s not on him. She’s the one person he could never get forgiveness from - and he got it. And that’s why it had to be her.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Leads Sister-in-Law! 

Story Masterlist

Chapter 8

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader 

Arranged marriage AU

Warnings: panic attack, vomit, self-harm (biting thumb hard enough until it bleeds), slight blood, mention/allusions to murder, very slight suicide  ideation, one (1) suggestive line, implied child abuse, Maria being lowkey creepy (again), uncertainty about loving future kids, please tell me if I missed any.

NOTE: while I am happy that people enjoy this story, please stop blowing up my inbox about when the next chapter(s) will come out. Or telling me I should hurry up.  Thank you.

NOTE #2: there isn't going to be any romance involving Roxana or any of the other characters and the reader.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS/TOXIC ACTIONS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/ BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACTION WITH NOR REBLOG FANDOM STUFF DNI (MAYBE ANIMAL BLOGS ARE OKAY BECAUSE THEY’RE CUTE). PLEASE DO NO NOT SPAM LIKE MY POSTS.

= = = 

Roxana’s heels clack against the tiled hallway as she glides through, making way to her room. Blond waves gently swaying with each step, the young girl can’t hold back the scowl that tears at her lips. Brows furrowed, her thoughts were full of the recent events - the dinner. 

She didn’t mean to intrude. As a matter of fact, while curious, she had no intention of doing more than taking a quick glance - to see if what Jeremy said was true, that Dion Agriche was indeed having dinner with his poor, pitiful bride. 

Jeremy got there before her.

Hiding within the shadows, the boy was glaring daggers into the favorite son. So engrossed with the scene presented to him, Jeremy didn’t notice Roxana as she got closer and closer. No, the brash boy had announced himself before she could even pat his shoulder. Like a wild boar, he interrupted your dinner, uncaring for how it made him look. Not that he ever would.

And perhaps out of pity on your behalf, or sick curiosity to see how everything pans out, she showed herself as well. 

An hour prior to the incident Roxana and Jeremy talked about you, the newest family member. She wasn’t the one who brought you up, but rather Jeremy. Her younger half-brother had asked her what she thought about the situation. It was the first time he asked. 

‘Well… It is strange. I thought that father would have waited longer before finding Dion a wife, much less holding the wedding.’ If anything, Roxana had assumed Lant wouldn’t have married him off until he was on his deathbed - an outsider would cause distractions for the rest of the family, no matter who she’s married to.

‘Yeah,’ Jeremy agrees, a borderline sneer on his face, ‘but it’s stupid. She won’t last long.’ 

‘Shorter than a month?’

‘No, longer. But I’m not sure how much longer. Still, to be married to that bastard… She's fucked. Pretty sure she’s begging God to kill her already, or to keep him away and indifferent.’ 

The blond beauty stared at her brother in question. ‘This isn’t like you, Jeremy. Did you meet her before or is it because Dion is the one involved?’ 

He doesn’t answer immediately, grumbling out words she didn’t catch. ‘Watch, she’s going to puke in disgust soon.’ Blue eyes narrowing in annoyance, Roxana only becomes more confused. What’s with this sudden interest with a sacrificial bride? 

‘Jeremy,’ she says, gingerly patting his head, ‘This is the first time you’ve shown interest in anyone. Why is that?’ Asking him directly, she hopes that she’ll easily draw answers from him. But, for once, he doesn’t budge. It’s concerning. 

‘Xana, I heard they’re going to have dinner together later today. Do you think that guy will show up?’ Ignoring her question, he asks his own. A frown tugs at her coral lips. But seeing how aggravated he is, she decides to humor him. Just this once. 

‘I’m not sure. If it was on father’s orders, then yes, of course. His word is law.’ 

‘What makes you so sure he’ll listen to all?’

She blinks at him, taken aback. It wasn’t often she gets rendered speechless, especially by her own younger brother. But his response also amuses her - hearing his resentment towards the twenty-year-old was always amusing.

‘Xana, he’s crazy. It’s only going to get worse.’ He’s not making a lick of sense - It’s not like Dion wanted the marriage. It was just an order given to the obedient soldier. 

Before Roxana could respond, she got called away to Lant’s office, the butler bowing nervously after he brought the news. 

Returning to the present, the blond lets out a deep sigh, a headache forming the longer she thinks about it. This wasn’t how the story went. There wasn’t a grand wedding for any of the Agriche family members - the closest thing was when Jeremy kidnapped Sylvia, and even then, that couldn’t be considered romantic.  

Nothing in the story was romantic. 

…not like her brother’s marriage to you was, either. 

Nothing made sense and it’s bothersome. Concerning even, for the moment you entered this play, she became unsure of when or if Cassis Pedelain will show up - what if nothing follows the storyline at all, no matter how small? She knows he exists, she saw him at the wedding. Shining silver hair that reminds her of the moon and golden eyes that were filled to the brim with caution towards her family and the wedding, the male lead of this story exists. 

But you didn’t. 

Maybe in the original work, you did, as a nameless background character. Faith unknown and unimportant, you somehow stumbled across the stage, entangled in strings that now control your every move. It worries her - you worry her. Roxana can’t tell if you’re friend or foe, if you’ll survive and stay sane, if you’ll die soon, if she should consider taking you under her wing, seeing how you were nothing more than a victim. 

A sacrifice. 

But she doesn’t have that luxury. Ensuring her own survival was hard enough - how could she take care of a second person? Why should she bother herself with you? 

You don’t serve any other purpose than being arm candy, a woman seen as nothing more than an incubator by your father-in-law. She doubts Dion cares for you; during the planning period he didn’t act out of character. He acted the same around her, still the annoying son of a bitch he’s always been. 

…but, a few days before the wedding he kept his distance. Unconcerned with her presence, he made a few last minute purchases. Away from the prying eyes of Lant, Dion also added a secret guest - the doctor known as Ash Katopodis. 

She heard a rumor that he also sent the redhead to you instead of the doctor Lant had appointed behind his back. The fifteen-year-old had found it strange once word reached her ears, brushing it aside after concluding it was gossip for gossip sake. While it was bold of the servants to say such things, Roxana saw no point in punishing them for their senseless rumors - it had nothing to do with her. If they wanted to play with their lives with risky talk, then that was on them.

Upon reaching her room, she stops short of opening the door, manicured nails tapping against the door handle. She didn’t mean to intrude on your alone time with the brute. Yet she did and the sight of Dion in such a domestic setting made her sick. 

Disgust threatening to tip over the scale, it’s hard for her not to sneer at the mere memory of it. Domesticity does not suit Dion. He does not deserve it. Playing house with an unwilling girl, dressed in pure white as the veil hid her anxiety and fright laid within her eyes and painted on her lips. Scared and left hopeless as her family watched as she kissed the monster, powerless.

Your parents didn’t exactly look thrilled during the wedding. She remembers the way your father halted before handing you over to his new son-in-law.

The holy church in which the wedding was held became corrupted when the second Lant Agriche picked it out, Maria fussing over the details. Who sits where, ‘gently’ probing your mother into agreeing with the dress the third wife had picked, your makeup and hairstyle, the fucking lingerie until Sierra pointed out how weird it was for the mother-in-law to pick out such an erotic and intimate thing for the girl who was to be her daughter-in-law. 

During the ceremony, Jeremy had kept mumbling to himself, clearly done with the whole ordeal. Obviously, Roxana was as well, but kept a pretty smile on, greeting you after the vows were said and said her goodbyes as you were dragged away to the bridal chamber. Only to find out the next morning by Emily that you didn’t go there, instead led into the lion’s den that is Dion’s room.

How… odd. 

No… what was odder was that you didn’t have separate rooms. Emily had told her as such out of the blue, preparing her breakfast. She questioned it then, and it’s only weirder, more worrisome the longer she thinks about it.

She shakes the memories away. It wasn’t her life. She had enough trouble on her plate already - she couldn’t possibly add you to the list of her neverending responsibilities she’s forced to juggle. She could pity you, but never love you. Touch you but never hold you. Talk to you but never make a genuine connection as sisters should. 

She should stop with this foolish nonsense. 

Turning the handle, she glides right in, letting the door shut behind her. Emily had retired for the night, and the blond also ordered Hana to do the same. After all, Lant had given Dion another mission, and the favorite son had to prepare to leave in the morning, too busy to bother you. 

… why am I so focused on her…?

The moonlight lights up her room through the glass doors that lead to the terrace. With a huff, she sits in her vanity, and starts to remove her makeup with removal cream. It’s greasy as her dainty fingers spread it across her face, each action copied by the mirror. It’s quiet.

Her thoughts refuse to shut up, however. 

‘What’s going on with Lant…? Choosing a daughter-in-law from a nearly unheard of family? Do they have something he wants and only used this marriage  as a means to get closer? Most likely, but why? Not to mention Dion’s behavior right before the wedding…

A frown tugs at her lips, face completely bare after she pats it down with a face towel. Ruby eyes stare into the reflection before her, and Roxana only sees frustration and confusion. She can’t rely on her memories of the story anymore. 

She won’t be sure until the faithful day when her father kidnaps Cassis Pedelian, the Blue Heir. And even then, how could she be sure that it would be the same Cassis Pedelain that was mentioned in the novel? The same goes for his sister, Sylvia. 

“...things are getting complicated.” Standing, her feet take her to the bed and she lays on it, back pressed against the mattress. The crystal chandelier sparkles in the moonlight. Ruby optics disappear behind her eyelids, blond lashes casting shadows on smooth skin. The night is still young. 

A small smile of amusement forms on her lips when she remembers your earlier conversation. You had called her an interesting person - far from what others say. They called her lovely, a Goddess of beauty - and you? 

You called her interesting.

Still, you couldn’t hide the admiration for her in your eyes. You weren’t a stumbling fool and understood what her look meant when Jeremy went too far. But the most fascinating thing?

You listened to mental caution and drew a line, uncomfortable with her, with them, the gears turning in your head on what to do next. You even separated yourself from her without hesitation once the moment presented itself.

Regardless, you admired her in spite of your clear discomfort. 

“...I must be tired.” 

You called her an interesting person. In return, she’ll call you a fool. 

- - -

His side of the bed was cold, patting it as your bleary eyes and murky mind clear up. Still half-dressed, you ignore how uncomfortable it is. No, right now, what you are focused on is the way your beating heart is thrashing against your rib cage, how cold your body has become, beads of sweat building and rolling down your temples, on the verge of gasping for air. Did you just fuck yourself over? 

You don’t know what time it was - the sun was high in the bright, blue sky, birds singing their lovely tunes. The occasional footsteps passing by, the far off voices as the servants go about their business. None of them knock on the door. None come to ‘wake’ you up.

Or, if they had, it must have been a good while ago. Were you so deep asleep that they gave up?

“...He’s going to kill me, isn’t he… hah…” A humorless laugh passes through your chest, shoulders slumping as nothing but regret fills your head and chest. Are you going to be killed today? Or maybe tortured? Thrown out like disgusting leftovers? 

You don’t want to die. Ah, but what could you possibly do? Get on your hands and knees like a dog and beg for forgiveness? …no. You’re already pathetic enough, you don’t want to lower yourself even more. Fuck. 

“...Ah, fuck, what should I do?” Putting your thumb sideways in your mouth, your teeth clamp down on the poor digit. The taste of iron explodes in your mouth, teeth marks left behind on the now wounded and bleeding flesh. 

A throbbing headache decides to join, adding physical pain to the list of your suffering. You bite down on your thumb harder. It feels like it might just snap in two but your mind is too fried to realize this. The only thing you can think about is last night. 

Your husband was gone. Where did he go? Maybe he decided to leave you, seeing you as a broken toy he doesn’t want anymore. Does that mean he’ll give the least back to Lant? Is that why he isn’t here? To discuss how to dispose of you? 

The thought makes your stomach churn, saliva glands overfilling as bile starts to raise. You were given to them as a pet - as some twisted sacrifice, and for what? Did this family want nothing else but a new ‘toy,’ to see how long a normal person would last within these walls? What then?

If they decide to kill you, or if you kill yourself out of desperation, what would they tell your parents? No, they wouldn’t tell them anything to begin with. 

And your family wouldn’t be able to ask.

“Urk…” dry heaving, slapping your hand over your mouth, panicked tears forming. Your entire body shakes, blood staining the bed as your injured hand grasps at the sheets. “URK!” Without a thought you rush out of bed, slamming yourself down on your knees as you reach the trash can. All of your stomach continents come up, the foul taste of vomit coming forth. Your vision burns white before returning.

Hot tears run down your cheeks as you heave over the trash, blurring your vision. You’re breathing too heavily. You look at the door a few feet away from you. If anyone was right outside it, they would have heard you. 

“...” You wait for a knock or for someone to burst through the doors with bated breath, your eyes shaking in their sockets, knees throbbing after the harsh impact. No-one comes. It is only you - alone in this room, a sinner who is paying the price. Must you go through this for a sin you’ve forgotten until now? 

The answer is yes. 

The answer is yes as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. The answer is yes as you force yourself to stand, knees painfully throbbing as the flesh bruises. The answer is yes as your thumb still bleeds, teeth marks engraved into the skin. The answer is yes as your heart refuses to calm down, chest hurting. 

The answer is yes as you walk over to the vanity, the reflection of a face that doesn’t look like your own. 

You are a mess. 

You are frail.

The tears don’t stop flowing as the urge to vomit returns. Crystalline droplets catch on your lashes, ugly sobs and hiccups breaking out, your shoulders shaking as you collapse onto the leather stool seat. A sinner always pays the price. 

You bury your face into your hands, entire body jerking with each sob, each hiccup as anxiety for the future and present overtakes everything. This isn’t like you. But you were never strong enough to survive in an environment like this. You were pathetic. 

Seconds turn into minutes and maybe even into hours. Time is a concept that you don’t bother yourself with by the time you finally calm down, red puffy eyes staring into the mirror as the tear streaks dry on your cheeks. Some snot peeks out from your nostril, hair a mess, clothes crumbled and sliding down, showing more of your cleavage. Such an unsightly sight. 

Would he be amused with this? Snicker and degrade you as he reveals last night was a test and that you had failed?

Grabbing a face towel on the vanity desk, you wipe off the tears and snot.

“...Okay. Let’s… get cleaned up.” Your limbs feel heavy, dragging your feet towards the closet before finally, finally striping out of your clothes from yesterday. The articles of clothing pools at your feet. 

How much longer can I last here? 

Will there ever be a peaceful divorce? Can I divorce him? Would I be able to?

If the story events do take place and Roxana takes over the Agriche family… by then… would I have children…?

BAM!

Your poor knees-! At the thought of having children - his children - your body just gives up again, as always. That’s the only thing you’re capable of, as experience has shown. 

“...children… right, children… I have to give birth to that man’s children… children that will go through the same thing he went through…” Will you be able to love them, if they come into existence? You have to, they would be yours.

Or would you end up just like Jeremy’s mother? Horrified at the sight of her own child, refusing to spend time with them. Seeing them as an irredeemable monster that you would do anything and everything to avoid?

Chomp

Your thumb once again becomes a victim to your teeth, the imprint becoming deeper and drawing more blood.  It hurts, it hurts, it hurts- but as the thought of starting a family with Dion Agriche deepens, the more you need to find something sturdy. Your thumb is enough to keep you grounded, yes, it is, and no, you’re not planning an early funeral, visualizing the area you want to hold it, or the dress your cold corpse would wear, or your family’s crying faces -

No, stop it. This isn’t - this isn’t… this isn’t what I want to be.

 Licking the flesh wound, accepting the taste and smell of iron, you are not met with clarity nor bravery; just, temporary acceptance. This is your life. This was what the Gods had planned for you. This is what you have become - a wife to the future Black Agriche Heir. 

His first wife.

Despite the blood and saliva, your mouth feels dry. Nausea builds back up, gagging and breath becoming short. It’s becoming hard to breathe. 

Your lungs are being squeezed, throat constricted with an invisible ball gag - vision blurred with what? What’s this hot liquid running down your cheeks? Are you crying ? Again?

Something is choking you. Your head is starting to feel fuzzy, a pounding in your chest you can’t get. Everything is warped, shapes turning into mush, black merging with white, a hammer bashing against your head. Only the sound of rushing blood and a running heart is heard. Only the thought of death remains. 

Only the fact you’re now a wife, a member of Agriche Black stays.

“No…no, I - I - this-!” You curl into yourself, kneeling as your forehead touches the floor, hands interlocked around your head as your lower arms and elbows rest on the tiles. Sobbing violently, your mind crashes again. You were never strong. 

Not then, not now. 

- - -

“Young master Dion has been sent off on an errand; the dinner with Master Lant has been postponed until tomorrow, at six o’clock.” Hana informs you as she sets out your breakfast: oatmeal and water. Just what your now very sensitive stomach and nerves need. Did she overhear your little mental breakdown not even an hour ago? Or was this the usual breakfast for the residents of the Agriche compound? 

“I see.” You hoarsely reply, voice still recovering. This is a good thing - you don’t have to see the devil’s face for yet another day. Her news also answers your question; Dion is out on an errand and they weren’t planning to axe you. Yet. Hopefully never. 

Still, the curiosity of your husband’s duties lingers. You shouldn’t involve yourself anymore than what you currently are. Curiosity always kills the cat. So, you bite your tongue, deciding against asking her what your oh so lovely husband’s chore is… but, if you are to play the role as a wife, his wife, should you ask him once he returns? Like how one would greet their spouse once they return from work. 

Hello dear… ick, no. Hey, how was your day… no, next. Are you tired? Do you want a bath…?

Hana witnesses how you cringe but remains silent. Unaware of this, you continue to think of possible things to say, possible ways to greet him.

…or maybe you should just ignore the subject altogether. His business isn’t yours, so why bother?

Besides, what if he doesn’t like you ‘snooping’ in his business? But at the same time, he’s been acting so weird and unlike how he was portrayed in the story. So while that Dion would find your questions annoying or useless, this Dion may want you to ask about his day. Fuck, it’s all so confusing and irritating 

 “Hm. Hana, is there anything on today’s schedule?” 

“No, not yet my lady.” 

Not yet. What does she mean by not yet? Does that mean she’s aware that someone will interrupt your tiny bit of peace at some point today? Her short dark brown hair slightly bounces as she shuffles her weight onto one leg. “However, my lady, I could… tell them that you’re recovering from ‘last night.’”

Her suggestion makes your grip on the cup loose, dropping the glass onto your lap as water soaks it. 

“My lady! Are you alright?” In a panic, Hana grabs some of the napkins on the table and pats your lap to soak up some of the water after removing the now empty glass. “My apologies - I shouldn’t have brought up such a vulgar suggestion…” Her once collected face and behavior shatters at the drop of a hat, ‘concerned’ about your safety. 

Or was it for hers? 

“I-it’s fine… no worries,” your tight lipped smile only makes her brows furrow more and treats you gentler. Like you were made of glass. Well, that wouldn’t be too far from the truth… 

“No, really. I just need to change clothes…” Once she’s done with soaking most of the water up you stand and walk to the closet. Opening the doors you skim over the options. Hana’s footsteps stop right behind you. Why is it so hard to have personal space in this place…

Your gaze travels upwards and for the first time, do you notice the Agriche family's crest engraved into the wood. Bitterness explodes in your mouth. It seems that no matter where you are in this place, there will always be a physical reminder of where you are - of who you belong to. No matter, you tell yourself. Besides, this isn’t even your room.

It was your husband’s. And maybe after a month, if not less, into your marriage, you’ll be assigned your own. …why were you sharing a room with him to begin with? Probably to increase the chances of conceiving a child sooner rather than later. 

“... does that even make sense?” You murmur in amusement. Lant wasn’t even dead yet. But, you think, maybe he wanted his son to have a child so he could start to shape them into this tainted and sadistic mold ahead of time before he kicks the bucket. To ensure that the child - your child - would follow in their father’s footsteps. 

To see if they would carry the same air and expectations as your husband does. 

How cruel. 

“Hana, I’ll let you choose it; they’re all so… beautiful that I can’t choose.” In reality you’re getting a headache from looking at the family crest. Which just became yours. 

“...yes, my Lady,” she follows your order without question, going through the options. 

Not even a few minutes later she pulls one out. 

It matches your husband’s eyes. A brilliant shade of scarlet, it practically glows. A sheer black neck piece that forms as a choker and covers your cleavage but leaves your shoulders bare. Black lace is on the hem, flowers engraved into the pattern. The body of the dress is a solid scarlet. 

“It’s beautiful.” You compliment her choice of style hiding how the beautiful piece of clothing makes your fingers twitch and brings the urge to vomit forward. Oh, how horrible it is, to not even be able to enjoy such a sight. 

How horrible it is, to be born into this world after a helpless first life, a God’s mercy forgotten.

[huntingpeople-savingsam]

Okay so, I don’t know why this is speaking to me now but rewatching this specific scene, where Jonathan says to Nancy at the end of season 4 after both of them going through their respective season’s ordeals,

“Sorry I wasn’t here.”

He says this not because Fred died (so similar to how Barb did), not because he wanted to be there with her during Spring Break, not because he wanted to follow her journalistic hunches straight into Vecna’s childhood home, not even because Vecna tried to come for Nancy and could’ve killed her the same as the others, but because he felt guilty he wasn’t there when the Upside Down, and the entities that had taken Will, came for the people of Hawkins, with Nancy included.

It’s not that Jonathan wouldn’t have cared if Vecna or anything from the Upside Down had hurt or killed Nancy, of course he would, but Nancy in mourning? Nope. Nancy with her detective brain leading her into danger? Not willingly. Nancy being forced to confront the feelings of guilt she’s never been able to address or overcome during her entire relationship with Jonathan? Hell no.

Jonathan, bless his soul, has sadly dedicated his whole life to one thing; protecting his family and by extension, himself from the hurt of being helpless to save them. Nancy he cared for, she had similar goals to him, but she’s not a priority to him now, and frankly, she never really was.

I think this scene jumped out to me so much because he says this semi unprompted while he and Nancy are in the middle of an awkward silence together, and the response he gets is not necessarily one I think he expects either:

“To be honest, I’m kind of glad you weren’t.”

And that begs the question, what did Nancy mean by that.

She has her quick cover, but it’s clear that she meant what she’s been saying for the last two (yes, two, because it didn’t just start in season 4) seasons, that when Nancy needs Jonathan, he isn’t there.

In season 3, we first see it when Jonathan and Nancy start having arguments about work, Jonathan not supporting or defending Nancy with their sexist bosses, Nancy’s hunches jeopardizing her and Jonathan’s jobs when Jonathan needs the opportunity more than she does, etc. etc. etc.

But we see it, the same as they both admit even then:

“I guess we just don’t understand each other anymore.”

“I guess not.”

And going into season 4, we see the same thing. At the start of the season, Nancy is complaining to Fred about Jonathan not coming to Hawkins for Spring Break and not committing to going to the same college as her in the Fall so they’d be together again, and she’s clearly annoyed and when she has a journalistic hunch, she only has her friend Fred to follow her (which she sadly later regrets).

Meanwhile Jonathan is complaining to Argyle that he doesn’t want the same thing as Nancy but he doesn’t know how to tell her. He doesn’t want to keep lying to her but he doesn’t want to tell her the truth and risk her giving everything up to be with him (which he wouldn’t do for her, can you imagine him leaving Will behind for Nancy?). And it’s absolutely fine that Jonathan is realizing that he doesn’t want the same thing anymore and that the relationship isn’t working anymore, but Argyle said it best:

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Not lie!”

So when Jonathan says in this episode that he’s sorry he wasn’t there with Nancy while her and the kids and Robin and Steve are dealing with Vecna, and Jonathan and Will and Argyle and Mike are tracking down Eleven and running for their lives from the shady government ops guys, is he really telling the truth?

Would he rather have been with Nancy, following her hunches, letting her lead them into danger to find the truth, and being there for her when her guilt overwhelmed her?

Would he have rather done any of those things which he has a history of not doing, than be where he was, protecting and being with his family and the one friend he’s had that he could have alongside his family while out of harm’s way up until this point?

I don’t know that he would.

[nynyhaha]

Neon Nostrade and the naivety of evil

Neon is hated on by both Chrollos and Kurapikas stans.And I never really liked her as well,tho I don’t think she deserves the hate.As a character,she’s actually brilliant!

She sure is naive.But she’s not evil.She actually shows a wish to help people.I wonder if she’s aware what kind of people she’s helping with her ability,but I doubt it.

As someone who loves finding bones in the wild and making necklaces from them,who is interested in the way human remains look,I have to remind myself not to be like neon.

Because to her,the scarlet eyes are just a fun accessory.A part of the yorknew arc I overlooked when first watching HxH was the way her whole essence affects Kurapika distructively.

Kurapika is breaking his moral compass as he allies himself with such a brutal organisation as the Nostrade family.Yet his job is rather harmless:protecting the Bosses teenage daughter.

Someone who is naive,spoiled and throws tantrums,but not someone who’s a bad person.I believe that Kurapika really wanted to protect her and keep her safe.

But she’s the customer. She is on the demand end,Chrollo does the supply,and Kurapikas family is the product

I don’t know why the troupe murdered the Kurta clan.But I know they sold their eyes because there were people willing to buy them.If not for people like her,the Kurta eyes wouldn’t even be on the black market.People who harvest human eyes and sell them are worthy of Kurapikas wrath,but people who buy those eyes and create the demand should be too.

Remember how Kurapika and Melody had to obtain body parts so they would be hired?Well,how do we know those body parts were ethically sourced?

What gives Neon the confidence,that the eyes aren’t from someone who was killed for them? But she doesn’t ask that question.

I doubt she knows how they were gathered,but she doesn’t know because she doesn’t even THINK about it.

That is sociopathic behaviour,but just like it’s normalised to eat meat in our society without thinking much where it comes from(I am myself guilty of that but I don’t feel guilt)in the world Neon grew up in,the history behind the desired treasure is not relevant.

This is also so interesting because out of Kurapika,Chrollo and Neon,Neon is the most innocent.

Kurapika is going down a dark path of working with the Mafia such as Neons father and actually killing someone.Chrollo is the reason for that.And who is on the other end of Kurapikas loss and Chrollo’s crimes?

A cute little girl.She hasn’t ever killed anybody.She’s valued by her father just for her ability.She wants some independence so she goes out and talks to Chrollo.

The phantom troupe turns out to be more human than Kurapika could’ve ever imagined.That results in him questioning his worldview where only the most evil psychopaths could do what the troupe did,but the troupe doesn’t consist of psychopaths.

And what about Neon?Shes not only a human with feelings,but she doesn’t even have bad intentions.She is not even a bad person.

Tserri is.And we would all expect someone like him to be on the demand end of the pipeline.

But there’s another type of person happy to have kurta eyes,someone who is looking at them with genuine,childlike wonder.

The phantom troupe teaches us that people can do unspeakable things while still having the ability to care about their friends,still having family like bonds with others.It’s possible to be a ruthless criminal who is selfless enough to sacrifice oneself for a loved one.

But Neon is the opposite of that.You can be a cheerful,delusional rich girl who doesn’t what to hurt anybody ,and yet be part of something as horrible as the body part market.

If the phantom troupe are monsters with feelings,Neon isn’t a monster at all.That’s what makes her even more terrifying.

Rather than ending up as Kurapikas or Chrollos,it seems that we are most likely to end up as a Neon.Because we are not required to kill to be affiliated with evil

[howlsofbloodhounds]

An interpretation and personal headcannon of mine is that Killer is programmed with two main Directives. Seeing how his soul is described as what remains of Sans and Chara fighting for control I take this as something like a command or guidance from the two.

On one side Chara directive is to simply do as they say. Sans is a simple plea, a wish to protect him and avenge him to not give up. It just Sans directive neither really took hold while in his timeline seeing how Sans was gone it only becomes a problem to others once he is taken from his timeline suddenly he is surrounded by so many sanses but how can he be sure that they are sans and not just named sans. Some are easier Horror is Sans, and Cross is Sans. Blue is weird he has many traits of Sans but also not Sans so he is put in the inconclusive pile while more research is being conducted. His real road block is Dust though he is just like Sans just with one major wrong and that is the fact that he killed Papyrus and Sans would never do that so he must not be Sans. His codes, his timeline everything insists that he is even if Dust says he is not. He digs deeper before finally coming to a conclusion that Dust used to be Sans but with corrupted codes he was changed so now he is Dust. Does that mean he cannot go back to being Sans he is unsure but at least he finally has an answer to his dilemma.

I don't see Killer ever accepting Dust as a Sans because that would mean that Sans could kill Papyrus which would put everything about himself and Sans in question. If Dust is Sans and Sans can kill Papyrus by choice does that mean that Killer is Sans and he just wanted to kill Papyrus the entire time? He doesn't know and so he'd rather believe Dust just isn't a Sans not anymore at least that he was changed similar to Killer into someone knew, something different.

~Musical Anon

To be fair anon, Cross isn’t really a classic Sans, he’s a swap like Sans. Add on the heart locket and the being obsessed with chocolate and the soul thing with a Chara, even more reasons Killer would be iffy with him. But he wouldn’t feel like a threat to Killer the way someone like Dust would—if Dust keeps viewing and insisting on his identity as Sans.

And if i recall correctly, Killer’s SOUL was described as a war between two souls; Sans’ soul, and the Determination SOUL—not directly Chara. Might’ve been changed once the Player’s involvement in Killer’s story was revealed.

And this interpretation is pretty interesting, especially since we do see Sans as among those “personalities” that guide Killer’s choices when he’s in Stage 1.

Although it’s to my understanding that Murder doesn’t really insist he’s not Sans? But that he is Sans. Not sure about that so Murder fans can correct me. I’ve seen many different views on this—Murder still views himself as Sans and doesn’t want anyone taking that from him, or Murder doesn’t feel he deserves the name of Sans, etc.

But out of all the MTT, Killer seems to be the one most convinced he is not Sans and is something entirely new, separate, different.

He seems to think he came into existence because an outer force willed it, created it. The whole “Killer Sans exists because of you” thing, and the “you’re the reason I’m like this” stuff. That he’s here to serve someone else’s whims and desires.

Large part in why I personally like to HC that in more canon adjacent Bad Sanses AUs that Killer is the one who renames Murder into Murder/Dust, and possibly Horror too, or at least it was his idea that he pitched to Nightmare when the two were “recruited.” Renamed them as if they were pets.

Probably to not only handle any confusion caused by having the same name as eachother (is the justification), but to make it easier on Killer (which is in Nightmares best interests too. Nightmare doesn’t want Killer changing, he doesn’t want Stage 1 around too much, because change means questioning means leaving Nightmare.

Nightmare doesn’t want Killer to think—in large part probably why Horror and Dust are around, because Killer cannot be allowed to be left alone with his thoughts. He’ll start questioning himself. This could potentially be justified in a way of that Nightmare doesn’t want Killer “hurting himself”—implying Killer cannot be trusted to stay alive or want to stay alive if he goes into Stage 1. (Citing their first meeting/kidnapping as evidence.)

Giving Killer responsibilities such as Horror and Dust prevents critical thinking and examination. He’ll be too focused on those two and performing his duties to think about himself.

Any time he’s not on a mission, most of his downtime could be spent with them, performing tasks around the castle, attending to Nightmare, or rare moments allowed in his room where he could have distractions like video games or a phone. Smoke screens and fog.)

So he doesn’t have to question himself too much, and examine his motives and actions (something often encouraged in cult like settings and conditioning causes thinking through the lens of the conditioning that bypasses conscious thought.

Killer (at least when in Stage 2) is not actually the most self reflective or critically thinking individual when it comes to himself—because he was trained to not be, and discouraged from it, and trying to directly ask him in Stage 1 would probably be what triggers him into Stage 2–a part thats too dissociated to fully attach to his actions and its consequences enough to question and examine. (Color would be excellent at making him question his beliefs, and in contrast to Nightmare, would fully encourage him to do so—with adequate support, because questioning too much too quick without support would likely be dangerous for Killer himself or those around him.)

He doesn’t know a lot of the reasons behind why he thinks the way he does or does the things he does—he just.. does it. Without thinking it through.

He doesn’t even actually fully know how killing makes him feel, or what he feels when he kills Papyrus. He notices it’s different from when he kills anyone else, but he doesn’t know why or how.

He doesn’t know why he hesitates and falters when faced with Papyrus, and reminders of Papyrus. When asked if he’s okay after coming out of Stage 4, his speech is disorganized and confused—unable to tell if he’s actually as fine as he says he is. (Ex: “I’m fine—“ “I don’t know—“ “I’m okay.” Am I?)

When asked what it’s like to be apart of the Bad Sanses, he says it’s fun while standing over a pile of monster dust, and yet the faint words under his red speech saying “sad” point otherwise.

And of course, that one question that pointed out that killing clearly doesn’t help him feel anything, so why does he keep doing it if he knows it’s pointless? Because he’s conditioned to.

Because he was made to do it so repetitively and unthinking without stop that it’s quite literally unthinking instinct now, not even something he consciously decides to do, and a part of him (Stage 4) fears what’ll happen if he doesn’t (the constraints of the Deal.) He was even going to instinctively stab Abyss in that one silly drawing if Color hadn’t been around to catch him before he could.

But of course, Killer does not know this. He is not consciously aware of this.

If directly confronted as to why and he bothers to try and give a reason (even if something as gross and disgusting and untrue as saying “because its fun,” as if parroting someone else’s words that he’s repeated many times), it’d be contradictory and won’t make sense when examined critically (you say you can’t feel anything and this doesn’t even seem to make you actually genuinely happy. do you even know what happiness is? When’s the last time you felt happiness? Can you even remember?)—and of course, he won’t—can’t—acknowledge what would happen if he attempted to refuse, either from Chara or from Nightmare. Attempting to refuse just triggers Stage 4, and he obeys anyhow.

We can see evidence that he wants to understand himself—experimenting on himself, curious in the souls and codes of others—but little bro cannot deprogram himself. Get that guy some therapy 🙏)

So in short, I agree that Killer would struggle to accept Murder as Sans (especially if Murder keeps insisting he is and his name is Sans)—and for his own emotional and mental and physical safety and stability, he’ll either attempt to rather violently avoid and detach from Murder—possibly seeing him as just a tool he has to take care of, or something following its own script separate from him and seeks to keep it that way (cue killer behaving like a threatened cornered animal if murder keeps trying to interact with him just like he did with swap, trying to maintain that distance and position of power between them (killer is the right hand, blah blah) or force Sans to give away anything that makes him him or connects him to Sans (the name, Papyrus’ scarf, probably mock or criticize any puns or jokes he finds the will and energy to try and make) and encourage him to be something different.

To “let Sans die” and be something stronger, or perhaps whatever sends the message that he doesn’t deserve to consider himself Sans. —the conflicting thoughts of “Am I Sans? I want to be Sans. I don’t deserve to be Sans” (st1) and “I am not Sans, I just have his face. If im not sans then what am I?” (st2) causing him behave how he was taught to maintain the beliefs he was taught.

He might frame it out to be for Sans’ benefit. Some may claim it’s only ever for himself. In actuality, it’s only ever for benefit of those who want him compliant.

[reds-skull]

Bringer of Demise - Chapter 1

[MAKAROV'S FATE COMIC] [AO3]

When I say I've been thinking about this ever since finishing part 1...

I'm very excited to start a new multi-chapter story, doubly so with revenant AU! I'm not sure how long this will be, but I have a feeling it will be longer than part 1 :)

For those that skipped the side-stories, some details in this chapter refer to them, they're not a must-read to understand, but I heavily encourage it! You're also welcome to read the comic, it shows Makarov and Fate's reactions to the events of part 1...

Now, before I start rambling again... Chapter 1: The Labyrinthine Design of Fate

He always had a sort of scorching at his chest. A never-ending flame, bugs beneath his skin. As if he was burning alive.

As if he never escaped his self-made grave.

Even now, he could feel it, little legs of burning moths climbing up and down his arms, an overwhelming sensation that hasn’t left him in six years-

Except… There, a hand slides over his. Cool, a running river between his fingers. A breath of the void in a world so loud.

Soap smiles. Simon.

“Finally awake, Johnny?”

He buries his face into the pillow, hiding his growing grin. The hand continues to hold his, and that’s all the reasons he needs to continue sleeping.

“Gonna be like that, hm?” the voice hums thoughtfully, “I went to a zoo last month. Wouldn’t recommend, all they had was some dog.”

Soap frowns. He isn’t going to…

“It was a shitzu.”

He groans. “Ye didn’t…” Soap cracks open an eye, staring unimpressed at Simon’s crinkling eyes.

Simon pulls at his hand, making him sit up, “should be honored you’re waking up to my wonderful jokes.” he lets go of him, turning back to his desk. Soap notices the half-filled reports covering it.

Even several weeks later, the 141 is practically sinking under the mountain of paperwork that dropped on them as soon as they returned to the UK.

Soap flops back onto the bed, “rather be sleepin’ than hearing that shite.” Simon doesn’t give him a response, his pen gliding once again on the paper. “Is this one above my clearance as well?”

“No. Just forms to apply for changes in our Revenant documents, again.”

“You’d think they’d figure it out by now…” he turns to stare at the ceiling, an odd feeling in his chest.

The day they met… Lumity, Soap was ecstatic. It was a proof of his and Simon’s eternal connection, breaking the final barrier between them, showing that even the Reapers themselves couldn’t keep them apart.

He’s still glad of that, mind. He would never ask to be separated from Simon. But…

But it’s not something they could hide. As much as Price and Laswell cover for them, to conceal the existence of a whole new Reaper was beyond them.

It’s that uncertainty that scares him. The higher-ups haven’t done anything with them yet, the whole taskforce grounded until the dust settles, but Soap is sure it won’t pass by quietly.

When it comes to him, nothing ever does, it seems.

He turns his head to stare at Simon again. The man he was fated to kill. The way he looks when they’re like this, hidden away from the world and the realms beyond it, when they’re just Johnny and Simon, never stops to mesmerize him. He thinks, if they were perhaps a little different, maybe this would’ve been permanent.

Then again, were they any different, they’d likely be dead by now.

The question ‘why did it choose me?’ is usually screamed in his mind when phantom blood covers his hands, when the answering thought is often ‘it shouldn’t have’. Soap asks himself again, but with curiosity.

How much does Fate know?

“You’re not sleeping again, are you?” Simon asks with a smile in his voice.

Soap gets up, stretching his back, “nothin’ else better to do, is there?”

“Could always help me with reports.”

He side-eyes Simon, “like I said, nothing better to do.”

Simon scoffs, and Soap opens his mouth to goad him to another round of bickering, when a sort of buzzing goes up his spine. Simon’s shuddering back tells him he felt it as well.

“Our Reapers-” Simon locks eyes with him, when the world melts away.

When Soap comes to, the realm is dark. Cold. Words he’d never use to describe his Reaper.

Speaking of… where are they?

“S-Simon?” Soap looks around, finding him a few paces away, his head tilted up. His brows furrow, and he follows his line of sight.

Soap stumbles back, his heart pounding, “what- Buanaiche…?”

Lumity hangs above them, their body twisted, features broken by dark red. Pulled in different directions by the strings, it is as if something was trying to rip each limb apart, as if to separate… Ladder-like patterns and moths weave around the trapped being, light itself bound by crimson lines.

“What happened to you, Reaper?” Simon whispers, fear evident in his voice.

“FATE…… The invader… IT DARED ENTER OUR REALM…”

“Fate did this to you?” Soap’s eyes follow the red strings, where they disappear in the dark fog of Lumity’s realm.

Lumity’s head twitches, and gleaming white light drips from their neck. Soap asks himself, absentmindedly, if Reapers can even feel pain.

“LISTEN CLOSELY REVENANTS… Fate is plotting against us… Against your allies…”

A deafening sound cracks through the still air, making both Soap and Simon clutch at their ears. One of the strings snaps, only to loop back around one of Lumity’s many arms.

“A man with two faces will approach you… He will be an agent of Fate… YOU MUSTN’T FOLLOW HIM.”

“B-Buanaiche…” Soap winces when Lumity lets out a sound no words in any human language can describe, “what is Fate doing to you?”

“I will not bow down to it… I WILL NEVER BOW DOWN TO IT… This is nothing but a show… A petty show…”

Simon pulls at his sleeve, and takes his left hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Be vigilant, revenants… Fate is not alone…

IT IS NOT ONLY US THAT GAZE UPON YOU NOW…”

Before Soap could take another breath, Lumity’s realm swirls, and the only thing left is that which holds his hand, shaking with the same terror as him.

They collapse to the floor, Soap’s breath hitching in his throat. Simon grunts, bringing a hand to his ear to check if it’s bleeding. He looks up at him, and shakes his head minutely.

“We…” Simon starts, swallowing thickly, “we need to find Price and Gaz.”

Soap nods, pushing himself up to stand on numb legs. His mind feels like it’s pulled apart like his Reapers, thoughts forming only to dissipate.

He follows Ghost out of his barracks, his steps loud and sure, even if his fists still tremble at his sides. The hallways are silent, most soldiers out training at these hours. Ghost directs them towards the fields now, where Gaz should be supervising recruits.

As they get closer, a few of them run into the building, their faces red with exertion and heads swiveling around. 

Soap spots Cooper, one of the FNGs he often trains, and calls out to him, “what’s going on with you lot? Why are ye not in drills?”

“Sergeant MacTavish! Lieutenant!” Cooper shouts, the words leaving his mouth in one hurried breath, “They- the revenants on base, they’re all-”

Another recruit butts in, “they all just stopped moving, they’re not reacting to anything!”

Ghost scoffs, pushing between the soldiers to get to the doors. The rookies snap their mouths shut, staring with wide eyes at them as they exit to the training grounds.

Soap didn’t want to believe them, hoping to dismiss their worry off when seeing it himself, but it was exactly as they said.

Most soldiers are moving, gathered around still figures. He can see Gaz from here, his face slack. The few other revenants on base, the majority of them belonging to the Reaper of Flesh, are as motionless as him. 

“They’re all…” Soap mutters.

Ghost’s eyes narrow, “in their Reaper’s realm.”

“Think Fate got them too?” Soap walks towards Gaz, Ghost right behind him.

The recruits surrounding Kyle part for them, Ghost glaring at the ones that tried to shake Gaz, “no, but it can’t be a coincidence.”

Gaz stares at the horizon unblinking. The sight unnerves Soap, even if he knows he looks exactly like that when his Reaper summons him. He can’t recall if he’s ever seen a revenant in this state.

A movement catches his attention, and Soap takes a step back when Gaz’s hands start twitching, his body floating a few inches off the ground, muscles taut. One soldier from the small crowd around them asks, “i-is that normal?”

A moment later, as if an invisible cable snapped, Gaz falls to the ground, knocking the hat off his head trying to dig his fingers into his scalp.

Soap instantly crouches in front of him, noticing in his periphery how the rest of the revenants come to as well, “Gaz? Ye alright?”

Ghost snatches his hand when he goes to place it on Gaz’s shivering shoulder, and addresses Kyle, “Garrick, give me sitrep.”

Gaz shakes his head, a few muted sobs escaping him. “My… My Reaper…” he heaves, “it told me to c-choose.”

“Choose?” Soap prompts him.

“Between Fate and Lumity. Between Makarov… and you.” Kyle finally looks up, his eyes red and tearful, pupil blown, “I chose you. I would never- but my Reaper…” his face contorts, “it was… furious, or not- I don’t know-” he lets out a frustrated huff, “all I know, it wasn’t happy with my choice.”

Ghost offers Gaz a hand, and helps him up. He then turns to the rest of the recruits and snarls, “what are you standing ‘ere for? Get the fuck out of my sight!”

Their little crowd disperses like a flock of birds. Soap picks up Gaz’s baseball cap, brushing the dirt off and handing it to him, “the Reaper of Pull never did like Destruction… You think that’s what the other revenants were asked?” he asks Ghost.

Ghost lets go of Kyle, making sure he can stand by himself, “... Price knows more about how Fate operates than anyone else on base.”

Price’s thoughts leak far before his office even comes into view. They’re nothing but a jumbled mess of images and emotions, and none of them make the rising dread within Soap lessen.

Gaz hasn’t stopped shaking, his steps heavier, like he’s pushing himself towards the earth in an attempt to stay steady. They haven’t spoken a word on the way here, Ghost’s eyes darting around tensely.

Soap himself can’t make heads or tails from this. That buzzing sensation under his skin, that usually forebodes his Reaper pulling him to its realm, hasn’t left. His fingers burn brighter, flames trailing far behind him as they walk.

Ghost doesn’t bother knocking, swinging the door to Price’s office wide open and ushering Soap and Gaz inside before locking it behind them.

Soap looks at their Captain for a few moments, his head in his hands.

“... Price?” Kyle is the first to break the silence. Price lets out a shuddering sigh, and looks up.

The Captain removes his hat, gripping it tightly until his knuckles turn white, “it asked you to choose, I presume?”

Gaz nods, “Mine did, yeah, but… I don’t know about Ghost and Soap-”

“No.” Price cuts him off, tone devoid of any emotion. “Lumity isn’t in a position to ask, are they?” he studies them with narrowed eyes.

Soap stares back, feeling Price’s mind prob at his, picking apart what he saw in Lumity’s realm, what they told them. The warnings, Fate’s strings wrapping around light like spiderwebs.

“I met Makarov once, over a decade ago.” Price explains as he retreats from Soap’s thoughts, “we didn’t know it was him, at the time. But he knew we were coming.”

“He showed me what his powers can do, a fraction of his Reaper’s. In all my years, I’ve never read a mind quite like his.”

“What did you see?” Soap can’t help but ask, fear warring with curiosity. Makarov is an enigma, one they only know one thing about.

The Revenant of Fate is always several steps ahead.

Price closes his eyes, hands coming up to message his head, “he showed me my own fate. Showed me people I haven’t even met yet, dead at my feet. We were lucky, according to my Reaper, until now. Fate didn’t have much interest in Humanity.”

Something dreadful seeps into his gut, and Price doesn’t open his mouth when the next words appear in their brains.

“Now, it saw something that caught its attention.”

“IT IS NOT ONLY US THAT GAZE UPON YOU NOW”

… What have they done…?

Price fills Gaz in, about Lumity’s warning. They speak among themselves in hushed voices, debating on who could possibly be a traitor, what can be done to weed them out. Talking aimlessly, as they don’t know enough about the situation to figure anything out yet. Anything is better than the suffocating silence, though.

Soap found himself staring at the grout lines of the tiled floor, thoughts such a jumbled mess even Price stirs clear from his mind. Ghost isn’t deterred, however, and has been a constant presence by his side. As he has been, for the last few months.

Soap thinks he would’ve had an easier time accepting this if he was the one destined to die. But Ghost? He’d never regret not killing him.

It angers him, to the point he has to keep his entire focus on minimizing his flames - who gave Fate the right to decide who he kills?

How much power does Fate hold? Is it the one that decided who becomes a revenant, and who doesn’t?

If Fate can capture a Reaper, there’s no limit to what it can do to them.

Cool fingers wrap around his left hand, white fire heedless of the scarred skin. Soap looks up at Ghost, humming a question.

“Remember our promise.” is all Ghost says, and somehow that’s all Soap needs to take a mental step back, and breathe in deeply.

Soap echoes his words from weeks ago now, spoken under the warm glow of a fancy restaurant, with the same hand in his.

“Together.”

They hear a throat clearing after a few minutes, Price motioning for them to sit next to his desk.

“Before… This happened, I was planning on notifying you of something.” Price starts, his eyes locked onto Ghost’s, “Laswell and the higher-ups consulted Doctor Novikov about Lumity, and have come into the conclusion you two need to redo your revenant tests.”

Ghost scoffs, leaning back in his chair to sneer, “what is he going to tell us that we don’t already know? He didn’t know a bloody thing about Void before it merged, doubt he has any new revelations he could share with us.”

The Captain sighs heavily, and Soap gets the feeling this isn’t the first time a conversation of this sort happens between these two, “it’s part of the protocol, Simon. Or at least as much protocol that can be salvaged in your case.”

Soap leans in to half-whisper in Gaz’s ear, “ye know this… Novikov? The fuck’s he a doctor fer?”

Gaz blinks at him for a second, before reeling back, “you- you don’t know Novikov??”

“No???” Soap frowns, turning around to see Ghost and Price stopped arguing. “How do ye know him?”

“He’s been the head Spiritulogist of the SAS for the last… what was it, ten years, Price?”

“Over a decade, been here since before I was Reaped.” Price says incredulously, “I know your file’s been redacted to hell and back son, but don’t tell me you never even been through your basic revenant testing?”

Soap shakes his head, “they never sent anyone to examine me… I assumed they didn’t need to check my limits, with…” the words die on his tongue, and Price redirects his thoughts before they can go down a dark path.

“I worked with Novikov for as long as I’ve been a revenant. He’s good at what he does.” the Captain says, ignoring Ghost’s growl.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never met a Spiritulogist, mate.” Gaz gently elbows him with a small grin.

Soap sneaks another glance at Ghost, noting his stormy eyes, before answering, “I did, never about my own powers. Don’t think any o’ them had clearance.”

Ghost murmurs, “saved you several headaches.”

“Well,” Price slaps his knees, getting up from his chair, “there’s always a first for everything. Novikov got cleared by Laswell, so I assume he has enough information to assess you. He’s due to arrive at any moment, let’s take it to the tarmac.”

They follow him out of the office, Ghost walking ahead, irritation practically fuming out of him. Whatever past this Novikov has with Simon, it can’t be good. Then again, Ghost seems to dislike him more based on his profession, than the man himself.

The tarmac isn’t as hectic as it usually is. Soap attributes that to the earlier revenant incident, he personally knows at least three technicians bearing the revenant status working here. There are some gruesome ways to die dealing with aircrafts, that’s for certain. He gets reminded that of the day Gaz told him the story about his Reaping.

Soap hated the blank stare he had back then, guilt a mirror image of his own. Felt an instant connection to him, and hypocritically wanted to tell him he has nothing to be guilty of. Well, maybe not so hypocritically. Gaz would never do what he did.

The helo carrying Novikov has already started descending by the time they arrive. Ghost is a menacing shadow at his side, anger not subsiding in the short walk to here. Soap had to stop himself from asking about it multiple times. He doesn’t think he’ll get more than a grunt from Ghost at this state.

Price approaches the helo as it lands, probably greeting Novikov with his powers. When the loading ramp lowers, Soap watches a short, plump man walk down to shake hands with the Captain.

The first thing Soap clocks in from the man is that he has never been in an active war zone. There’s a lack of awareness the Doctor emanates, his focus not straying from the person in front of him, despite being surrounded by several SAS soldiers, and one very disgruntled, skull-faced revenant.

Price eventually returned to them with Novikov and several other people Soap can only assume are his assistants. Ghost steps closer to him, practically gluing himself to Soap’s side. He leans in to nudge his arm, silently asking him to relax, if only for a moment.

“Lieutenant Ghost, Sergeant Garrick, it is good to see you.” Novikov greets, Gaz reaching to shake his hand. The Doctor offers it to Ghost as well, but all the masked man does is glare at him.

Novikov seems undeterred by the Lieutenant’s hostility, and turns to Soap, “Sergeant John MacTavish,” Soap finally places his accent as Russian, “I don’t believe we’ve been acquainted yet.”

Soap shakes his right hand in the air, momentarily extinguishing its flames, before shaking the Doctor’s hand, “we haven’t.”

Novikov’s grip tightens, and he lets go of Soap’s hand, “I will be honored to be the one to test your powers for the first time, Sergeant. It is not common for revenants to skip those, as you can imagine.”

There’s an almost bitter note to his last sentence. Soap doesn’t like that he feels like Novikov has been waiting for this opportunity for a long, long time.

The words of Lumity have been etched to his heart, burned a hole in his consciousness, began a downward spiral nothing, not even the memory of Ghost’s hand in his, can stop.

Soap watches the Doctor leave, not before a promise to test them first thing in the morning, tomorrow, and he wonders.

He wonders if this, too, is part of the labyrinthine design of Fate.

[vague-humanoid]

On Jan. 16, a report by the Louisiana Illuminator came out about Gov. Landry. The report disclosed that he used $5.5 million of state police funds to purchase a private jet.

This isn’t the only time Landry has done something that can be seen as unethical. Earlier this week, his Ethics Board questioned Landry on redactions of addresses in an official report. In accordance with a statute founded in 2008, if you hold certain positions, both your full name and address become public.

There are numerous ethical concerns, many of which will be mentioned later, that have impacted Landry’s term. Because of this, Gov. Landry needs to be impeached. Landry’s ethics have been so callous that I would consider him more unethical than Edwin Edwards, a former Louisiana governor.

In fact, Landry’s own ethics board is unethical. Landry signed a law to include five more people on the board, all appointed by himself. These people that Landry appointed were vetted so that Landry could find some “yes men” and allow all of his unethical behavior to go without challenge.

Moreover, as a state, we are in debt. Our sales tax is the highest in the country (thanks to Governor Landry), and we have had to make massive cuts to education. Not only that, but he also vetoed bills that would benefit the general population, such as increased funding for homeless shelters.

Governor Landry doesn’t care about impoverished people, which can also be seen in the detention centers he is forcing them into during the Super Bowl in New Orleans. These inhumane conditions, especially in the cold, can kill somebody. I bet Landry wouldn’t even subject his dog to those kinds of conditions, so why should we force humans to?

Instead of addressing the state’s homelessness crisis, Landry would rather go dove hunting in Argentina with one of his biggest donors, showing truly how out of touch he is. Furthermore, it is not libelous to write that Landry is a conman who steals from his constituents.

The plane that Landry bought? It came from the Louisiana State Police (LSP)’s budget. That money comes from many sources, but the income most important to this story is inspection stickers. Those money-grabbing inspection stickers.

In 2024, a bill was proposed to the Louisiana Congress to get rid of inspection stickers; however, this bill was killed when the LSP, the same organization Landry used funds from to purchase his jet, mentioned how getting rid of inspection stickers would detriment them financially.

This is just further evidence that Landry, and in turn, the Louisiana Republican Party, does not give a damn about the working class. Landry doesn’t care about his own constituents. The Republican Party of Louisiana would rather spend millions on a plane than a bill that would benefit the common people.

For all of these things mentioned in this article, I feel like it is time to impeach him. He has done nothing to benefit the state and has done so much damage to our state. We are already at the bottom of most rankings, and Landry’s blatant disregard for us “common folk” only sinks us further. So, let’s impeach Governor Landry.

Andrew Sarhan is an 18-year-old mass communication freshman from Baton Rouge, La.

[senjuhashirama]

THE NUANCE OF HASHIRAMA’S UNFAMOUS QUOTE

After Hashirama wins a fight with Madara at the Valley of the End and subsequently impales Madara with a sword, Hashirama says to him:

Hashirama is saying this memorable quote to a dying Madara as if he was trying to justify his decision to kill Madara not only to Madara but also to himself. He’s reminding Madara that he will choose Konoha over anything else (including Madara) no matter what. He’s firm and assured with his decision. However, he’s not sure if it’s the right decision and he perceives his action as desperate. In other words, He feels like he had no other option, and he feels similarly to a rat being forced into a corner. He can only jump at his enemy or he (and everything he worked for) dies. He blames Madara for him having to face this hard situation. He doesn’t feel like he‘s won, there’s no movement in his face to suggest that, he’s angry at best for being cornered. Rather than that, he feels like he’s lost together with Madara.

However, this quote alone without context (as it’s usually thrown around) doesn’t tell us the whole story of Hashirama’s point of view that was shaped by his upbringing, experiences and dire situation.

When Hashirama says he would kill his child if the child was a threat Konoha, He doesn’t talk about a literal six years old child who came with a wooden sword. And he doesn’t talk about an adult child he could easily overpower and deal with them verbally. Instead, he talks about an offspring that would be at least on Hashirama’s level of power who would try to destroy Konoha and everyone in it, including babies and families. To put it more simply, it‘s not about only protecting Konoha as a political system but about actual people living there who wouldn’t stand a chance against said offspring and would eventually die if the offspring wasn’t stopped. Considering all previous points, Hashirama wouldn’t kill his offspring as a form of punishment, but out of necessity and out of desperation. This is also how he feels about killing Madara – he doesn’t want to punish Madara.

However, Hashirama doesn’t just think about it, he also says it aloud, which can give sort of dark or even cold vibes. But to understand this, we need to look at the way Hashirama was raised. He was born in a midst of wars where death was so prevalent that he becomes a little obsessed about it. His two brothers died, and we can assume that many of his friends and comrades also died. For Hashirama, death is a normalised, sad part of life and it’s not a taboo as it is later in the series. He is capable of talking about it and it, without a question, taught him to be compassionate.  

To Hashirama, death is not a punishment, but the last resort.   

Similarly, in Hashirama’s flashback, we can see where his struggles with parent/child relationships come from. His father was authoritative and abusive, which means that Hashirama was never shown a proper parent/child relationship. He struggled as a child and he probably automatically presumes he will struggle as a parent (on the other side) too. We don’t know how Hashirama was as a father and I don’t personally believe he was anything like Butsuma, but his traumatic experience with his own father probably shaped Hashirama’s view of familiar relationships. That’s why it was so easy for him to say aloud that he would kill his own offspring if they threatened Konoha. Hashirama’s feelings about family are more numb and lacking because of the abuse he has suffered. Because of that, he will never see father/son relationship as only good and loving as that’s not what he knows. Hashirama’s statement is rather dark and it lacks nurturing (that is prevalent in healthy family relationships), just as his adolescence.

Despite this, Hashirama isn’t sure if his decisions he made for Konoha were right. Madara himself warns him that his vision will bring darkness upon Konoha. Hashirama has regrets and doesn’t fully justify his decision as being right.

That said, Hashirama‘s statement to Madara about killing a family member and his regrets aren’t supposed to show him as a bad person. Instead, they humanise him and they make him seem like an individual rather than an ideal.

On the contrary, Hashirama‘s „heroic sacrifice“ (killing an enemy who was a friend) isn’t supposed to show him as a good person. He’s not just good and flawless or simply bad. He’s not just a cartoonishly evil character and neither he’s a funny and innocent himbo. He’s a nuanced character with flaws, not just an aspirational hero whose hands are clean.

[snows-2am-thoughts]

PM and ADA deal Theory

Hey guys, friendly reminder that Mori is likely still gonna ask for someone from the ADA to join the PM. It honestly hurts my soul to think that the ADA will lose someone this soon after all the shit in this arc went down but Mori isn’t one to care about that kind of stuff. 

SEASON FIVE SPOILERS

This is about 1.7k words so be warned

I know a lot of people are sold on the theory that it’ll probably be Tanizaki since Asagiri is big on foreshadowing and Tanizaki does have a homicidal side but I don’t think he’d let himself be put in a position to where his sister might be in danger or get a target on her back. He’d probably run away or kill the people in question before that happened. Not to mention since his run in with Akutagawa and the black lizard that he sort of hates most if not all of the mafia members. He was so ready to go to war with the PM to defend the agency and someone like this would be super hard to control, deal with the ADA or not.

Mori isn’t stupid, in fact he’s very calculating and very cunning and who are his biggest obsessions? He’s always so focused on Dazai and Yosano but both of these are off limits in his eyes. Yosano is off limits because of the terms of the deal with Fukuzawa and Dazai is off because Mori wants him to come back on his own. Now we have Kyouka, Atsushi, Kenji, Ranpo  and Kunikida left to choose from. 

Kunikida is off the table I think because he’s a child bombing away from just completely breaking. There is a part of me that believes Mori could pick Kunikida solely to break him and watch Fukuzawa and Dazai suffer but Mori is also the type of boss that doesn’t want to waste powerful allies if he doesn’t need to. I mean, he’s literally letting Tachihara choose his loyalties, he’ll probably still get punished severely but Mori isn’t one to just waste men unless it’s for good reason or worth the risks. Also Kunikida is Fukuzawa’s successor and something tells me that Mori doesn’t wanna deal with the strict moral types. 

Ranpo is definitely off the table. Fukuzawa would go batshit if Mori picked him. He just lost his childhood best friend. Do you think he’s gonna let Mori take his son next? No he will not. Also Ranpo would blatantly refuse to work with him. He’s smart enough to survive but Ranpo is disinterested in most things and Fukuzawa is really the only one who can make him do something. I don’t think Mori would want to deal with that either. 

Now we have Atsushi, Kenji and Kyouka. Mori usually chooses children to take under his wing because they’re easy to manipulate and easy to mold into his ideal subordinates. However Kyouka was already in the mafia once and Kouyou even used up her slight favor with Mori to let her leave the mafia with no consequences. I don’t think he’d want to deal with the hassle of internal conflict since Kouyou would be pissed if he took Kyouka away from the light that she enjoys so much. However much Kouyou wants to deny that she can’t help Kyouka anymore, she’s only human and she’s very much attached to the Kyouka who shares a similar past and ability. 

Kenji’s situation is kind of hard to determine. As stated, Mori does prefer to mold and manipulate children rather than adults but Kenji is kind of an oddity among humans. Not because of his ability but because of his personality. He’s very much a “you fuck around and find out” type of guy is willing to believe the best in people despite what they may do or have done. I don’t see many reasons why Mori wouldn’t choose him other than there are better options than Kenji. Sure Kenji is super powerful with a very useful gift but there are other members that would fit his goals better. 

Now Atsushi, he’s the biggest contender for the mafia recruit in my mind for a few reasons. Now we saw in the series that there were gonna be three main villains (The Guild, the Decay of Angels and the Order of the Clock Tower) and now we have finished out with two of them. This means that we’re possibly getting into the last major arc or two of the main plot of the story and there are still so many unanswered questions about Atsushi. 

Atsushi was deemed the envy of all ability users by Fyodor which was why Shibusawa originally held an interest in him. My question is why Fyodor was interested enough in Atsushi to know of him and what is their connection that Fyodor was even able to know of him. Fyodor is a genius but the orphanage headmaster said that he was a randomly dumped toddler and he lived most of his life in a cage in the orphanage. This in itself is fishy but I’ll get to that in a second. Moreover, Atsushi’s ability seems like it just resists almost all other abilities with the ability to cut through space itself and high regeneration abilities that causes most wounds to go away instantly when he’s in his full tiger form, most other abilities don’t affect him when he’s fully a tiger. 

Who is called the most powerful ability user? Natsume is, and he is able to turn into a cat. Seeing the pattern here? When did the headmaster die? When he was trying to find Atsushi and talk to him again. It’s very suspicious timing and I wholeheartedly believe that he was silenced by someone who didn’t want Atsushi knowing something important about himself. And then we have the seven billion bounty that was put on his head because of his ability. I don’t think that it’s a coincidence that Fitzgerald, who wanted to find The Book, wanted the tiger so badly that he was willing to spend that much. 

Asagiri is a beast at foreshadowing and he doesn’t do anything for kicks, all of his moves are deliberate. There is something about Atsushi that we’re missing and I’m willing to bet that Mori, who was going to accept the bounty, wants to know what it is as much as we do. Atsushi’s strange ability, the holes in his past from before the orphanage, Fyodor and Shibusawa’s interest in him, his correlation to Natsume, his probable connections to locating the book and the fact that Dazai was coincidentally there to save him when he came to Yokohama? Yeah, there’s definitely something up with Atsushi and the poor kid doesn’t even realize it. 

So yes, I do think that Mori either a) wants to figure out Atsushi’s situation in relation to everything or b) he knows something and wants to exploit it out of him. My second point is that Mori wants to break Dazai down and build him up as the perfect PM boss. Mori is someone who manipulates and breaks from the sidelines then watches conflict and in the aftermath, glues the pieces of what once was back together in a collage of his own liking. He knows he can’t beat Dazai but he can make him suffer. Who is Dazai the closest to at the agency? Atsushi. 

Dazai always says, “Atsushi and the others” while making sure Atsushi makes it out alive in any situation that he is in. Dazai has a big soft spot for Atsushi, the kid he took in as a mentor and the kid who wholeheartedly believes without any hesitation that he is a good person. He brought his own chair and made a home in Dazai’s heart without his permission. Atsushi knows he was in the PM, knows he’s the reason for a lot of Akutagwa’s issues, knows about some of the atrocities he’s committed but still smiles genuinely at him. Of course he doesn’t know everything but Atsushi is probably Dazai’s biggest apologist (It’s not Akutagawa but that's for a different post). Atsushi is the personification of Oda’s last wish to Dazai and Mori definitely knows that he can hurt Dazai by hurting his beloved mentee.

Mori is also very aware of the new generation of soukoku. If he’s able to wrangle and manage Akutagawa (he’s alive shut up) a little more because Atsushi is his partner then all the more reason to choose him. Atsushi covers all the bases, a mysterious power that could make his organization that much more untouchable, mess with Dazai, mess with the agency and manage his own employees better. It doesn’t help that Atsushi’s mental state isn’t the best. He’s not a kid but he’s traumatized and doesn’t have the same development other 18 year olds do, and that can be just as easily to manipulate as a child. It would be difficult because Atsushi genuinely believes in Dazai with everything he is but every person is able to break and Mori is especially good at that. 

I know that Fukuzawa’s ability is the reason we don’t see any more late night weretiger situations but Atsushi has so much more control now than when he did at the beginning of the series. It’s also very much possible that Mori is looking for a degree of uncontrollable tiger to help him with his goals. It’s also been confirmed that pain can manage his transformations as seen with his collar in BSD BEAST. 

It also doesn’t help that Asagiri tends to go through the trauma route to have his characters develop and experiencing the “darkside” of Yokohama just may be what he thinks Atsushi needs to develop more. 

So yeah, I think Mori may choose Atsushi as the new PM member but don’t quote me on this if I’m wrong, it’ll be embarrassing. They also may just throw this plotline out the window since both sides suffered this past arc, they may find it illogical to go through with the deal when the truce between the PM and ADA is still sensitive but I doubt it. Mori isn’t one to care for those things. 

[bagerfluff]

Love Fights

Set in season one - Scott McCall x Male Reader

Prompt - "I can't believe I did that"

Y/n would not call himself a violent person. He normally stayed in the back and tried to solve conflicts with words rather than fist. But something in him snapped when he saw Jackson bullying Scott. Y/n didn’t really know Scott. They talked a couple of times, but they weren’t friends. But Y/n found the boy cute. With his fluffy brown hair, brown eyes, his slender but muscular build, even his uneven jaw looked cute. Plus, he looked hot playing lacrosse. Y/n cared about the boy, a lot more than normal since he started acting weird.  

He seemed to get magically better at lacrosse, he seemed to have really sensitive hearing, and he no longer needed his asthma inhaler. Y/n wondered the answer to all of these questions but he never had the confidence to ask Scott or his friend Stiles for the answers. So Y/n just watched like the answers would hit him in the face. And thinking about it made Y/n feel like a stalker. But it never happened, but what did was Jackson deciding to bully Scott. Y/n watched from his locker as it happened. 

Scott was alone, Stiles nowhere to be seen. So Scott took the yelling. That didn’t make Y/n mad, but what did was when Jackson decided to punch Scott in the jaw. Y/n didn’t know what came over him but he dropped his bag, slammed his locker shut, walked over to Jackson, and punched him in the face. Y/n didn’t stop there. He then punched Jackson in the gut. Then he kicked his legs out from under him. Got on top of him. Then Punched him. Again and again and again and again. Y/n would have kept going if Scott didn’t pull him off.

Once of the now bloody and bruised Jackson, Scott dragged Y/n to an empty classroom and shut the door. Y/n didn’t really understand what happened until the adrenalin wore off. His breathing slowed as he looked down at his knuckles. They were covered in blood and were bruised. Jackson didn’t manage to land a punch on Y/n so there was no blood anywhere else. Y/n’s eyes widened as he looked at his knuckles. Why did he do that? He was going to get detention. Jackson’s family could sue. 

“I can’t believe I did that” Y/n said so quietly that if it wasn't for Scott’s werewolf hearing, he wouldn’t have heard it. “Me neither” Scott said as he walked closer to Y/n. “Come on” Scott said after a minute “we need to go to the nurse”. But Y/n didn’t move. He had attacked a guy. He could have killed him if Scott didn’t pull him off. Once Scott realized that Y/n wasn’t going to move, he grabbed his hand and dragged him to the nurses office.

This caused a red color to come to Y/n’s face as Scott gestured to him to sit on one of the shitty beds they have in the office. A few minutes later the nurse appeared and told Scott to leave. Though Scott wanted to stay to ask Y/n why he beat up Jackson, Scott decided he could ask when Y/n was done getting patched up. So when Scott left he sat in one of the chairs outside the office. 

Scott wondered why Y/n did what he did while he waited. Did he just feel like beating up Jackson? But that didn’t sound like Y/n. From the few times he talked to him he seemed like a guy that wouldn’t go around punching people. Plus he had heard that Y/n isn’t a violent guy. Maybe Y/n was mad that he punched Scott. It didn’t hurt that much, plus with his super healing the bruise was already gone. But why would Y/n punch someone just because they punched him? Did Y/n care about him? They hadn’t talked many times so they were exactly friends. 

Scott did find the mysterious boy good looking. With his h/l h/c hair, e/c eyes, s/c skin. The way he cared about his friends and what he loved. No one ever made him drop his passions or what he loved. If Y/n loved something he would protect it with his life. So maybe Y/n cared about Scott. Maybe he liked Scott. Scott shook his head. Scott wasn’t even sure if he liked the boy back. Scott wasn’t even sure if he was gay, or bi. Scott sighed. So much is happening that could change his life. The bite, the dead body, and now this. Wasn’t high school bad enough. 

But it was the only explanation that made any sense. Scott was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear Stiles running over to him and sitting next to him. “Scott!” Stiles screamed as he waved a hand in front of Scott’s face. Scott shook his head again and looked at Stiles. “Yay,” Scott said. “You good man” Scott nodded “I heard about what happened”. Scott's eyes widened “you did?” Scott asked, Stiles nodded. Scott looked back at the wall in front of him and continued to think as Stiles looked like he was thinking. “Do you know why Y/n did it?”

Stiles asked. Scott shook his head, not looking at Stiles. Stiles stopped talking, he wanted to think. Plus Scott didn’t look like he wanted to talk. A few minutes later Y/n stepped out of the nurse office with bandages around his knuckles. Y/n was looking at them like they still had blood on them. Scott abruptly stood up and looked at Y/n. Stiles and Y/n were both caught off guard by this. Stiles fell out of the chair he was sitting in while Y/n just snapped his head up to look at Scott. 

Scott looked at Y/n for a few minutes before asking his question. “Why did you do it?” Despite Scott not saying what Y/n did, Y/n seemed to know what he was talking about. Looking back down at his hands Y/n sighed. Y/n knew why he did what he did. He was angry that Jackson hit Scott. The truth was that Y/n wanted to protect Scott. Scott always got bullied but Y/n didn’t do anything about it. Guess he did now.

But Y/n couldn’t tell Scott that. Scott didn’t like men. He didn’t like him. So Y/n lied “I was tired of Jackson beating people up just because he felt like it” he said. But Scott knew he was lying. Even though Scott knew that Y/n would never punch somebody, that isn’t what told Scott that he was lying. It was his heart beat. Scott knew that someone's heart rate went up when lying and that’s what happened to Y/n. Scoot supposed that was a positive to his new werewolf problem. “You're lying,” Scott said, forgetting that he should not imply to random people that he can hear more than the average human “I can hear your heartbeat.”

Y/n’s eyes widened. Was Scott lying or could he actually hear his heartbeat. Scott had to be lying. There was probably another way Scott found out he lied. Y/n’s friends told him that he was a really bad liar. Y/n tried to think of another lie but nothing came out of his mouth. Y/n sighed “I was mad that Jackson hit you.” Y/n said quietly. So quietly that Stiles, who was just watching what was happening, couldn’t hear him. But Scott could.

“Why” Scott asked as he walked closer to Y/n. Y/n took a step back as he avoided eye contact with Scott. Y/n didn’t even try to lie at this point. Y/n was ninety percent sure Scott wouldn’t tease him or tell anyone else that he liked him. “Because I like you” Y/n said but loud enough that Stiles heard him too. Scott was shocked. Y/n liked him. But did he like Y/n back? Scott didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But Scott didn’t even know what his feelings were. After a few minutes of silence. Y/n ran off down the halls of the school. He took that silence as rejection. 

Scott wanted to run after him but the bell rang before he could. After Scott didn’t move Stiles grabbed his shoulder and took Scott to his next class. But Scott couldn't pay attention for any of his other classes. He was too busy thinking. Scott wondered if Y/n was okay. He also wondered if he liked him back. When the final bell rang Scott slowly walked out of class and walked slowly out of school and walked slowly to Stiles jeep. 

Stiles was already there, waiting for his best friend. Once Scott got there he entered the jeep without saying a word neither did Stiles once he realized that Scott wouldn’t reply. But after a few minutes wondered what was wrong with his friend. “You good man,” Stiles asked. Scott’s head snapped to Stiles, like Stiles had scared him. Scott nodded, still not talking. 

“What are you thinking about?” Stiles asked. “What Y/n said” Scott said, speaking for the first time since Y/n said it. Stiles nodded. “Well” Stiles said, glancing at Scott for a minute. “Do you like him back?” Stiles asked. “I-i don’t know” Scott stuttered. Stiles sighed before his eyes widened. “Okay” he said looking at Scott. “Imagine kissing Allison” Scott was confused by what his friend said but he listened anyway. Scott closed his eyes and imagined kissing the girl. After he was done he opened his eyes. “How was it?” Stiles asked once Scott was done.

“Okay” Scott replied. It wasn’t good but it wasn’t bad either. Scott didn’t really feel anything when he imagined it. He didn’t get butterflies in his stomach like the way people told him. “Now imagine kissing “Y/n,” Stiles said. Scott closed his eyes again and imagined kissing Y/n. Scott imagined Y/n putting his hands around his waist as Scott put his hands around his shoulders and played with the hair at the nape of his neck. Scott’s eyes shot open. Imagining kissing Y/n was a lot better than imagining kissing Allison. Scott even had butterflies in his stomach. Scott’s eyes widened. He likes Y/n. 

Stiles smirked as he looked at Scott, as if he could read his mind and know what he was thinking. “So” Stiles asked, still with a smirk on his face. “Great,” Scott said, a little breathless. Stiles laughed as he pulled up to Scott’s house. Scott got out of the car and was about to shut the door to the jeep before Stiles said something. “Make sure to tell him” the Stiles drove off. Without asking him Scott knew what Stiles was talking about. Scott needed to tell Y/n that he loved him at school tomorrow. Scott smiled at the thought. Scott entered his house with a smile that was brighter than the sun. 

As Scott walked into the school he looked for Y/n. After a few minutes Scott spotted Y/n at his locker. Scott walked up to Y/n and pulled him into the nearest supply closet. “Wha-” Y/n didn’t get to finish as Scott had placed his lips on Y/n’s. Y/n’s eyes widened. Scott was kissing him. Y/n quickly started to kiss Scott back as he grabbed his waist. The kiss wasn’t perfect. Neither y/n nor Scott had experience kissing, but to them it was perfect. Scott put his arms around Y/n’s neck as he played with the hair at the nape of his neck. Y/n was the one to pull away. Y/n looked into Scott’s eyes as Scott smiled. “I like you too,” Scott said. 

Now Y/n was the one who smiled.