#this ... utterly helpless worthlessness

[ganondoodle]

i kept trying to draw anything, literally anything but i feel like the little package of skill i have build myself just fell and scattered across the floor, anytime i try to grab ahold of a piece of it it slips through my fingers like wet soap

on days like these i wish i had been smart enough to be anything else but a mediocre artist, but im not, im not even smart enough to be decent at the only thing i call myself to be able to do, im never going to be able to draw like i want to and i struggle to make peace with it

[gremlingottoosilly]

Reader who can't take care of themselves x monster!konig

Reader who just...confirms all of Konig's biases about humans. You can't fend for yourself, you can't even cook food without supervision - you're weak, defenseless, you will die without him. Just like all humans in his eyes, you're utterly worthless - but there is something about your weakness that makes you just too endearing to pass on. He finds it amusing, somehow, even more alluring than anything else. God, this is so fucking weird. He adores you - he wants to hold you close, to be the best possible option for someone as pretty as you. Seriously though, even as much as he hates humans, he is still gentle with you. Feeding you, letting you sleep in his bed and trail behind him like a lost puppy whenever he is on missions. It's true that his kindness is rough and comes with a cost of your body used as his pretty little breeder, but it's a nice fate, all thing considered. Konig isn't patient to disobedience, but you learned the way to be just what he likes - not fighting him, not trying to get away. Just laying and taking it like a good girl. God, he fucking adores you. Konig has to feed you, since you would just forget to do it on your own. Poor thing, you're literally so damn helpless - he has to remind himself of the food that humans like, just so you won't starve, and he has to sit down in certain hours or else you're just going to explode from not being able to rest without him. He made a routine for you - waking you up, curled down on his chest, making you dress in something that belongs to him - at least his shirt, so you'd be claimed by his smell and no one would touch you - and then breakfast. Nutritious and prepared exclusively for you, the only human at the base - besides prisoners, of course. Konig knew that taking care of a breeding pet would be difficult, but he is always ready to set you straight - no matter how much you disliked being bred and filled with eggs while he was going on around his day. You had a debt to repay him for, and he won't accept anything less than perfection.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Sanemi Shinazugawa General Profile

Yandere! Sanemi Shinazugawa x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence/mild gore, Sanemi controls your diet/comments on what you eat, mentions of physical and sexual assault (not by Sanemi though because he is Consent King™), my characterization of Sanemi is a little unusual I think but I stand by it, part of that characterization involves him being very sexually frustrated so mentions of masturbation, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of reader being insecure/having low self esteem, kind of mind-break ish for reader, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 13K

DARLING PROFILE:

Honest 

To Sanemi, there is nothing more worthless than liars - with the exception, possibly, of demons. He doesn’t understand why one would skate around the truth, and in his eyes it’s a sign of weakness, of an unwillingness to face reality and to cheat themselves.

Needless to say, he wouldn’t tolerate a partner who is prone to lying, who lets falsities slip from their lips like it’s nothing. He wants to know that his partner won’t front anything, that each word and phrase that they speak is nothing but how they feel, their honest thoughts and feelings.

Trust means a lot to him, and because it’s so difficult for him to fully open up, to allow himself to becomes vulnerable, he’s quite selective with who he lest see the real Sanemi Shinazugawa, the real man who wants nothing more than for the ones he loves to be safe and happy.

He needs a darling who won’t bullshit him, who can hold his respect and take a slight weight off his shoulders by knowing that they won’t ever lie to him.

It doesn’t mean his paranoia diminishes in any sense of the word, but the sentiment is still nice - it’s pleasing to him that when his darling is finally giving in and telling him in a defeated, resigned voice that they love him too, when he’s forcing out a compliment that sounded wonderful in his head but strange once it passed him that the small smile and soft ‘thanks’ they give is real.

He needs to comfort of knowing that his darling is authentic, that they’re showing their real selves to him, and with each glimpse he sees he only falls more and more in love. 

Opinionated

There is no doubt that Sanemi works tirelessly to be as powerful as he can, that it’s his sole drive in life to kill and defeat demons. He’s a man fueled by adrenaline and hate for the man-eating creatures, and he desires a darling who is similarly motivated.

His darling doesn’t need to have a tragic past or anything of the sort, but he appreciates someone who is somewhat of a spitfire.

He likes women who can challenge him, and if his darling is able to keep up with him and even occasionally be better than him at something, it’s a sure fire way for him to grow interested.

He loves the idea of his darling being capable and independent (ironic, considering the way he grows to coddle his darling and let his overprotectiveness convince him that they’re utterly helpless without him), and a darling who’s able to showcase this personality trait gets him ever so slightly flustered.

He likes someone who can stand up to him, who doesn’t let him boss them around, and while he’ll want them to be complacent and listen to him once he has a more solidified role in their life, there’s something so incredibly attractive about them having their own mind and opinion.

He may act like it irritates him at first, butting heads with his darling and even occasionally complaining about how headstrong they are, but it’s one of the very first things that catches Sanemi’s attention and keeps it.

(That and, of course, the color of their eyes, the sway of their hips, the lilt of their voice, and myriad other qualities that make him gape like some lovesick school boy. Pathetic.)

Kind

On the flip side, Sanemi is also wildly attracted to a darling who is a truly kind person.

They can be opinionated, hardheaded, competitive, any number of things that leave them labeled as a strong personality, but it’s in the moments where Sanemi sees how truly compassionate they are that his feelings really become cemented.

He’s had to bury his own compassion and empathy down over the years, hardening his shell and playing into the character so well that it’s become essentially his real self, and to see his darling able to be so kind and loving to the people around them makes him wildly flustered and jealous.

It reminds him of his old self, and while that brings its own heavy baggage, there’s something freeing and so very calming about it, like some long lost puzzle piece is slotting into place because it just feels right.

And when his darling turns that kindness onto him, Sanemi’s genuinely at a loss for words. The first time they scold him for getting injured and help tend to his wounds, he’s already putty in their hands. He’s momentarily struck silent when his darling presents to him a small gift from a nearby market, the gift itself meager and not something Sanemi particularly wants, but there’s something about the gesture that gets his heart racing, flattered and unsure why they’d be giving someone like him something.

It’s a quality that he subconsciously looks for, and though he’d never admit it, it’s difficult for him to not notice just how kind his darling would be in the context of motherhood. They’d be great with children, he’s sure, and while he doesn’t want to bring any children into the world while it's still crawling with demons, he’s nursing the quiet, embarrassed dream of his darling carrying his children and heading a loving, large family.

It’s the stuff of his fantasies, the kind of thing that makes him flush and get irritated at sappy at is, but with each kind gesture and compliment, his darling only makes it harder and harder to not dream of it.

Brave

On many levels, to become a person Sanemi respects you’d have to be brave. He simply doesn’t tolerate those who are weak-willed or meek, and a darling who’s more willing to put themselves out there or stand up for others is extremely attractive to him.

His darling doesn’t need to be a risk-taker, but he appreciates someone is willing to go outside of their comfort zone every once in a while. This is especially true when it comes to interacting with him. His tough demeaner scares most people off, so his darling would need to be willing to tough it out and stand up to him in order to dig past his rough exterior and get at the soft, vulnerable side of him.

It makes him proud, really, when his darling does something that he deems brave or difficult for them. It fills him with a sense of accomplishment, feeling genuinely happy for them because he’s so very proud when they achieve even basic things.

He's extremely observant and picks up on even minute aspects of his darling’s personality, and so he’s very in touch with what’s within his darling’s comfort zone and what isn’t.

This trait is by and large a positive for him, however there are times when it becomes the bane of his existence; if they do something he deems stupid or unnecessary and puts them in danger he becomes very, very angry. He’s paranoid in every sense of the word, terrified that his darling will die or somehow disappear, leaving him behind to be all alone, losing just another person he’s come to love.

(Though, love is perhaps not quite the word for it – needs, maybe, or even adores, just with a sense of finality that scares even Sanemi.) His darling’s braveness is a double-edged sword, and once they’re under his lock and key, he’s trying to cut down on their ability to act on this as much as possible, not only for their safety but also his sanity.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS: 

Protective

As a general rule, Sanemi’s expression of his feelings towards you is rather indirect. He’ll never outright confess that he’s in love with you until very, very late into his obsession, and by that time you’ll have already been trapped by his side for at least a few months, already uncomfortably aware that he feels something for you, even if he won’t put a name on it.

He’s not traditionally romantic in any sense, and while he does harbor fantasies about being all soft and mushy with you, he can’t seem to allow himself to act on these desires, particularly towards the beginning of his infatuation.

(He’ll spend his nights laying awake, staring at the ceiling while his fingers trace patterns against the scars on his chest, imagining they’re your own softer, prettier hands, that you’re laying beside him and lulling him to sleep with your touch and soft voice, that you’re telling him that you love him and that you feel so safe with you, Sanemi. Idly, he wonders whether you’re put off by the scars – you’ve never mentioned it, sure, but Sanemi isn’t stupid. He knows you’re too nice and perhaps too intimidated by him, but he still bites his lip and wonders whether you wouldn’t mind them, if you’d like them, if you’d be attracted to them, even… And suddenly his fingers feel like fire because now he’s imagining how it would feel to have your lips trail the scarred skin instead and oh god-)

He’s not particularly overt with many aspects of his obsession, with a few stark exceptions – namely, Sanemi is very, very overprotective of you. Call it a result of a traumatic childhood and adult life or perhaps even a coping mechanism, but once his feelings for you begin to fester, your safety becomes his number one priority.

And really, isn’t it understandable?

Seeing humans get slaughtered on a daily basis constantly reminds him that you’re weak. Sure, he’s a Hashira and risks his life with every breath, but you’re you. You’re painfully unprepared to handle a confrontation with a demon, and with each new violent, gory death he sees, Sanemi becomes more and more aware of this.

It’s maddening, really, because he’ll be out on a mission and be just a hair too late to save some poor civilian woman and oh, her hair color is so very similar to yours – from a distance it almost looks like you. Your faces aren’t similar, though, and as Sanemi runs past the fresh corpse in pursuit of the monster, he’s breathing a sigh of relief because for the smallest, briefest moment he was almost convinced that that was you.

And later that night, as he sits down alone in his quiet, empty mansion, every blink of his eyes is flashing an image of you in her position, scarlet blood staining your skin and tears drying against your cheeks. It makes him grit his teeth, pacing around the room and clutching onto his sword hilt, muttering under his breath about how you’re driving him crazy and this shit needs to stop, I have to stop, this has to stop…

But he still finds himself dashing off to the modest room you call home, anger flaring when he notices you’ve left your window open, mentally berating you and promising to sternly remind you tomorrow to not be so careless.

Wide eyes peer into your bedroom to catch sight of you peacefully sleeping, and he sucks in a breath at the sight. You’re just so pretty – all soft and warm in your bed, lips parted ever so slightly, the slope of your nose catching his eye, the slow rise and fall of your chest.

(He’ll stop to match his own breathing with yours, palm pressing against the glass of the window, unable to stop staring even as he calls himself pathetic and a creep for watching you sleep. It’s just calming in a way he can’t describe, and when he finally forces himself to move some thirty minutes later, the cycle only restarts as he steps foot back in his home.)

His anxiety that you’re unable to protect yourself manifests pretty early into his obsession – and you’ll notice, too. He’s unusually concerned with all aspects of your health and safety – he’s always asking when you’ve last eaten, what you had, if you’re still hungry, when you last had protein or a vegetable or drank water. And while he’s trying to be as civil and nonchalant as he can manage, he’s still staring, looming over you and looking at you with an intensity that makes you feel so very small, your answer more of a question than an answer.

And if he doesn’t like the answer, you’re being dragged to his own personal kitchen, all the while he’s grumbling about how you’re so irresponsible, can’t even feed yourself on your own, meanwhile he’s already boiling water and cutting vegetables, having forced you to sit on the most plush cushion he owns.

And you will be eating everything he feeds you – when you seem hesitant, he's threatening with a disturbingly serious I won’t let you leave until that tray is clean, the calmness and sincerity in his voice driving you to immediately pick up your utensils.

Typically, his cooking isn’t bad – perhaps ever so slightly charred, but it’s cooked to your tastes and preferences (though he never explicitly asked about them), and he’s always looking at you while you dine, those wide eyes of his never seeming to blink as he surveys every possible detail about you.

(Really, he’s doing two things – firstly, he’s obsessively checking over every aspect of your eating habits. How many times do you chew before you swallow? Which foods do you start eating first, and do you eat section by section or a little bit of everything? Do you blow on your foods if they’re too hot, your pretty lips puckering into a cute little ‘o’ that makes him suck in a breath? But even aside from that he’s staring, transfixed, because just last night he was dining alone at this table, solemnly chewing at his food while imagining your presence beside him, fantasizing about the day when you’re eating together, perhaps even swapping stories of the day or complimenting him or telling him that you look so handsome today Sanemi, it’s kind of pissing me off… Just the thought makes him sit up straighter, unconsciously puffing out his chest because he wants you to be very, very aware of the muscles lining every inch of his body.)

And even aside from food, his protectiveness is apparent in the way he treats you – he’s always quickly gazing over your body, checking for any signs of cuts, scrapes, bruises, or limps, the surveying genuinely clinical rather than perverse.

(Of course, later that night he’ll remember the details with a slightly lewder twist – wondering how soft your thighs must be and letting his hands flex into a fist in an effort to grab onto something, even though it can’t be you. He’s imagining exactly how those nipples of yours must look like, imagining in detail the way they’d look all pebbled, the skin soft and warm and god, he bets you’d taste sweet, like some sort of heaven.)

He’s refusing to leave your side when you walk into town, always trailing at your arm and constantly glowering at the people around you, his excuse something related to checking for demon activity in the crowd – you don’t mention that it’s daytime.

(He’s always raising a brow when men approach you, rage simmering just below the surface alongside an underlying sense of anxiety and insecurity because while he may be the most capable of protecting you, the kinder, gentler man that calls you beautiful at the small morning market may be more capable of winning your heart. And so, when they get too close, he’s quick to place himself between the two of you, a scowl on his face and his tone a mix of condescension and threatening when he tells him to get lost, one more step and I slice your arm off. It’s protection, sure, because who knows what these men could want from you, but the small, possessive part of him is smug when the man scurries off, his worries momentarily quelled because you’re still next to him, not that stranger.)

He’s pessimistic about people by nature, always assuming the worst, and so Sanemi accompanies you every free moment he possibly can, acting as your shadow and impossible to get away from. It’s irritating, really, because even if you fight and bicker with him about it, requesting that he please leave you alone because it scares you to have him hanging off of you like that, he’ll only resort to following you from a few meters behind, blending in with the crowd but still keeping those eyes on you, hand always tightly clutched around the hilt of his sword just in case your safety is threatened.

He knows it’s stalking, sure, and he reprimands himself for his weakness and inability to control himself, but the moment you’re out of his sight panic is racing through him, his breathing getting shallow and his skin feeling hot because fuck fuck fuck this isn’t happening, you’re not gone you can’t be gone please oh god where are you –

He’s running as quickly as he can to check behind every corner, desperation to find you so potent that it bars him from feeling embarrassed, only calming once he finds you. He’ll grasp onto your shoulders once he does, his grip nearly bruising as he demands to know where you’ve been, practically yelling at you to tell him if you’re hurt, if anyone bothered you, if you’ve been attacked or if you’re scared.

It’s only when you wince or beg him to back off that he does, freezing up and letting his mouth fall open stupidly, before suddenly jumping back as if touching you pains him, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, disappointment and anger in himself for injuring you rolling through him.

He treats you like you’re delicate, fragile, breakable, and no matter how often you tell him – and prove to him – that you’re not, Sanemi refuses to acknowledge it.

After all, you needing protection gives him purpose. It gives him justification to be around you, to be allowed in your presence – it makes him think he might, just maybe, be worthy of your love. And no matter how pathetic it makes him feel to admit it, Sanemi would do absolutely anything to get you looking at him and needing him like he needs you.

Anything.

Possessive

And it’s palpable. Sanemi is many things, but subtle is not one of them – and while he may be decent at masking many aspects of his obsession with you, his possessive side is certainly not one of them.

He’s easily jealous, always suspecting the worst of people that approach you. The man that comes up to ask you for directions obviously has an ulterior motive, perhaps wanting to ogle you or get just a hair too close to your body for Sanemi’s comfort.

The older man that accidentally bumps into you as he walks with his cane may seem innocent, but Sanemi’s immediately scowling, eyeing the man like a hawk because many old men seem to feel much too entitled and much too confident in bothering younger, attractive women, and he’ll be damned before he lets some old creep harass you.

(A bit hypocritical, all things considered, because while Sanemi may be your age, he’s significantly more of a creep – the way he’s constantly following you, constantly thinking of you, imagining your smile and your laugh and of what he’s sure is a very warm and oh so fucking wet place between those plush thighs of yours. The old man would probably only touch you – Sanemi wants to do much, much more.)

And so, a large portion of his possessiveness stems from his own protectiveness. He firmly believes that no one else is capable of protecting you to the level and degree that he can. He’s a Hashira, unafraid to throw himself into danger for a cause he fully believes in, so why should he be afraid to put himself on the line in order to keep you safe and sound?

Slaughtering demons is still his life’s mission, sure, but somehow you’ve wormed your way in, too, and Sanemi finds it increasingly difficult to simply ignore how much of an effect you have on him. And even as much as he tries to deny his feelings in the beginning, praying and hoping that they’re simply temporary, it becomes very, very difficult to force himself to not care when he sees anyone else speaking to you.

And honestly, a lot of the anger comes from the fact that you have never been this familiar and carefree when conversing with Sanemi – you never smile at him like you do with this new man, all teeth and rounded cheeks and glowing eyes. It’s cute, adorable, beautiful even, but it’s also infuriating, making Sanemi’s blood boil and something ugly and uncomfortable press against his ribs.

Other men always seem to be able to more easily speak with you – they’re wittier, better at complimenting you, managing to make you laugh and smile in a way that hurts Sanemi to see. It’s painful, more than anything, and early into his obsession it’s moments like these that show him that no matter how he tries to convince himself that his feelings for you aren’t as strong or potent as he thinks, he’s wrong.

He needs you in a way that simultaneously frustrates and terrifies him. He hasn’t felt a connection and genuine desire in such a long time that he doesn’t even recognize the feeling at first – it takes him seeing you interact with men over a prolonged period of time to even understand the nature of his infatuation, realizing that instead of mere irritation he’s feeling, it’s something deeper, harsher, more personal.

It’s something that makes it hard to breath, his fists clenching and his legs feeling like lead, dread settling deep in his chest because oh god, what does he do?

He tends to act before thinking when it comes to you, his body seeming to react before he even has a moment to process what he’s seeing, and this is certainly no exception when another man approaches you. He’ll be quick to step in, but as Sanemi’s obsession continues on, he becomes more and more torn about his possessive tendencies.

By and large, he’s lucid about the nature of his feelings for you. He knows what he’s doing is wrong, and as time passes and his love for you only seems to grow exponentially, he begins to wonder whether interfering with potential lovers of yours is really the correct move. He’s horribly jealous, of course, barely able to keep himself from hurling the moment he sees you interacting with anyone else, but there’s something else there, sitting just below the surface and giving him ever so slight pause.

It’s guilt, the idea that he’s becoming unreasonably possessive and territorial over you when he really has no right to. After all, thinking of you as his woman makes him feel good, his chest feeling all tingly and his cheeks going hot, but it’s not really true, is it?

You’re not his – he’s just an admirer, a stalker who desperately wishes he could call out to you and have you smile at him, look at him, let him wrap you in his arms and even press a kiss or two against his trembling lips. But you’re not – and it’s difficult for Sanemi to rationalize that the longer his obsession goes on.

And so, by the times that he’s a few months into accepting his feelings for you, Sanemi tries to limit his interventions into your interactions with others to only situations where you’re uncomfortable or in danger. And it’s noble, truly – but the problem arises from the fact that Sanemi is the one judging when this occurs, deciding when someone is bothering you.

His mood plays a huge role in this judgement decision, his moodiness and however long he's been away from you or gone without interacting with you swaying his decision. If he’s been particularly absent from your life for the last few days or weeks, Sanemi is believing that everyone has ill intentions with you – every man that glances at you, even every elderly woman that compliments your eyes or your figure.

They all want you, and it makes him panic, growing anxious and terrified that someone will snatch you away from him, that he’ll lose you and with you every bit of happiness and calm you make him feel. It’s a panic response, more than anything, and he’ll immediately rush in, sometimes not even caring how you grow irritated and frustrated that he always seems to just appear, despite the fact that you have the situation under control.

It’s a mixture of genuine worry for your safety and selfish desire to keep you all to himself that motivates him, and you’ll notice a stark difference in his behavior once he’s got you stolen away in his estate. He won’t directly reveal his feelings to you, but his sense of ownership over you will become much more apparent with the way he’s always providing for you, giving you all sorts of expensive gifts and getting only the best foods for you, doing anything and everything to get you to like him, to get you to become willingly his and to show you that no one else could treat you as well or love you as wholly.

He’s a prideful man, sure, but when it comes to you everything flies out the window – he’s barely able to conceal his desperation for you, and the defense is so weak that you’ll spot the cracks immediately. You’ll be able to tell just how badly he needs you to admit that you’re his, his control over your life worsening with every day that passes because he simply can’t stand knowing that you aren’t utterly, completely his.

And really, would it be so bad to give in? There’s something romantic about a man who wants you so badly that he’s so hyper fixated on keeping you his and only his, isn’t there? Something exciting, something flattering, something raw?

Sanemi sure hopes you think so, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter – he can’t stop himself, and you will become his at the end of the day.

Shy

But in an extremely specific way – he doesn’t shy away from interacting with you per say, but it’s very, very difficult for him to become completely open and vulnerable with you.

He’s simply too closed off – he’s entirely unused to having anyone close in his life, his few relationships held quietly close to his heart and rocky, to say the least. (His love for Genya, for example, or even the comradery he feels for Obanai and his fellow Hashira, though he’s much more expressive than he realizes.)

He’s simply not good with words, often finding himself saying things he doesn’t mean or speaking with a tone entirely unreflective of what he feels. And as a result, he struggles with the idea of opening himself up to you. You’re simply too important to him – you’re his everything now, the woman he wants to protect and keep safe above all else.

And while he’s not deluded enough to believe that you can understand him simply by looking at him, Sanemi hopes and prays that his actions are enough to convey the depth and nature of his feelings.

(Though, he’s often unsure of whether he wants you to really understand just how strong his dependence on you really is. Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t know that he can’t spend a single hour without passing thoughts of you sifting through his mind – a simple glance at a cloud has him thinking it vaguely looks like your hair, the shape making the corner of his lip turn up ever so slightly, his fingers subconsciously rubbing together and imagining the texture against his skin. He doesn’t want you to know that sometimes, when he’s sitting alone and eating the rather bare-bones, plain meal he’s cooked for himself, he’ll set a second plate, biting back his pride and quietly speaking into the air, pretending that you’re sitting there and entertaining him, nodding along to his words and encouraging him after a particularly difficult mission or seeing you getting just a tad too friendly with another man.)

Really, a lot of the fear of opening himself up comes down to Sanemi’s lucidity about his feelings for you. He has no romantic experience, true, but he’s not stupid – he’s aware that it’s unusual to be this attached when the two of you are really only platonically involved, even as much as he yearns to take things further.

He understands that it’s not normal to be so hyper fixated and concerned on your health and safety, always having a moment of clarity as he scolds you for wearing shoes that are worn down enough to hurt the soles of your shoes, or for not drinking water all day.

He’s very aware that it’s wrong of him to be following you home and keeping an eye on you without your knowledge or consent, and truthfully he’s afraid to see your reaction when you realize just how truly depraved he’s become for you. He's sure that you’ll find him repulsive – maybe you’ll curse him out, calling him a freak and a creep and even a monster for invading your personal privacy and space on such a regular basis.

(You’d be mortified, he’s sure, to find out that he often lets himself into your apartment during the day, knowing you’ll be at a friend’s place for the next few hours and wandering back after following you there, the familiar scent of you calming him immediately once he steps inside. He’s sure you’d be angry to know that he’s thumbing at each and every item of clothing you own, memorizing the feel of the fabric, running his fingers along the inside just to pretend to feel your skin, finding that this is the closest thing he can get to touching you. He’s sure you’d be mad to know that he’s picked up your pillow, hugging it to his chest and pressing his face against it, deeply inhaling and even planting a few unsure, rather stiff kisses against the material, wishing with a sort of boyish hope that tonight you’ll happen to press your face against that specific spot as you sleep.)

He’s naively nursing the hope that you’d by some miracle be okay with his more covert behaviors, wishing that you secretly feel as strongly for him as he does you. But even then Sanemi doesn’t let himself slide too deeply into that thinking, aware that it’s dangerous to become so detached from reality. You will be horrified, and he will be absolutely shattered to see the way you’ll flinch away from him, how you’ll look at him with fear and disgust in your eyes.

(And really, the pathetic thing is that while Sanemi will be ashamed of your newfound perception of him, he can’t deny that he’d be absolutely giddy to have you looking at him, your attention entirely on him even if it’s negative. And that only serves to fill him with more self-loathing, something ugly and heavy settling against his chest at the thought because it really is awfully pitiful that simply your attention is enough to have his knees feeling weak, his cheeks tingling and his palms growing sweaty because oh, you see him.)

And so, Sanemi does his best to avoid broaching the subject of how he feels about you. Instead, he tries every possible method he can think of to express himself through actions.

He doesn’t have much as a reference point, both his career and his comrades not exactly ideal sources of healthy, loving relationships, but at a certain point Sanemi becomes too desperate to ignore his few resources. He needs you to see him, to smile at him and acknowledge him, and so he bites his pride and awkwardly approaches Kanroji about it.

He’s not exactly overjoyed to be asking for her advice, but she’s the only one he feels has any sort of idea what you could possibly be looking for in terms of romantic gestures. (He’d also considered asking Shinobu, but he’d immediately crossed that idea out upon realizing that not only would Shinobu likely tease him in the moment, she’d very likely never let it go, constantly holding it over his head that the Sanemi Shinazugawa needed advice on how to woo a woman. At least Kanroji would be kind about it.)

He’s approaching her and asking as nonchalantly as he can manage whether women like men to give them flowers, escort them from location to location, cook for them, where women like to be touched (with a very, very quick clarification of not in a weird way immediately following the question), or any number of other things. And Kanroji, while suspicious of his intentions, is more than happy to gush about the small things that make women swoon. And Sanemi is hanging onto every word – pressing for details about what specific compliments to shower you with, what small gifts he should consider picking up on his missions to bring home to you, what tone of voice he should be using instead of his usual gruff, irritated lilt.

Sanemi is quick to try and instill some of these ideas into his ‘relationship’ with you – he spends easily an hour biting his lip and diligently searching through every single flower at the shop, his hands slightly trembling when he hands you the small bouquet, struggling to make eye contact as he quietly – and with something almost akin to a tremor in his voice – tells you that your kimono is beautiful, the statement almost phrased like a question.

It’s the closest Sanemi is willing to get to admitting his feelings in times like these, and up until the point where he steals you away into his own abode, these sporadic bursts of confidence and nerves will leave you with whiplash because mere moments later he’ll be growling at a drunk man approaching you, threats slipping from his lips and his aura suddenly switching from bashful, almost schoolboy-esque to deadly serious.

And once he’s been forced you kidnap you, this behavior mostly continues. He still doesn’t want to fully confess everything, but he’s trying his absolute hardest to make you as happy as possible – going out of his way to keep you comfortable and satisfied, guilt eating away at him and making him overcompensate by treating you like you’re royalty.

With time, he’ll slowly become more open to you – that mask will slip ever so slightly, bits of his true feelings shining through. He’ll accidentally let it slip that he knows something about you that he shouldn’t, cluing you into his behaviors revolving around the stalking and rifling through your things.

It’ll be the middle of the night and he’s suddenly jolted awake after a particularly graphic nightmare, half asleep as he rushes out of his bed and practically runs to find you. He’s frantic to check that you’re still in the bed he’s set up for you, his breathing only calming down when he sees your still form, a declaration of love, adoration, and relief slipping from his lips that you happen to hear and wonder at how he can be so sappy and whipped.

It’s embarrassing, more than anything, but Sanemi simply struggles to be vulnerable – eventually you’ll become uncomfortably aware of just how badly he needs you, what with his growing need for your affirmations and physical touch, but the process is slow going, frustrating, confusing, even. But please be patient with him – he’s trying his best for you, really, and with every rejection and laugh when he’s attempting to open up, the less likely he becomes to completely and fully trust that you could love him, too.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Sanemi has always been a bit more on the aggressive side; between slaughtering demons for a living and being a bit brash in his words in his personal life, he’s never been one for handling problems with delicacy, or even really diplomacy – when he gets angry, it’s a bit all consuming.

And when you get thrown into the equation? Well, Sanemi is a lost cause – his emotions regarding you are so complex, so overwhelming and deep that the moment he feels your relationship is being threatened, he’s immediately shutting it down, attacking the threat mercilessly with everything he has because fuck, he can’t let you leave him.

When it comes to romance and love, he’s honestly quite insecure; he knows that there’s no way he’s your first choice, that someone as harsh and rude and demanding could ever possibly be the one you desire. Not to mention the fact that he’s constantly putting his life on the line, the gamble he’s playing on whether he’ll live to see the light of day every night. And he’s not sure about the scars the job produces, too, because while he normally wears them as a badge of pride to signal his toughness and battle experience, he’s not so sure you’d share the same positive response to them.

(It’s such a constant worry for him that the moment you’re in his vicinity, he’s torn between leaving his uniform wide open to show off his sculpted pectorals and abs and simultaneously wanting to cover up, terrified that you’ll find his scarred and calloused body upsetting, repulsive.)

He knows he’s not the ideal man, but there’s a part of him that’s desperately clinging onto the idea that maybe, just maybe you love him too, that you’re just as happy being with him, that you need him as badly as he needs you. It’s unrealistic, though, and in his heart of hearts he knows it and berates himself for even entertaining the idea that you see him as anything more than an acquaintance (or a friend at most).

And yet, the moment that he sees another man – one that’s arguably more similar to what he’s sure your type must be - all reason gets thrown out the door. He’s gritting his teeth as he sees another man approaching you, talking to you, even so much as looking at you – it’s a threat to the relationship he’s precariously building between the two of you, a possibility for something to drive you away from him, the mere idea scaring the absolute shit out of him.

You’re his everything, the reason he lives to see another day, and the moment your safety is compromised (because Sanemi is absolutely fucking sure that that man approaching you with a flush on his face and wide eyes has intentions that are only bad, desires racing through his heart to hurt you, leave you crying and violated and so very scared) he’s immediately wanting to interfere, to break you away from whatever son of a bitch decided to come between what’s rightfully his, what he’s devoted so much of his time and energy to – you.

And even as he realizes that this mindset is detrimental, unhealthy, potentially irreparably damaging your perception of him, Sanemi can’t find it in himself to stop. He’s just too paranoid, too terrified that you’ll be so cruelly ripped away from him.

And of course, it’s also a matter of paranoia where your safety is concerned, too – he has no faith in your ability to fight, and he’s confident that if a bigger, stronger man were to assault you in some way, you’d be hard pressed to fight him off.

(A notion that makes him sick, immediately clutching at his sword and furrowing his eyebrows, the need to see you immediately making him spring to life, already sprinting to where he knows you typically are this time of day.)

And so, Sanemi will often step in between the stranger and you, regardless of the context. And while it pisses you off when it’s a friend of yours or even a simple stranger with innocent intentions, Sanemi manages to redeem himself because every time a creep approaches you, he’s always, always there to swoop in and save you just as the weight of your situation begins washing over you.

(And Sanemi is more than happy to play your savior – just the look you give him, so full of admiration and gratitude and, dare he say, awe, is enough to make him flustered for the next week, finding himself unable to fall asleep and instead imagining your face, clutching at his pillow and squeezing his eyes shut, small whispers of your name falling past his lips.)

In retrospect, you really shouldn’t have gone out for groceries this late. It was winter time, when everything goes dark much too quickly. Before you’d known it the sun was setting and you had yet to stock up on food for the week, making you quickly race out the door and trying to catch the last few minutes of vendors. The market was just barely open, the entire town feeling oddly deserted considering how early it still was.

As nightfall descended, the sun slipping past the horizon, you find yourself carrying a bag of heavy groceries and padding back home, grunting occasionally at the heavy weight in your arms. Your home wasn’t in the best of neighborhoods, the area always feeling just slightly ominous at night, but the rather depressing sight of your empty cupboards had forced you to venture at a time you’d normally avoid leaving your front door.

Biting your lip, you let the groceries in your hand shift slightly, letting the weight shift from one arm to another. Your attention is so focused on the cloth bags in your arms that you fail to notice the figure standing at the side of the road, lounging in front of a small family-owned restaurant that was closed for the evening. His robes are a dark green color, stained with something along the front that left it dark and greasy, a bottle of something strong-smelling in his clutched fist.

You hadn’t noticed him at first, but you suddenly go stiff as he whistles, the bottle crashing to the ground and shattering. Freezing only momentarily, you quickly keep moving, trying to ignore the way the man is calling after you.

Hey, get back here, woman, he’d slurred, even audibly sounding drunk.

The rather weak torches stationed every few meters along the street make it difficult to see behind you, but you can clearly hear his footsteps getting closer.

You can also hear the distinct lack of others’ footsteps, meaning you’re totally alone with a drunk man seemingly intent on bothering you.

Gulping, you keep your shoulders low, trying to curl into yourself but keeping the same pace, hoping by some stroke of luck the man would lose interest or give up on following you. Your home was only a few blocks away, if you could just push a little further maybe you’d be able to close him off at the door, and surely he’d stop then, right? He’d be too bored waiting outside for you, surely.

Hey bitch, turn around! His hand is suddenly on your shoulder, fingertips digging tightly against your clothed skin and making you wince slightly. He’s taller than you’d thought, something that becomes frighteningly obvious as he turns you to face him.

He’s sneering, lips curling up into something ugly that makes your gut twist. His breath reeksof the same sour, alcohol-baked scent, and as he leans in, you try your best to step away, leaning away from his approach.

Please leave me alone, you try, your voice sounding pathetically weak even to your own ears. He’s strong, you can tell – the dingy clothing hid his physique, but it’s not hard to feel the way his grip tightens, the way he makes an unpleasant noise that has fear prickling up your spine.

What did you just say to me? He asks, baring his teeth and moving to cup your jaw between his fingers, pressing his thumb against your lips and pressing hard enough to make you squirm, the pressure against your teeth making your panic only grow worse. He cocks a brow at your struggling, his smile creeping up again as his free hand came up to rest at your hip, moving down and towards your middle, barely passing over your clothed navel and making you open your mouth to scream. The groceries are dropped, your fear overweighing your despair at losing your week’s salary on a single grocery run.

You’re barely able to vocalize your fear before a sudden flash of white fills your peripheral, the pressure against your mouth suddenly lessening. Your body slumps down, falling to your knees on the ground as your eyes grow wide, your breaths heavy and labored as you look upon the scene before you.

The man – your savior, is standing before you, five fingers wrapped around the man’s throat and shoving him up against the wall of the nearest shop, Sanemi’s teeth bared and his own chest rising and falling rapidly.

He’s got his free hand clutched onto the hilt of his sword, and for a brief, terrifying moment you’re sure he’ll whip his blade out, perhaps slicing into the man’s guts and leaving him a bloody, mutilated pile of bones. Some sick, malevolent part of you finds a sick sort of pleasure in the idea, but your body is moving before you can even think, struggling to your feet and moving to rush forward and stop Sanemi from acting on what you’re very aware is a quick-trigger temper.

But before you can take more than a few steps, the sound of the Hashira’s voice is ringing in your ears. It’s low, gravelly, sounding as if it’s taking every bit of his concentration and self-control to not be screaming and yelling, nasally and gravely, the words clipped and uneven as his fingers tighten.

You piece of shit, touching women without their consent, you’re fucking disgusting, rot in hell –

It’s like a mantra, Sanemi sounding so very genuine and forceful, and as you stand frozen at the intensity in his voice, his words only become darker, more sinister.

Don’t touch her, don’t you fucking dare or I swear I’ll slice your head clean off and dismember your every limb. He grins, eyes going wide. I’ll slice off your cock, too, that’d be good, huh? Can’t bother any innocent women when you’re not even a man.

He punctuates this point with a kick to man’s groin, the pained groan he lets out only making Sanemi’s smile widen. You take a small step back, but Sanemi doesn’t even seem to notice.

Anyone who touches her is dead. You hear me? You’re fucking dead.

The harasser is clawing at his hand, whimpering and wheezing as his air supply grows smaller and smaller.  It’s at this point that you audibly gasp, covering your mouth with your hand and staring at him with shock, your fingers trembling and your heart racing.

That noise seems to snap Sanemi out of his trance, his muscles going rigid and his head snapping to you. His eyes widen and his lips part, the airiest whisper of your name falling from his lips, and then he’s suddenly letting go of the stranger, backing away and staring at his own hand in shock, as if he’s horrified by what his own body has done.

The man falls to the ground, curled up and coughing, but neither you nor Sanemi pay him any mind. He’s still looking at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish, mind racing as he tries to think of something to say – anything to say, really, because the way you’re looking at him right now is making his heart break, panic engulfing him because no no no now you must think he’s a violent killer and oh god you must hate him now –

He breaks the trance by rushing forward, hands immediately coming out to clutch at your shoulders, his grip noticeably softer than how he’d been choking the man. His eyes are searching over your face, glancing over every inch of your body, his breaths still coming out uneven and ragged, and Sanemi’s quickly swallowing, unsure of what to say but practically blurting out the words.

That wasn’t – I don’t – I’m not going to hurt him, I promise –

You blink at him, body stiff and unsure, but the longer he babbles on the more your muscles relax.

I wouldn’t hurt a human, I’m not a monster, I just – he was harassing you and I don’t even know what happened, I just started moving and –

You shut him up by carefully, hesitantly placing a hand over one of his, the skin contact making him suck in a sharp breath, gaze immediately zeroing in on the sight.

Your smile is only half-genuine, fear and adrenaline coursing through you, but now that the man has crawled away, cursing Sanemi out, you’re starting to calm down. You’ve spent enough time with the Hashira to know he won’t hurt you, and seeing him this worked up, this flustered and desperate to get you to believe him is proof enough that he’s telling the truth.

Stop Sanemi, I know. I understand. At that he visibly relaxes, his jaw tensing and clenching as he swallows. Thank you for saving me.

He pauses, eyebrows rising ever so slightly, before he lets out a deep, shaky exhale, nodding his head and stepping back, releasing his grip on you.

Good is all he says, still looking at you, before his grip rests once more on the hilt of his sword. He glances towards your groceries, before scowling. Are you stupid? Why the hell are you out at this hour to get groceries?

You bristle at this, familiar behavior making you shoot him a glare. Don’t judge me, not all of us can afford to have private servants cook us meals.

Sanemi scoffs. I don’t have private servants, you’re making shit up again.

You continue to bicker, still shaking slightly as you gather the groceries that fell out of the bag upon impact with the ground. Sanemi begrudgingly helps you, forcing you to let him carry both bags while he escorts you home, berating you for being out at this time the entire way.

It’s only later that night that you really truly think about what had happened, his words ringing through your mind because why had Sanemi said that? How had he even known where you were, much less that you were in danger?

You’re not sure, but as you slip under your covers and bury your face against your pillow, you find yourself brushing aside the odd coincidental nature of the encounter, instead finding yourself thankful that Sanemi was there to intervene before things got truly bad.

(Meanwhile, Sanemi is staying true to his promise of not killing any humans – though he’s quick to track down the drunk man, scoffing at the state of him. He’d fallen asleep, evidently, laying on the dirty streetcorner a ways away from your home. Rage overcomes him as he recalls the way this man had touched you, even going so far as to grope your most intimate region without your permission, anger and even a small bit of jealousy overwhelming Sanemi.

He'll certainly not kill the man, but he wasn’t lying when he promised to slice off the man’s cock – he wouldn’t miss it, would he? Besides, he tells himself as he cuts clean and quick lines, it’s for you. This way, the creep might not feel the need to harass you again, and might keep his filthy hands to himself.

And when Sanemi drops him off unceremoniously outside the doors of the nearest medical house, he can only scoff, turning his back on the bleeding man and listening as the medics immediately begin swarming him.

He doesn’t like hurting humans, sure, but for you? Well, the walk back to your home is short, and as he slips inside, standing at the foot of your bed and swallowing at the sight of your sleeping form, he feels himself visibly relax. You’re just too perfect – and as he inhales the smell of you, he knows he’d do it again if it meant keeping you safe, keeping you his.)

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Though Sanemi can’t deny the allure of domesticity with you, kidnapping you is actually something he is very strongly against. It’s a combination of factors that leave him hesitant to steal you away – he’s worried that it would permanently alter your personality, and he doesn’t want you to fear him.

He’s lucid enough to know that his feelings for you border and delve into creep territory, his penchant for following you and compulsively checking on you making it difficult to see himself as anything other than a pathetically obsessed man chasing and lusting after an innocent civilian woman.

And yet, he can’t stop himself from wanting you, needing you so badly that it physically hurts, and so Sanemi gives into his more disturbing urges with the clear, resolute promise to himself that he’ll never do anything truly drastic.

And of course, kidnapping you falls into this category. It’s the only way he can justify following you around, fantasizing about holding you and touching you and hearing you say his name. It’s the only way he can calm himself down when moments of lucidity and clarity come rushing at him, guilt clawing at his throat because why the fuck is he hovering over your sleeping figure and reaching into his trousers right now?

He doesn’t trust himself around you, and that’s only another deterrent to keeping you locked up and away with him. It’s like he’s not in control of his body when you’re present – he’s always looking at you, sneaking glances even when he explicitly tells himself not to.

(Even when he instigates a sort of punishment system for himself – he clenches his fist hard enough to draw blood or pinches himself too tightly every time he catches himself doing it, trying to break the habit. Instead, however, he finds himself littered in bruises and all sorts of crescent-shaped marks on his palms, his will-power no match for the way he needs to be looking at you constantly.)

He’s always gravitating towards you, keeping his body facing in your direction, just so that if you do something or say something he’ll be able to immediately respond, every fiber of his being hoping that you’ll reach out, that you’ll speak to him, that you’ll acknowledge him.

(Hell, he’s even lost control subconsciously – he’s puffing his chest out without thinking about it when you’re around him, subtly trying to make the deep slit in his uniform go wider so that you can see more of his corded muscles, clenching his abs tightly enough to make the definition impossible to ignore. He’s running his hands through his hair the moment someone mentions your name, swiping his bangs out of his eyes just to look presentable, just so that if you see him you’ll maybe, just maybe find him attractive and appealing.)

It’s pathetic, he thinks, and he’s terrified that once you’re stolen away by his side, trapped with him as your sole companionship and provider (an idea that does, of course, make something pleasurable and good roll up his spine), these behaviors will only get worse. If he can’t control himself when he’s still physically distant from you, who knows what he’ll feel at liberty to do once you have nowhere else to run.

He’ll never hurt you, he’s sure of it, but he really, really doubts that you’ll be comfortable with all of the things that his subconscious wants to do to you. He’s sure you don’t particularly want to be encaged in his arms while he squeezes and squeezes and squeezes, trying to get you as close as physically possible because he’s still irritated that he can’t live inside of your skin.

(But what if he crushes you, or somehow breaks your bones with the strength of his affection? It’s enough to get him biting his lip, staring down at his open palms and scowling, frustrated at himself because he knows the euphoria of touching you will make him stupid.)

He’s sure you don’t want him to hand-feed you, bringing the chopsticks up to your mouth, watching your pretty, soft lips open up and letting him place the home-cooked food against your tongue.

(And seeing you looking at him with your mouth open, taking something that he’s made and given to you against your tongue will have him flushing, swallowing heavily and having to look away because fuck he’s such a pervert and he’s ruining a sweet moment by growing unbearably hard in his trousers, and oh god – what if there’s a wet spot when he stands up? Will you notice? Fuck fuck fuck!)

It’s a recipe for disaster, not to mention the fact that your fear and hesitance would likely force you to become a shell of your former self. You’d be reduced to nothing but a skeleton of your personality, and that’s the absolute last thing Sanemi wants. He wants you – authentically, fully, as you are when you’re free and independent. And stealing you away would change that, he’s sure – and he’d never forgive himself for diminishing even a flicker of your light.

But of course, misfortune seems to follow Sanemi like some sort of sick joke – it’s only a matter of time before something terrible happens.

It’s a demon attack, likely. Perhaps some demon has noticed that a Hashira seems to hold a penchant for a particular human, and with his marechi blood they’re very, very eager to lure him out and feast on him. And in the process, you get caught in the crossfire – it’s rare that Sanemi leaves you completely and truly alone, but when he’s been summoned for a mission, he can’t exactly decline.

And so, he rushes through the job, quickly finding the demon and slaughtering it in the quickest, fastest way possible before immediately returning back to you, falling into the shadows so that he can continue to keep an eye on you, letting out a rather harsh breath when he finally spots you again, in tact and unharmed.

Except one night, as he sprints through the dark forest, he sees the very faint outline of your home and immediately his eyes go wide.

Your front door is wide open.

He generally thinks you’re rather careless about your safety, sure, but even you aren’t that bad – something is wrong. He pushes himself to run faster, harder, his breaths sounding more like wheezing as he descend on your house, immediately rushing inside and drawing his sword. The adrenaline coursing through his veins only makes him falter for a moment upon seeing his absolute worst nightmare – you’re on the ground, eyes slowly blinking and your body crumpled up, most of your visible skin covered with blood.

His nostrils flare, the sight of the demon crouching over you making his grip on the sword hilt so tight his knuckles turn white, something akin to a genuine growl coming from him.

Get the hell away from her!

He’s yelling and charging, immediately activating his breathing technique and beheading the creature before it can even react. His chest is still heaving, and despite the black mist that begins to appear on the creature’s neck, he’s immediately settling down, straddling the creature and throwing punch after punch. It’s bloody – it’s spraying all over his uniform, staining the white as his fists dig into flesh, denting and tearing and destroying, all the while Sanemi is yelling at it, cursing and calling it a vile, disgusting creature, claiming it’s trying to hurt and kill his woman.

It’s terrifying, really, and as you slowly lose consciousness you’ll find yourself feeling even more terrified, unsure of what’s happening.

And as the demon disappears, Sanemi slowly calms down, gathering his senses and immediately grabbing you, carrying you to the Butterfly Mansion as quickly as his legs can carry him. He doesn’t want to bring you home (or at least, he knows he shouldn’t), but once Shinobu has you patched up and he returns to your now blood-stained abode, Sanemi’s biting his lip, wavering.

He can’t let you come back here – not with the knowledge that you could be attacked again, not when you’re out of his sight and protection, not when you’re so very vulnerable. And so, he begrudgingly brings you back to his estate, settling you into the bedroom as far away from his own as possible.

(He’d refrained from keeping you in the room he’s spent the last few months pretending was your own, too – outfitted with all of the items he’s bought for you but been too afraid to give to you: all sorts of hairpins, beautiful weavings, flowers, even small, curtly written notes he’d been crazed enough to write in the dead of night when he just could not stop thinking of you. No, that’d be too much – he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so he locks that room up, praying that you never, ever find out about it.)

When you awake, you’ll find yourself changed into fresh, clean clothing (soft clothing, too, the kind that you could never afford), tucked into a bed in a room you don’t recognize. The futon is soft, the sheets warm and decorated with a pattern and color that you distinctly note is a favorite of yours. Your entire body hurts, wincing as you sit up.

It’s only then that the door slides open, a tuft of white hair greeting you as Sanemi clears his throat, wide eyes glancing at every visible part of your body. He’s rather curt when he explains where you are, glossing over the why and instead cryptically reiterating that you’re safe now, so drop it.

As a captor, Sanemi is surprisingly attentive – you’d known each other before your  kidnapping, of course, though he’d always seemed like a rather hot-headed, difficult man.

And those mannerisms certainly don’t change when he’s got you trapped with him – except now you can see that there’s something deeper under the surface, something vulnerable and raw and real. You’ll see it in the way that he touches you like you’re made of glass – shying away and retracting his hands just moments before they touch your skin, acting almost as if the idea of touching you repulses him.

(God, nothing could be less true – he so desperately wishes to brush his fingertips against the smooth skin of your thighs, to cup your cheeks in his palms, to press his lips against yours – softly, slowly, as if he can’t quite believe that you’re real.)

You’ll see it in the way that he has every meal cooked and prepared for you, the Wind Estate quiet and empty except for the two of you. It’s always your favorite foods, cooked with every idiosyncrasy and taste of yours in mind, with a level and degree of accuracy that will terrify you at first.

And frankly, you will be terrified at first – he’s reluctant to admit his feelings to you, sure that if you were to know the truth of the situation you’d immediately reject him, and as stupid as it is Sanemi doesn’t think he could handle your rejection. It would break him, emotionally, physically, and mentally, leaving him a shell of a man and still just as desperately, pathetically in love with you if not more so.

But the reason you’ll be terrified isn’t because of his demeanor or the way you think he feels – rather, it will become obvious very quickly that Sanemi knows much more about you than you thought. You know you’ve never told him your preferred menstrual supplies, and yet the bathroom he’s assigned to you is stocked full of the exact model and heaviness you prefer.

(It’s your own bathroom, thankfully, though when you’re asleep sometimes Sanemi will sneak in, picking up your toothbrush and letting it sit against his lips, suckling at the bristles and rifling through your trash just to find a pad or two when he knows you’re menstruating. He’d rather slice off his own hand than admit it to you, of course, but just being in a space that you regularly use makes him feel special, connected to you in a way that makes his knees weak and the smallest, faintest of smiles cross his lips.)

You’re sure you’ve never mentioned what clothing size you wear, and yet there’s a slew of brand new, beautifully made kimonos and lounging wear perfectly tailored to your body, all in a range of colors and designs that are your favorites.

(There’s also a few in a lime green material and a single, pure white one, both of which were guilty pleasures that Sanemi felt compelled to include in his orders from the local seamstresses. And if you were to wear one, willingly, during a shared meal with him? Well, don’t comment on the pink color of his cheeks, nor the way he ever so slightly stutters when he tells you that you look nice.)

Frankly, he’s a pretty good captor to have – he gives you space, and forces himself to stay away from you for most of the day in an effort to not overwhelm you. At least, at the beginning. He tells himself it’s enough to know that you’re locked up in the Wind Estate, safe and sound and perfectly removed from the danger of the outside world, but his paranoia and yearning for your company eventually drive him to spend just a hair more time with you.

Instead of giving you privacy during meals, he’ll instead knock at your door, entering with his own plate and sitting down as far away from you as possible within the room, silently eating and trying not to make his staring too obvious.

(He mentally justifies it as making sure that you don’t choke on your food, but really it’s more about seeing you enjoy what he’s made for you and knowing that you’ve eaten today. Good. He'll sharply inhale, biting back a smile as he slowly eats his own food, trying to prolong the moment.)

He spoils you with all sorts of gifts and supplies for any hobbies you may have, and while he initially doesn’t interact with you as you knit or draw or read, eventually he’ll gather the courage to ask you a question, trying (and failing) to sound nonchalant as he asks what it is that you’re drawing, how to knit, or what your favorite book is.

It’s a slow but steady process, and as time passes and you grow more and more complacent with your situation, you’ll find yourself coming to enjoy the rough, oddly charming presence of Sanemi. Even if his stalking and feelings for you become an unspoken truth, his fondness for you difficult to ignore (with the way he treats you so gently, spoils you, and very poorly hides the way his cock springs to life each time you say his name).

And so really, Sanemi feels guilty enough for being in love with you, and even more guilty for forcing you into a life of complacency – the least you could do is compliment him, right? You could at least invite him to join you for meals and walks around the modest garden of his estate. You could at least intertwine your fingers with his and pretend to not notice the way he gasps, mumbling something incoherent that sounds vaguely like your name.

Really, it’s the least you could do – and with every action, Sanemi only falls for you harder, deeper, his resolve to keep you safe, happy and his only growing.

PUNISHMENTS:

While his obsession with you alters certain parts of his personality, some characteristics remain absolutely true regardless of his feelings for you. And unfortunately, one of them is his quick-trigger temper.

You calm him, the mere sound of your voice making the tension in his muscle relax, the clenching of his jaw lessening slightly, the tensing of his shoulders becoming less pronounced. The feeling of your hand pressing against his chest makes him freeze in place, the anger simmering in his gut becoming more diluted, the rage slowly leaving him because god, you’re standing right in front of him and he can see every fine detail of your face and he can smell you and god…

You have a physical effect on him that calms him ever so slightly, but he still finds himself remarkably susceptible to rage, even with you in his vicinity.

Of course, rarely ever is he actually mad at you – early into his infatuation he’d found himself constantly irritated and enraged at you, convinced that you’d somehow purposefully made him into the lovesick fool that he is, unable and unwilling to admit to himself that it’s entirely his own doing leading to his spiral into dependence on you. He’d even tried to hate you, consciously filling his head with lies and telling himself that you were weak, a burden, only something that would slow him down. And yet, the anger was never quite real, never quite honest.

(Never directed at you, really, but more directed at himself for being so weak as to form such strong, dependent feelings on you.)

And so, Sanemi’s anger more often than not revolves around someone else – often, someone around you. Men that get too close, friends that meddle when they notice that you have Sanemi as an unwanted admirer, your boss when they treat you poorly, even strangers that are even the slightest bit rude to you.

He’ll never go far enough as to injure another human to point of death, if only because he’s still guided by morals that yearn to save humans, but Sanemi is absolutely committed to making sure that you’re treated like the royalty that he perceives you as.

(Often, any men that feel bold enough to approach you, or god forbid touch you meet a bloody, painful altercation with the Hashira, unable to do anything but be pounded into a pulp as he swings and punches, leaving them a bloody semi-conscious mess on the ground, even spitting onto them as he mutters something about being a fuckin’ monster, assaulting women like it’s nothing…)

But all that said, there are a few very specific things that can get Sanemi angry at you, too. He can forgive you lashing out at him and calling him terrible names, even openly welcoming it sometimes because he knows it’s true.

He’s mostly worried when you attempt to escape rather than angry, terrified that you’ll somehow hurt yourself or be eaten by a demon if you manage to get through the patch of wisteria trees surrounding the perimeter of his estate. Instead, his main triggers are when you injure yourself, or when you say something negative or degrading about yourself.

 He’s so paranoid about your safety and health that the mere idea of you injuring yourself gets him borderline panicking, his breathing getting heavier and his hands starting to tremble as panic engulfs him because he absolutely cannot lose you, too.

He’s always quick to reprimand you, yelling at you but dressing your wounds as gently as possible, treating you as if you’re made of glass and cleaning everything perfectly to prevent any further harm. But really, what truly angers Sanemi is when you display a lack of self-respect, though he’ll never explicitly punish you.

He loves you – so much so that it physically hurts, his chest aching when he’s away from you, every muscle growing restless and anxiety settling in his gut because he needs to see you right now. He’s a worshipper in every sense of the word, and to have you disrespecting yourself and talking down to yourself in any capacity is enough to get his blood boiling. It’s two-fold, really, because not only is it an assault on your character, but it’s an assault on his, too. It’s a remark against him for thinking of you so highly, for revering you and kissing the ground you walk on. It bruises his pride and makes him defensive of you, even if it’s you yourself making the remark.

And so, Sanemi tends to grow angry, unable to comprehend how you can possibly see yourself as something less-than when he’s so utterly enraptured with every fiber of your being.

Being trapped with him means long expanses of time where you’re alone, Sanemi out on a mission or pulled away begrudgingly, and as time passes this will slowly start to affect you.

Too much alone time equates to an awful lot of staring in the mirror, fingers prodding at the skin of your cheeks or arranging your hair this way or that, furrowing your brow and trying to understand exactly what it is about you that makes Sanemi so enthralled. You can’t put your finger on it – you’re just you, and while he’s never come right out and said it, you’re very aware that Sanemi finds you beautiful.

(You’ve overheard him, after all, late at night when he’s muffling his groans and the wet schlock schlock noise is audible even through the wall separating you. It’s difficult to not hear it, after all, when he’s moaning your name as he gets close, stuttered curses and little gasps of s-so beautiful, fuck and all sorts of other praises slipping out of him as his orgasm approaches.)

It’s too much time for you to be alone and overanalyze. And even now that you’ve been with him for well over a year, now that your whole world has become Sanemi Shinazugawa, it’s too easy to let the insecurities get the best of you.

And really, you shouldn’t have ever mentioned it – later that night, when Sanemi returns home from his latest mission, he can immediately tell that something is wrong. He closes and locks the multitude of locks on the front door, glancing at you with skepticism and worry, before placing his hands on your hips and pulling you close, leaving a single long kiss against your forehead as he asks you what’s wrong. Your small mumble of nothing doesn’t convince him, but Sanemi just pushes it aside, deciding to revisit the subject after you’ve both eaten.

 Dinner is quiet, and it’s halfway through that he decides enough is enough.

What the hell’s the matter with you? He’s asking, setting down his chopsticks and staring pointedly at you.

You’re not too terribly afraid of your captor by this point, but the intensity of his stare still makes you fold in on yourself slightly, embarrassment and self-consciousness eating away at you. Sanemi continues the staring, unwilling to back down, eventually scoffing and telling you to just spit it out, I’ll wait as long as it takes.

And that you believe, enough to get you blurting out a quick I’m not good enough for you to be so in love with.

It’s slurred and difficult to understand even to your own ears, but it gets Sanemi’s face twisting up, a mixture of shock and confusion making his brows knit together and that familiar scowl sit on his lips.

What the fuck? It’s all he can ask, really, because this is so out of left field and unexpected that he genuinely has no clue how to respond.

At his pointed confusion and silence, you play with your thumbs, hunger totally gone as the words start falling out of you like some sort of nervous word vomit. It’s just that I don’t really get why you’re so – so fixated on me. I’m nothing special, and before you get angry at me just know that it’s okay and I’m not trying to get away I just –

Sanemi cuts you off by rising to his feet before you can even blink, a hand snapping out to wrap around your wrist. Before you know it you’re being dragged down a series of long hallways until you come face to face with a door you’ve never set foot passed – Sanemi’s personal, private room.

Normally, when the two of you share a bed (something that has only recently begun happening, after Sanemi gathered the courage and you’ve become so touch-starved that you welcomed his presence), you sleep in the room he's had made up for you, Sanemi allowing you to stay in the quasi-comfort of your ‘own’ room rather than force you into yet another unfamiliar situation.

 But you hardly have any time to gawk at the room before he’s shoving you in front of his modest mirror, the reflection of yourself making you blink twice. He's angry – you can see his face in the mirror now, and his cheeks area  bright red and a few veins are standing out against his neck, a sure sign that he’s livid and is only barely able to hold himself back from acting on it.

 It makes you shrink slightly, though you’re confident at this point that he won’t hurt you, at least not purposefully.

Look at yourself, he tells you, voice strained. He’s standing behind you, gripping onto your shoulders and forcing you to face yourself in the mirror.

You do as you’re told, but it doesn’t seem to satisfy Sanemi.

He groans, resting his forehead against the slope of your shoulder. Look at yourself.

A pause, then: Please.

Swallowing, you search each and every feature of your familiar face. Your eyes, nose, lips, cheeks, eyebrows, jaw, anything and everything you can think of. After a few moments, Sanemi looks at you in the mirror again, his eyebrows furrowed tightly.

Do you really not see it? He asks, and you merely shake your head.

He bares his teeth. Dammit, how can you not? How can you be so fucking blind?

It’s harsh, his words making you wince slightly, but they’re loaded with something unlike his usual rage – there’s something sweeter to it, something that feels different and gets you meeting his gaze in the mirror. The look on his face is almost pleading, and you’re struck with the realization that he’s not angry, he’s frustrated. Genuinely frustrated that you don’t seem to understand just what he sees in you.

Slowly, you bring your fingers up to your cheeks, fingertips pressing against the soft skin. Sanemi watches you with bated breath, his grip on you still tight.

Compliment yourself, he instructs, the words sounding strained. You blink at him, swallowing heavily.

You mutter out a small comment of how your eyes aren’t too terrible, and Sanemi groans at that. His hand moves from your shoulder to your chin, pinching at it and bringing you closer to the mirror. Give yourself a real compliment, or I’ll stand here all fucking day until you do.

You tell him that you have pretty eyes, and it seems to please him. He nods, almost subconsciously, keeping his grip on your chin. Damn right you do. Pretty eyes and a pretty smile. Tell me more.

He keeps you in this position for nearly an hour, forcing you to list off each and every possible compliment about your looks and personality that you can think, his gaze never wavering in intensity or sincerity as he grunts and nods at each and every one.

It’s only as your jaw starts to ache and you start to grow restless that Sanemi eventually lets go, turning you gently to face him. A finger lightly traces over the shape of your lips as he exhales, the softness of his actions and the moment making you feel light.

Don’t undersell yourself. His voice is firm, his lips set in a thin line. You’re perfect, and you need to accept that.

He covers your mouth with his hand as you part your lips to respond, shaking his head. No, none of that shit. We’re doing this every day until you decide that you’re good enough for me – until you prove to me that you respect yourself the way you should. New compliments every day, and I don’t care how hard it is for you. When you run out, I’ll step in, but you’re elaborating on everything I say. Got it?

You nod, a strange sort of tenderness welling up inside of you that only makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes because oh god, how wrong is this? Your captor, the man who stole you away and keeps you trapped inside his him, is complimenting you and it’s making you feel more loved and wanted and appreciated than you’ve felt in your whole life. There’s just something so sincere about his push for you to understand just how wonderful he thinks you are that makes your lower lip wobble, the way he’s actually genuinely enraged by your insecurities and the absurdness of them making your nose tingle.

It's sweet, something your captor really shouldn’t be, and as tears slip down your cheeks Sanemi awkwardly presses you against his chest, silent as his grip grows progressively tighter. He’s no stranger to insecurity, and as he drags you to the mirror the next day and the next after that, you’ll slowly find yourself believing him when he says that you’re kind, that you’re beautiful, that he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything else in his life.

It's strange and you may hate yourself for it, but as the days pass you’ll find yourself growing more and more fond of Sanemi, his commitment to improving your self-esteem feeling like the more intimate thing anyone has every done for you, and slowly you’ll find yourself seeing him in more and more of a romantic light. Sure, he’s stolen you away and stalked you extensively, but when he holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear and calls you beautiful in a voice so raw that it cracks, how can you not fall for him? Maybe you’re sick in the head, depraved, any number of terrible things, but with each compliment he forces from your lips, you’ll find yourself caring less.

He just really, really loves you, doesn’t he?

OVERALL DANGER:

4/10

By and large, Sanemi is akin to a large, possessive guard dog. The mere thought of hurting you makes him sick to his stomach, and he’ll go to any possible length to ensure your health and safety.

(He’s had literal nightmares about leaving you bloody and bruised, and he’s actually woken up and immediately hurled, breathing hard and nearly in tears because it felt so real and it’s almost like your blood is actually on his hands.)

He’s paranoid, terrified that you’ll somehow be killed and stolen away from him, your presence the only thing that seems to calm him, growing to become the only thing that motivates him to wake up every morning.

He’s overprotective, letting his fear for your safety bleed into every aspect of his relationship with you – he’s following you around like a lovesick puppy, constantly vigilant for threats to your safety. He’s obsessively tracking your meals, fussing over making sure that you’re getting balanced, nutritious foods, constantly asking you if you’ve drunk water on any particular day.

And he’s possessive – refusing to allow you to interact with most men, skeptical of your friends, entirely untrusting of each and every person in your life. He won’t try to manipulate you into isolating yourself, but Sanemi really, really wants to, only holding back for the sake of your mental wellbeing. And really, that’s a large factor in Sanemi’s behavior towards you – he loves you, or at least in his own deranged, too-intense way, and he’s willing to kill himself physically and emotionally just to make sure that you never frown, that you’re never sad or angry or afraid.

His first priority is you, always, and it’s only after that that he considers getting you to love him back. It’s of course the goal – he wants you so badly that you have no fucking clue, because how could you? How could you possibly understand just how deeply his dependence on you has become, just how intertwined a mere scrap of your attention becomes for his self-confidence, his happiness, his sanity in his day-to-day life?

He’s well and truly whipped for you, his every waking thought revolving around you, but you’ll that your life will be relatively good with him. He’ll treat you like a queen, spoiling you and doing everything in his power to keep you happy, and can you really hate it as much as you claim to?

Can you really, honestly say that Sanemi is a monster when he keeps you well cared for and respects you despite the way you know he wants to ravage you and keep you all for himself?

Can you honestly say that you don’t want him just as badly, that you’ve become so accustomed to him that you’re well and truly his?

Sanemi sure hopes not, and as time passes, you’ll slowly give into the small, desperately and pathetically hopeful looks of his, reaching out to touch him when he’s too hesitant to initiate, even whispering those lovely, sacred three little words. And once you do, he’ll only work harder to adore you, only falling deeper and deeper into obsession with every passing day.

With every passing second, really.

[meanbossart]

Is DU drow like....traumatized at all? Or is he one of those rare people who are so just adaptable that they don't internalize trauma? He's been through a lot in his young life!

Huh! I gotta admit that this is a surprising, but very interesting question to get. So, lets take a moment to look at the worst of what this clown has to offer WRT to his behavior/belief system:

-Obsessed with being the strongest, most impressive thing in the room at all times and feels threatened when someone is larger or seems more confident in themselves than him. -Has two singular friends (one whom he's bound to mate with until death dating) and is utterly convinced that everyone else in the world is worthless and nothing but a brief source of entertainment or trouble. -Thinks of himself as the sole protector of said friend's lives, and would hold himself entirely responsible for any bad fate that befell them, even if it had resulted from a choice they made on their own. -This also sometimes results in him accidentally belittling or minimizing their accomplishments/capabilities. -Defaults to categorizing people as either a) a threat or b) too weak/pathetic to worry about. -Would be incapable of articulating and working through his own negative emotions without the help insistence of his partner. -Willing to put himself in harms way at any time. -Utterly incurious, if not avoidant, about his own past and previous life, while simultaneously insisting that he's unbothered by and not at all responsible for the atrocities committed then. -Terrified of the very concept of being - and expressing - fear. -Believes that if he ever appears anything but capable and confident, or fails to provide protection or resources to his friend and partner, they will (rightfully so) leave him. -Hates help. Don't help him. -Hates being pitied. Don't feel bad for him. -Believes that his sole purpose in life is providing for his partner and puts himself in harm's way for them constantly, even if it goes against their wishes. -Is resigned to the idea that when Astarion dies, so will he, and thinks this makes him a loyal partner.

Do you see what I'm getting at? Some of these characteristics/beliefs are misguided biases. Some are consequence from terrifying, life-altering events of loss, hopelessness and helplessness. Some are quite literally just coping mechanisms and others are just him being arrogant because he realizes that he looks impressive in a mirror. I won't attempt to draw the line between which is which, I don't think you can.

But my point is, is that sometimes trauma response looks like anxiety, fear, tears, and emotional vulnerability, other times it can just make you a rather unlikable, though hopefully not totally irredeemable person.

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch 29

Description: sorry for the wait!

A little bit of pack drama in this one. What are Simon and John fighting about..? Laika grows some balls and gives out some marching orders! Good for her! Alphas are in the dog house!

My eyes flash open to the scent of distressed Alpha. As I stand from my nest, and peek around the door of the room, into the living area, I see the commotion.

John and Simon are clearly in the middle of an argument, and it looks like it’s about to turn physical. Simon’s teeth flash, angrily and John growls, crowding into Simon’s space.

The omega inside of me cowers and immediately starts omitting a sour scent, however, the two Alphas are too lost within their own fight to notice.

I stumble back to my bed, grabbing my phone from under the pillow and call Johnny. He doesn’t answer.. Kyle.. call Kyle!! my brain supplies.

“Sweets, what’s th’matter?” he asks.

“Kyle.. Si and John!! Th-they’re fighting..” I squeak, feeling how my hands are shaking against the phone.

“Shit.. uhm - can you get through to them.. or are they too far gone..? Johnny and I will hurry back, we are on the other side of the base though..”

“No Kyle! They’re about to get physical.. I - I’ll try.. please hurry!”

At that, I hang up the phone and scurry back to the living room. Unknowingly hanging up before Kyle has chance to tell me not to get to hurt in the fray.

As I re-enter the main room, John has gotten Simon against the wall, arm against his throat, and Simon sends a sinister-sounding warning growl to the pack Alpha, which doesn’t help cool things down.

I step slowly from my hidden position, and immediately notice Simon’s eyes flash to my movement before going back to John, who was facing away from me.

That’s when I overhear what they’re arguing about. “I am pack Alpha, Riley, if you want my position, you kill me. That’s how this works, you hear me?”

Hearing that immediately makes panic rise up inside, and I rush forward. I can’t let this go any further.. I need to stop it, quickly!

“No.. no no no…” I whimper, rushing forward and grabbing hold of John’s shirt from behind.

John reacts before he has time to process what has actually happened. He turns abruptly at my unexpected touch, and grabs my arm and swings me across the room.

“Omega!” Simon barks, panic in his voice.

I whimper, and shuffle backwards across the ground after I’d regained my breath, trying to create distance from the two Alpha’s.

I look up at them, feeling utterly helpless, heartbroken that my Alpha had thrown me like that.

John approaches quickly, with sad eyes. “Love, love.. I’m sorry! Shit, I’m sorry.. you startled me.. I didn’t know you were there..” he tries to explain. It doesn’t help. The omega in me feeling worthless, unwanted, thrown away like trash.

“You’ve done enough, Price. Back off, she’s scared of you”, Simon practically spits at the pack Alpha, who glares in his direction, helplessly.

“No, no that’s not true.. is it, Omega? Love, please..?”

I just gulp, thoroughly overwhelmed. Then the door crashes open and in my panic, I leap behind Simon, using him as protection from the intruders.

*John’s POV*

Shit. SHIT.

Stupid fuckin Alphas!

We were fighting about our Omega’s safety, and in result, causing harm to the one we are trying to protect.

Simon can’t be right, can he? She isn’t scared of me? Surely not?

She looks so small, down on the floor, hand resting against her shoulder as she stares up at me. Shit. I hope I’ve not hurt her bad shoulder again..

Then, as if to rub salt in the wound, she runs to Simon when the other two alphas barge in. That’s my job. I’m pack alpha. I’m the protector. She should be running to me..

*Laika’s (Y/N’s) POV*

“BON..?” Johnny shouts.

I peek from behind Simon’s large form and run towards the two safe Alphas.

Kyle wraps me in his arms and grabs the back of my head, burying it into the crook of his neck, forcing me to breathe in his calming scent, directly from his scent glands. My body feels instantly calmer, as I feel myself slumping against Kyle, the shaking and tenseness subsiding.

“Is she okay?” John asks, with a vulnerable voice. I’d never heard him sound so.. broken. I gulp against Kyle’s neck.

“Why wouldn’t she be, Cap?” Johnny asks, suspiciously.

“He threw her across the room..” Simon interjects, angrily, only adding to John’s guilt.

Kyle growls at the pack Alpha, after hearing what had happened, quieting himself down after he hears my small whimper.

“Stop fighting..” I whisper.

“Please..” I sniffle.

They all go silent and I slowly lift my head from Kyle’s embrace, meeting their eyes.

John looks broken, as if he is on the verge of tears.

Johnny looks angry, as if he is about to punch a wall.

And Simon. Simon looks like Ghost. Unattached, stoic and.. terrifying.

Kyle continues to soothe me, stroking my hair and wiping my tears.

“She phoned me.. told me you were at each other’s throats.. what’s that all about? You were fine when Johnny and I left? What happened?” Kyle asks calmly, trying to find out a little more information.

John and Simon both speak up at the same time, causing them to lose their temper again, cutting each other off with an aggressive growl.

I abruptly step away from Kyle and turn to face the two brooding Alpha’s.

“STOP IT!” I shout at both of them.

John immediately looks remorseful, whereas Simon holds his ground and eventually lowers his lip when I step towards him and send a growl of my own at him.

“You..” I step toward John “were so lost in your anger, that you hurt me…” he gulps and his hands open and close, as if he is desperate to reach for me, but I step away.

“And you..” I walk over to Simon, poking him in the chest “were purposefully angering the pack Alpha, because you disagreed with him about something. And look at the result!”

“John, you hurt me..” - “love, please let me apologise. Please, tell me you aren’t scared of me..”

My eyes water slightly, as I step back to the safety of Johnny and Kyle, shaking my head, not allowing him to apologise..

“No, John - and you Simon - I want space, and when I come back, you better have sorted whatever this was all about..”

I turn before I change my mind and just before I leave the room, I hear the unmistakable sound of John releasing a heartbreaking whine.

I almost stop at the door, to comfort my alpha. Almost. But instead, I gulp down the feeling, and leave, with Johnny and Kyle on my tail.

“Lass, are you ok?”

“Yeah, sweet.. you didn’t tell us John hurt you.. did he attack you?!”

“Aye, what happened, lass, we need to know?”

The younger alphas immediately interrogate me as we head towards the garage on base. I had no idea where my feet were taking me, but I kept walking to make it look like I had a plan.

“He didn’t mean it..”

“Awkt, lass - dinnae defend him, tell us the truth..”

“No, seriously.. he didn’t mean it. I crept up behind him while he was holding Simon by the throat. It was stupid of me. I just didn’t expect him to..”

“Babe, you can’t sneak up on a feral Alpha like that..” Kyle groans, wiping his hand down his face exasperated.

“I know! I know.. I just.. panicked..”

“He said something about Simon having to kill him. I panicked, ok?”

“He said what?!” Johnny shouts.

“That’s all I heard. I don’t know why they were even arguing. One second I’m asleep in the nest, the next I hear them two at it.. and then I phoned you..” I explain.

“Wait wait wait, lass” Johnny crowds in front of me, halting my progress.

“Where are we even goin’?” he asks, confused.

“I - I don’t know. I just needed to leave to prove a point.”

Kyle chuckles. “And a point you did make. Our little firecracker omega. Brave little bug, huh?” he says, stepping behind me and cuddling around my waist.

“Aye, takes a lot of balls to stand up to two angry alphas like that, lass. Didn’t realise you had it in ya’. If it wasnae such a serious situation, I’d have been turned on by it!”

“Johnny! Gross..” I giggle, turning in Kyle’s hold and hiding my embarrassment in his chest. I can feel him chuckling along with the other Alpha.

“You think we’ve given them long enough? Or did you want to leave them to stew a little longer?”

“I wanted to be in a huff with them for at least a day..” I admit. “I’m not beyond being petty after how they acted this morning..”

“Awkt lass, you’re goin’ to kill them.. Si and Cap adore you, you ken that, don’t ya?”

I shrug “didn’t feel that way when I was thrown across the room. They did scare me..” I admit.

Kyle squeezes my hand. “Let’s go out for the day, seeing as you’ve led us towards the garage. Hopefully when we get back, they’ll have sorted their shit, and they can apologise.. yeah?”

Damn you Kyle, always the voice of reason!

“I guess so”

[ironunderstands]

Can we talk about how viewing the 2.0 argument scene between Ratio and Aventurine completely assassinates Aventurine’s character?

Like I’ve talked at length about how it doesn’t make sense for Ratio in the slightest, and how the scene logically doesn’t make sense either in other posts, but oh my god does viewing this argument as genuine DESTROY the entire point of Aventurines character.

In doing so, you take one of the smartest members of the cast, one whose greatest assets are his planning, calculating, and his amazing people skills, and you turn him into a helpless dumb idiot who can truly only ever succeed due to his luck… WHEN THE ENTIRE POINT OF HIS CHARACTER IS THAT HE IS MORE THAN HIS LUCK

Aventurine clearly planned (with some improvising) what he was going to do whilst on Penacony, with the end goal of sneaking his Aventurine stone into the dreamscape and getting the Jade stone inside of Penacony. A key part of this plan was faking an argument between him and Dr. Ratio in order to make Sunday think that they were:

a) On really bad terms, with Ratio completely and utterly doubting Aventurine’s success, the two of them not communicating properly, and Ratio playing up the arrogant asshole scholar to the nines, which would make the ever paranoid Sunday confident he could get Ratio to “betray” him.

b) Feed core aspects of Aventurine’s past to Sunday so the man can use it against him in Aventurine’s trial, so again, Sunday buys the betrayal plan.

c) Make Sunday think the IPC are utterly incompetent by “losing” the cornerstones so he lets his guard down and again, buys the betrayal plan. This is also particularly important for the Jade stone as it allows her to do whatever she’s planning on doing in Penacony much easier, because Sunday doesn’t even know he’s involved.

d) The meta, for the audience reason aka this is the first snippets of Aventurine’s backstory we get, and it’s necessary we know something about him before we get 2.1 which is entirely centered on his past + lore. Hoyo needs to give the players something to chew on and build hype before then, so this argument is story-wise a really good way to do that. 

Now, I’m going to list all of the examples I can think of to demonstrate how Aventurine’s incredibly well crafted plan becomes a clown fest and absolute plothole nightmare if you believe the 2.0 scene is genuine and everything Aventurine says and does there is real.

The arrangement of the cornerstones 

In viewing this scene as genuine, Aventurine gets so ridiculously lucky (even for him) about how the cornerstones are arranged in his stuff that the family stole. 

The scene goes from “ah yes, Aven planned to fool Sunday by putting the Jade stone in his bag and the Topaz stone in the box where his cornerstone should be, making Sunday believe he was trying to trick him with the Topaz stone being in the cornerstone box. While the “Aventurine” stone (it’s Jade) is in his bag, which Aven tries to pass off as being worthless, making Sunday think he fooled Aventurine. When in reality, Aven still has his own cornerstone he sneaks into the dreamscape, albeit broken at the bottom of the bag which he takes back after the ‘betrayal’”

And that amazing plan and demonstration of intelligence, ingenuity and sheer bravery will now get completly shoved aside when you misinterpret the 2.0 scene as genuine. This now becomes ->

Aventurine really is a fucking idiot who ruined everything and lost the cornerstones, for some reason the Topaz stone is in the box for the Aventurine one, Jades is in his bag for shits and giggle, definitely didn’t plan on sneaking that in further than her, and he broke and shoved the Aventurine stone in the bottom of the bag even though it should be in the Aventurine box because he felt it needs decorating or something.

SIDE NOTE: Aventurine saying “cornerstones” in the 2.0 scene is what clues Sunday into trying to get Ratio to reveal the location of the second one, because logically the only cornerstone Aventurine would have possession of is his own. Ratio also not being surprised of this means he’s aware Aventurine brought multiple cornerstones to Penacony, therefore he was in on the plan from the start because if he wasn’t, then Aventurine having more than just his cornerstone would surprise him. Moreover, Sunday would realistically be like “hmmm what do you mean CORNERSTONES” and go from there. 

It takes this brilliant plan and turns it into, “oopsies!1! Guess I got lucky this time again!1! That’s all I’m good for1!!! Don’t worry about how fucking random everything is and how it all magically and perfectly worked out in my favor1!!1” And like, just, god why, y’all cannot be serious. Then again people who think this haven’t at all bothered to think through the consequences of thinking this, so I’m not surprised they haven’t realized how stupid it all sounds when you take the time to spell it out.

Oh don’t worry, there’s more.

The Jade stone

Aven planning the Jade stone to be used as a dupe from the start now becomes, “wow! I’m so lucky these stones can easily passed as one another and that the Jade stone is in the right position for Sunday to buy it as Aventurine! I’m also glad that we somehow formed this portion of the plan after the Jade stone was already out of our possession! And that it magically was at the top of the bag right where Sunday would see it and buy its Aventurine!! So we can’t even double check if it’s believable!! I’m so lucky and everything works out for me!!” Like…. IX there’s a new void in town with the amount of gaping holes there are in this logic.

Ratio opening the Cornerstone box

If you understand this scene is acting, then Aventurine planned for Ratio to be able to open the box from the start, for one of two reasons. 

 a) He really did have access that kind of information which Aventurine could use in his plans, and Aven sought him out for this reason.

Or 

(the more likely of the two imo because why would Ratio have access to it?)

b) He taught the doctor beforehand on how and when to do it, either way, it was something Aventurine wanted to happen.

But misunderstanding this situation and thinking Ratio wasn’t let in on Aventurine’s plan leads to this mess:

a) Ratio did indeed have access to opening Cornerstone boxes pre-Penacony, and Aventurine is lucky that this somehow worked out for him perfectly, and that Ratio didn’t ask for you know, the cornerstones back himself prior to them getting confiscated. Also if Aventurine did form the plan pre-Penacony, he for some reason didn’t let ratio know this would be needed?

b) He didn’t know how to open it, so Aventurine managed to find the time between 2.0 and their conversation in 2.1 with Sunday to teach him despite not having the Cornerstone Box in his possession, and he also managed to convince Ratio of this whole betrayal plan DURING Penacony and have the man who supposedly went from hating him 5 seconds go to being completely on his side and willing to execute every part of Aventurine’s plan correctly down to the last minute detail and we see none of this change of art at all ever. Also tack the last part of this onto the rest of a because the complete 180 in attitude Ratio has to do in order to have the 2.0 scene not be acting is nuts.

And the last major reason I’ll bring up for now (sparing you the ratio character analysis be grateful) for why this makes no goddamn sense:

Time 

Ok, so let’s humor the stupidity and pretend like the 2.0 argument scene was genuine on both ends. This means that Aventurine somehow finds the time to do all this shit 

a) convince Ratio that no not everything’s wrong he’s cooking dw guys this will all work out, put your faith in me 

b) despite not having the cornerstones or his gift bag he magically forms an idea of how to fool Sunday with the way he remembers them being placed and he also manages to convince Ratio to go along with this 

c) Ratio finds time to meet with Sunday 7 hours before they meet with Sunday together to enact his part of the “betrayal” meaning Aventurine had to convince Ratio of their plan 7+ hours before their first scene together in 2.0

d) Ratio has to get back from telling the IPC Aven fucked up and lost the Cornerstones, which somehow has no other consequences for Aventurine

e) RATIO FIGURES OUT DORMANCY???

AND SOMEHOW, this all has to happen alongside the events of 2.0 and 2.1 we do actually see, because oh wait none of this fucking happens at all ever. We don’t see it. we don’t hear of it, and none of it doesn’t get implied  to have happened ever because guess what it doesn’t fucking happen, and even in the land of the dreams this level of time fuckery can’t happen. 

And if by some fucking miracle it did, that is horrific writing on hoyos part by not implying it even slightly and in fact implying the opposite because Ratio outright says he did everything according to Aventurines plan in their next meeting 

Now you can see clearly why having both of them being sincere in this conversation requires the most bullshit logic known to mankind, however some objectors might say that Ratio still could have been sincere in this to which I say no, for several reasons.

In what fucking dimension is Dr. Veritas Ratio agreeing to go on a suicide mission without a plan or any semblance of an idea of what Aventurine is going to do there? That man would sooner join the Genius Society than agree to that, we know good he is at planning and acting based on 1.6, do you seriously think he’s gonna go from that to “fuck it we ball in Penacony”

He clearly knew Aventurine prior. They have established nicknames for one another (Doc and Gambler), banter that only really functions if you have known someone for awhile, Aventurine seeing through Ratio (demo where Aven predicts how Ratio will react to what he says about him) and Ratio seeing through Aventurine (vial/note he gave to him, and Ratio knows the one person who can stop Aven is himself) you know, something people who just met don’t really have.  Did they also do team building exercises in that minuscule time frame or something? How did we go from “fucking kill yourself” to “me and the bestie”

The Final Victor lightcone 

This is an extension of the last point about them knowing one another prior, as although the implications of 2 are nice, this outright proves it. Canonically, lightcones are condensed memories (aka stuff that has happened in the past) and we unlock the Final Victor lightcone in the MOC shop at the very start of 2.0. This means that the events of the Final Victory lc have to happen prior to 2.0, because they are well, memories. Moreover, the description of the lightcone depicts Aventurine trying to convince Ratio of a plan/cooperation of some sort. Hmmm, wonder what that is, any guesses?

If that argument scene is genuine on Ratios end holy fucking shit please fire the writer who made it because that is the most OOC behavior from him ever. Veritas Ratio, judging and looking down upon a person for their education background/background in general. You know, the guy who defined by wanting to spread knowledge throughout the universe because he cares about other people and wants to help them become their best selves, as Ratio believes no matter who you are you are capable of intelligence and creativity. 

This guy judges people based on their background? This guy who tweaked the fuck out in 1.6 over the prospects of the fate of misfortunate people is judging people for being misfortune??!?

This guy who believes that no matter how many fuck ups a person makes, their life is worth living, is now completely willing to abandon Aventurine at a moments notices and give up on him, which the one thing he will not do?!?

The guy who urges his students to question everything, has forged his own path in life and is distinctly described as not being like other scholars now is buying hook like and sinker IPC propaganda about Sigonians? He’s suddenly being as much of a dick to him as the rest of the universe?!

Also, he clearly does feel bad about he says, because Ratio breaks character and apologizes. It’s brief, likely because a heartfelt one would undermine their plan, but it does give an idea of how Ratio is really feeling, because he is extremely convicted and genuinely believes the stuff he says, so he’s not gonna give retractions on how he feels unless that’s not how he actually feels. 

Sidenote: When people say “but Ratio called Aventurine a slur,” they aren’t entirely wrong but neither are they right. You see, the slur in question is actually the name of Aventurine’s planet, Sigonia. It’s just in the CN version, the name is slightly different and is clearly derived from a slur used against Romani people in Eastern Europe. There’s no doubt about this either they are basically the same word and honestly knowing this makes me extremely uncomfortable typing out the name of Aventurine’s planet, so I’m just gonna call it S from now on. I don’t think it’s really fair to Ratio to say he was calling Aventurine slurs, when it’s not the characters fault the planet Aventurine is from just IS one, which is what he was trying to refer to in the first place. That’s why people who saw the scene in the EN dub didn’t pick up on it at all, because the slur in question looks way different in English (starts with a g ends with a y if you need a hint). Since you are wondering, no, this doesn’t completely absolve Sparkle since she was still using racist stereotypes against Aventurine, although she didn’t necessarily call him a slur like people were saying. Side note over 

Pair this with the aforementioned 180 in personality Ratio would have to have, that horrendous ass planet name and the time bullshit and you get quite possibly some of the worst writing ever, oh my god kill it with fire 

Genuinely, GENUINELY if you think this through and are like “yup that makes sense!” there’s absolutely no hope for you. I understand that most people don’t think this through, but still, god how stupid this misconception seems when you lay it all out is baffling.

Oh, and for the one objector still remaining who is like, “but there is no evidence for Sunday watching them:

a) There is a Bloodhound statue in trailblazers room, used by the Bloodhound family to monitor rooms as part of security, Sunday as head of the Family has total access to security. Keep in mind that Trailblazers room was actually Aventurine’s, meaning Sunday was planning on monitoring him prior to the room switch, which I doubt he would give up because of it (honestly the room switch would make Sunday more suspicious). 

Conveniently, throughout the 2.0 conversation the left side of the room is cropped off, and we get the barest of sight on it, which reveals where there would be a bloodhound statue had their rooms been the same is a clock/time dial cat thing. 

Whose eyes are conveniently watching both of them talking. 

Here’s the full frame by the way

Considering bloodhound statues can disappear and there’s plenty of things in the dreamscape that can shapeshift (although this convo is outside the sweet dream), it’s not insane for me to suggest that Sunday was likely watching them through this weird clock/phone thing is it?

b) We know the dream pools get monitored as well, at least for people’s vitals and stuff, something which the Trailblazers learn after trying to find Firefly’s whereabouts. Considering the person we talked to was just the desk receptionist, it’s not insane to assume that the dream pools monitor other stuff as well

c) The TVs behind the pools. Sure they display things, but those ARE electronics and they can easily receive as well as they send out things. 

The point is, if Sunday wanted to watch their conversation, he absolutely had the means to do so, and trust me, he did infact watch it for several reasons.

“I heard you and your companion weren’t getting along very well” Sunday says this to Ratio in their meeting seven hours prior to when him and Aventurine go to meet Sunday. So far, their only interaction in Penacony had been that conversation, and as far as we know, Aventurine truly did check in when the astral express did. Therefore, how would Sunday know they hadn’t been getting along if it had only been such a short amount of time. Surely he wasn’t watching their one conversation in 2.0? No, he just summoned that information from the voices in his head silly!

Aventurines past. Awfully convient Sunday just happens to know that Aventurine is an Avgin, that he has a complicated relationship with his family and that he might want to destroy the world for several reasons. Wonder where he got those ideas from, must have read Aventurine’s wiki page I guess.

Sentencing Aventurine to death, which only makes sense Sunday would have the confidence to do this if he, idk, knew Aven already had an ongoing death sentence. Something which is not true, Ratio was lying when he said that without his Cornerstone Aventurine would be doomed to death, as although it’s not technically a lie, Aven’s sentence was absolved years ago, and Ratio implies it’s ongoing when it isn’t. Remember, if Aventurine is killed by Sunday, that’s massive leverage for the IPC, but if Ratio lies about Aventurine being less valuable to them, then Sunday gains the confidence to get Aventurine out of his way. After all, he doesn’t have the cornerstones anymore, so is functionally useless to them, at least in Sundays eyes.

Actually trusting Ratio. Had Sunday not witnessed their argument, it would be very hard for him to believe that Ratio would betray Aventurine, since if he wasn’t watching, he wouldn’t think things weren’t going smoothly on the IPCs end. However, Ratio berating Aventurine for his supposed failure and behaving like a completely arrogant scholar, and being entirely unwilling to give the other man a chance would naturally make Sunday start rubbing his hands together planning to get this piece of shit to backstab his colleague.

Really just an addition to point #4, but Ratio implies that he has absolutely no fucking clue what Aventurine has been doing on Penacony since the gambler won’t cooperate with the him, however, he does not seem surprised by Aventurine’s failure. Therefore, when the betrayal plan comes into action, Sunday buys that Ratio doesn’t know Aventurine’s plan, but he does know how Aventurine thinks, which lets Ratio manipulate him into buying it.

There’s more, but like, you get the idea, Aventurine clearly planned this all out from the start. And that’s why it pisses me off, because Aventurine is smart, Aventurine is SO SMART, but people refuse to think and shove that aside because they refused to put the 2.0 scene in the context of the rest of Penacony. 

It’s meant to seem genuine the first time around (even if past me literally concluded Ratio was being used as a plot device dude to how OOC he was being), however considering Aventurine’s whole plan hinged on a betrayal, you now as the audience have to go back and reevaluate every scene he’s in, including that one. 

I don’t blame people for finding the 2.0 scene uncomfortable or for disliking Ratio for it, however I believe it should be put into the context of the rest of the game, and understood for what it really is, rather than how people feel about it.

Because in doing so, in attempting to shelter Aventurine fans from the evil, racist Dr Ratio and Aventio fans. People who supposedly make Aventurine into some spineless, idiot twink who can’t do anything on his own, and is nothing more than his luck, You End Up Doing The Exact Same Thing To Aventurine.

In being blinded by bias, a brilliant demonstration of Aventurine’s intellect and competence gets erased, which is just really, really disappointing. 

Aventurine is so much more than his luck, and I wish people would actually internalize that, rather than just saying it.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading this, as I have talked extensively on how this misconception fucks up Ratios character, so I deemed it finally time to dive into it screws with Aventurine. Any and all thoughts are appreciated, and if you disagree feel free to share why, I just will only respond to actual reasons. A “nuh uh” is not worth my time or yours 

[wannaeatramyeon]

Eugene with Unhinged F!Reader

Unhinged F!Reader: Gun Park | Goo Kim | Samuel Seo | Samuel Seo Part 2 | James Lee/DG | Jinyoung Park | Eli Jang | Tom Lee | Ryuhei Kuroda

Are you fucking kidding?

Yeah you might have completely trashed Gun and Goo, but at least they put up a little resistance.

But this twink and his bodyguards? He had the audacity to call them his Gun and Goo?

It's a good job you came along to keep him in check, you were practically doing the other two losers a favour.

.

.

Dressed in a precise imitation of the Worker's white suit and blue tie combo, you gave the three a little wave and a malicious grin.

You might have had them fooled if not for your poorly drawn Workers black sticker in place of the VVIP badge. There was even a smiley face added. You thought it was a nice artistic touch.

Yuseong held out an arm to stop you getting closer, Mandeok questioned your identity and motives.

"Is that right?Just Eugene? Did I forget the surname?" You muttered to yourself, checking both sides of your scrap of paper.

"Eugene is it?" You called out to the guy in the glasses, "You too special for a last name?"

.

.

Tsk.

There's nothing you hate more than wasting your own time. Chairman of Workers with fodders for bodyguards and little fighting skills himself. So pathetic, they almost sapped the joy out of fighting for you.

Why did you even bother.

Mandeok and Yuseong lie half-dead and battered. Noone in their right mind would have called what just happened a fight: it was a brutal, animalistic beating.

You left Eugene with relatively minor injuries in comparison. Just a pair of broken glasses and some broken ribs. Nothing huge. You weren't done toying with him yet.

Eugene is completely trapped and unable to move. He's not sure it would make a difference anyway with you hovering unbearably close, disappointment painted all over your features.

"Eugene, Eugene, Eugene~" Your face draws ever closer with each repetition. Even hearing his own name makes him flinch. Isn't that precious.

Damn, tears already? This guy is surprisingly easy to crack.

Your tongue darts out and licks the salty droplets. It tastes delicious. Or maybe that was the fear.

Startled by your actions, Eugene's breath catches in his throat. He can't control his trembling.

Funny how worthless and weak he is without any so called protection. How once stripped bare, men like him are utterly powerless.

"How does someone that runs such a big corporation have such submissive, bottom energy?" You taunt, running a nail along other cheek, breaking through skin and letting the blood mingle with his tears.

Eugene shivers. You've never felt such helplessness from someone that should hold such power.

"Hmm? Aren't you going to answer me?"

"Enough... You've won."

"Oh honey, I know. My victory is obvious." You brush back his fringe. All the easier to see the despair in his eyes.

"I can give you anything you want. Just let us go."

"And what if I just want to kill you?"

You run your thumb along his quivering lips.

"Please..."

"Please?" Eugene's blood curdles at your laugh, "Little boy, then get on your fucking knees and beg."

[bitethedustfools]

WARNING: Disturbing content here. Please read at your own risk.

Self-harm, Abortion, Murder, Imprisonment and maybe more.

I have read some yandere twst stories where they baby trapped (biologically or adoption) their SO/Yuu. I'm not sure how many of these troupe going around but I'm pretty sure that SO/Yuu always keep the baby and the yandere still wins even though they escaped.

What if we tweak that story a little bit? Make it that so SO/Yuu snapped? Became the very ugly thing that SO/Yuu hate to be. Frustrated at being helpless and chained, always moving to the strings the others controlled. They don't want to take care of a child for the sake of turning him/her to be a better person than their "beloved" because that's what their "beloved" wanted.

To keep them together. Play the role of a parent and a happy family.

They had enough.

Their "beloved" is strong and smart and cunning but the child who mostly have his features is not. Utterly defenseless in the hand of a maniac.

They killed the child.

SO/Yuu killed the child just as easily as snuffing out a candle, pouring their anger and frustration in taking a life, all for the sake of wanting to take the littlest control they have over their miserable life.

If the child is not yet birth, SO/Yuu will not hesitate to do anything to abort it, whether by falling, stabbing their stomach, poisoning. It doesn't matter if they're about to die because of this. It's about inflicting pain back to the one who did it to them in the first place. It's a about freedom. Control.

Their "beloved" will despaired over this fact, aking why SO/Yuu are doing this, screaming and crying when they finally seen the cruelty SO/Yuu are capable of even toward their own kin.

And SO/Yuu just stood there and laughing at the look of their beloved face, absolutely delighted that the person who always take joy in their misery finally cried and weak.

It's always them who cried but not anymore.

Another will be SO/Yuu being indifferent to the child.

They became the opposite of what their "beloved" wanted. They acted like the child doesn't exist, the child's cries fallen to deaf ears. Even the child's basic needs are not taken care of, leaving their "beloved" to clumsily and singlehandedly take care of him/her.

SO/Yuu aspired to become the most worthless mother and person just so their "beloved" hate them and free them. The child will have mommy/daddy issue and touchstarved and so on.

Another one will have the same setting but Yuu is resentful of the child and will told the him/her that they don't love him/her and that they never wanted him/her.

They broke the child's view of the world and told him/her that their "beloved" is not what he seems to be, slowly feeding doubt in his/her mind and questioning why his/her mommy/daddy is chained up and locked in their room.

This may or may not lead to the child leaving their "beloved" side and leave, probably after an argument or realisation, causing the dad to be distress, upset and angry over this turn of event.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Brother's Keeper: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst, feeling broken and utterly helpless to the point of depression

Summary: The repercussions of every bad thing you did while being soulless hit you like a freight train at full speed. There are no words that can describe how broken you feel. Sam and Dean manage to break the spell and lift the curse but what did you let out in return?

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

After setting the food up, he starts spray painting symbols onto one of the tables. He takes out the ingredients to summon someone. He says something in Latin and the entire place shakes with power. Ten minutes later, you know exactly what Dean is up to.

"Dean, don't do this," you whisper but he ignores you.

"Don't tell me that's queso."

You and Dean turn to see Death standing in the middle of the restaurant.

"Yes. Queso and taquitos and tamales." Dean grabs the tray of food and moves it closer to Death. "Bought by yours truly all with the bad fat." Death sniffs at the food and nods in approval. "Consider it an offering."

"For?"

"I want you to put a wall in Y/N's mind."

"What? No," you say, getting a burst of energy.

"Y/N, have you seen yourself in the mirror? Do you really want to feel this way?"

"I deserve to feel this way!" you yell. "After everything I've done, I deserve to feel broken!" I am broken. I'm worthless. You turn to Death. "I don't want the wall. I want to think about every bad thing I did because I deserve the hell I put myself into!"

Dean only knows you're lashing out because you're hurt. He doesn't have time to argue with you. He'll convince you to put a wall up eventually... hopefully. Death clears his throat and takes a bite of one of the taquitos.

"Can you get rid of our Marks?"

"Yes."

"Why do I feel like there is a 'but' coming?"

"Before there was light, before there was God and the archangels, there wasn't nothing. There was the Darkness, a horribly destructive, amoral force that was beaten back by God and his archangels in a terrible war. God locked the Darkness away where it could do no harm, and he created a Mark that would serve as both lock and key, which he entrusted to his most valued Lieutenant, Lucifer. Then the Mark began to assert its own will, revealed itself as a curse, and began to corrupt. Lucifer became jealous of man. God banished Lucifer to Hell. Lucifer passed the Mark to Cain, who passed the Mark to you two, the proverbial fingers in the dike."

"Darkness?" you ask.

"I know where your Mark resides, Y/N. It's ironic that it chose that place to be instead of your arm like Dean's. You know the Darkness by another name."

"Amara," you whisper.

"Yes."

"Well, that is just fan-fucking-tastic, isn't it?" Dean scoffs and shakes his head.

"I can remove the Mark but only from one of you, not both, to ensure that the lock remains unbroken and the Darkness remains banned."

You and Dean look at each other.

"Take it off her," Dean says before he can stop himself.

"What? No, take it off him."

"Y/N, I am not in the mood."

"Neither am I. I took this Mark to bear it with you so you wouldn't do this alone. If it means you get to be free, I'm okay with having it."

Dean steps closer to you and grabs your hands and you look up at him with tears in your eyes.

"I can't let you go through that again. I can't let you be her again."

"And I can't let you be him."

"Only one needs it, the other will be free unless you are giving someone else up to take the burden."

"We can't do that to anyone else," you whimper.

Dean takes another bite of food and moans at the taste.

"What if I told you I could relocate you two somewhere far away, not even on this Earth, where you would still be alive, but no longer a danger to yourself or to others?"

"What?" You look down at your feet as the tears fall from your eyes. "What about our kids?"

"They'll have Sam."

Can I really leave my kids behind to protect them from me? They'd be safe from you, from her. You wouldn't be around to hurt them. Sam's taken care of Joanna for a year before, he can do bit again for the rest of their lives.

"We'll do it," you say to Death, "only if you let us say goodbye to Sam."

"As you wish."

Dean calls his brother and gets him to come to the restaurant. He doesn't know what's going on or why he sounds like this is goodbye so he rushes over as fast as he can. You're standing off to the side looking down while Dean is standing in the middle of the room when Sam enters.

"Dean?"

"I gave it a shot, Sammy."

"What is this?"

"We need to talk."

"Whatever you are thinking of doing, don't. There is another way. You two don't need to go with him. You two don't need to die!"

"We're not going to die, Sam. He's... sending us away."

"Sending you away? What do you mean? Like outer space?" he asks sarcastically.

"No, well, he didn't say outer space."

"This is madness, Dean!"

"Far from it, I'm afraid," Death says.

"No one's asking you," Sam glares.

"Our conundrum is simple, Sam. Your brother and his wife cannot be killed, and the Mark cannot be destroyed, not without inciting a far greater evil than any of us have ever known."

"What evil?"

"Amara, Sam." He looks at you. "He's talking about Amara."

He knows the hell she put you through. Is he willing to release her in order to save you and his brother? I'm not worthy enough to be saved. Please just let me go.

"Even if I remove Dean and Y/N from the playing field, we're still left with you--loyal and dogged--who I suspect will never rest until he sets his brother and his best friend free, will never rest until his brother and his best friend is free of the Mark, which simply cannot happen, lest the Darkness be set free."

"What?" you ask and look at Death. "You said nothing about killing Sam!"

He's not the one who should be dead.

"You traded my life? This isn't you. This doesn't make any sense."

"No, it makes perfect sense if you stop thinking about yourself for one damn minute!" Dean shouts. "Remember when we were in that church, making Crowley human, about to close the Gates of Hell? Well, you sure as hell were ready to die for the greater good then."

"Yeah, and you two pulled me back."

"I was wrong." His voice hardens. "You were right, Sam. You knew that this world would be better without us in it."

Yes, the world would be better off without me in it. Please let me go.

"No, no, no, wait a second. You're twisting my words here, Dean."

"Why? Because we track evil and kill it? The family business? Is that it? Look at the tape, Sam. Evil tracks us and it nukes everything in our vicinity--our family, our friends. It's time we put a proper name to what we really are and we deal with it."

"What about your kids, huh?" Sam looks at you. "What about your kids, Y/N? Who is going to raise them?"

"I'm doing this for them, Sam." I'm poison. I ruin everything I touch. "What if I had gotten to them? What if I hurt them?"

"No, stop it! We are not evil. We're far from perfect but we're good. That thing on your body is evil but not us."

"No, there is no other way, Sam. I'm sorry." Sam punches his brother in the face and Dean nods. "Good, fight."

Dean punches his bother in the face, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you remember what you did to Castiel. The hurt you put on him... for making him choose... I don't deserve to be forgiven. I'm broken. I'm poison. I hate myself. You look down and let tears fall from your cheeks at the words you're telling yourself.

You're blocking out what Sam and Dean are doing as you're stuck inside your own mind. The pain you caused, the people you killed. Death keeps an eye on the brothers and walks over to you.

"I could put a wall up if you wanted me to."

"No, I deserve this."

"No one deserves what you're putting yourself through."

"I do," you whisper. "I--" You shake your head. "It doesn't matter."

You look at the brothers and see Sam on his knees in front of Dean with blood on his face. Death leaves your side and approaches Dean with his scythe.

"Please, do me the honor."

You turn away from the brothers because you can't bear to watch this.

"Close your eyes." A pause. "Sammy, close your eyes."

"No, I want you to look me in the eyes if you're going to kill me. Just know that when you find your way back, I hope you remember what it was like to be good... what it was like to love."

"It's for family that you must proceed, Dean," Death says. "To be what you are, to become what you've become is a stain on their memory. Do it or I will."

Dean grips the scythe and swings it. Sam closes his eyes thinking he will be dead in seconds but Dean passes by his brother and stabs Death in the abdomen with his own scythe. Death looks shocked at what Dean did only to crumble to dust.

"Did you really think I'd kill you?" Dean says and pulls his brother up. You turn to see a pile of dust where Death is standing. "You're a pain in the ass but not enough to kill you."

Sam laughs in relief and Dean turns to you.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?"

No. I don't think I will be.

Crowley got the ingredients easily and came back with Oskar in tow. Rowena smiles when she sees him and pulls him in for a hug.

"You've grown so big. Not too big to give your old auntie Rowena a hug I hope."

"I hope I haven't hurt you."

"Don't think about that one moment. Everything's fine, Oskar. Everything's fine." Rowena looks over his shoulder and glares at her son. She has a fountain pen in her hand that she will use to kill him. "Nobody's hurting anybody." She pulls away from him. "Goodbye, my sweet wee boy."

She takes the pen and stabs it into his neck. Oskar looks shocked at the betrayal and she bends him over so that his blood pours into a metal bowl on the table. Inside the bowl are the other two ingredients which make the spell complete. Oskar falls to the ground and she puts her hands on the table before chanting in Latin.

"Are you okay?" Dean asks his brother.

"I'll live."

You walk over to Sam and lift your hands as if you're going to heal him with your magic. The same magic that hurt people. The same magic that killed people. No, you can't use magic. You lower your hands and your gaze to the floor. Without Death to distract you, you're forced to think about the bad things you've done. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly. I don't deserve to be saved. Please let me go.

"Are you okay, Y/N?" Dean asks.

No. "I guess."

Suddenly, a loud and shrill shrieking sound can be heard.

"Does that sound right to you?" Dean asks.

Red lightning crashes through the roof of the restaurant and strikes Dean's forearm where his Mark is. Another bolt of lightning strikes you where your Mark is. You gasp in pain and almost fall to your knees from how intense it is. It's gone within seconds, taking both your Marks with it. You pull down your shirt and see the last remnants of the Mark fade away.

"They did it. Our Marks are gone," you gasp. Your head feels lighter and free. It's like the darkness that was inside of you faded away with the Mark. That still doesn't undo what you did. Right. "It worked. The spell worked."

You three leave the restaurant slowly, unsure that this is real life.

"This is good. Dean, this is good. The Mark is off your arm. Nothing crazy happened."

"Yeah. I'm sure everything's perfectly fine," Dean says sarcastically.

Suddenly, a loud thunder cracking sounds from above and you look to the sky. Dark red clouds roll in with red lightning striking through the chaos. Lightning strikes the ground, scaring you to your bones, and the clouds are coming your way.

"What the hell did we let out?" Sam asks.

"Amara," you say.

The ground starts rumbling and columns of black smoke erupt from the spots where the red lightning struck. All the columns converge into a huge rolling cloud of black smoke.

"Get in the car. Go, go, go!" Dean urges.

You three run toward the car and pile inside. Dean barely gets it on when the black clouds smash into the car. The Impala lifts off the ground and is overturned, and you slam your head into the side of the car hard, causing you to black out. When you open your eyes, there is a hand outstretched toward you.

Amara stands in front of you with a smile on her face. You take her hand and a jolt of electricity runs through your body. She pulls you to your feet but she doesn't let go of your hand. She chuckles at your terrified look.

"It's nice to finally meet you in person. Thank you for setting me free."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[bbn-does-anal]

I would happily fly to Singapore to take you on a date, patronise you all the way through it, and then when we get back to my hotel room spend the rest of the evening forcing you to worship my superior white cock. Nothing would make me harder than watching how degraded you are as you choke and gag on my cock while I abuse you and you gradually realise an inferior yellow slut like you is powerless to be anything than be a set of holes for me. I'm already getting hard now thinking of the inarticulate moans I could force out of you as I fuck your throat and your ass. You'd only be allowed to have me fuck your cunt if you could convince me that a worthless whore like you deserved it. Being totally overwhelmed and utterly helpless in service to a superior white man is the only place that you belong.

I'd even come pick you up at the airport for it. Maybe even the first round can be in the Changi restrooms but you might have to carry me back to the hotel. XP

Reading this literally made me weak.

[lucyvaleheart]

i need to be chained down

i need to struggle against my bonds, need to cry need to scream, need to feel so utterly helpless and vulnerable

i need it to hurt. I need my ass to be smacked so red that it it brings real tears to my eyes before we're even halfway through. i need the wood of the paddle to SNAP and splinter as it breaks against my body.

i need to be told the most disgusting, cruel, awful things about myself; i need to be degraded and made to feel so small and pathetic and worthless and stupid and i need to be crying on the floor, utterly limp in my bonds from it.

i want to be marked. i want to feel teeth, i want to feel claws, i want my skin to break from the force of them i want to feel the blade against me i want to feel the fear in my whole being as it goes further and further and further

i need to be owned, to be claimed, to be branded with a hot iron, to be caged up and collared. need that collar to shock me, need someone to own me, need someone to hold my remote and press the button until i can't breathe until im choking with sobs and crying on the floor for a second time

when i say i need to be broken

i need to be broken.

[quicksilverserpent]

The idea that biden was just a helpless old man who didnt have adequate leverage to pass through student debt relief or increaese the minimum wages or transgender rights protections or universal healthcare or whatever else because those mean republicans just wouldnt let him is pure idiocy. If any of that had actually been a top priority for him their stubbornness wouldn't be this fatal insurmountable obstacle liberals pretend like to pretend it is to make excuses for the dems. If biden gave a fuck hes had the means to put legislature in a deadlock and make it utterly impossible for absolutely anything to get done on any front and hit republican congressional representatives where it hurts and undermine them by every possible means. Just constantly ratfuck them until they roll the fuck over and stop being so arrogant and fanatical for once in their worthless lives but nah instead all the dems do is snivel on about the virtues of unidirectional bipartisanship and condescend to the public about the need to compromise only when it shifts the overton window further right.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 4 - Fucked

The rogue accepts an offer.

On AO3.

“Tell her we need to fix this,” Astarion says.

Their illustrious leader, buried in their tadpole connection, rolls her eyes. He can tell, linked up like this. Is strongly tempted to slip into her mind and peer out through her eyes just to make sure it’s not all some horrifying jest.

But that would make her angry. He remembers all too well the snarl on her blood-slicked face the last time he tried (and succeeded).

Through the link, he feels the cleric throw her hands up.

There’s nothing she can do from…wherever she is. And Astarion didn’t have the good luck to be teleported next to a healer or a wizard or a flea-bitten druid.

Who no one has heard from and they all (mostly all) join in a low thrum of worry.

No, he landed next to the magic-less, unskilled, ignorant alien human.

He has the presence of mind, through the familiar, tight panic, to curl in on himself for that thought; wouldn’t do for said alien human to go hearing that particular slip.

“He’s already had a healing potion,” their illustrious leader says aloud, and he can feel the shape of her thoughts shifting to convey that to the others. “He looks fine. Don’t see no damage, and his pupils respond to the light. He just can’t see none of it.”

Consternation. Puzzlement. And what feels quite a bit like curiosity and smugness from the damned wizard.

“I did warn you about that trap,” the damned wizard says. “This is likely the intended effect. I’d wager it’s a magical ailment. Blindness and random teleportation. What better way to be rid of an uninvited guest?”

It’s the tone and the words and he can’t fucking see, and all Astarion can smell is blood and undeath and stale sex. Uninvited guests. The pleasure rooms. His only talent, his only function.

He rips himself out of the connection to slump back into his worthless body. Battered from the knees down, his gullet turned inside out, and utterly, uselessly blind.

Astarion does not need to breathe. There have been times where it’s better not to—foul odors, stalking prey, being stalked as prey. He knows that a deep inhale and controlled exhale soothes mortal, living people. But when he tries it, it’s nothing but a farce. An undead playing at living.

He finds a stone and hurls it as hard as he can.

Beside him, his leader flinches.

She was right about her theory. Them finding each other and becoming easier to sense. But the others are still too far to get any kind of precise location, and they still need a waypoint stone, and the two of them are dreadfully far from all the others combined. So they’re still stranded from anyone who could possibly heal his godsdamned eyes.

He’s blind and he’s helpless. And a helpless ally is a useless ally and the moment he becomes dead weight (ha), their leader will no longer be obligated to carry on with this alliance.

The thought of being left down here—stumbling and sightless…the Underdark is vast, but without sight, without knowing where he is, he’s effectively trapped. Sealed up in the dark and the silence all alone again and he can’t, he cannot—

A tap on his wrist. His illustrious leader. He pulls his thoughts back to the present with some effort.

“Yes?” he says.

A brief pause. Then, “You, uh. You ain’t had nothing to eat since before the creche, huh? Aside from that fight back on the surface?”

The gith blood. Not the best he’s ever tasted, but still immeasurably better than putrid rat. The gith had still been alive; no fur or maggots or coagulation to be caught in his teeth.

“I’m fine, darling,” he says.

Their illustrious leader has never taken part in a hunt with the Blade and their druid and their own, very cranky gith. She has no qualms about chopping up dead bunnies, under the wizard’s tutelage (while the gith scoffs at the very idea of cooking). He can’t imagine her chasing down cave bats or the blind rats he’s heard lurk down here.

“Shadowheart,” she says. She has a habit of starting a sentence and then pauses. At least, she does when she speaks to him and it’s not some kind of order. He counts one, two, and right on cue, “She told me what you said. About undead folks being, y’know, undead and potions not working real good.”

Real good. As if that in any way conveys the sensation of innards melting from the inside.

And he notes the careful sidestep with her phrasing. “Undead folks.” A tidy avoidance of what he really is: a monster. Another in her array of contradictions for him to fold away. She spends so much time splashing about in profanity it’s easy to forget she can actually wield her language adeptly.

“Another gift from our parasitic friends, yes,” he says and taps his temple.

“So what normally heals you?”

“Time.” He pauses. Water drips somewhere. He almost says, “It’ll be far worse if we don’t.” Fear can be an excellent motivator in at least pretending to be able to walk. But he suspects that will make her go all quiet and staring-into-the-distance again, and there’s no other sound but her pulse and he’d rather not think of that. So, optimistically, he says, “Blood.”

Perhaps she has a spare bottle. She carries around a lot of stuff that she gives to the others. Usually food. And she seems serious about this whole alliance, so she might have thought to stash something away even for him.

“Shit,” she says.

So she doesn’t have a spare bottle of blood clinking around in that bag. Ah well. Hope is a foolish thing, anyway. He’s starved for much longer than this.

Then a curious sound reaches his ears. It’s cloth. A peculiar rustling. Not like she’s moving around or trying to stand. It’s rather like…rolling up a sleeve—

She wouldn’t.

She would.

Oh, what a foolish little idiot. After cutting off his tab to “create distance” she’s offered twice. He’s declined both times, as he had access to other means and relying on charity is the best way to ruin. But down here, alone in the dark, she’s going to give him her blood.

It plucks unpleasantly at his dead heart. He can’t repay her. Not like this. And not while she’s still set on rejecting his only true talent.

The smart thing would be to refuse. The potion earlier put his knee back into place. And the wizard seemed certain that his blindness is arcane pettiness from a long dead, completely mad wizard.

But perhaps this is what he needs? Appealing to his vampiric nature to do what it normally does? And the hunger—so easily pushed away for two centuries, now grown acclimated to being somewhat sated—comes roaring up beneath his skin.

In the end, Astarion is not a smart man.

“I’ve a goblet in my pack,” he says through a mouth suddenly too wet. He has to speak carefully to avoid salivating like some beast. “And my knives are always sharp, if you’d prefer to use those.”

He’s…not even sure she has a knife of her own. They should find her one. Not even as a weapon, necessarily, but for day-to-day use. He assumes it’s difficult for someone without fangs to open up the belly of a bunny so she can go about gutting it.

But she makes a sound, and his thoughts stop short.

“I, uh,” she says. One, two…

No three. No four, even. Not her usually pause, then. He frowns.

Her voice, when she does use it again, is quieter. “I…can’t. The cup thing. I can’t do that to myself.”

“I can show you where to slice,” he says. “It needn’t be a large injury. You’ll barely feel it and we’ll stay far from anything vital.”

But once again, that long pause. Her fingers tap ever so softly at her thigh, and he can picture her tracing that pattern over her thumbnail, back and forth, over and over.

“I think it would be easier if you bit me,” she says.

Interest tugs at him. Blood from a goblet is fine; they’ve started letting him at their kills before they skin them and chop them up and put them in a pot. But they bleed it—mostly the Blade of Frontiers—for him, presenting him his supper nice and tidy in a goblet or a bottle.

It’s fine. It’s better than fine. They just hand it over. He doesn’t have to do anything but lift a hand to accept it, and they’ve already hunted the thing down for themselves, so really, he’s just taking his portion of the spoils.

However. There’s something entirely different about feeling a pulse beneath his lips. Sinking his aching fangs into flesh until they pop and pierce and that blood, fresh and salty and hot, hits the back of his throat. He can be close enough to grab. To wrench. To feel the life of the thing as it pours into his waiting mouth, gulping greedily down to fill his own body.

“I thought you wanted distance, darling?” he says. Much better to make the other person squirm. Put them off before they can notice anything from him. “That’s rather intimate, don’t you think?”

“You can’t even see and you’re still gonna try that shit?” she says because she’s endearing like that.

He feels his lips twitch in a smile. “I’m only checking. I’d like to avoid any future, ah, misunderstandings.”

She swears so quietly he almost doesn’t make out the words. My, my, but her people really do love turning sex acts into vulgarity. What a strange society she must come from.

Her next sigh is sharp. She says, “Fuck.” And then doesn’t elaborate for a moment. Then, “To avoid misunderstandings, I would prefer to give you a container of my blood.”

Is that…is that a flicker of disappointment in himself? He gawks at it in horror before stomping it down.

“But I can’t…I got…issues. With the method.” She shifts, takes a few deep breaths because she is a living person and that helps her. “The, uh, cutting myself. I can’t. It’s not an ability thing, it’s more of a, uh, mental thing.”

Hmm.

“Is that all?” he says. “Odd, but fine. Would you like me to do it?”

“Without vision?”

“I can tell where your blood is.”

And only after he says it does he realize that might have been disquieting.

She stops breathing a moment. Then a faint huff. “Y’know, y’all really are camouflage predators, ain’t you? I get so used to you, then you go and say shit like that and I remember you’re different.”

Again, a very careful dodge of the word most people would use.

“I do aim to please,” he says and gives her the best, shallow bow he can manage while seated. He did that the first time with her out of mockery. But then she started returning the gesture, and it lost its abrasive edges. Became a routine. One that…calms him, for some reason. Probably the reliability of it.

“Course you do. Which is why you call Gale’s cooking terrible, Shadowheart’s hair ugly, and me illiterate.”

Oh shit.

“I—” he starts. He doesn’t even want to know what her face is doing. Old instincts come rushing back. Twist it into a jest. Apologize. Do something, anything to deflect the punishment and hope it won’t be severe (it will be; it always is).

But her finger taps his wrist again.

“I was teasing you,” she says in a disgustingly soft voice. “Sorry. You couldn’t see the face I was making.”

Which does nothing to alleviate the rising dread. He can’t let her know that, though. So on with his easy smile. “Of course, darling. You did mention your illiteracy when you said your name was Jar Edd.”

He can almost feel the confusion twist her face. Can picture it quite clearly. At first, it looks like a blank stare (as so many of her emotions do). But lately, he’s noticed a shift. More fluidity. It’s the eyes, mostly. The way her brows scrunch and her eyes narrow. A perfect painting of judgment without saying a word.

“Jesus christ, I did say that,” she says. Groans. “That was…also a joke. A kind of saying where I come from. I can’t read y’all’s alphabet, was what I was meant.”

“I take it you’re literate in your own language, then?”

This is something he knows. Get his mark to talk. Most people love to talk, especially to a pretty face. Especially if that pretty face makes the correct, interested noises, a light touch to the wrist, leaning in slowly. The trick is to stare just below and between the brows. Makes it looks like he’s gazing into their eyes, enraptured. Or so some of them have admitted. He can pay just enough attention to respond at the right times while going off in his own head.

Only this mark is too succinct when she’s not plotting a murder. And all she says is, “Very. Gale’s been teaching me y’all’s, though.”

And then literally nothing else.

“The wizard,” Astarion sniffs because that’s expected of him now. “He’s teaching you Common, then?”

“I…think so?”

He really doesn’t have to try so hard. Doesn’t need to put so much effort into this. Yet her voice took on a warmth when she said “very” and books were one of the few escapes he could manage between targets, when no one was looking. He finds himself saying, “It’s hardly a proper language, darling. Not for reading. It’s more of a spoken language used by merchants for negotiation. If it’s literature you’re after, you’re much better off learning Chondathan to start with.”

“Um.”

Ah, right. She’s mortal and speaks none of their languages. Common will be useful enough, he supposes. But that can’t be her only tongue if the scuttlebutt around camp is accurate and she’s stuck on Toril when this is all over. Assuming they aren’t all dead or turned into illithid monstrosities, anyway.

“Yeah,” she drawls out as two syllables, the way she sometimes does. It’s a clever dip to the back of her tongue that does it, twists the “eh” into an “ah” with a fun little roll. “Anyway, I think it’d just be easier if you did this the old-fashioned way. See if my blood fixes anything. You need to eat, regardless.”

Such a generous offer. Some kind of trap, most likely. One he can’t currently avoid. “If that’s your decision, darling.”

She touches his wrist through his sleeve and lets him take her own. Her flesh is so warm. The back of her hand is soft. So were her palms and fingers the first time he did this; a hint of calluses now alter that particular landscape. The gith has been working with her again.

It’s difficult to describe the way he feels blood. It’s so wrapped through him, twisting thorns embedded deep along his bones, branching through his muscles and sinews to spike behind his eyes, within his fangs. He’s always aware of it; of hers, especially. She was his first, proper taste. A thinking creature’s blood. His body hones in on that the way seafarers look to Ieryn, their guiding star.

She’s alive in his senses simply sitting beside him. Now, touching her, bringing her arm up to his mouth, all his senses (except his godsdamned sight) go a bit mad. The scent of her: mortal heat, the fading smell of sunshine and forest upon her clothes, fresh sweat (she takes great care to bathe daily whenever possible, which he finds rather charming), and lingering woodsmoke.

Her pulse thrums beneath her skin. Her lungs expand. He’s sure if she sat very still and he focused, he could hear the susurration of her muscles, the soft bat of her lashes blinking, the gentle swish as she tucks her growing hair behind her ear (quite uselessly; it’s still too short to stay there).

And her blood. The ever-present blood. It sings to him. Reaches into him with hooks and drags him to her. Brings his face to her arm. His lips to her skin and he can taste the salt upon it. He knows where to bite—his teeth pull him right to that sweet spot—but he can’t help but linger. Feeling her heat on his lips. The soft beat against the tip of his tongue. So warm. So alive.

She shifts. Trousers rustle, and he can wait no longer. He plunges his fangs into her soft, soft flesh.

Notes:

And it turns out I did bite off more than I can chew, and forgot that the chapters run a little longer than the last fic. So I won't be updating on Saturday, unfortunately. Hopefully, that'll be the buffer I need to get ahead a bit more and I can resume the twice-a-week updates.

Previous - Index - Next

[jedifarmerr]

Wasteland Masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader/OFC (established backstory, no y/n or physical descriptions)

Summary: Sentenced to a life underground after a nuclear attack, what was said to be a quick and painless process somehow ended up taking 200 years. Waking up alone with everyone else still frozen, a search for help and answers turns upside down when four mysterious men come into the picture.

Rating: E (warnings: language, food & eating, mentions of death.)

Word Count: 5k

Chapter 10

Frankie watched her relief morph into confusion as Preston went over the Council’s stipulations. She was clearly not expecting this. Perhaps, they should’ve told her outright why they started calling her Blue, but she never questioned it. Never even mentioned it aside from a slightly confused look.

Frankie watched her relief morph into confusion as Preston went over the Council’s stipulations. She was clearly not expecting this. Perhaps, they should’ve told her outright why they started calling her Blue, but she never questioned it. Never even mentioned it aside from a slightly confused look. 

He assumed she understood, but it seemed she thought the alias was more temporary, rather than possibly permanent. 

They knew that if people found out the truth about her it’d tear through the Commonwealth like a grass fire. Uncontrollable. Unpredictable. One big mouth and within a month, Jamaica Plains would be roaring with the news. 

The chances of Vault-Tec catching wind of it was slim, but not impossible. Even a 1% chance posed too much risk. Sanctuary would seriously be fucked. That wall would be as worthless as wet mud against an all-out synth brigade. 

Truthfully, Frankie was more concerned about her safety. He wasn’t an idiot, and definitely not a hypocrite. He could realize she’d be a hard sell to some – people like Tom, who wouldn’t take the word of a Vault-Tec employee’s kid. Everyone knew those people would want concrete proof, some hard evidence that they didn’t quite have just yet. Without it, there would be riots demanding her head on a stake, and there was bound to be one crazy enough to take matters into their own hands. 

Frankie wasn’t gonna let that happen. She was their responsibility. 

“Do you accept?” Preston finally asked her and the room went still and quiet as a tomb. She gnawed on her bottom lip, toying with the hem of her shirt. 

The red rug she stood upon was like her own little island. She looked so lost in the center of the room. So helpless and small and so utterly alone that it made his skin feel tight. He supposed - she was alone in this world. Everyone she loved was either dead and gone or deceived her. Her entire life was one big facade. She must’ve been so fed up with all these secrets and lies and cover ups. 

For a moment he worried she might say no, but she inevitably folded. She nodded and he didn’t know if she thought there was much of a choice. This was so much bigger than her - than all of them. He wondered when Tom would finally realize that. 

Preston appeared to notice her distress and quickly assured her that he’d take the blame if her cover got blown. As long as her true identity didn’t leave this room, they didn’t anticipate that happening anytime soon. 

If ever. 

Unless they could figure out how to crack into the cryogenic pods, she would always be Blue. If her and her dad were as close as she said, then he’d be desperate to find her. The synths in Lexington had been looking for her, after all. Somebody had noticed she was missing from the vault. 

In order to avoid any suspicion, she would need to integrate herself into Sanctuary immediately. There would be no special treatment. Just like everyone else, she would need a job. 

Stable hand? Greenhouse worker? Waitress at the town tavern? No - no - no. Each one was axed for one reason or another. 

Suddenly, Tom cleared his throat, his eyes fell on Frankie. 

“What about your mom?” he asked ��� challenged. “Last I heard, no one’s taken Susan’s spot since she retired.” 

Frankie’s mouth watered, he nearly spat the sour taste in his mouth onto the cheap lino tile. He could not believe Tom was using his mom as bait. Out of anyone, Tomy knew how protective Frankie was of her, how tender a spot that was, and yet…

Whether to prove his point or get his way, Frankie didn’t know Tom’s motive, but either way it was low, even for Tom.

No - especially for Tom. As if bringing up his dad wasn’t enough, Tom had gone for the jugular. 

Preston straightened, his chair howling through the hall. He hesitated before saying, “It is just your mom and Yovanna. If they did catch onto anything, I’d trust they’d be discreet.” 

“Exactly.” Tom’s chin cut through the air. “Whaddaya say Fish?” 

Frankie looked at Blue, and she gave him a weak smile. She expected him to say no, he realized. She’d even seemed to accept it, and he instantly felt bad. Even though he had his reasons, he’d been the least welcoming, by far. 

Everyone on the Council was staring at him – Tom’s gaze was searing. Usually, Frankie would back down to him. He could tell Tom thought he would concede here, as well. And three weeks ago, Frankie would’ve without question. He would’ve said not a fucking chance – that was too far, too much, too personal. 

But, everything was different now. Tom had asked if he trusted her, and he did. He meant it when he nodded. 

Frankie folded his arms across his chest before saying, “Okay.” 

Tom’s lips thinned with silence. He didn’t say a word, nor did he have to. Frankie could tell he was pissed – the vein on his forehead was thick and throbbing. Still, Frankie didn’t budge. Not this time. 

“Is that a yes?” Preston asked – speak now or forever hold your peace. 

“Yeah,” Frankie confirmed and Tom didn’t look at him again for the rest of the day. 

—

That night, at the welcome home party, Preston announced there’d be a new face in town. The Council had thought it would be best to roll out the story before anyone laid eyes on her. This way, they could get ahead of it. Control the narrative, so to speak. 

They had crafted up a perfect poke-proof cover story; something no one could cross-examine. 

It’d been decided she would come from a survivalist bunker, way north of Diamond City. Over the years, an especially hard last few months of attacks – bloatflies, ghouls, and ants, had dwindled their numbers. By the time their unit found them, the survivors were few and mostly wounded. The entire compound was in absolute shambles. Despite their open offer, she was the only one who took them up on it. She had no reason to say, having buried the last of her family just before they arrived. 

All night, Frankie had to navigate an overly curious crowd. Lost in the crush of questions, he barely had a moment to catch his breath or even catch up with the people he actually wanted to. He’d hoped for more than a few seconds alone with his mom to tell her about the arrangement, but instead, he’d have to tell her over breakfast. 

Probably better that way. No distractions.

The next morning, Frankie arrived at his mom’s shop. Bay’s Soaps. The powder blue sign hung above a hinged glass door. He went around back, up the stairs and knocked twice before letting himself in. 

Cast iron pans sizzled on the stove top. The smell of eggs, beans, and frying sausages brought back memories of his childhood. Every morning, his mom used to get up extra early just to cook him a hearty breakfast before school. 

“Pollito!” His mom kissed him firmly on both cheeks. The food on her apron smeared across his worn t-shirt as she hugged him, a tad tighter than usual. 

Most of the time, his missions only kept him away for a month – maybe two. Their unit in particular had a reputation for being timely, effective and efficient. It was rare for them to be more than a few days late, unless something went terribly wrong. Like that one mission over a decade ago. 

Frankie shuddered, recalling the bad operation. Them, along with two other units had been sent to scope out a lead past Weymouth, but only made it as far as Quincy. Shit went south so quickly. A pack of ghouls had busted free of an apartment building. The scar that ran down Pope’s spine came from that day – a ghoul’s long fingernail, sharper than a knife, sliced him right down the middle. 

He could still remember those screams – the harsh crack and wet slashing of flesh. Brutal. Bloody. A gruesome scene – three young soldiers mangled beyond recognition. Their squadron captain had insisted on bringing them home for a proper burial. They had wrapped their carcasses in dusty, dirty sheets and tied it shut with copper wire. The whole trek back, his ears had buzzed with swarming bugs. 

The oven dinged and his mom pulled away with an affectionate pat on his cheek. As she finished up, he brewed them a fresh pot of coffee, poured out two cups, then took a seat. 

Of course, his mom made way too much food for two people to eat. The bistro table was spread thin with heaping platters that meant days of leftovers. 

“Saw Susan last night. Sounds like she’s enjoying retirement. Have you found anyone to replace her, yet?” Frankie eased into the conversation. 

“No luck.” She sighed – Susan had retired even before he’d left. “You wouldn’t happen to be interested, though would you?” 

Frankie chuckled, shaking his head. He shuffled the scrambled eggs on his plate with his fork. “But the new girl - Blue - she’s looking for a job.” 

His mom hooked up an intrigued brow as she continued to stir a little milk into her coffee. 

“I don’t think she’ll give you any problems. She’s smart, catches on quick.”

“What else’s she like?” She probed, trying to appear casual as she took the mug in both her hands and brought it to her lips. Coy, though, had never been her strong suit. Her eyes gave her away. 

Frankie speared a sausage onto his fork, and ate it whole. He needed a moment to figure out how to answer that. Blue was supposed to be a girl from bumfuck, so he couldn’t say she was a spoiled brat, even though she was sometimes. He couldn’t say that she was charming or even sweet when she wanted to be without his mom getting the wrong idea. The last thing he needed was her meddling. 

Still, he had to give his mom something. At least a crumb, or else she would keep hassling him until he spilled. 

Frankie swallowed – shrugged. 

“She’s…funny, I guess. She’s got a lot of opinions. If you let her, she’ll probably talk your ear off. She can sometimes be a little stubborn, but that might just be with me-” 

“Do you two get along?” She interrupted – confused, her brows slightly knitted. 

“For the most part.” 

“Meaning?”

It’s complicated. “Sometimes, we get on each other’s nerves.” 

She pursed her lips – eyes squinted with suspicion. 

“What?”

“I swear, I better not hear that you were mean to that poor girl.” She jabbed an accusatory finger towards his chest. “Think you were raised better than that-”

Frankie scoffed, “Trust me - she’s not innocent.”

She made a face – not totally convinced. Ultimately, she waved it off. “I guess, I’ll see for myself, now. Won’t I?” 

“Guess so.” He grinned then felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Even though he didn’t have much choice, he still hated lying to his mom. 

He wondered how she would react if she knew who Blue really was. 

—--

For a few days, you were to remain a ghost. Just long enough to give the Council time to get their ducks in a row and the story to sink in and travel. 

The Welcome Home party had served as a perfect diversion, so no one had spotted you. Kasumi had been nice enough to offer up the apartment above her garage. While it wasn’t much bigger than your freshman year dorm room, at least, it didn’t smell like that weird bean soup your roommate always used to heat up in the microwave. 

This place had only been vacant since this summer when Kasumi’s daughter moved out after getting married. The space wasn’t really meant for two. You supposed the tight squeeze wouldn’t be terrible for people in love, but you were holed up in here with Frankie.

Three days. He must’ve been assigned as your guard or maybe he thought you’d take off and run again if he left you alone because he barely let you out of his sight.

It was impossible to ignore him, either. You couldn’t just pretend or forget he was here when his body swallowed the doorways. He was too damn broad for this place. 

The two of you fought like territorial kangaroos over the boxy kitchen. Shoulder jabs, bumping elbows, you’d snap at him whenever he got too close after the first night when he nudged you in the arm while you were stirring spaghetti sauce. It was a huge mess. Globs of red splattered over the secondhand apron, under the storm-gray cabinets and even a little on the pastel yellow walls. He claimed it was an accident, but his schoolboy snicker made you think otherwise. 

In order to keep you entertained, he brought over a deck of cards, but would only play speed, which he annoyingly called Spit! 

And even worse, he won 90% of the time. 

After a few losing rounds, you’d pout and demand a different game. He’d taunt you, call you a sore loser until you gave him a rematch. You wanted to smack that stupid smirk off his face when he’d win again. 

But for all that you cursed and griped and grouched about him, you hated even more when he left. All alone, there was no TV - no radio to fill the silence. You’d betrayed your family, and could not stop reeling with it. 

What did you do? What have you done? 

Second-thoughts slithered in, and you found it impossible to stop your head from spinning. You didn’t know who to trust anymore. You’d blindly believed your dad, and didn’t want to make the same mistake again. 

What if these guys were wrong? What if they were the ones lying?

If you let it, these doubts would consume you. Instead of being swallowed whole by anxiety, you were intent on busying yourself. 

Sadly, the bookshelves were depleted and anything left had seemingly been forgotten for good reason. However, you noticed a thick layer of dust on the encyclopedia. Underneath the sink in the kitchen, there was a basket full of rags and sponges and cleaning supplies. 

You’d scrubbed every square inch and surface in this apartment until your fingertips were pruny and raw as leather. The 24-piece china set was freshly polished, the hand-painted goldfinches and delicate butterflies now shining in the spotless glass hutch. Afterwards, you’d taken to rearranging the furniture and jilted knick-knacks and leftover decor. 

Frankie, much too perceptive, seemed to notice. 

On your last night of temporary house arrest, he’d left to pick up dinner. 45 minutes, and multiple trinkets had shifted around the room like haunted figurines. You’d caught him eyeing the porcelain pigs on top of the mantle, the hourglass in their previous spot on the second row of a built-in shelf. 

For a moment, you thought he was going to say something, but instead - he unpacked the food and laid it out on the coffee table. After dinner, he had grabbed the deck cards from the side table without mentioning the change of vase. 

That night, he hung around longer than usual. 

One more game. Go Fish this time. Ever play Slap Jack? Is the sink still acting funny? I’ll fix it. 

He did leave, eventually. Just not until your eyelids were stuck at half-mast, your words sluggish and slurry from needing sleep. 

The next morning, he was at your door bright and early, ready to take you to the first day of work. 

—

You hadn’t really been able to see much of the town. Kasumi had smuggled you from the Council building at night, so you made a few things out in the dark. The windows in your apartment didn’t offer much of a view. 

After Diamond City, you expected a town of steel houses. Surprisingly, Marblehead looked nearly identical to before.

As you walked in the middle of the street, you could finally scope out the cottages and colonials that still lined the narrow, windy roads. On a sunny day like this, you would’ve anticipated a traffic jam, a bad headache, but there was no honking. No SUV’s hogging up space. Not even a single car in sight. 

It was peaceful. It was nice. Strange, but nice.

During the walk, Frankie explained how people got around the old-fashion way: foot, bikes, and horseback. There was even a carriage taxi service that seemed very on brand with the 18th century architecture. 

Frankie led you onto the main street and you looked around at the familiar storefronts. Suddenly, you noticed everyone was staring at you. The street buzzed with whispers and glances. 

There had been some lingering looks and stares in Diamond City but it was much more crowded, denser. You could slip into the masses and disappear, but not here. Your arrival had been announced, everyone was expecting you. 

You averted your eyes to the cracked sidewalk, feeling very self-conscious. The insecurity reminded you of second grade when you were the new kid in school and had to stand in front of the class to introduce yourself. All the kids had stared at you. Nora had threatened to spit on them if she caught them looking too long again. For that comment, she had to walk laps at recess for the rest of the week.

These people, though, scared you more than a classroom full of eight-year-olds.

Frankie must’ve noticed them staring too since he inched closer, the hair on his arm tickled your skin and you could smell his soap in the air.

“They’re just curious,” Frankie whispered. “It’s not everyday someone new shows up.” 

Still, Frankie straightened. He had on just a plain black t-shirt and jeans and still looked uncommonly intimidating. Even without a gun strapped to his back, it seemed like nobody wanted to fuck with him. He glared at one shopkeeper and it put the fear of God into them, they immediately turned away and went double-time on raising their sun-salt dull awning. 

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of warmth at his protectiveness. But you supposed it was his job, after all, to keep you safe. 

“Have you fought a lot of people or something?” You lightly nudged his shoulder with yours. A tiny smile toyed with his lips. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Frankie guided you into a cape cod building that was wedged between a tailor and a sub shop. It used to be a funky cafe with fancy latte art and slam poetry on Wednesday that Nora dragged you to one night. 

Luckily, the soap shop didn’t smell so potent that your eyes watered like at Bath & Body Works. There was a fresh scent of lemongrass and citrus and something else flowery. 

“Pollito?” A woman’s voice - his mom, you guessed - shouted from the back.

“Little chicken, huh?” You looked him over. “I see it.”

“Funny,” he grumbled when the back door swung open. It was definitely his mom. 

She came and greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks, and he slung his arm around her shoulders. It was sweet, but also shocking to see him be so affectionate. At times, he’d rest his arm on Benny or Santi’s shoulder, he’d hugged Piper goodbye, but other than that, it wasn’t a side you often saw from him. 

His mom fished out a pair of glasses from her apron and slipped them on. She rapidly blinked as if surprised. She looked you up and down as Frankie introduced you. 

“Josefa.” She shook your hand. “But everyone calls me Pepa.” Her eyes were warm and doe-like, that same shade of earthy, dark brown as Frankie’s.

She had a perfectly round face - plump cheeks and a button nose. Truly, she was a beautiful woman, though much softer than Frankie. He must have inherited his striking, sharp angles from his father. His aquiline nose. That divot in his bottom lip. A square jaw that you swore was carved from stone. Even though he could be such a grouch, he really was quite attractive. 

You wondered if you would ever meet his dad. Was he still around? Or was he long gone? You had enough common sense not to ask. 

You made a turn about the shop, in particular admiring the back wall that resembled a beehive of sorts with hexagonal boxes in honey-golden wood that each stored a wicker basket brimming with a colorful assortment of soaps. 

Pepa must’ve noticed you staring because she proudly boasted, “Frankie built that. And all by himself, too.”

He’d never mentioned being into carpentry, but it was clearly more than just some throwaway hobby. This was high quality. 

“I gotta admit, I’m impressed.” 

Frankie’s lips parted as if he couldn’t believe those words just came from you. “Is that a compliment?” 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

Pepa gave you a quick tour of the store. In the back, there was a kitchen with ample counter space to make soap, along with a pantry, now used for curing. The shop wouldn’t open for another hour and a half, so Yovanna had not come in yet. She was the one who did the cold-process, whereas Pepa was exclusively liquid. 

For the last few months, the two of them had been splitting your job, which would be manning the counter and packaging. It seemed easy enough, given that you had worked retail, just two summers ago. 

Frankie offered to stick around and help stock the shelves, just until Yovanna arrived. Pepa happily agreed, on the condition that he didn’t get in the way of your training. 

She started with the register which, at first, you pretended to act clueless on how it worked. You’d pause for a few seconds as if trying to recall her instructions. Every once in a while, you’d hit the wrong button. Pepa was relieved to hear that your compound was big on education, so you knew basic math. Frankie couldn’t help but grin behind her back at your bold-face lie.

She was demonstrating how to package the soaps when Yovanna showed up. The woman was fucking gorgeous - perfectly arched eyebrows and skin as golden as Frankie’s. Her long, dark hair was pulled into low, messily braided pigtails that pretty much no one else except for her could pull off. 

For some reason, you found yourself unable to look away as Frankie wrapped his big arms around her tiny frame. You could see his lips moving, but his voice was far too hushed for you to hear. His chin rested on her shoulder and he glanced up. 

Shit. 

Abruptly, you turned away and returned to studying Pepa’s hands. 

When Yovanna finally came over, she politely introduced herself before heading into the kitchen. She was somehow even more beautiful up close. 

Frankie finished up with the last few baskets before asking if you were going to be okay. Despite your thumbs up, he appeared hesitant to leave. Pepa offered him a reassuring smile, and he tugged his cap over his eyes, gave a single wave goodbye before heading out the door. 

—

All morning, there were faces pressed up against the glass like you were a Saks Fifth Avenue mannequin during the holiday season. 

The customers could rarely hide their surprise when you spoke in complete sentences. It was hard not to notice their furtive looks and pitiful glances, even on occasion you caught Pepa and Yovanna staring. 

It seemed like despite Preston’s best attempts to make your compound sound grand - a whole neighborhood of doomsday preppers instead of a few families - everyone expected a girl with seven fingers and missing toes and teeth. Perhaps, they imagined Mystique. Or someone with a single eye like a cyclops. 

Whatever they imagined, it was certainly not you.

Around lunch, you spotted Frankie outside on the sidewalk. He was storming towards the pack of teenagers peeping in through the window like an angry bull. The kids dispersed like terrified ants. 

Quickly, you went back to wrapping the bar of soap in cream parchment before he could notice that you saw. He’d undoubtedly ask about them if he noticed you looking. You really didn’t want to talk about being the town freak show. 

The out-of-tune bell above the door rang as you tied a perfect, hemp string bow around the soap. 

He glanced around the shop - it was only you on the floor. After the morning rush died down, Pepa and Yovanna retreated into the kitchen. Soon, one of the two would wander out to check-in, as long as they heard the bell.

“Well, look who couldn’t stay away,” you said with a playful grin. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” His steps echoed over the hollow laminate floors as he moved towards you. “Just wanted to see how things were going.” 

“What? Did you not have anything better to do?” 

“Than this?” Frankie shook his head. 

He clipped his aviators onto his shirt collar as he approached the checkout counter. His palm slid easily over the smooth butcher block - the same honey-gold as the boxes on the wall behind you. You wondered if he also made this with his own two hands, sanded it down and stained it. 

Frankie’s eyes dipped over your outfit. “Nice apron.” 

You huffed at his sarcasm. “I look like a Starbucks worker.”

“What the fuck is a Starbucks?”

“Coffee shop.” You pointed across the street. “There used to be one where Willy’s Good Juice is now, whatever the hell that is.” 

Frankie grimaced. He wrinkled his nose like he was about to be sick. “Some advice: don’t ever drink that shit. You’ll regret it.”

“Noted.” You had the same visceral reaction when anyone mentioned Mango Burnetts. 

Yovanna stepped inside the room. When her gaze landed on Frankie, she gave him a mischievous smirk. She leaned back, her body propping open the door. 

“You’re right,” she yelled over her shoulder into the kitchen. “It is him.” 

Frankie let out a huff of annoyance, narrowing his eyes at her as if she was his tattletaling little sister. The pointed look reminded you of Alice, though she never smiled at you afterwards. Instead, she’d call you a rat and a blabber mouth or simply a bitch, even though she was the one tormenting a kid. 

She seemed to enjoy ripping up your coloring books and decapitating your stuffed animals and dolls until dad forced her to buy a new one with her own allowance. 

As Pepa slid into the room, she squeezed past Yovanna, then put her hands on her hips. She looked serious, squinting at Frankie before turning to you. 

“Is he bothering you?” Her tone was light - her lips twitched and there was no real malice in her eyes. She was messing with him. 

“When is he not?” You asked and Frankie scoffed. He was not as much as the rest of you. 

“How’re my employees suppose to do their job?” Pepa tsked her tongue at Frankie. “I swear between you and Santi.” 

Santi? 

You glanced at Yovanna, who was twirling her braid around her finger and giggling like a girl with a crush. Was something going on between her and Santi?

Mary had said the guys didn’t technically date, but perhaps she was wrong. After all, Will clearly had feelings for Curie, judging by the smile on his face when he saw her in the Council hallway. He’d cradled the back of her head, holding her tightly in his arms as if he could not bear to let her go. Label or not, there was something going on there.

You didn’t know about Benny, but during his visits this week, he did talk an awful lot about some guy named Keith. 

You wondered - did Frankie also have someone here?

—-

Since he was already there, his mom suggested that he take Blue out for lunch – at Polly’s. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked her and she shrugged. 

“I could eat.” She hung up her apron, then he guided her next door into the sandwich shop. 

Past the lunch rush, the narrow dining room was practically empty. Just a few people eating at the counter, who all turned and stared at her without any shame. God – what was wrong with these people? As she looked over the menu, he gave them a hard glare. Immediately, their gazes dispersed around the restaurant – to the retro wood paneled walls, mustard lino floors, and the half-eaten plates on the beige formica bar top. 

After ordering at the register in the front, they found a table tucked away in a corner. His jeans scratched against the cracked leather cushion as he slid into the booth. Silently, she examined the ceramic-cow salt & pepper shakers, the out of commission tabletop jukebox and its list of songs. He would’ve asked if she knew any of them if they were alone. 

The cushion squeaked as she leaned back. “So, what have you been up to today? Other than missing me, of course.” 

He rolled his eyes at the last part, before answering. “Nothing really. Ran some errands – helped Pope fix up his fence. How’s work been?” 

“Good. Your mom’s been great, so has Yovanna.” She glanced down at her water cup and twisted it around in circles. “Are she and Pope like a thing?” 

“A thing?” What the fuck did that mean? 

She snorted at his confusion. “Are they like - together?” 

Frankie tilted his head from side to side as he figured out how to answer. Technically – no, they weren’t together in the traditional sense of boyfriend-girlfriend. In their line of work, it was hard to maintain a normal, healthy relationship. 

His first and only girlfriend was his highschool sweetheart. Lacey. Charming Lacey with long, golden hair and dimpled cheeks. Striking summer grass eyes that had never seen the cruelty of the wasteland. She was born in the safety of the walls of Sanctuary unlike him. 

After his first mission, she told him it was over. She wanted a family – a husband who would be around to help raise the kids, not someone who was constantly in-and-out, who she didn’t know whether they were alive or dead. It was almost word for word what Molly had said to Tom after she found out she was pregnant with Tess. Tom wasn’t ready to retire, but he didn’t have much of a choice. 

“Sorta,” Frankie finally answered. “It’s complicated.” 

“Same with Will and Curie?” 

Frankie nodded and she hummed thoughtfully. He waited for her to push for more information, but she didn’t. 

Instead, she sat silently with her hands clasped neatly on the table. Her brows slightly furrowed, appearing to be deeply in her own head. He didn’t think she had a crush on Santi or Will. At least, she never acted like it. If he had to guess anyone, it’d be Benny only because of how well they got along. 

Still, something was bothering her. He’d become exceptionally well-versed in her facial expressions, her subtle and not-so-subtle shifts in mood, and with her – silence never meant anything good. 

“What is it?” He nudged and she didn’t answer. She could be so goddamn obstinate. “What’re you thinking about?” 

She must’ve realized he would not let this go as she let out a sigh. She glanced at him and then at the painted seahorse above his head. 

“I guess I’ve started to realize how little I know about you,” she whispered. “All of you.” 

“We could say the same about you.” He winced when the words left his mouth. It sounded more demining than he intended. 

“It’s different and you know it. You guys have lives, all I have is…memories.” She stared down at her lap as if defeated. “None of it really matters anymore.” 

“That’s not true.”

“Fine.” She harshly scoffed. “It’s irrelevant. Better?”

He shook his head in disagreement, but that was all the denial he could muster. He wouldn’t go as far as to say it didn’t matter, but it did no longer exist. The life she knew had been extinct, after all, for two centuries. 

“Order 43!” 

Frankie signaled for her to stay, then went and grabbed the two baskets from the bar. He plopped back down, sliced his sandwich down the middle, then did the same to hers without thinking. Wordlessly, he pushed the basket across the table to her. 

“Thank you,” she said, then awkwardly lifted her sandwich up to her mouth and took a bite. 

Frankie sucked a little mayo off his thumb. “So, what is it that you wanna know? About me - us?” 

For a moment, she appeared stunned. Her cheeks were full – there was a drop of sauce on her lips. She licked it off, and his eyes followed the pink of her tongue. 

She swallowed. 

“Anything.” She shrugged. “Like, what’s your favorite color?” 

“Seriously?” He snorted – out of everything. 

She picked up a fry and pointed it at the center of his chest. “Judge all you want, but it can tell you a lot about a person.” 

“You would think that,” he said before answering. “Green.” 

“What kind of green?” There was a crisp crunch as she chomped on the fry.  

This was ridiculous, but if it would make her feel better. “Dark green, forest green. What about you?” 

“This might be a little cliche, but pink. Not hot pink, though. Soft pink, like cherry blossoms or peonies.” 

For the rest of lunch, she continued to ask trivial questions. 

Dogs or Cats: dogs. 

Favorite Holiday: Christmas. 

Birthday: August 23rd. 

“Virgo,” she said, like suddenly everything about him made perfect sense. 

She wiped her mouth with a napkin, then slurped the last of her water. 

“Last one - if the world never ended, what would you’ve wanted to be?” 

Easy. “A pilot.” He’d been obsessed with the sky ever since he was little. 

He could remember spending hours on the cold floor in his bedroom, flipping through faded illustrations in children’s books. He wished and hoped and prayed that one day – he could see it for himself. 

Suddenly, he thought about having to tell her about that part of his life. How would she react? He couldn’t stomach another bite and lightly shoved away his basket. 

Frankie knew he would have to tell her, but not right now. Not at Polly’s. Not anywhere in public. 

But soon. 

If he had learned anytime from last time, it was better to tell her before someone else let it slip. 

[violettranslations]

From Heaven, Dear Boy. (天国より少年くんへ)

あぁどうも心が弱くて弱くてしょうがねぇ 情けないね。

Aah, my heart is just so incredibly weak, I don't know what to do anymore. I'm so pathetic.

woh-woh-o-oh

あぁもう意味わかんないパニックで今日が終わってく くだらないね。 愛を情を欲しがった幼き人 そっと許そうか救おうか今だけ

Aah, I don't understand anything, my day ends in a panic. I'm so worthless. Do you think we should forgive, should save all those young ones who desired love, desired sympathy, just for now?

浴びるヴァイオレンスに 征こう もうNoしないで

I bask in the violence. Let's go, I won't allow you to say "No."

もういっそ死にゃあいんだろって楽になってそれでいいの？w 今日も曖昧な選択をして 僕なんて「不完全だ」って「不良品だ」って悦に浸って つまんねぇ悲劇に憧れんな

So you're going to just decide you're better off dead, bite it, and be at peace? Are you really down with that? lol Today I make yet another ambiguous choice. I gloat in self-satisfaction by claiming myself to be "imperfect" and "damaged goods," but god, that's so lame. Makes me hope this all ends in tragedy.

呼んだ？って振り向いた どうしようもなくただ目が眩む 愛おしいね。 泣いたって病んだって吐いたって消えない この傷跡を居場所を愛してるよ

"You called?" You said, turning back to me. I was utterly helpless to your brilliance. You're so lovely. Whether I cry over them, suffer from them, or spit them all up, they never disappear. I love these scars, this place I belong, with everything I have.

脆い嘘を重ねる 群れから逸れないように どこからか聞こえる子守唄

I compound lie upon fragile lie. All so that I won't separate from the group. I can hear a lullaby drifting over from somewhere.

浴びるヴァイオレンスに 征こう もうNoしないで

I bask in the violence. Let's go, I won't allow you to say "No."

もういっそ諦めて生き延びて壊しちゃえよ 今日も曖昧に苦しんで そんなに暇つぶしにマジになんないで息を吐いて 自分を今日は慰めて

Just realize you're better off giving up, living on, and tearing it all down! Today I suffer yet another bout of ambiguity. We're just wasting time, don't take it so seriously—take a deep breath and lick your wounds for today.

もういっそ死にゃあいんだろって楽になってそれでいいの？w 今日も曖昧な選択をして 僕なんて「不完全だ」って「不良品だ」って悦に浸って つまんねぇ悲劇に憧れんな

So you're going to just decide you're better off dead, bite it, and be at peace? Are you really down with that? lol Today I make yet another ambiguous choice. I gloat in self-satisfaction by claiming myself to be "imperfect" and "damaged goods," but god, that's so lame. Makes me hope this all ends in tragedy.

woh-woh-o-oh woh-woh

ばいばい哀れな人よ

Bye-bye, you poor bastard!

woh-woh-o-oh woh-woh

あぁどうも心が弱くてしんどいね。

Aah, my heart is so weak, it's killing me.

[chuplayswithfire]

Stede is such a great character for unpacking. The ways that learned helplessness and self-hate can damage your relationships with other people and hurt them, all without you ever thinking that you're even capable of hurting other people. Like, he hates himself and he hates his life, and he thinks he's worthless because he's spent his entire life being made to feel that way by the people around him whether it be on purpose (his father, the kids at school, the Badmintons) or accidental (Mary, the kids), and it's so utterly unfair that the only way for him to get out of it is to help himself but it's true.

Like, Stede and Mary's relationship was doomed by the fact that they don't like each other, their marriage, or their life together, but Stede and his kids could have had a deep, meaningful, fulfilling relationship, and it doesn't seem like that ever manifested, and it's probably in part because Stede held himself back. Shared with his kids what he enjoyed and held back the rest.

I keep thinking about how it undoubtedly hurt him to leave them, but not enough to leave a note. Just. Ouch. A part of him really didn't think what he was doing would matter. Really didn't see that he could hurt anyone. It wasn't until he saw himself literally painted out that he really grasped it.