#no sane person can handle so much pain and so much anger. it had to go somewhere. so it went to hector. it was pitiful

[imaginesmai]

Promises to keep - Azriel

You've been happy for too long here is your daily dosis of angst. Part two already written and will be posted in a few days!

Plot: while you are held in a rotten cell, Azriel asks you to promise him something you can't. Because no matter how much he wishes it wasn't true, there was little you wouldn't do for your mate.

Warnings: blood and violence. Kind of graphic.

Azriel had stopped counting the days, the hours stuck on that cell. He had given up around the second week, when he realized losing mental strength over the time wasn’t worthy. Now, the only time keeping him partly sane was the constant drip of water from the corner of the room. When the thoughts were too overwhelming, when the pain wouldn’t let him breath, he focused on the steady drip and tried to drift away.

The cell was cold, almost icy. The clothes he had been wearing when they took him weren’t warm enough – and yet he had given away his jacket, claiming he was fine as he tried to control the chills that rocked his body. It now laid over your body, tucked close to his chest.

It had taken him two days to convince you to take it, and only when you shivered so hard it wouldn’t let any of you sleep, you did.

“Don’t take it off” he begged you when they took him away. “Keep yourself safe”

It had worked so far, because Azriel put enough of a fuss when they approached you that they decided to punish him instead. Other times, it didn’t work, and the jacket came back stained with your blood when they threw you back in.

He felt the first tear of many roll down his cheek, matching the drip of the corner. He tried to keep his body still, not to let you know that he was breaking down again.

But as always, you turned in his arms and caught the tear with the tip of your raw finger. Azriel looked down to your bruised face, that hadn’t healed yet, and his throat constricted around a cry. The soft touch against his own bruises and cuts felt underserving.

“Hey” you whispered, breaking the sinister silence of the cell. Straightening against his hold, you turned so you could face him and held back the groan of pain. “We agreed there would be no tears”

“I know”

It was a silly promise, one neither of you had kept so far.

“I’m okay” you tried to convince him, but your voice was tired, and he knew. “Don’t waste your energy worrying. I’m fine”

“Y/N”

His voice was broken, just like his body. He had always been the strong one, the person who held his ground against torture and pain, who inflicted torture and pain. But with you there, with the life of his mate in the line, he crumbled like a paper boat against the water. Azriel had managed to keep it together for the first two weeks – by the time he stopped counting the time, he had broken down in the night.

If your captors would tell you what they wanted, if they made demands, Azriel knew it would be over for him the moment they put a hand on you. But they hadn’t so far – and that was the worst part. Not knowing what they wanted or why they took you, not being able to consider if the information they wanted was dangerous enough to risk your safeties. He knew he would give them anything by that point.

“They will be coming for us” you repeated like a mantra, over and over again.

Azriel didn’t doubt Rhysand and Cassian were shaking the word to find you, he just doubted they would be able to.

“I need you to promise to never do that again” he started, thinking about the previous hours. “Never, Y/N”

“You know I can’t, baby” the corner of your mouth lifted sadly. “You would have done the same”

“It doesn’t matter. You can’t –“ he choked out, the urge of making you understand seeping through his words and body.

“Can’t protect you like you protect me? That’s what you want me to promise?” you cut him off. “To promise you to stay still while they drag you away once more, with those terrible promises?”

“Yes” he hissed, feeling anger, guilt and many other feelings he couldn’t talk about in his chest. “I can handle it. You being hurt? That I can’t do. And they know they can get anything out of me with it. So next time they barge in, please Y/N, please, just… don’t”

“I could ask you the same thing. Would you promise me that, hm?”

That morning, or what Azriel could guess was morning based on the meals they brought, the masked fae had opened the cell before you woke up. Azriel had brushed the sleep fast when he saw them, asking the same questions he had repeated many times before. Who were they, what did they want, where were you, why did they take you. He made demands too, repeated so many times he had learned them by heart. To let you go, to keep him so he could be useful, to have a blanket and more food.

Only silence followed them, and the realization of what they were about to do.

His inner demons, the crumbling fear of his past, had stilled him enough time for you to wake up and come to the same realization. A tall woman carried oil and matches, and a sickening smile on her face. Another fae laughed behind her, deep and masculine, when he saw his face. Before Azriel could finish processing what was happening, you copied his actions from the past. Jumped on the woman who carried the oil, assuring Azriel wouldn’t be the one taken that day.

And no matter how much he had screamed his throat raw, how many fingers he had broken trying to break through the bars, he couldn’t stop it. He would damn those seconds of panic and tightness the rest of his life.

For any answer, Azriel gripped softly your elbow, careful of not moving your burnt hand. The pink skin was raw, the first blisters breaking through.

“I would have preferred them to burn me alive” he confessed, staring at your hands.

“This is not your fault. Any of it”

“Feels a lot like it is” he scoffed, not lifting his eyes. “You need to promise me that. I can’t – if they, if it happens again…”

“Baby, look at me” you begged him, but he didn’t concede. “Az”

Nicknames rolled down your tongue easily, like they had always done. Something about you calling him baby warmed his heart each and every time, the way his name tasted so good on your lips. Azriel squeezed his eyes shut tightly, his face contouring in sorrow. They had broken his leg, pierced his wings, beaten him senseless. Still, the sight of your burnt hands, knowing the similarities with his own, was what broke him.

“I’m sorry” he cried out, shoulders shaking with sobs. “I’m so sorry”

You didn’t answer, only fell against his chest and let him hug you.

The flames licking up your skin hours ago didn’t feel half as bad as hearing Azriel sob. You contained down your own tears, days of torment seeming endless. You were scared, too, mostly for Azriel. Because, since you both had woken up in that cell, he had taken every possible beating and lashing so that they wouldn’t touch you. And you noticed, smelt, the blood on him when he was brought back. Feared the day he wouldn’t wake up.

The faebane in the food you were fed kept the shadows away, but some of his power was still available and circled your ankles. The panic and guilt he felt was palpable through the watered bond, and in the way he pressed against your bruises without noticing.

“We will make it out” you promised him that, or tried to. “They will come. I know”

He only cried in response. Azriel, your tough, brave mate who tortured people for a living, broke in a dark cell that night. He sobbed until his throat was raw and couldn’t mutter any more apologies, cradled your burned hands as if they pained him more than you. He let his broken wings cover you both until you could pretend you were back in Velaris, in your wide bed, hiding from the world.

Dinner was pushed through the bars and you didn’t miss how Azriel held you tighter, even if he knew they wouldn’t come back until the next day.

“Please” he begged once more. “Please, don’t do that again”

The moment you had seen the oil, had guessed their intentions, you were done for. You would have gladly let them burn your whole arms if that meant they would leave Azriel alone. It had hurt, and you didn’t want to think about it, but Azriel was barely hanging by a thread and you would do anything to keep that thread hanging.

When, a few hours later, the cell opened again, you both turned your heads to meet the only male who talked out of your captors. He was tall, ridiculously tall, thin and with long arms that hung loosely. He wasn’t threatening at all, at least he didn’t seem like it. But you intuitively cowered against his presence, and Azriel intuitively hugged you closer.

His onyx eyes were deep pools of nothing, of wisdom and age that had you doubting Rhysand or Cassian would find you. They moved between Azriel and you, earning a growl from the earnest. If he could, you knew he would get up and fight him. Would try, like many other times, to fight his way out. But there was a reason why he had begged you to stay put, why they had the chance to take you.

Azriel’s left shoulder was broken, his arm only twitching and covered in blood. His wings had been ripped to shreds and were healing too slowly. And his legs, sprawled on the ground, had been twisted and sprained too many times.

“You’re losing your charm” he commented, his lip curling in disgust at the sight of Azriel. “I was tempted to think you would be dead by now. One of you”

“Why don’t you come closer and try to kill me yourself?” Azriel hissed, his good arm curled possessively around your waist.

“Oh, I wouldn’t. My friends are doing a mighty job at that”

“And who are your friends?”

It was a common question. When the male had first appeared in the cell, Azriel had bombarded him with questions that had been ignored. But that day, the male looked between you and Azriel, and tilted his head.

“Let’s trade answers, shadowsinger. I will answer your questions as long as you answer mine” he rocked slightly on his feet, the only indication he was curious. “Where does that power come from? What makes you worthy of wielding it?”

“Mine first. Who are you?”

Azriel had been conscious for a long time, considering the things he had gone through. Normally, he lasted conscious enough for you to try and clean his wounds and for him to promise that he was fine. Then, maybe giving his body a day to rest had accelerated his healing process. Still, you felt his attention rapt and alert as the male considered answering or not.

It felt wrong. He could easily pry the answers out of him. Azriel himself had sworn to answer and give anything when you were in their hands. And still, he only pursed his lips.

“I hope you are smart enough to understand that I cannot give you my true name” he smiled apologetically, as if he was truly capable of feeling anything. “But to answer your question, I could say I am someone interested in your powers. Where does it come from?”

“If you want me to talk, you better give me a real answer” Azriel cut back. “You’ve burned my mate’s hands. Beaten her, cut her. Why”

“Because it is funny what love can make out of powerful people” the male looked at you without dropping his smile. “You are powerful enough to kill any of those fae. To break down this place and destroy it from the inside out. But knowing your mate is here too? Love can undermine so much power. May I?”

Azriel’s grunt of pain almost developed in a scream of pain when he stepped on his broken knee. Blood seeped on the ground and bones creaked under his weight. Still, Azriel only threw his head back and bit down his agony, not willing to move away and expose you any further.

The edge of his boot pressed farther on his wound. Proof of how badly hurt Azriel was, was the lack of movement of his foot. His leg had been so brutalized that he couldn’t even move it to step away from danger.

Your heart rose to your throat and you broke another promise you had made to Azriel the first time you woke up in that cell. Don’t show them. Promise me you won’t show them. Let them think I’m the strong one, I’m the one they can’t break. Promise me, darling.

When Azriel lost his breath and his chest stilled from pain, you couldn’t control the sudden urge of power that broke through the room. Without moving from his grasp, that was now painful against your waist, you filled that room with light and threw the man off your mate.

His back hit the wall with a sickening crunch, and if he had been human just like his smell suggested, he would have died. But he didn’t.

He only looked at you with bloody tears on his eyes and dark stains on his ears.

“Oh my! Oh, how wonderful!” the male chuckled. Laughed. His chest trembled with joy as his broken body stared at you from the other side of the room.

You realized that he had been talking about you. About your power, that you had thought was well hidden. You didn’t bother stopping to think how pointless the torments Azriel had endured for its sake had been then, knowing that thought would haunt you back.  

Not using your burned hands for support, you raised by Azriel’s side. The faebane wasn’t enough to keep it hidden, since it wasn’t from this world. It only dulled your senses and dimmed the mate bond. But now that it had been set free, your power roared at you to let it go. To wrack that place to ashes and kill them all.

You stopped yourself when you got on your feet. Azriel, still out of breath, gripped your calf and looked up at you with terror. He knew what they had done to your parents, what they did to your kind. Why you were the only one left, and how precious you were to them. All of that paled in comparison of you being his mate.

You could havoc that place, but your power was destructive enough to risk his life. And that made the light of the room dim.

“You’re – you’re wonderful. I had heard rumors, but this! Look at this!” the man kept talking, but you could only look at Azriel. He begged you silently to run, to use that opportunity to flee. “We’re going to be amazing friends, my darling. The best of friends!”

“Sir?”

Standing next to the open door, three pair of eyes stared at you. Your tormenters looked between the remains of light at the tips of your burnt fingers and their fallen master, who wouldn’t stop smiling. Panic rose like bile when you realized what you had done. What he had done to make you do it.

You had only agreed to Azriel sacrificing himself because you knew if they discovered your powers and how much you cared about him, it would be worse. The sudden burst of power had left you dizzy, yet you were aware enough to notice that the male was healing way too fast. Way too powerful for a normal fae.

He pointed at you with a bloody smile, the onyx on his eyes not leaving any white left.

“Seize her”

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#imaginemai #imaginesmai #one shot #angst #imagine #imagine mai #imagines mai #x reader #fic #acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel imagine #azriel one shot #azriel x you #azriel x oc #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #actor imagine #shadowinger

[chiffon-and-spice]

(18+ MINORS DNI) He's A Violent Man, and His Heart's Decayed

Fic Inspo: April to Death

Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer x GN!Reader (18+)

A/N: I just want to say I do not condone this kind of relationship in any way, nor am I trying to glamorize abuse. This is just my take on how being in a relationship with Johnny would be. Fiction and reality are two very different things, and there will be triggering topics discussed in this fic. If you don’t like violence, this is definitely not the fic for you. 

Abuse Helpline: 800-799-7233 (if a phone call is unsafe here’s a safe website you can visit, you’re not alone and there are always other options.) 

Concept: You’ve walked down this road with Johnny so many times before, your feet have grown numb. At this point it’s hard to tell who’s crazier. 

TW: Abuse, violence, self-deprecation, mutual abuse, smoking, blood 

Content: Anal, rough sex, blood drinking? (idk if this should be a trigger warning or content…), voyeurism, masturbation, dom!Johnny, sub!reader 

A man beyond saving. So tormented, trained like a dog on a leash, he is unable to do anything differently than what he's taught. Despite all the pain, the anguish, the anger, Nancy is the only family he's ever known. The only family he'd ever get. Johnny had been given a shit hand, and these were the cards he had to play. And another, with so little regard for their own self-worth, seemed unable to care about being saved from him. 

You made your way up the familiar driveway, as you have done many times before. It was late, the moon barely a sliver in the sky, hiding behind a blanket of dark clouds. It didn’t matter how little you could see though, you knew this path like the back of your hand. Every little loose pebble, soft patch, and hidden crack or ladder. 

The outside of Nancy’s may look warm, inviting, with white picket fences and brightly colored flowers dancing almost peacefully through the wind. But you knew better. You knew about the horrors that lurked within those doors. You hadn't come here about that though. As long as you didn't bother the family, the family didn't bother you. 

Perhaps that made you just as bad as them, just as wrong and twisted. Any sane person would stay away, be terrified for their life. Ask for help for the many victims that had stumbled through. Then again, it was hard to be scared for something you had little regard for. What’s a little bit of murder?

The driveway and path were covered in a deep blue hue. The night air was somewhat chilly, though you seemed unbothered by the cold. Even without a jacket, no temperature could compete with the coldness Johnny handled you with. That was a chill you felt in your bones, that nestled into your chest and pricked at your heart like a thorn that couldn’t be shaken loose. 

So why were you making your way back? Every step made your feet feel heavy with lead, though a part of you also felt as if you were burning holes in the ground. 

You were in one of those angry moods, the scary ones where you were eerily calm. Every step is slow, quiet, across the gravel coated road. Calculated. You couldn’t recall if this walk was something you had done before or something you’d picked up from Johnny. 

Your gaze drifted up to the top window of Nancy’s house, studying where her room would be. The curtains, like usual, were closed shut. It was fairly late, and you hoped that meant she’d be fast asleep. She’d never been too fond of you seeing her Johnny. Part of you wondered if the only thing keeping her from murdering you was knowing you were just as capable of doing the same to her. She didn’t have the same control over you as she did Johnny. 

There was a part of you that felt almost… confident approaching Johnny's beat down shack. You had no weapons, no items but the clothes on your back, and yet there wasn’t much concern. No fear, as you raised your fist, pounding on the old shack door. 

There was a familiarity in the action, almost like you’d done it a million times before. Even with a door in your way, you could smell the place almost as if you were standing inside. Part of you had always wondered if you’d ever get used to it. It was unsettling that you didn’t even have a reaction anymore. It wasn’t even the blood that bothered you, that was nothing unfamiliar. It was the grime, the dust, the mold that all turned your stomach. The maggots that no doubt crawled around within its confines.  

You knew Johnny heard you, after a noise erupted inside. A few crunching cans on the other side and the low sound of rustling. Like someone was trying to let their presence be known, that they were intentionally ignoring whoever was outside. 

"Alright Johnny, come on out now, I ain't gonna be waitin’ out here forever!" you called out, your voice scarily calm.

Too many thoughts raced through your mind. Your foot impatiently tapped on the old rotted floorboards, arms crossed, while you stared narrowly at the door. The only sound you heard at first was the faint chirp of the crickets outside. 

It was pitch black, hard to see, though you knew the door had opened by the sound of it scraping across the floor. A familiar head slowly started to peak out, his dark eyes protruding from the doorway. There’s something unsettling about his smile, how his eyes scan over you, after he leans against the door frame. 

He had looked at you like that so many times before, like he’d somehow just won some game. Or was reading you, studying which parts of your body would result in those screams he’d been so fond of. His stance is tall, his eyes cold, while he leans against the door. 

The man smelled of cigarette smoke, sweat, and… something else you didn’t quite wish to discern. You wanted to scrunch your nose up, pretend the smell disgusted you as it should. Instead however it had an allure, something that drew you in. Probably because that smell was unique to Johnny. 

Like always the man was calculated, precise with his wording. His hands, which usually contained thick leather gloves, were bare, a cheap cigarette poking between the fingers of the hand that currently rested on the frame above his head. He laughed a little upon recognizing you, an almost wolfish glint in his eyes. The man was alert, like he’d been anticipating your arrival. Of course he had. 

You couldn’t help but study his other hand, which was wrapped tightly with white gauze. You remembered the blood, how it slowly poured down when you’d shoved your knife through his hand. The force he knocked you over with in response. It was a vicious cycle that should have told you both to back off. 

With how much you already knew about Johnny’s tactics, there was no need to draw you in. No need for him to practice his usual charm. Instead, he simply took a puff from the cigarette, blowing the cloud not too far from your face. 

“You’re back early. Did you not get enough?” 

Johnny’s tone was casual, carefree as if this was just another conversation. Anyone listening in might hear his words and assume he was talking about his body. You knew what he was referring to though, not forgetting the faint bruises he’d marked your skin with. The fresh cuts that littered your body. You only scoffed. “You’re calm for someone who ended up with a knife in their hand last time I showed up…” you replied just as casually. 

It was hard to believe that had only been a week ago. Then again, so many of your fights blended and blurred together. The black eye back in May, the broken ribs from June, the list could go on. In between you’d always managed to get a few good hits in yourself. No one had brought out that fire in you like he did.

The dark haired man took another drag from his cigarette, lips dried and thin, as his eyes darkened. Johnny stepped outside, a little closer, and perhaps in the past you’d have cowered away. Flinched. Winced at the anticipation. However this time, you simply stood, studying his fiery glare, almost daring him to come at you again. Not many walked away after a fight with Johnny, you were aware of this. You seemed to do it almost effortlessly though. 

The man was tall, could easily overpower you, which he had done quite a few times. You could never bring yourself to be entirely scared of him though. Not when Johnny treated you differently. Not after the many times he’d let you walk away. 

What unsettles you the most however, is the way his lips curve into a thin smile upon processing your words. He blows out a bit more smoke, dropping the cigarette carelessly on the wood and stomping it out. Despite it being so late, Johnny still wore one of his old tank tops, covered in whatever work he’d done that day. It’s too dark to tell if it’s sweat or blood. 

He made his way towards you, and the closer he got the more you could smell it on him. You didn’t cower though, only meeting his gaze with the same intensity. Perhaps this is why he was so drawn to you. Why he could never bring himself to finish you off. There’s an air of intrigue, confusion, in someone that isn’t scared of the dark things you do the way they should be. 

Johnny’s warm, exceptionally warm, and he raises his hand. You’re unsure whether to expect a smack or a caress. Both would be unsettling. You suppress a shiver, as he does the later, large fingers carefully running through your hair. You’d half expected him to be angry at you, but he’s just smiling. 

It should be comforting, warm. The kind of smile that would bring joy to your partner, while his fingers twist and slip through your hair. It’s the exact opposite of comforting though, almost too perfect of a smile. 

Johnny gently buries his nose in your hair, inhaling sharply. A normally tender gesture from most partners, but not from Johnny. 

“I’m sorry…” his voice is soft, a faint whisper, and it jumpstarts your heart every time. 

The words are gentle, stirring feelings inside of your chest you’d rather not think about. Your body melts and you feel warm in his arms. There’s also that tug though, that deep pain, that thorn shifting in your chest, because you know Johnny. Know him more than you’d care to admit. 

You merely shake your head gently in response, pressing your forehead into his chest. There’s a tiredness in your stance, and you don’t know whether you hurt more for yourself or the man in front of you. 

“I know you’re not… even if you want to be, you’re not. You’re incapable of feeling sympathy.” 

There was a bleak and tired look in your eyes as you spoke, staring at the ground. A hollow apology, that’s all it was. All you’d ever received. Maybe once, you had believed those words, tasted them on his tongue, when you’d rush in after with a feral kiss. Could feel it in the sheets, quick to forgive every rugged apology.  But after the first four times, it began to ring empty. You weren’t even sure why Johnny still said it anymore. 

It certainly wasn’t to make himself feel better, he was incapable of feeling guilty of anything he did. Johnny could be so hard to understand at points. 

You wished the man you’d met back in that bar all those months ago truly existed. The charming and charismatic guy who had pulled a chair out for you, offered to buy you a drink. Flashed you that tender smile, as he shared his sob story about being a poor farmer boy whose mother had been murdered. About having to support his family, often finding the bar to be the one place he could wind down. How he hadn’t recalled seeing a pretty thing like you ever in his life.

Johnny had been so kind those first few hours, managing to convince you to come home with him. He wasn’t quite aware of just who he was messing with however. It took about six minutes before you’d pulled a gun out on him and shot him in his arm. You could still see the scar now. 

Johnny thought he could pull a fast one on you, had pulled out a knife and talked about carving your bones out of your pretty little flesh. That was his mistake, so caught up in talk, in the soft seduction of it all. 

To his surprise though, you had come back, apologizing for the gunshot wound. Which then turned into the tidal wave that grew as your relationship. Johnny didn’t do labels, no, and you were lucky that you had even been allowed to come back. You knew you weren’t his lover or anything. Just thinking the word felt weird. It was more or less about ownership. 

Even if he did love you, it was in his own fucked up way, and he’d never see you as an equal. He’d made that pretty evident. Though there was something there, something that made Johnny look at you differently than his other victims. Perhaps it was the only form of love he knew, maybe part of him wanted to feel bad for the things he did, even if he was incapable of doing so. Maybe Johnny wanted to care, but couldn’t figure out how. 

Not that you were all that innocent either. Johnny wasn’t exactly your first rodeo of dealing with a guy like this. The cannibalistic thing was new for sure, but not the violence, and the yelling, and the inner destruction. Something about relationships like these got your heart jumping. You craved it. 

Probably because there was an allure to having something so dark and evil, so sadistic, treat you special. Not that it made you feel special in a good way, but Johnny did treat you differently..  

Johnny stood, tall and quiet for a moment, his hand dropping from your hair. His arms didn’t embrace you, as you pressed against him. He was like a statue, body warm, his chest not even moving. Part of you wondered if he was even breathing. 

“You’re the one that keeps coming back,” Johnny replied quietly, shoving you away from him. 

You half expected him to just lose it and pull out his knife. Twist it in your stomach and laugh about the whole ordeal. Staining your hands with red, as you try to push the blood back in. Kill you like he’d killed all the others. You weren’t sure why he didn’t try harder to kill you. No matter how intense the fighting got, Johnny always let you go. 

“You’re the one that always lets me walk away.” 

Johnny moved closer to you now, pinning you against the door. He had pulled out his knife in one swift motion, holding it under your chin. His eyes looked darker than usual, a snarl slipping from his lips. The movements are a reminder of just what he is. 

“Exactly that, I let you walk away. You only still live cause I allow it. What the hell are you even doing here anyway? Thought I told you last time I didn’t want to see your fucking face again.”   

You rolled your eyes, leaning into the knife a little, staring down at him through narrowed eyes. 

“And I told you, you don’t make decisions for me Johnny. I’m not going to be controlled like one of your little victims.” 

You both knew deep down it was practically impossible to keep apart. Even if you wanted to avoid Johnny, the man would hunt you down. Conveniently show up to a bar you lingered at or a store you were visiting. The worst reactions were the ones where you were with another man. 

No matter how bad things got, you could never truly get away and neither could he. There was a sick twisted part deep down that both of you wanted this, craved it. Maybe even needed it. 

Johnny presses the knife a little tighter against your neck, and you’re wondering why he hasn’t cut you yet. And for a moment you see a flash in his eyes, it’s faint, but it’s there. It’s that look that reminds you every time why you can never leave. As quickly as that sad look appears it’s gone, knife dropping, as he gives you a rough shove, moving you out of the doorway so he can open it. 

Johnny doesn’t slam the door shut, his way of telling you to come in. You recover a little, barely even feeling how his arms had knocked into you, as you stumbled into the beaten down little building. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust in the darkness.  

Like always, the smell is the first thing anyone notices. You can’t help but scrunch your nose up a little, wanting to cough and choke. It lingers in the back of your throat, stinging in your eyes. There’s several dirty dishes littering the counters and sink, the beer cans on the ground, his table filled with god only knows what, and his couch looked well worn, like someone had been laying down in it most of the day. 

Still though, it’s more a discomfort thing than something that puts you on edge. You don’t wander around like a scared dog, judgment lingering in your eyes. 

Johnny casually kicks his way through a few of the cans, swinging his fridge open. The inside of the fridge matches the room fairly well, a few flies buzzing around inside, as he reaches his hand in and grabs a can.

The environment is nothing new to you, and you slowly close the door, fully stepping inside. Johnny barely acknowledges your presence at first, throwing himself on the couch, and cracking his drink open. There’s no thought in his eyes, as he sits there, almost as if he’s alone, looking a million miles away.

Not uncommon for the dark haired man. The number of times Johnny’d just sit there, as if he was waiting for something. 

You frowned softly, sitting on the couch. You knew if your voice had even an ounce of sympathy it’d be enough to set the man off. Johnny didn’t want to be coddled. He “didn’t need your goddamn sympathy,” you recalled him saying, after he had spent one night bleakly talking about how he had gained his face scar. 

Johnny had been drunk, he usually was when he talked about stuff like that, and there was always a coldness to his voice. So casual as he spoke. Perhaps because this was his day to day life. 

“Why?” Johnny finally said, his voice unreadable. 

You stare for a minute, confused, as he remains staring ahead of you. At first you’re not even sure he’s talking about you, until he does turn. Johnny’s dark eyes are studying you, as if you’re the fucked up one here. 

“Why?” you repeat, as if saying his question will make it make more sense. 

There’s a hundred things he could be talking about and you wonder if it’s in reference to Nancy, his life, your life, or just a question he doesn’t understand. 

Johnny rolled his eyes, throwing the still pretty full can across the room. It hit the wall with a low thud, the amber liquid splattering all over the floor.  Like your confusion was so unreasonable. His voice is low, now snarling.

“Why do you keep coming back?” 

The man is on you in a matter of seconds, his hands firmly placed on your shoulders, squeezing, as he pushes you back into the couch. Johnny’s towering on top of you, and he’s looking down at you like there’s something he’s missed. Some part of you he hasn’t observed, that’ll magically make it all make sense to him.

Johnny was usually good at reading people, understanding what made them tick, what to do to see that fear in their eyes. He never saw that with you though. It drove him crazy how you were just as unpredictable as he was. Johnny couldn’t make you scared like the others.  “I could so easily kill you…” he continued, voice going quieter, while his hands moved from your shoulders to your neck. “Could just squeeze… apply the right pressure until your face goes blue.”

Johnny’s hands wrap around you, tightening their grip, but despite the aggression there’s an almost carefulness in how he handles you. A desperation, as he squeezes, just enough to cause pain. His eyes are piercing your own, almost looking, begging for a certain reaction, while you remain limp beneath him. 

Johnny groans, pressing you deeper into the couch, as his eyes narrow.

“And you don’t even bat a fucking eye.” 

While looking up at him, the determination in his face, the roughness in his grasp, it’s easy to see a monster. To think about what he’s capable of, the dangerous person he is. You can’t see that in Johnny though. His hands around your neck, his eyes hiding layers and years of pain, while he rests on top of you. All you can see is a broken man. The way he squeezed your neck, careful enough to not kill, told you he wasn’t all monster. There was something gentle in Johnny. Well, in his sense of the word.  

You know better than to try and fix him, not that he’d even want it. Not that you’d ever be able to. Instead you reached out, tenderly caressing the scars on his arm. As if your fingers could mend all the broken cracks within him. 

And he breaks… he softens his grip, shaking his head and flipping you on your stomach. Johnny’s hands aggressively grab your own, holding them behind your back, his voice quiet, as he whispers in your ear. His breath is hot and makes your whole world seem to freeze while he speaks. 

This was how he handled things when they got too intimate… too personal. 

“Is this what you came here for?” 

His voice sends chills down your spine, as you hear the soft clink of his belt. It didn’t matter what your intentions were, this was how things always ended up. And you hated how much of a rush it gave you. Your whole body quivering, as you felt the leather tighten around your wrists. 

Johnny’s heavy, his hands tracing along the curves of your body, voice still right on your ear, as he lets out a dark chuckle.

“That why you keep coming back? You can’t live without the feel of my hands pulling and grabbing at your body. Can’t get enough of the way my teeth dig into your flesh, while I claim every inch of you. Make you feel every inch of me.”

Johnny loved stroking his ego, but mostly he loved when you did it for him. The way your body was flush beneath his, as you nodded slowly, face still buried into the couch cushions. 

You couldn’t even focus on his words anymore, too wrapped up in the anticipation of him. How your skin already craved his touch, while he squeezed at your hips, pulling them back. His mouth had moved off your ear, biting roughly down the side of your neck.   

“Not so mouthy now are ya?” Johnny growled against your skin, hands slipping underneath your shirt. “That’s okay… I know how to make you talk.” 

His hands are uncomfortably hot, rough, and calloused, as he plays with your body. Squeezing your hips firmly, moving along your sides. He reaches your chest, thumb brushing along your nipples. Johnny knows all your sensitive spots, which parts hurt the most, as he explores you. Mapping out your body with his hands. 

Those same hands he’d used to kill people. There was a precise way in how he explored your body, knowing which ways to take you off guard. 

You let out a low moan, sensitive to his touch. Johnny’s hands are hungry, body heavy, as he presses on top of you, continuing to move his mouth aggressively along your neck. It’s evident he cares little about not hurting you, biting harsh enough to pierce the skin. The spot feels a little wet and it’s hard to tell where or how much blood is on your neck due to the wetness of his lips.  

Johnny’s warm tongue pokes out, caressing the flesh and cooling your new wound. His mouth is hot and a cloud of ecstasy is choking your brain. You can’t think straight, only whining slightly from the sensation. The noise seems to please the man, as he lets out a dark chuckle, hands moving to the front of your own pants. 

“Almost got a word out of you…” 

And this… this is why you can’t ever go away. Why you could never wish to be with anyone else. One fuck with Johnny, and he’d shown you things that no normal man… no normal person ever would. No sane person would be excited by it. Would be driven to the edge of this madness, pulling apart at the seams in a darker kind of pleasure. And if enjoying it meant you were just as fucked up then so be it. 

You could feel your own arousal pooling hot in your stomach, between your legs, heat spanning all throughout your flesh. Johnny’s shack being cramped with no ventilation didn’t help either. You could feel sweat already starting to form along your forehead and back. His bite made you moan tiredly, hands pulling on your restraints a little.

It was impossible to sit still with the way he nipped and tugged at your body. Johnny didn’t have a gentle bone in his body. No warning before anything he did. 

Maybe that was why sex with him was euphoric, different from the way anyone had ever treated you. It wasn’t just the degrading… the roughness, it was something darker. Something that turned your stomach in the sweetest of ways. Something he’d already told you. The thrill of putting your life in his hands, knowing he could kill you anytime if he wished. Of not knowing how he was going to end this. 

Johnny’s grip is harsh, pulling your pants down with little to no care, fingers brushing between the fabric and your skin. A tight squeeze that sends chills throughout your body. His voice is little more than quiet excited breaths. 

The man’s mouth moved off the small wound he’d made in your neck, trailing down your spine. The bites were still harsh, though you didn’t think he drew blood. Johnny was so unpredictable, you could never tell what he was thinking. What his intentions were. You could only close your eyes, quivering and getting lost in the sensation. His hands continued to hold your hips, rough and no doubt forming bruises.

There’s a familiarity in his touch. In the way his hot breath slides down your back, covering it in saliva. Every low grunt he makes sends your skin crawling. Bumps form along your forearms, the back of your neck, down your spine. Any and everywhere you had felt Johny before tingling in anticipation. 

Killing and fucking were an art to Johnny. A practice he believed needed time dedicated to it. Time to do things right. Not in the romantic sense. He wasn’t trying to make you comfortable. There was no checking in. It wasn’t about appreciating the act itself. It was about the thrill, the build up and anticipation of it all. The stalking before the blade bites into his victim’s skin. 

Johnny let out another rough snarl, teeth sinking into your lower hip. They’re sharp, rough, puncturing the skin once more, as you let out another low whine. Your body reacts before you can, quivering and trying to pull away. 

“Quit fuckin’ squirmin'’,” Johnny snaps, pushing your head down into the cushions once more. 

It’s softer than Johnny, and truth be told probably smelled a little nicer. Though that wasn’t entirely a big achievement. You tried to remain still, as his lips continued to suck on the sore patch of skin. You can’t see, but there’s a dark and sinister grin as he pulls away.

Your blood is running along his bottom lip, dark against his pale skin. The indentation of his teeth against your flesh, still warm, lingers like a ghost. It’s a faint buzz that makes you feel euphoric and it’s hot and cold all at once. Mind melted, twisted, as you heard the sound of his own belt being undone. Your stomach tightens in excitement, turning in the cushions to glance behind you. 

Johnny isn’t focused on looking at you, there’s no care, as he eagerly fiddles with his jeans. He's careless even with himself. The man’s dark hair is a mess, falling loosely over his eyes. When you can’t see them, he has the face of an angel. 

Soft cheekbones, pale and perfectly sculpted, a stark contrast to his sharp jawline. Johnny is beautiful. There’s no denying that. Like a snake. Scales slick, patterns captivating to the eye. You can’t help but want to reach out, touch it. One tender caress. Fingers slipping along his scales gently, tracing along the patterns as if you can understand just what they mean.

That’s all it takes, before the snake hisses, lunging forward. Teeth sink into your neck once more, pressing that venom into your skin. You can’t help but whine, feeling his hands pull on your hips. 

It’s painful at first, like something’s tearing through you, hands quivering in your restraints. Not that he cared. Johnny continued to fuck into you aggressively, hips rolling into your backside. His breath lingers on your neck like a bad scent, and you can feel the smile in his teeth imprints. 

“Quit being such a little bitch.” 

His hands are so tightly on your hips, you’re certain it’ll leave a bruise. You don’t care though. All you can focus on is how that pain rips into pleasure. How Johnny feels making you take every inch of him. His animalistic grunts, while he throbs against you. There’s such a force in his movements that results in your whole body lurching forward. 

Johnny’s noises are low, like he’s trying to keep himself quiet, as he moans to himself. Like he can’t contain the pleasure, as he needily bucks into you. Your hips match his every movement, his hands guiding them to do as he pleases. 

You know you’re in his control, and you want to hate it. His touch should feel dirty, his teeth rotten, but you can’t. You don’t. 

You can’t hate the hot white pleasure that’s coursing through your brains. How every little grunt rushes blood between your legs. How when Johnny fucks you it makes you whimper like a bitch tied up in the hot sun. There’s no doubt he knows what he’s doing, how to please you. 

“All that talk from before… talkin’ bout I don’t control you, you’re not one of my victims. Bullshit. You just roll over and take it while lying down. You like that though, don’tcha? You like that I own you?” 

Johnny was doing things to you that made your mind fuzzy. You nodded softly at his statement. He could read you like a book. His fingers knowing all the right pages to bend. Spine worn out from the many times he'd opened you up. Devoured you whole, learning every letter of every word that was etched across her skin.

The man could crack your bones, tear your ribcage open, and feast on your organs and you’d still fade from life proclaiming you died at home. That you’d felt warmth in his touch, as his fingers clawed away at you. That his tongue only licked with the intent of bringing you pleasure. His teeth tore at your flesh, consuming you, because he wanted all of you. Johnny wanted to gorge on the darkest parts you locked away in the confinements of your mind.

Your body is quivering, squishing, beneath his much bigger weight. Johnny’s chest, hot against your back, as his hands glide up along your hips. They expand, fingers curving around your torso, as he pulls your body up. 

Johnny’s large hands trace along the shape of your jaw, before grabbing it roughly, breath burning on the shell of your ear. The hand that isn’t grabbing your face is squeezing your waist, and Johnny’s ramming into you, deep and quick, as if it’s all that’s keeping him alive. His teeth clamp around your ear, another low growl slipping past his lips. 

Then Johnny pulls his head away. There’s a lot on your face and you can’t tell if he’s become bored or impatient. The man turns you, until you’re facing him., a dark look in his eyes. 

You can see a reflection of your own face, cheeks warm with arousal, eyes watering from tears pricking your eyes, and mouth slightly open to let out another low whine. Johnny hits that particularly sensitive spot in you, knowing just how hard to go.

Your body quivers all over in response, and you go lightheaded for a moment. His erratic movements, the way his hands moved along your body, and his teeth still marking your flesh. It’s all enough to make you feel like you’re about to pop like a cork bottle. 

His thumb brushes along your bottom lip, prying your mouth open, as he groans. Johnny’s brows furrow a little, focusing, as he thrusts. His eyes close, and for a moment he almost looks pained. You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. What memory he’s distracting himself from now by burying his cock deep within the confines of you. 

As quickly as it starts however, it’s gone, and Johnny’s face returns to that hard look, eyeing you down. Looking into his face while he fucked you was something that he’d rarely give you the pleasure. 

You study him, as if you can read what’s going on in his mind. Like you can make sense of Johnny’s actions. He’s a lot more open tonight than most, and for a moment you can even see a glimpse of pleasure in his own eyes. Cheeks flushing a little, before Johnny exhales quietly. 

“Quit fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that or I’m gonna turn ya back over,” Johnny snarls. 

Your expression quickly drops, while he fucks the concern off your face. It’s all you can focus on, as he pumps into you. You glare at him once more, body squirming, as you try to speak around the pleasure.

“Like what? I was just thinking about how good you’d look with a bullet in the back of your head.”

Johnny aggressively juts his hips into you, fingers curling around your jaw, as he grabs it, forcing you to be eye level with him. You’re worried for a moment you’ve gone too far, but there’s a gleam in his eyes. He lets out one of those low chuckles, before kissing you. 

His tongue worms into your mouth, teeth grazing your bottom lip, as he swallows every noise escaping your mouth. The taste of Johnny should make your skin crawl. His breath was awful, tainted with alcohol, blood, and whatever else he’d probably put in his mouth throughout the day. You can’t bring yourself to feel discomfort though. It’s like you’re seeing stars, his movements sending your body upwards, fingers curling tightly around the confines of your belt.

You want so desperately to drag your claws down his back. To mark Johnny the same way that he marked you. You whined a little at the thought, wiggling in your restraints. It’s all too much, and you feel so close. Your thighs quiver a little, unsure how much longer you can hold on.

Johnny smiles once again, pulling away. He can read your body, while his chest presses against you. Johnny’s movements slow, a dark smirk on his face. 

You can never understand how he has such good control. How he doesn’t burst, no matter how intensely the sessions get. Johnny seems so pleased with himself, pulling all the way out, and gently teasing you. Dangling that sweet release ever so close. 

“I’m not so sure if I want to finish you now…” 

“I’ll finish myself,” you snarl back, half tempted to reach down and push him in you yourself.

Damn restraints.

Johnny’s eyes narrow in response, rolling his eyes. His body continues to tower over you, but he’s smiling. Grinning. Like he knows something you don’t. Johnny’s hand moves from your jaw to your neck, running his thumb along a scar there and smiling at the memory. 

“I’d like to see you try,” Johnny chuckled darkly. 

Then as if to further prove his point, Johnny removes his hands completely off his body, sitting back. He leans against the arm of the couch, his body sprawled out. You study him, watching as Johnny brings his hand to his cock, gently massaging it. His fingers slip along the underside of it, touching it with a sense of familiarity. 

“Me though… I can finish myself just fine.” 

His words on taunting, while he continues to squeeze, his large hands easily wrapping around his length. Johnny fucks into his fist like he’s done a million times before, leaning his head back and groaning softly. 

“Johnny!”

You can’t hide the desperation in your voice. The frustration as your own body now remains untouched. There’s a fire coursing through your body, as you squirm once again on the couch. It didn’t help that watching the man play with himself made your insides tingle. There was something so hot… so tempting… in watching how he twitched in his hand. How Johnny’s cock responded to every little touch he did. 

The man wasn’t sensitive by any means, but if you knew the right buttons to push. Johnny let out another low moan, still not paying you any mind. 

“I’m almost there sweetheart.” 

You chewed your bottom lip, frowning a little, as a low whimper escaped your lips once again. 

“Please…” 

Johnny smirks a little, his grip around himself loosening, as he opens one eye. Like he’d just won some sort of game. Then he lets go of himself, creeping back towards you. 

“Please what?” Johnny asks softly, his voice low, as his hand moves down, fingers gently toying with you. 

Part of you wants to laugh. Your comment about shooting him actually had gotten under his skin. Upset him. You knew Johnny well enough to know the thought of not needing him to get off pissed him off more than anything. He was desperate for that confirmation. It would’ve been cute, had Johnny not been a narcissistic cannibal. 

“Please… I wanna cum,” you finally caved, staring up at him. “Need you to make me cum.” 

Johnny doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even give a satisfactory smile, before slipping back into you. He’s quick, movements needy and desperate, while he grinds against your backside. The way his body responds, how quickly and deeply he’s moving into you tells you he wasn’t kidding. 

Johnny had really worked himself up while fucking his hand. 

Not that it mattered though, you were close to, feeling your stomach tighten into hot coils, while a rush of heat slipped through your body. It all felt better the second time, already used to his size. Your body was his for sculpting, as you moaned once more, closing your eyes. 

“Ngh… Johnny… Fuck Johnny I-!” you’re cut off from your own pleasure, as your orgasm tears through your body. 

It’s practically impossible to sit still, quivering beneath his body. Johnny’s free hand clamps over your mouth, as if he can prevent your release, while bucking into you with a desperate thrust. His own eyes close, voice turning into a series of low grunts. 

“Ahhh…” Johnny whispers quietly, feeling your release slip out, coating his stomach. 

That alone seems to be enough to send him over the edge. Johnny stays buried, as his cock twitches within you. Ropes of sticky white cum shoot out, flooding your senses. That doesn’t stop him from sloppily thrusting into you though, moaning softly, while his hand still covers your own mouth. 

There’s something animalistic in his release, holding himself in you for a little longer, until he’s no longer twitching. Then Johnny pulls out, cum spilling on the already stained couch. 

His grip loosens, hand falling off your mouth, as he catches his breath. You come down from the high yourself, gasping, as you study him. Johnny’s eyes are blank, as he slides off the couch, retrieving his pants. You half expect him to dismiss you, tell you to go home. 

Instead however, he undoes the belt on your wrists, saying nothing. Johnny slips his shirt off, making his way to the back of the shack, where his bed remained.

You sat there for a moment in your post orgasmic haze, picking up his shirt that he had thrown carelessly on the ground. You can’t help but sniff it softly, smiling, as you pull it over your head. Then you follow Johnny, watching as he’s laid, stomach first in bed. 

You wonder if he’s asleep for a moment, but he seems to sense your presence, shifting in his bed. Johnny doesn’t turn his head to look at you though. 

“The fuck you lookin’ at?”

You never expected tenderness or praise after your activities. Hell, even the silence wasn’t anything new. It was not being immediately kicked out after that had your head turning. You stepped forward cautiously, crawling into the bed. Testing the waters. 

Johnny doesn’t speak again. 

You settle beneath the covers, wishing so desperately you could read his mind. Could hear what he was thinking. You’re surprised when he stretches his left hand out a little, turning it over to reveal his palm. You study it, expecting a knife to grow out of it. Or for Johnny to use the moment where you’re caught off guard to pull a knife out. 

You hesitantly reach out, pressing one finger lightly into it at first, before flattening your whole hand. You’re surprised when his fingers curl around your hand, and not in a way where the grip is overbearing. You study him, not wanting to ruin the moment, as you settle in the sheets.

As quickly as you hold his hand, Johnny seems to drift off, his snores light and quiet. He looks peaceful in his sleep, and it’s hard to imagine this man as a cold and calculated killer. 

#johnny sawyer #johnny sawyer x reader #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter #texas chainsaw massacre game #johnny sawyer x you #johnny slaughter x you #tcm #tcm game #texas chainsaw game

[daryljdugdale]

It’s nearly a year !

A year ago, it was impossible for me to know how I would feel today. Part of me wondered if the pain of losing my sole-mate would be still be as raw as the day I lost him. Another part of me wondered if I’d be fully healed and back to my normal self. I’d never lost someone I loved so much before, and I had no idea what to expect. Now that it’s only a few weeks until I said goodbye, I’d like to share my thoughts. In those earliest days, there was a certain numbness that kept me going although there was tears I was far from stoic. The grief threatened to engulf me, and I let it out. I still do at times. Over time I adapted to being by myself by being busy . There have been days when I’d have to take breaks to deal with sudden bursts of devastation and self check my reality. This week has been very hard and I have felt very alone although my children have kept me sane by reaching out. I also found a bit of power washing and a trip to the supermarket to buy food for a family meal and a few nights in the camper helped.Almost a year since I kissed him goodbye and I definitely wouldn’t say that the numbness and anger are gone. People seem to expect some magical healing to happen after that first anniversary of a death, and for some it does, but it's not going to be that for me. I have times when I am coping and living for sure and find enjoyment and purpose but then it hits me out of the blue and I feel more anxious, enraged and sad. I’m realising that I’m still angry about some of the things that happened around the time of his death, and I’m not sure that will ever fully go away.  For months, it was as though I was walking around in a fog. It kept me from seeing clearly or thinking straight. Now that it’s lifted, reality has set in and I’m finding a new normal. Rather than stabbing, searing pain, my grief is similar to that dull ache you have on ageing aching leg and you have to realise it will always be there. At times when you have over done it the pain is intense and the flare ups are really difficult to handle.

When Daz first died, the first thing I thought was, “How can I live without him? How can the world continue to exist if he’s gone?” It was so hard for me to believe that, despite the fact that this beautiful human being had left the Earth, nothing changed. The world kept on spinning without him. The children blossom and friends are doing the things me and Daryl did. That was surprisingly hard for me to grasp. I did have the same feelings when Pat my mum died but I had Daryl’s support so I navigated it better. Now, instead of wondering how I could ever go on, I’m terrified that I’m forgetting him. It’s a great fear. When I tell a story from his life, the details that used to feel so sharp are getting fuzzy. I’m horrified by the idea of misquoting him or getting something wrong. Sometimes, I think I’ll just need to call Daryl to tell him I have been camping or seen a film — and then I remember. There will be no more phone calls. His legacy lives in my imperfect, forgetful mind and there’s a pressure to not mess It up. While I’ve accepted that I’ll never be able to hug or talk to him again, there are many times when, out of the corner of my eye, I’ll wonder if he is there. I worry about broken relationships and Daryl’s celebration of life party brought together some key people and I loved it but there were absences that I need to accept . Sometimes, the person who died was the one thing holding everyone together. After they’re gone, people might scatter. I find this hard but I need to accept this. In my personal experience, grieving my husband has resurrected many of my buried pains. I’m dealing with emotional baggage that I’d forgotten even existed because Daryl supported me. Regardless of whether or not there’s drama relationships change. It’s incredible how petty we can become when we’re in pain and alone. My therapist thinks I have a complicated grief ? Isn’t it always ? The theory suggests “some people who are taking care of a loved one with a long-term illness, complicated grief can actually start while their loved One is still alive.” I agree I was grieving when Daryl was diagnosed and especially this time last year when he was so sick. I suffered great trauma.I do I guess have some of the symptoms associated with complicated grief including continued emotional disbelief that this has happened. I have become this week terribly preoccupied with the details of the death and re think it continually. I feel intense emotional pain and sorrow, sometimes with anger and bitterness and want to be with him ( not acting on this of course). I am struggling remembering the good times and am feeling very isolated from people. I struggle to see my future and yearn for Daz day and night and feel loss of purpose. There’s absolutely no shame in feeling this way and I know this will pass as I have turned the corner before. I have opened up with the kids and do get group and individual support. Daryl would want me to live my life to the fullest. It’s one of the best ways we can honour his memory and for this reason on the anniversary of his death I will go to a festival. I will sit in a field and look at the sky remembering when we were the most happiest. I am finding a new normal as I know how much I cry the tears will not bring him back Gradually, though, acceptance is setting in and I’m realising that, yes, this is real and I am learning to process the changes to who I am as a person and what my life now looks like. Reminders can be hard, but it’s important to find ways of coping in those moments. Sometimes I get teary-eyed and sometimes I’m okay. Either way, I don’t judge myself for how I cope. I’m doing the best I can to get through each day.

I’m not sure what the future holds, but I know that I’ll always miss my Dazzerman. There is no expiration date on grief, and I’m learning to navigate these choppy waters without shame or pressuring myself to speed through the process. Thank you to all who’ve reached out and shown support over this past year. Words can never explain how much it’s meant. I just need to know you are there especially right now. Tracey xxx

[elvesofnoldor]

.

#mae overshares #i went to bed at around 3am and woke up at 7am. and i thought abt t//soa and i got really sad and i couldn't fall back to sleep again #im not supposed to feel this restless and awake with only three hours of sleep to show for #it was like going to bed with a sniffle and running nose. hoping it'd go away and wake up with a throbbing sore throat instead #next time i read a sad story again im not doing it alone. i gotta get it out of the system before it festers like this #but since ive done it alone. now im on tumblr dot com again. acting like a depressed clown of very little talents with words #i just...i had hope it wasn't going to be this bad. like. i knew the story of achilles and patroclus. it was common knowledge #and while i was still early on the story. when they were still at chiron's rose quartz cave. i kept telling myself 'remember they had this' #not everyone gets to grow up and live the most content and simple life with the love of your life. and they had that. and thats enough #what happened after this. is just life. with the mistakes. regrets and losses it will inevitably bring to them. as it did to everyone else #and it STILL hurt like a motherfucker when i read to the end of the novel. i feel very silly. it's a YA novel. doesnt seem to be worth it #there is so much i want to talk about in regards to the story. in regards to achilles' pride and selfishness #and how he's the real culprit behind his love's death. and how it is that knowledge and the pain it produces that drove him to madness #no sane person can handle so much pain and so much anger. it had to go somewhere. so it went to hector. it was pitiful #sure. grief is love preserving. but it will never explode the way achilles' did had it not been mixed with guilt #but anyways. it's been said a thousands times over. by other people. probably. i wouldn't elaborate further. nobody is reading anyways #i actually started reading t//soa because i couldn't keep reading lotr trilogy. that's what ive come to say. actually #now that everybody's stopped reading i can say it. im more embarrassed by the fact that i was not enjoying lotr #than i am by the fact that im emotionally devastated over a YA novel. im supposed to be tolkien fan #but you know what i love most about the stories tolkien produced? the legends left only in sketches and few lines of words #the ones left only in few broken manuscripts. in verses of lays of beleriand. in few lines of scribbled words. the elder days #as a child i always loved high tales. when i got annoyed at greek gods' cruelty and selfishness that's around the time i turned tolkien #the hobbits and their quaint way of life are fine. but they live in a time where all the tales i cared about are in the distant past #i just picked up t//soa at a time when i wanted a story like it. taking the matter of ancient songs and legends and make it flesh and blood #there are several tolkien fics i had in the planning stage. but the reasons i wanted to write them is because i want stories like t//soa #sure reading t//soa also inspired me to make improvements to my own story idea. it always happened when i read a story i really like #i started daydreaming my own manuscript. i instinctually started to imitate the style and the voice of the author #idk. maybe this time something substantial will come out of it. eventually.

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

Yayy! Requests from one of my fave writers are open💕💕💕

Soo, I’ve had this fic idea for quite some time in my mind and it could be interesting. I would love to see a Dazai x Fem!Reader where the reader is a new member of the agency and have been work partners for quite some time with Dazai. The reader feels insecure because Dazai doesn't do his usual flirty stuff to her, but that's only because Dazai doesn't know how to deal with the feeling of real love, and one day, they have a painful talk about it (which starts with the reader confronting him about this when he asks what’s wrong, maybe?)- I would love for this to go from angst to fluff, thank you so much 💔💕

Awwww! I'm a favorite writer of yours! Thank you for such a generous compliment!

My belladonna |Dazai x Female Reader|

Warnings: dazai’s typical thoughts, long fic

Words: 2,385

I worked hard on this one, so I hope you like it. The fluff does take a bit but I assure you the fluff at the end is worth the angst!

Love, a humane concept many never give a second thought towards. What is love exactly? Is it the feeling of being happy which is caused by another? Then what separates love from a deep underlying friendship? Is it the fluttering tightness in your chest? Could it be the sweat and discomfort that forms near somebody you supposedly love? Was love only something a sane person who understands the meaning behind being human can feel and understand? Love raises so many questions it’s better to ignore all contact, to avoid anything that could lead to falling deeper. 

Dazai had never put so much of his mind's capabilities onto a feeling before. He’d never wondered what love meant. His eyes stared off beyond the clouds as he thought about his recent missions with her. She was always so different from the other women he knew or had met over the years. The way she made her presence known in the room, or how her body seemed to be the last thing he noticed. That was important, at least when looking at Dazai. Dazai was not a man of the gentlemen variety. He actually rather impolite, some could say disgusting. He was, after all, a womanizer. It was no unknown fact he slept around, flirted, and even treated women with disrespect. Yet here she was, the newest member of the agency, his current partner. He could hardly glance her way without being star-struck. His eyes would nearly reflect the look of a teenage boy lost in a fantasy. He imagined what her voice would sound like, saying I love you, thank you, you're welcome. He imagined what goodbye embraces and welcome back embraces would feel like. Imagined her kindness, pointed and focused on him. All of this made him confused, he’d never been here before. Nobody in all his miserable years had ever strayed his thoughts to such territory. To avoid confronting the feelings that may or may not spook him, he ignored her. He treated her like he would any other co-worker. He never once asked her his questions of the suicidal manor. He never once flirted with her, he hardly talked to her.

You grew to notice these things over time. The way he avoided you; like you were some disaster waiting to happen. The way he flirted with almost every other woman besides you. Every time you worked by his side, the pain only increased. The thud of your own heart kept you from falling over the pain. Every time he glanced another's way, felt like another dagger stabbed to your side. Thoughts of what if’s eventually circled within your head. Asking yourself if you had done something to insult him. Even his coworkers couldn’t give you a solid answer to Dazai’s behavior. No matter what you did for him, he never seemed to show an ounce of care in your direction. He didn’t touch the gifts you gave him, no matter what they were. Even if they were tips on his little obsession with suicide, he ignored them. He couldn’t face you in person either. Unless you worked together, he hardly spoke to you. 

Like any sane person, you couldn’t handle it anymore. A confrontation was called for.

~

Beneath the moonlight, as the hours of the agency closed and Dazai stayed behind, you fell back to have privacy with him. Even as the others left and bid you good luck with confronting him, you stayed put. It wasn’t that Dazai stayed late to work, he stayed late to make sure everything was alright with the agency, and to grab any leftover coffee/food from the day. He hadn’t expected to run into you as he attempted to leave with a few bags of collected things, stolen things. The moonlight glimmered against your reflection, illuminating your every feature. His eyes instantly darted from you to the door. Unsure how to respond, he let the atmosphere settle in, despite the awkwardness. “We need to talk.” Your voice despite the slight aggravation was more than angelic to him.

Putting on a smile, he raised a brow to play off the thudding pound of his heart. “Oh? We do, did something come up?” he sounded almost nervous, but he masked it enough to hide it from you.

Another silence folded over the two. With every moment, Dazai became less and less comfortable. Being in her presence was enough to send his mind whirling with confusing thoughts again. Her own nerves were starting to act up. Having to hold her hands behind her back as she fidgeted. Within the dimly lit room, illuminated by a few lights and the moon, they stood. Neither of them spoke, afraid of what came after the silence.

That was until your voice picked up from the silence. Shattering it with a soft echo. Speaking with a meek voice, you asked Dazai about his recent behavior with you. “Do you hate me?” The words slipped with ease, but hurt to speak. Afraid, he'll choke on his answer and tell you that you had done something to harm his ego, or that he didn’t find you interesting.

Dazai’s hands slid into his pockets, clenching together tightly. “No, why would you think I hate you?” he spoke clearly with no hint of nervous hesitation or lies. Yet, you could not believe him. Within his body language, the lack of eye contact, the unsure tilt of the head, the slip of his hands to his pockets, it all told you he was hiding something. 

Exhaling as calmly as you could to calm your nervous chatter, you spoke up again. “Look at me then.” You hissed the words, your own eyes darting to look away from him.

Dazai froze before his head slowly shook. “I can’t,” he mumbled. His voice losing the usual confident, cocky tone as he spoke. There was no childish intent, no cocky extent, no humor to his voice. It was bland with nervous fear.

“Because you don’t like me.” Saying the words out loud made the knives that struck through turn into poisonous bullets. Each word, each realization had the initial sting of a bullet, but left a thudding emptiness, the poison.

“I don't,” he whispered. Though his voice cracked in a waiver. His breathing unsteady to match your own rapid breaths. His heart pounded with a fear he’d never felt before. His heart, his mind, it was still too confusing. He didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend this feeling.

“Yes, you do! You treat every other woman the same! I wouldn’t mind if you just… if you just didn’t flirt, but you… you won’t even look at me!” with every pause and stutter, the pain grew. With every pause, your voice picked up. The ocean of emotion you had left untouched and sealed, starting to unravel and make sense. 

“... I…” Dazai had no reply to your words. His head screamed at him to reach out and grab hold of you. To drop down and do as he always did. Another half of him told him to pull something else. To pull out a gift and woo you with flowers and soft praises. He didn’t understand how to truly appreciate this feeling or how to acknowledge it. He wants so much revolving around you, but he didn’t know what to do. Not even his words could form a snarky comeback or an excuse. He couldn’t pull the usual words like, you’re just too stunning to look at. 

Watching his silence, and the only word he spit be a single vowel, you shook your head. The emotional fire within your chest letting go. You turned towards the door rather dramatically. Your hand grasping the handle in a swift motion. “You’re a selfish bastard Dazai. You’re a selfish bastard. Letting women fall in love only to rip their hearts from their chests. I knew you were one of those men, yet I still… I still gave it to you.” Dropping the anger and the loudness of your voice you spoke softly. With slight drips of venom being used to cover the pain consuming you.

He watched her pull the door open in one single movement. His eyes traced her movements as the door slammed. The words she spoke took what felt like millennia to make sense. He kept trying to make sense of her words, he didn’t understand any of them. He couldn’t until he took into thought his own heart. He stopped trying to make sense, and rather let his heart make sense of it. Understanding human emotions, understanding what made humans… Well, humans, was never his forte. Not a second later, his eyes shot wide and his lips parted with shock. A new thought he’d never understand crossing his restless mind. “Why, why would she love me?” he shook away the thought, reaching for the handle of the door and flinging it open. Never in his life had he been the one doing the chase, yet here he was doing just that. His feet carried him down the stairs and out of the building. The slow patter of the rain provides a dramatic splatter when his feet hit the cold cement. His breaths formed white puffs of air as he skidded to a stop. Thinking back to missions, recalling the sentences he’d tried to ignore. The things about her he tried to ignore. The invitations to walk. The way she came up behind him, trying to interact while he ignored her. Without having to recall much, his feet swerved to the left and ran. His feet slid here and there over the slippery gravel, the mud, and sharp turns. His gut led him instead of his mind. For once, he was trusting his instincts. The park his heart shouted. The first time he’d truly fallen for her, the smile she gave him on her first day. It was love at first sight. Love, admitting it was really such a humane feeling was terrifying. Yes, he’d always wanted to understand humanity, but starting with something that could end in flames or bliss... was no more terrifying than standing over the ledge of a cliff. 

As your feet came to a sudden halt, you found yourself at the park. Remembering the way he looked and acted when you first joined brought more water to gather along with the rain. Slipping down onto the bench, covered with the sky's tears, you curled your legs into your chest. Burying your face into your knees, you swore to yourself this wouldn’t happen again. You had been a fool, hadn't you? A fool to love a man like Dazai. Somebody obsessed with suicide and willing to flirt with every woman his eyes caught. Slowly, the rain began to pick up its pace. The moon reflected in puddles where the mud could no longer soak up its water.

He searched the area for a while despite the quickening pace of the rain. As his eyes settled against your drenched form, the way you cuddled against yourself, his heart cracked. His arms slipped from his jacket despite it being somewhat wet. While he was nervous, he snuck up behind you and rested his coat on your shoulders. He took a seat at the other end of the bench. Pulling his knees to his chest, he decided to finally share why he’d been so distant and a jerk towards you. “I was scared. I ignored, avoided, and pretended to not notice you because I was afraid.” Your glance was doubtful, after all, when was he ever scared of something? “Doubting me? I get why, I'm never scared, that's what you think right?" there was a small nod from your head, but it caused him to sigh. “I do get scared, emotions scare me. Feeling human, it’s what I want, I want to understand what it is to be human, but starting out with this… it’s terrifying.” Watching as you didn’t respond but look away, he let out a frustrated groan.

“Just, leave me alone Dazai.” Your whispers hurt. The pain reflected in your words hurt more than any wound he’d ever found himself inflicted with. He hated pain and suffering, and that’s what this was.

“I can’t, I won’t not anymore. I… fuck, I don’t understand it. I don’t… it’s hard to admit things like this belladonna… I fell in love. I don’t know how to deal with whatever this is!” His words came rushed and panicked. His hands found their way into his hair, tangling with the drenched locks. Thunder thudded softly in the sky as lightning crackled. 

Your hand reached your eyes as you shook your head. “Please, please stop it. Don’t call me that! You don’t mean it. Stop trying to just make yourself feel better.” You whispered the words again until he forcefully brought your head to meet his chest. He held you tightly, running his hand over your back as he rocked back and forth. 

“I’m not lying, not playing games. You’re amazing in every way possible. I still can’t understand why you'd like me.” Dazai whispered the words next to your ear. Holding you within the rain until your body stopped its trembles. What you did next shocked him more than any action that went outside his predictions did. Your lips planted themselves on his. At first, it seemed you were unsure about this. He didn’t kiss back at first, when he made his mind up, it was too late. You had pulled away ready to collect excuses. Before your lips could part with said excuses, his hands moved and cupped your face. His lips came crashing down on yours. He’d never felt this before, a spark, a real feeling in a kiss. When the two of you needed air, he moved away with a slight smile. “We should… get out of the rain before we both catch a cold.”

Blushing you tugged on the fabric of his clothes, telling him to lift you. “Yeah, we should, Kunikida would kill us both if we get sick.” You chuckled lightly, sniffling as Dazai lifted you into his arms. 

“Remind me where your place is again?” with a snicker, you told him the address and allowed yourself to drift off to sleep while he carried you. “I love you, belladonna.”

#bsd #bsd x reader #bsd fic #bsd x reader fic #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs fic #bungo stray dogs x reader fic #dazai #dazai fic #dazai x reader #dazai x reader fic #dazai angst #dazai fluff #dazai angst to fluff #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai x female reader #dazai x femreader #dazai x fem reader #dazai x fem!reader #dazai sngst to fluff x reader #dazai fluff x reader #dazai x reader fluff #i'm adding random tags becuase i worked hella hard and dont want this to flop

[no--envies]

Nightless City – An analysis of Wei Wuxian’s accountability

I’ve come across several takes about the bloodbath of Nightless City that don’t really sit well with me. Some people say Wei Wuxian is totally to blame, others that he’s totally blameless, and I personally disagree with both. I think that, like in many other events in the novel, what really happened is more complex.

(All the translations are by Exiled Rebels Scanlations)

First of all, the text shows us that Wei Wuxian wasn’t completely clear-headed even before going to Nightless City, which is normal considering what he was going through. His whole world had crumbled in just a few hours. Everything he’d done until that moment – the sacrifices he had made for what he believed was right – appeared to be for nothing. He ended up hurting the people most dear to him, and he couldn’t even protect those he had wanted to protect. When he could move again after the three days he spent in the cave immobilized by Wen Qing’s needle, for a while he didn’t even know what to do or where to go.

After he got down the mountain, he stood amid the bushes, catching his breath. Bent down, he propped his hands against his knees for a long while before he stood up straight again. Yet, looking at the wild grasses that covered many of the mountain paths, he didn’t know where to go.

Burial Mound—he’d just gone down from there.

Lotus Pier—he hadn’t been back in over a year.

Koi Tower? Three days had passed already. If he went now, it was likely that Wen Qing’s corpse and Wen Ning’s ashes were the only things left.

He stood blankly. Suddenly, he felt that the world had no place for him, despite how large it was. He didn’t know what to do either.

(Chapter 77)

It’s rare to see Wei Wuxian so utterly lost and miserable. What happened was too much for even someone like him – who always tends to look at the bright side of any situation – to be able to deal with it. Since he doesn’t know where else to go, he decides to go to Koi Tower to retrieve the Wen siblings’ ashes, but he doesn’t manage to do anything before he’s discovered and forced to flee. He wanders without purpose for a long time until he arrives at a city gate where he hears a group of cultivators talking about him with contempt, which triggers his anger.

The longer Wei WuXian listened, the colder his expression grew.

He should’ve understood long ago. No matter what he did, not a single good word would come out of these people’s mouths. When he won, others feared; when he lost, others rejoiced.

He was cultivating the crooked path either way, so what exactly did the years of persistence mean? What exactly were they for?

However, the colder his eyes were, the brighter the raging fire within his heart burned.

(Chapter 77)

We see him come to a very bitter realization: no matter his noble intentions and moral integrity, everyone has already made up their mind about him, he would be made into a villain no matter what he does. Before what happened at Qiongqi Path he had managed to keep a positive mindset, since he was doing fine in the Burial Mounds with the Wen remnants. It wasn’t an easy life, but they were safe, they didn’t starve and Wei Wuxian was free to focus on his research and inventions in peace, creating the Compass of Evil and the Spirit-Attraction Flag. He missed his family, but he also found another one. He had people who loved him and valued him, and whom he loved and valued in turn. All in all, he was content. He thought that as long as he didn’t actively seek trouble, the world would leave him alone. But he was wrong. Jin Zixun ambushed him accusing him of something he didn’t do, and everything spiraled down so quickly he couldn’t do anything to prevent it, until he lost control of his demonic cultivation and killed Jin Zixuan.

In this moment, Wei Wuxian feels completely alone. The Wen siblings are gone, his beloved shijie might hate him for killing her husband and the cultivation world as a whole can’t wait to besiege him. If it had been another time, he wouldn’t have beaten up those random cultivators. It’s not like it was the first time he heard awful rumors about himself. The fact that he reacts so violently here says a lot about the state of mind he’s in. Wei Wuxian is clearly looking for a way to vent his anger, so he takes it out on the cultivators who are speaking ill of him. His rage is justified: not only were they saying malicious things about him without even knowing the full story, but they were doing it cowardly behind his back. However, his reaction is somewhat disproportionate to their offense: one of them gets kicked in the face until he passes out from the pain, while another gets his legs broken for daring to speak up. Although he doesn’t kill them, he does terrorize them and in the end he leaves them there immobilized by the spirits he had summoned (if Lan Wangji hadn’t been looking for Wei Wuxian, who knows how long they would have had to wait to be freed).

After this, Wei Wuxian sees the announcement of the pledge conference and goes to Nightless City. I’ve seen people argue that he was only trying to protect the Wen remnants and that the people who were there had already pledged to kill him, so it was self-defense. But is it really the case? Personally, I don’t think what he did was self-defense. Sure, he tried to discuss first and didn’t attack until he was attacked, but defending himself and the Wen remnants wasn’t the main reason he was there in the first place.

The crowd flung curses at him, but Wei WuXian accepted all of them.

Anger was the only thing that could suppress the other feelings within his heart.

(Chapter 78)

All of his pain, desperation and guilt were too much to handle at once, so he tried to suppress them all with anger, and directed that anger at the people who hated him. Wei Wuxian didn’t go to the pledge conference to try to prevent the siege from happening (since he thought it wouldn’t change anything anyway) or to weaken the Sects’ forces. He went there to vent his anger and frustration. Wei Wuxian is not clear-headed here, as highlighted by this passage:

Wei WuXian spun around to dodge the attack and laughed, “Fine, fine. I knew since the start that we’d have to fight a real fight like this one sooner or later. You’ve always found me disagreeable no matter what. Come on!”

Hearing this, Lan WangJi’s movements paused, “Wei Ying!”

Although he shouted the words, any sane person would be able to tell that Lan WangJi’s voice was clearly shaking. However, right now, Wei WuXian had already lost his judgement. He was already half-mad, half-unconscious. All evil was being augmented by him. He felt that everyone loathed him and he loathed everyone as well. He wouldn’t be scared no matter who came at him. It wouldn’t matter no matter who came at him. It was all the same anyway.

(Chapter 78)

In this moment Wei Wuxian believes everyone hates him and there’s no use trying to convince them otherwise – there’s no use trying to reason with them in a diplomatic way because no matter what he says or does, his words will be twisted to fit the opinions of the crowd. He almost welcomes the attack because this way he can attack them back and vent all his pent-up anger. Wei Wuxian is not behaving like his usual self here. He can’t see Lan Wangji isn’t trying to hurt him because his mind is not lucid. This is why he loses control of his demonic cultivation for the second time, injuring Jiang Yanli.

His shijie is the only one who manages to calm him down a little despite his chaotic state of mind. He manages to stop the corpses from attacking everyone and waits for her to tell him what she thinks of him, if she forgives him or not. However, she dies to save his life before being able to say anything, and the whole situation becomes simply too much for him to bear. All of his emotions crush him at once, so in his already half-unconscious state he activates the Tiger Seal, effectively erasing any chance he might have had to redeem himself in the eyes of society.

The point of this analysis isn’t to blame or absolve Wei Wuxian. It’s very easy to empathize with his anguish in these scenes. What he was going through was incredibly stressful and the root cause (the ambush at Qiongqi Path) wasn’t his fault. Even Lan Wangji says he can neither condemn nor justify his actions, but he’s willing to face all the consequences with him anyway.

I told [Wangji] when I went to see him, Young Master Wei had already made a grave mistake, there was no use augmenting it. But he said… that he could not say with certainty whether what you did was right or wrong, but no matter what, he was willing to be responsible for all of the consequences alongside you.

(Chapter 99)

Wei Wuxian isn’t blameless for what happened at Nightless City. I don’t think he’s proud of what he did and all the people he killed, either. The fact that he destroyed the Tiger Seal after returning to the Burial Mounds is quite telling. He definitely didn’t act in the most rational and clear-headed way, which resulted in a lot of people – including his shijie – to lose their lives, but the point of all this is that Wei Wuxian is human. He makes mistakes because no one is infallible, no matter how heroic, selfless and virtuous. Not even he can be totally immune to all the criticism and accusasions, even though he often acts like he is. Wei Wuxian is a fundamentally positive person, so most of the time he can ignore the bad things that happen to him and focus on the good, but this time his situation was simply too extreme for anyone to be able to stand it.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #wei ying #mdzs meta #nightless city

[tales-unique]

FAULTS OF THE HEART  II

Chapter 2

That night is, quite possibly, the worst night of your life, so far. No matter how you try to position yourself you manage to aggravate your wound, rendering any progress towards sleep null and void in a matter of seconds. You hiss in frustration, sitting up after what feels like hours of fighting, deciding that there was no sense in trying while you were so wound up.

You decide instead to sate your curiosity about the place you have been brought to, starting with the room you’re in. It’s bathed in iridescent moonlight, the fire having long since burnt out, which gives it an almost ethereal glow. In its prime it must have been such a beautiful place to read and study but now it sits abandoned, a sad echo of former glory. All the books, though dusty and stained with age, look to be in good condition and, despite your fatigue, you untangle yourself from your makeshift bed to peruse them. As you edge towards them the wood creaks beneath your feet and you freeze, listening for any signs of life other than yourself in the building. When you hear nothing you release the breath you had been holding, gazing in awe at all the different books before you. Some of the names you couldn’t even understand, their beautiful cursive calligraphy written in a language that was foreign to you. Perhaps the man of the house was an avid collector of interesting books? You gently trace your finger over the spines, ignoring the burn of protest in your shoulder as you move away towards an old desk that sits under the bare window. The wood is chipped and covered in a layer of dust just like the rest of the room, the items scattered about its surface also buried. Your hand disturbs a stack of papers, the paper parched from years of exposure to the sun, to see if there’s anything you can gleam from them, but the ink is so faded that you barely make out the words. You frown at the inkwell that sits near a stack of books, some of which look like writing journals, the quill stuck inside the dried up ink. The feathering had mostly vanished, decomposed until barely any were left to cling to the brittle spine. This was someone's private space once, but not any longer. All at once the feeling that you were an invader hits you like a tidal wave and, with one last somber look, you back away from the desk to look at the door. For all you knew the man could have locked you inside, to curb any possible excursions without him knowing. The thought sent a spark of fear shooting through your system and with a brisk pace you came face to face with the door. It’s old, just as the rest of the room is, and the ornate handle is a deep brass colour under the layer of dust and grime. You hesitate, your hand hovering over the handle, sucking in a deep breath to try and calm yourself. Quickly, you tell yourself, before your fear petrifies you. The grip you have on the door handle is so tight you barely register how your knuckles are turning white, or how your shoulder aches in protest at the awkward angle you're bending at, as you peek out into the dark hallway. After a cautious once over you tentatively step out, careful to tiptoe your way down the hallway so you wouldn’t alert anyone to your presence. But it was already too late for that. The man, the lone inhabitant of the abandoned place, was already awake and wandering himself when you decided to leave your room. He had been angsty knowing there was someone, a human no less, in his castle, and so, like you, sleep evaded him. Your movements were easy to trace, the vampiric blood that flowed through his veins heightening his senses to an alarming degree. Hidden in the looming shadows he follows you, all while you are unaware, to see just what it is you’re doing wandering around at such an hour. At the end of the hallway you find a grand staircase and a hazy memory clouds your mind. You remember being swept up these stairs in the arms of your nameless rescuer, the receding image of the almost comically tall doors receding as your vision grew darker, your consciousness slipping in and out. There was even a trail of drying blood leading up to where you had been left, noticed only now that you were actively looking at the floor beneath your feet. You grimace, making sure to descend on the other side of the stairs. Once at the bottom you come to stand in front of those large doors, ever imposing, and a sense of apprehension settles like a lead weight in the pit of your stomach. Although you had no idea where you were the danger of leaving while still injured with no means to protect yourself loomed threateningly, and that alone made you hesitant. Swallowing your fear you gingerly tread towards the doors, careful in opening them lest you further injure yourself. Whatever you had been expecting, or not , when you stepped out into the night, you could have said with certainty that it wouldn’t have been impaled corpses . You freeze, your blood like ice. Corpses. Impaled. On spikes . Any and all doubts you had about the dangers outside being greater than the ones inside were now none-existent. The man who lived here, the one who had saved your life , was the same man who had done this to these people. A rational person with a sane mind wouldn’t willingly do this to someone, right? No, which meant you had to leave, and quickly, or you could be next. But, oh God , how would you get past them? You barely had time to register that they were more mummified than fresh, having been there for a while, since you were back-peddling as quickly as your legs could take you. Until your back hits something solid and more alive than the doors. You let out a scream, partially from shock and from the pain sent rocketing through your arm, twisting sharply on your heel to see the doors cast open wide and none other than the man standing there, blocking your path. “You’re up late,” he speaks with a casualness that unnerves you more than anything, his gaze solemn. Your chest heaves as you stare at him with wide eyes, panic surging through your veins. Inside you're a mess of emotions that will not be tamed. Utter chaos and turmoil. When you don't respond he lets out a defeated sigh, a weary sound that betrays how worn down he has become. "If you wanted to leave you could have just said so," he muses, frowning when you recoil away from him when he moves to pass you. He stops to look at the corpses that frame the entrance but there's no feeling there. Not anymore. His hate and anger and pain has faded into nothingness, a void he had hoped he would never fall into. You watch him like a hawk the entire time, body tense. At any point he could turn on you and you had to be ready . But the moment doesn't come. There's just him, standing illuminated in the moonlight, broken. "Where would I even go, if I could leave?" The words are quiet but you can't stand the stifling silence any longer. "You could go anywhere," he answers easily, resolute. You scoff, brushing your fingertips over your bandaged wound. It stings and you wince with a hiss. "And do what? I have no money, my arm is useless right now. I'd be dead in a day or two. And that's if I don't get found by the Baron's men first." It's true that the Baron was still a threat to you, even more so now that his hunting party had been cut down, so blood would be demanded. Just not yours if you could help it. "Who are you, anyway?" You ask, changing the subject. There's so much you want to ignore at that moment so you focus on him. There's a moment of silence before he finally responds and his voice has an edge to it that you can’t quite place. You get the feeling that he’d much rather remain nameless to you, but out of politeness he must give in. How quaint. "Your people call me Alucard," he replies, turning to look at you expectantly. You quickly stumble out your name, suddenly feeling like a caged animal under the starkness of his golden gaze. They almost glow in the light, giving him a predatory air. "Well," you clear your throat, quickly stepping past the, ahem, decorations , to stand next to him at the top of the stone steps, "thank you, Alucard. I'd have died if you hadn't helped me." It's the truth; you owe him your life, and he knows it. "You are welcome," he responds slowly, awkwardly, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes before they turn heavenward. "A beautiful night, isn't it?" He's trying to ease the tension and even though it doesn't help much you appreciate the sentiment. "Yes, it's nice," you answer softly. Looking at him as he is in that moment you find that he doesn’t seem so intimidating as you had first thought and you feel ashamed for having judged him so harshly so quickly. Not that it doesn’t diminish what you have learnt from your little excursion outside the castle. After all, there were dead bodies on his front step. Maybe there was more to this than first met the eye, maybe not, but you were determined to discover the truth.

#Castlevania #Castlevania Netflix #Castlevania Imagine #Castlevania Imagines #Alucard #Alucard Imagine #Alucard Imagines #Adrian Tepes #Adrian Tepes Imagine #Adrian Tepes Imagines #Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes

[spectralscathath]

Like-Minded Souls, Indeed?

Because this was exactly what Mercury needed, the voice of someone his boss killed showing up in his head and telling him to save the world. No thank you. Not unless you paid him.

Meanwhile, on Ozpin's side of things, he would like to very much not be found out by Salem. That would be... unfortunate.

Ao3 Link

Chapter 1: In Which Neither Mercury Nor Ozpin Can Ever Catch A Break

Ozpin felt the tugs of Ozma's magic at the corners of his mind, the limbo of their incarnations finally broken as a like-minded soul was bonded with.

He awoke in the back of someone's mind, still bleary as though he was physically waking up from a deep sleep. The mindscape was quiet with a forced calm, tension like pulled strings threading through the soul of this new individual and ready to snap at the slightest touch.

He looked out a set of new eyes, to see if it was a good time to introduce himself, and felt ancient fear flood through him at the sight of Ozma's oldest and most terrible foe. Oh. Oh no. This was very bad. This was quite possibly the worst place he could incarnate.

Salem herself, smiling at the girl who had killed him under Beacon. To die in fire was not an experience the countless souls wanted to repeat, and Ozpin was unfortunate enough to join the ranks of the few predecessors who’d suffered such a painful death.

He chose to say nothing, instead observing the way silver strands of hair fell over the side of his vision, how the body ached with phantom pains that were not Ozpin's, and wisely retreated back into the mind.

Perhaps another time.

Perhaps when Mr Mercury Black was not currently surrounded by danger.

After all, they both had to make the best of things now. He could only hope that Mr Black would be the type who could be persuaded away from Salem.

If not, then this was going to be... difficult.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ozpin had been a father, so many lifetimes before. He had never been perfect, he had made countless mistakes across Ozma's many lifetimes, he accepted them all as his failures, so he could learn from them and do better in the next life.

He had given his second life in a futile attempt to save his daughters, and sometimes wondered if he regretted his choices. Should he have stayed? If he had stayed, would he still be alive? Would his children still be alive?

The look Marcus Black wore in so many of Mercury's memories reminded him too much of Salem to ever again regret his attempt to escape her clutches.

He had been waiting a long time, studying Mercury’s routine so he could find the safest time to breach the gap between them. He had to say, this was an opportunity like no other, to see what Salem’s plans were without detection, but with great reward came terrible risk. All it would take was one slip, and they’d both be dead. Or worse. And if he did nothing, then all the knowledge he could gain would be for naught.

So he waited until they were alone before he could chance speaking to him, until Mercury had retreated to his corners and locked the door, shoving a chair under the handle as was his custom. He was paranoid, which was a very fair response to the situation. The massive wardrobe must have taken some shoving to put it in the path of the window, but it certainly did prevent any unwelcome visitors who might see it as a means of entry.

The bed pushed into the corner was wise as well, to put his back to a wall,  although the fact that Mercury piled his pillows under the covers as a decoy and then slept under the bed itself might have been pushing it somewhat.

He waited until Mercury was sitting on the bed, looking over his weapons and performing any upkeep needed, the faint cyan glow from the vents in his prosthetics lining his silver fringe.

Mr Black, don’t be alarmed.

“What the FUCK?!” Mercury bolted upright, knife in hand as he looked around, head swinging to every potential place an intruder could be. “Who’s there?!”

Professor Ozpin. He had to think quickly. Don’t tell Salem or she will kill you. This is part of my curse as her opponent, I must incarnate into a new mind with every death, and I am now currently in yours.

“No the fuck you are not.” Mercury snarled. “Show yourself, come out and face me.”

I can’t, actually. He should try and enter Mercury’s dream. He personally had never done that, but Ozma had, so therefore he had as well… hadn’t he? It seemed the lines were blurring between himself and Ozma already. More than they had been when he was alive. He’d been one of the more compatible hosts, on account of not having anything that really needed Ozpin Headley more than it needed Ozma-in-Ozpin’s-head.

“Nope. Okay. I’ve gone mad. I’ve been up too long.”

That is true. Mercury had a terrible case of insomnia, it seemed. Though with the night terrors he had, it was understandable. He was about to have a whole lot more, once the merge hit the point where Ozpin was able to fade into the memory consciousness, just as Ozana had when she had joined the other incarnations in the depths of their shared subconscious.

He was hoping he could spare the young man the nightmares from hundreds of deaths. Ten thousand years was a long time to live and die and live again. Mr Black, I assure you, this is not an ideal situation for me either, but you must understand that you are not crazy and that I am now-

“Taking up residence in my head like a fucking pervert? What, running a school wasn’t enough for you to get your sick kicks?” Mercury snarled at him.

Okay, that was uncalled for. Mr Black, that is very untrue. This is just something that happens . After all, someone had to stop Salem.

“Fuckin- alright, fine, so I’ve gone mad. What else is new?” Mercury grumbled, sitting back down and angrily sharpening a knife.

You’re very sane, I assure you. Ozana had told him something similar, if a bit less polite.

“Right, I’m talking to a voice in my head while living in a castle owned by some sort of humanoid Grimm witch, that’s the definition of sanity.” Mercury snarked at him.

If you can believe Salem’s existence, then surely you can believe mine?

“I don’t believe anything you say. Can you go back to shutting up?” Mercury’s anger was a tangible force in their head, not like a wildfire, but more like a poison, something that slowly corroded whatever it touched. It was a very cold anger.

I’m afraid not. I must insist that you leave this place before Salem finds out of my presence, or she WILL kill you then and there. Or worse. There could be so much worse. Salem had been around far longer than he had, by sheer virtue of her immortality working differently. It had left her with a large pool of creative methodology for causing pain, many of which had been lost to time.

He didn’t want to undergo that as much as Mercury likely wouldn’t want to either, so that meant leaving was their best choice. He’d been listening in on a few of the meetings that Salem had hosted, finding out that Haven was the next target, and Vacuo after that. He’d also found that she hadn’t yet obtained the Crown of Choice, but that she did still have at least one operative in Vale looking. He wished them luck. He personally had decided to move the Beacon Vault and hide it a little better after he took over the school.

There was no way Salem’s people could find it. Not without his knowledge. Or Jinn’s knowledge.

He had to keep Jinn out of Salem’s reach. If summoned, she wouldn’t choose not to answer Salem’s question. She didn’t have that sense of morality. To the Relics, all that mattered was their task, and the rules that bound them to it.

So, Mercury, when do we leave?

“You’re stupid.” Mercury told him bluntly. “We’re on another continent with no way off that isn’t controlled by Salem. There is no leaving. At least not until she sends me out on a job. So here’s the deal, you shut the fuck up, and then maybe when I’m out of this creepy fucking castle, we can talk.” Ozpin could hear the lie in there. Mercury had zero intentions of ever talking to him again.

But it was a good idea, for safety’s sake. He would have to be a silent observer. After all, the walls could have ears.

Besides, once they were out on a job, so to speak, he could simply start talking again. After all, that was the letter of the potential agreement, if not Mercury’s intention.

Agreed. I will see you when we are in the clear.

“Piss off.” Mercury grumped at him, and just this once, Ozpin chose to comply. He could use the time to gather information, and silence was a small price to pay for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mercury followed Emerald, Watts, and Cinder into the safehouse Lionheart had brought for them, feeling a strange sense of betrayal flood him that was definitely not his. He realised it was probably Ozpin, who had so far remained quiet during the flight out of Evernight, meeting up with Watts, and going over battleplans for confronting Raven Branwen.

He’d been tuned in just to see what his role was (he was Thug #2, the muscle who was meant to stand there and possibly kill someone if that kind of point had to be made), and was allowed to be basically invisible beyond that. He watched as Cinder went to cook herself dinner, and since she knew she controlled Emerald through food and shelter, probably Emerald as well. Mercury could cook for himself, if he had to, and Watts could starve for all they cared.

He wasn’t hungry anyway. Too busy trying to hold off on the wrenching nausea in his gut that was not his. “See ya, Em.” He shrugged at her, holding up his scroll. “I’m gonna play some Amid You. See ya tomorrow.”

“See ya, Merc.” She waved him off. She’d gotten a bit more tolerable since they got trapped together in the deathworld that was Salem’s castle. Not that they were friendly or anything. Just tolerable.

He made his way up the stairs and into one of the rooms, making sure it wasn’t the fanciest one because he’d let Cinder and Watts duke out ownership of that one. He locked the door, looking for something he could shove against it and picking the bedside table. It’d do.

He checked the window lock and pulled the curtains over, sitting on the bed as he played music on his scroll to mask the fact that he could be talking to himself, if only to tell Ozpin to shut the fuck up with the sadness.

“Alright asshole, what’s the problem.”

I can’t believe Leo would fall this far. Ozpin sounded fucking miserable. Sucks for him, he got betrayed. What happened to him? He was a hero for so long…

“People suck, get over it.” Seriously, if he’d been around since the asscrack of time, then he should know that.

Not always. Some people are good. It makes it hurt all the more when some of them turn out to… well. Stick a knife in your back . Ozpin sighed, impressive for a man who didn’t have a body or lungs. So. Now we can discuss you leaving this group and helping protect the Relic of Knowledge.

“Yeah, no, not happening. If there’s a mole on the inside of your old team, then me buggering off from Cinder is only gonna end up with us dead, which is that thing you didn’t want, right? After all, Leo runs Haven, and those kids Watts mentioned? First years and a drunken Huntsman. Haven’s dead meat.”

We have to try. Salem cannot be allowed to obtain any of the Relics.

“Nah. We have to survive. I’m not dying just because you wanna be a hero.” Mercury kicked his boots and greaves off, since he was out of Evernight, twirling his ankle a bit and listening to the metallic clicking the joint made.

Mr Black, I must insist. If the Vault in Haven is opened, it could go very badly. Besides, Qrow is my friend. I’d rather not risk him being hurt.

“Hey, the plan involves not going near Qrow. It’s a simple sneak in, sneak out, and the White Fang blow up the school a few days later. No one’s getting hurt, except for Lionheart. Clock’s ticking on his usefulness.” The plan was easy compared to Cinder’s weird domino pieces plan for taking down Beacon. He preferred the Haven plan that was clearly Salem and Watts’s idea. It was simple, no muss, no fuss. Easy pickings.

Gonna be great to see how Cinder’s rampaging ego ruined it, something easy like this clearly wouldn’t fuel her proud streak. She was just like Marcus. Always wanted a challenge. That was why he saved cutting off a target’s semblance for a finishing blow in his assassinations.

Haven Academy is important, Mercury, you can’t just let it be blown up! I won’t stand by while Salem steals the Relic and destroys another Academy! I can’t!

“All the Huntsman in Mistral are either dead or useless, gramps.” Mercury rolled his eyes. “Academy’s already useless. You should focus on the relic.” Maybe if he came up with another plan it’d get Ozpin off his back.

I don’t play to win at all costs, Mr Black. I try to protect as many pieces on the board as I can.

“That’s why you’re losing,” Mercury collapsed back on the bed, hooking his hands behind his head as he got comfortable. “How about another deal? We wait for Cinder to get the Relic. Watts has to go back to Evernight after dealing with Branwen, so the trip back will be me, her, and Emerald. Cinder won’t be expecting an attack, so how about we kill her, steal the ship, and then you can take the Relic wherever you want?”

And Emerald? Ozpin queried. Would you be killing her in this sneak attack as well?

That made him pause for a moment. Would he kill Emerald? Probably not, he didn’t need to. Cinder was absolutely a threat who had to be taken out as quickly as possible, but Emerald? Nah. “She’d probably get all butthurt that Cinder’s dead or whatever, but I don’t see why she should die as well. Worse comes to worst we’ll knock her out. We’d be doing her a favour, honestly. You’ve seen how Cinder treats her.” The fact that Ozpin was constantly watching everything was real fucking unnerving and something he tried to not think about at all times.

Hmmmm… Ozpin deliberated for ages, which made Mercury think he was probably scheming away. Whatever. Mercury wasn’t going to fall for any of it. What could a voice in his head do? Get sad at him? You think you can kill Cinder?

“I think that I’ve been watching how she fights for nearly two years now and that she’s got a massive blind spot on her left side.” It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be manageable. Amber got taken out too, after all. “You got anything that would help? Cinder said you put up a fight in that basement where she killed you.” He hoped that was uncomfortable to talk about. If he had to be disquieted by sharing headspace with a weirdo, so should Ozpin.

Yes. I have some magical ability left that can, at the very least, level the playing field a little bit. It’s not as strong as the Maiden’s magic, but if applied correctly, it could work.

Sounded like Ol’ Oz was coming around to ‘fuck everyone else, I got what I want in the end’. Selfish thinking won again. Why waste energy on stopping the destruction of a school when Cinder could be allowed to think she won and Mercury could then use that pride against her to escape this whole messed-up situation.

After all, Salem might be remaking the world and had offered to make him one of the top dogs, but in the pecking order, he was still near the bottom of the ladder. Besides, he did have her worst enemy in his head.

Escape was definitely the best option. “And hey, if she’s planning on attacking Vacuo after, think your buddy in Atlas would let us bunker down there?” If they did it right, then no one would know what happened. Cinder would be too dead to talk, Emerald would be a flight risk but he could probably talk her into not going back to work for Salem, and he sure wouldn’t tell anyone.

Yes. James can be trusted.

Just like Lionheart could, Mercury thought, but this one he kept to himself. “So. Deal?”

I don’t like this. It’s cruel and callous.

“I’m Mercury Black, have we met?” Why would he want to be anything else? The world was cruel. The only way to win was to take what you had and fight for what you wanted. No rules. No lines. Those made people weak.

… Very well. I’ll agree, for now.

“Then we’re done for tonight.”

I suppose we are. Thank you for hearing me out.

Mercury blinked perturbedly. Did he just get thanked? Weird. “Uh- sure. Whatever.”

Ozpin sounded way too amused as he chuckled, Mercury’s hackles rising only slightly. Good night, Mr Black.

Mercury snorted and didn’t bother replying, reaching for his scroll as he switched his music off and went into the games folder. Yeah it was gonna be a good night. He was gonna play video games til his eyes fell out and not sleep.

He supposed this situation with Ozpin could have been worse. At least the guy kept to himself and didn’t make a nuisance. If Mercury had to have a creepy man in his head talking to him, it could have been a lot worse. Could have had a Tyrian in there. Or a Watts.

Or his dad.

Mercury’s nose scrunched. Wouldn’t that be awful. Least Ozpin knew which of them was in control.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was chaos in Haven Academy’s foyer. Mercury dodged a wild swing from Yang, flipping back in a handspring as he errantly observed the room. Ozpin had not been happy about the ‘kill everyone’ plan but whatever, they were here now. Ozpin had been a lot louder since then and was still there, still currently losing his mind in the back of Mercury’s head. Mercury tried to tune most of it out. Wasn’t easy.

Mercury, please! This can’t be what you want! Ozpin begged as Mercury watched that kid in the green get thrown through a wall by Hazel. Ozpin always went real quiet around him. He wondered why. They’re just children!

He didn’t answer back, because fuck it, what did he know? Being a kid didn’t mean shit. Where was ‘just children’ when Marcus beat him up daily? Nowhere, that’s where.

You have to stop this! You’ll never be able to get the Relic now, the plan won’t work! This is our only chance!

He dodged another gunshot from Yang, which was criminally easy, she definitely had not gotten faster since their last fight, and checked in on the only threat. Qrow was- oh fuck he had stopped fighting Raven, disengaging from that little sibling duel to charge Hazel, landing a blow to the guy’s back with enough force that Hazel’s knee hit the ground. Mercury swore it dented from the weight behind that blow.

No no no no no no-

He whistled as he caught Yang’s kick in one of his own, forcing her leg down and scoring a punch directly to the floating ribs. Her eyes went red for a moment as she swung a hook at him, one that he dodged again, knocking her around with a few more kicks to the head. Had she gotten sloppier? He would be ashamed to fight this badly.

Mercury. Please. Don’t make me do this.

He glanced over at where Qrow was nimbly dodging Hazel’s blows before a cheap shot from Lionheart hit him in the shoulder, knocking his footwork off-balance long enough that Hazel got his hands on Qrow.

Mercury I’m so sorry-

“What-” Mercury asked before his vision flashed gold, and he was shunted into the back of his own head. Suddenly he was the voice, and Ozpin was in control- he had no control over his own body, no way to stop as Ozpin took a running leap, leaving a confused Yang behind, and landed a kick into the side of Hazel’s head, the shotgun blasting right in his ear.

Ozpin had took over. Ozpin… could take over. And he’d never mentioned it. He’d never-

Qrow looked at them, utterly dumbfounded. The entire room had gone dead quiet as Ozpin-in-Mercury’s-body artfully landed between Qrow and Hazel, not taking his eyes off the latter. Then he spoke with Mercury’s voice but it wasn’t Mercury’s words and it wasn’t right-

“I’d like my cane back, if you wouldn’t mind, Qrow.”

Cinder was staring. Emerald was staring. Everyone was staring as Mercury was turned into a fucking puppet, all his control stolen away. He hadn’t even known Ozpin could- He’d thought-

His view of their- their, not his- vision tunnelled, greying out at the edges. Haven wasn’t there anymore. It was just that house. His room. The smell of whiskey and blood and cigarette burns-

And Mercury clocked out, brain going black with panic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He felt hands on his shoulders even though there were no hands on his shoulders, pulling him out of the darkness and shoving him back in the driver’s seat. He blinked, collapsed against a wall with a cane handle in his hand and Qrow leaning over him, the smell of alcohol on the other man’s breath hitting some button in his head too close too close-

“Get AWAY from me!” He shrieked, kicking him full in the chest and loosing a shotgun blast to make sure the point got across, the Relic clattering on the ground as Qrow lost his grip on it. His hand clenched on the cane handle so hard it was shaking, and he threw that away as hard as he could.

Mercury, I am so sorry, I swear, I didn’t want to ever have to do that to you, but you left me no choice-

“ Shut up!” He snapped, voice ragged and a little too raw as he pulled his knees defensively to his chest and dug his fists into silver hair, tugging until the burn on his scalp felt like he was pulling Ozpin’s voice out of his head.

He heard footsteps come closer and looked up from his defensive curl, a knife appearing in his hand as he met Lil Red’s silver eyes, wide with concern and simmering with underlying resentment. “Professor Ozpin?”

Mercury, you have to understand, we can’t let Salem get the Relic-

He remembered a similar look on her face when she saw him walking again in the maintenance hall of Amity Colosseum. He snarled back this time, instead of a cocky smirk. “No. Come near me and I’ll rip your fucking face off.”

“Don’t talk to my sister like that!” Yang snapped, her eyes bright red as she glared at him, the Schnee keeping a hand on her shoulder to keep her in line. Fucking try it, Blondie, he’d take her other arm off, they could match.

Ruby wisely took a step back, still easily too close for him to handle. “Mercury?” her hand twitched towards the gun on her back

Mercury? Will you let me explain?

“All of you shut up.” He glared at the Relic, kicking it away as he jumped to his feet. He couldn’t handle this. It was too much, too much control lost- and Emerald wasn’t there, FUCK. So much for doing her a favour. He looked at everyone, feeling cornered, skin alive with fire ants that weren’t really there and legs burning with phantom aches, and did the only thing he could do when fighting wasn’t the option.

He bolted, clearing the stairs behind him and disappearing into Haven Academy, picking a random room that wasn’t Lionhearts (he was not going NEAR a fucking Seer, no thank you) and locking the door.

Mercury, I truly am sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Ozpin told him gently, and the worst thing was that he sounded like he meant it.

“Don’t ever talk to me again.” Mercury snarled, and started breaking everything in the room that he could get his hands on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Man, Ozpin's sections got deeper then I expected but then again the guy has identity issues for sure. Where does Ozma end and Ozpin begin? Things we will literally never know!

#rwby #mercury black #ozpin #Oz!Merc AU #rwby fanfiction #my writings

[wondernimbus]

tired — regulus black

pairing: regulus black x female!reader

prompt: regulus loses himself to the dark lord, but she won’t let him.

requests are open. gif credit goes to @elioperl. please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

The entire castle seems to be asleep. No sound pierces the otherwise complete silence aside from the occasional hooting of an owl or two in the distance.

But in the Slytherin dungeons, a girl paces restlessly, eyes darting to and from the grandfather clock in the corner of the common room as though in anticipation for something to pop out. Worry is etched deep into the lines of her face, tugging the corners of her lips into a frown and weighing heavily on her chest.

She wrings her hands nervously the same way she has been doing for the past ten minutes now, chewing on her bottom lip and barely even registering the fact that she is beginning to draw blood. No, she can't register much, actually—not right now, when all she can think about is—

"Regulus!"

The door to the common room slides open and reveals from behind it the very person [Y/N] had been so anxious to see. Letting out a breathless sigh, she rushes towards Regulus and, without pausing to even look at him, wraps her arms around his middle.

Relief. It's a wonderful thing to feel.

"You're okay," she whispers into his chest, closing her eyes as she nods compulsively to herself. "You're okay."

[Y/N] feels the vibrations of Regulus's voice in his chest, feels his warm breath on her hair. "I'm okay, love," he whispers, placing his hand on the back of her head as he strokes her hair soothingly. "I'm okay."

The pair of them stay like that for several more moments, basking in the feeling of each other's presence. [Y/N] feels as though a heavy, suffocating weight has been lifted off of her shoulders. He's okay is all she can think to herself; it's the only thought that grounds her to reality, that keeps her sane.

When she finally finds it in herself to pull away, she keeps her hands wrapped around his torso and looks up at him.

Regulus looks tired. He always does these days, but [Y/N] still can't quite get used to it. The hollow bags, the dull hue of his skin and the suddenly more pronounced lines on his face are all signs that something is out of the ordinary, but perhaps what is most alarming is the lack of warmth in his expression. The regular person wouldn't be able to see it, but [Y/N] knows every inch of Regulus better than she knows herself, and the vacancy in his eyes is what makes her grip on his torso falter.

"What happened?"

[Y/N] doesn't know why she'd even bothered asking. She knows that like every other night he left the castle, Regulus had probably stood by the Dark Lord's side as he murdered yet another innocent person. And then a part of her wonders—had it been Regulus who had done the killing this time?

Her arms fall to her sides and she steps away from him, blinking stupidly at the thought.

Regulus's eyes skitter away from hers; she feels a mixture of dread and uneasiness blossom in her stomach like a hideous, deadly flower. He reaches up to adjust the tie around his neck, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows and opens his mouth to say something—

"No, don't," [Y/N] cuts him off, sighing. "Just.. nevermind. I don't need to know."

And just like that, the night has turned cold and the relief of seeing Regulus alive and whole is gone. The tension between the two of them is palpable—or perhaps Regulus has gotten so numb to things that only [Y/N] can feel it. The idea sends a dull stabbing pain through her chest, and she swallows, bows her head briefly, and says to the floor, "I'll turn in for the night."

"[Y/N]—"

"I don't—" she purses her lips tightly, shaking her head. "I don't want to fight right now, Reg."

"I wasn't planning on it," Regulus mutters.

They fall quiet again. The silence is everything but comfortable; there are a million words between them that need to be said—that [Y/N] wants to say—but the cowardly part of her wants to hang onto the delusion that everything is as normal as it has always been. That Regulus isn't one of the Dark Lord's many ruthless followers—that he is the same Regulus she has always known.

But he isn't. [Y/N] turns around to head to her dormitory, and the thought reverberates through her head again like a plea begging to be heard: he isn't.

It's that thought that causes her to stop in her tracks, turn around and say in a pained voice—"What happened tonight, Regulus?"

He meets her gaze—and she almost wishes he hadn't, because the look in his eyes makes the answer clear even when he refuses to tell her.

"You don't need to know, [Y/N]," he winces. "I'll see you tomorrow—"

"What happened tonight?" she repeats, voice tight.

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut like he's in pain. "[Y/N]—"

"Tell me what he made you do. I want to know."

But all he does is shake his head and turn his body away like he can't bear to face her. [Y/N] doesn't want to walk away from this like it's nothing—with tears of suppressed frustration prickling at the back of her eyes, she takes a deep breath and says quietly, "Did you kill someone?"

Regulus looks up at her, brows furrowed. "No—"

"Did you watch someone get killed?"

"I—"

"Or did you sell one of the Order members out?"

He exhales heavily. "Let me—"

"Or—let's see," her tone of voice rises into a near-shout as all of the frustration she has felt for the past few days builds up in her chest and spills out of her mouth in the form of words; "Did you torture an innocent Muggle? Which one, Regulus?"

Regulus runs an aggravated hand through his hair and groans. "Why do you need to know?"

"Because I'm SCARED for you!" she practically screams, hating the single angry tear that leaks out of her eye. "Do you even realize the risk you're putting yourself in? Do you? Because I do, and I can't stand the thought of you dying or—or worse, losing your head and becoming a mindless serva—"

"I've already told you I won't," Regulus cuts her off through gritted teeth, fists clenching as he turns away. "I know what I'm doing."

"You think you do but you don't—"

"I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!"

She pauses. Regulus has turned around to face her, eyes blown wide as his chest heaves with deep breaths. With his fists clenched painfully tight and his brows pulled in together at the middle in a nasty scowl, he advances towards her and jabs a finger at her chest—"Did you think I went into this blind? You are daft for thinking you know better than me—I know fully well what I've gotten myself into—I know that I'm putting my entire life on the line and I wouldn't have decided to take that risk if I didn't bloody know that I COULD HANDLE IT!"

She should probably back off at this point. A part of her thinks about apologizing—considers reigning it in before things get worse—but [Y/N] is tired. This isn't the first time they've argued about this. She's tired of it—arguing—but beyond that she is sick of having to say goodbye to him whenever he goes on his little quests with the Dark Lord, not knowing when she'd ever see him again or if he'd even be able to come back to her.

[Y/N] is tired.

And because of this, she doesn't back down. Instead, using as much of her pent-up anger as she can muster, she shoves him by the shoulders. It doesn't have its desired effect—Regulus is much too strong for someone her size—but he does stagger back a little.

[Y/N] is tired.

She shoves him again—and again, and again, until he stumbles and trips over the table behind him, falling on his arse. [Y/N] can't put the anger in her chest into words; all that tears its way out of her mouth is a scream of frustration, and at that moment she wants to grab Regulus by the shoulders and shake him to his senses—

But she doesn't even want to touch him anymore at this point.

"I'm doing this—" she cries out angrily, speaking through the tightness in her chest, "I'm doing this because I care about you! Do you think you're special to him? Do you think you're his—what—his right-hand man?" she lets out a mocking scoff, shaking her head. "You're just a fucking puppet to him—"

"I—"

"Something he can throw away anytime he wan—"

Getting to his feet, Regulus seethes, "You don't—"

With a pointed finger jabbing into the air at each word, she shouts in a voice so broken it's a miracle she's able to form words at all, "YOU—ARE—DISPOSABLE!"

Regulus's arm lashes out, but not to hit her—no, he grabs a vase on the table and flings it across the room, where it breaks with an ear-splitting sound into a hundred tiny pieces. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he fumes, eyes wide with an almost manic kind of anger, "He needs me—"

A humorless burst of laughter slips past [Y/N]'s lips. "Don't kid yourself, Regulus."

"He needs me—you don't understand, you will never understand but he needs me—"

Feeling frustrated more than ever, [Y/N] takes a step towards him, spurred on by the white-hot anger in her chest. "I do too!" she chokes out, finding it harder to speak as the raging emotions inside her chest threaten to swallow her whole. "I need you too—that's why I'm doing this—" She's pleading. Pleading with him to listen. To understand.

But he doesn't.

Regulus shakes his head. He doesn't even look at her; he glues his eyes to a random spot in the room, gaze stony. "Not as much as he needs me."

Silence.

Oh.

Her shoulders slump. Her fists uncurl. She feels as though all the fight has died in her—and it has.

That's it, then.

[Y/N] nods, taking a shaky breath, feeling a thousand words die in her throat. There is nothing more left to say—she's tired. And she has heard enough.

"Okay," she swallows, hands trembling at her sides. "Okay. We're done."

Regulus doesn't look up.

"We're done," she repeats, more to herself than to him, voice now void of any anger or frustration or sadness—now she just sounds tired. "I'm done. We're done."

And then, turning on her heel, she leaves the common room.

Regulus doesn't look up.

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus arcturus black #regulus black oneshot #regulus black oneshots #regulus black imagine #regulus black imagines #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfic #harry potter oneshots #harry potter fic #harry potter imagine #harry potter oneshot #harry potter #harry potter x reader #regulus black fanfiction #regulus black fanfic #regulus black fic #sirius black #hp #death eater #voldemort #marauders #marauders era #marauders era oneshot #marauders era imagine #marauders era imagines #marauders era oneshots #marauders era fanfiction

[spookyboywhump]

Yo this drabble has been due for. A long time. But better late than never right-

Some content early on in Zander’s time with Cain

CW: Charles Whitaker is a big part of this one so obligatory child abuse warning (Cain is an adult in this piece though), pet whump, dehumanization, hand whump, brief mention of spiders

***

Daniel- no, Zander, learned the dynamic of the household within the first few days. Cain owned him, and though he made a genuine effort to assert that, he wasn’t very good at it. Cain got angry quickly, he got frustrated with any disobedience, but it was more discouragement than anything, as if he were irritated he couldn’t handle his own dog.

Cain, was owned by his father- only to be referred to as Sir or Mr. Whitaker, from Zander anyway, almost the same from Cain he realized. Cain was his son, but Zander quickly picked up on the fact that Mr. Whitaker treated him the way he expected Cain to treat Zander; like an animal.

As much as he didn’t like Cain, he didn’t like the way his father spoke to him more. He didn’t blame him from seeming to avoid the man, dragging Zander from the room whenever he came in, hiding in his room while his father was home, keeping Zander very close when he had to be around him. His father was rude, condescending, and he could see that Cain was anxious and uncomfortable every time they interacted.

He didn’t expect it to be this bad though.

It started out as an argument, though Zander wasn’t even sure what it was about. He had tuned out their conversation as he usually did, the easiest way to keep himself sane. They were in Mr. Whitaker’s office at the time, and he’d gotten caught up in watching the tarantulas in their glass tanks, trying to remember if he knew anything about the spiders.

It was a sound that startled him to attention, and at first he wasn’t quite sure what it was. He looked up from his spot on the floor, closer to the desk than where the two men were. Mr. Whitaker looked furious, a look that was even scaring him, and Cain… he was holding one hand to his face, visibly shaking. Zander quickly realized what had happened, and for a moment he was too shocked to even think straight.

He knew that Mr. Whitaker was a terrible person, he’d known since he’d first met the man, but this was… different. This wasn’t something Zander had experienced or even witnessed before, and as much as he didn’t like Cain, he still didn’t think he deserved that.

“Look at me when I’m fucking talking to you!” He shouted, roughly grabbing Cain by the arm. Zander barely thought before he jumped to his feet, anger causing him to act quicker than his common sense could tell him not to. He had raised his hand as if prepared to hit him again, and Zander was quick to roughly grab his wrist, his grip tight to keep him from further hurting Cain.

“Hey!” He snapped, glaring at the man, “Don’t fucking touch him!” For a moment Mr. Whitaker looked shocked that somebody would *dare* stand up to him, but that quickly turned to anger, and though it terrified Zander he still didn’t back off.

“Cain.” The man said through gritted teeth, “Call your dog off, or you're not going to have one much longer.” Zander didn’t like the implications of his words, but he only spared a brief glance at Cain, who seemed to try and compose himself.

“Zander, back off.” He said, almost sternly, but his voice was shaking, eyes almost pleading with him.

“Why?! So he can just fucking hit you some more?!”

“Zander, now.” He said, more of an order this time. He didn’t understand why, and though it just made him angry, he did let go, turning his glare back to Mr. Whitaker.

“Honestly Cain, you can’t be so useless that it’s that hard for you to control your damn dog!” Mr. Whitaker snapped at him. When Zander looked at him he saw the fear on his face, he saw how it quickly shifted to hurt. He didn’t even know Cain could feel hurt.

“I-I’m sorry, father, I’m going- I’m going to fix it, I’ll make him b-behave.” He stammered, desperately trying to end the conversation.

“You fucking better.” He said sternly. “Otherwise you’re going to end up just like him- another useless dog.”

Zander didn’t know why it set him off so much. It already pissed him off that he had hit Cain, but that threat in particular, threatening his son to put him in the same position that he was in now, something in him completely snapped. He moved without thinking, before he could tell himself it was a bad idea he’d balled up his fist and swung, punching him straight in the jaw.

Mr. Whitaker had stumbled back, Zander figured he hadn’t hit him hard enough, and he reacted quicker than he expected. He tried to move out of the way, thinking he was going to hit him back, but instead he grabbed him by the ear, his fingers catching on one of his hoop earrings.

“Fucking let go of me!” Zander snapped, trying to jerk back before he realized what he was holding onto, and instead of stopping him Mr. Whitaker gave a harsh yank, and suddenly Zander was able to step back without a problem. He felt the stinging from his ear but he assumed that was just from having it pulled on, but first he saw Cain staring at him with wide eyes, then he saw Mr. Whitaker, and the fact he was holding his earring still. He still didn’t quite get it, assuming it had just come off, but when he reached his hand up and touched his ear he quickly realized he was bleeding, jerking his hand away immediately to see blood on his fingers. It still didn’t hurt as much as he thought it should, he was more stunned than anything, which made it easy for Mr. Whitaker to suddenly grab him by the hair, dragging him from the room.

“You dumb fucking mutt,” He snarled, “You need to learn your goddamn place before I put you six feet under.”

“Fuck you! Let go of me!” Zander yelled, though he wasn’t having much luck at getting himself free. He was dragged down the hall, only to be thrown down the stairs, crying out in pain when he hit the bottom. His head had smacked against the hard floor and he swore he blacked out for a moment, dazed and in pain as he sat up. He didn’t get a chance to get away, he was too slow and he ended up being grabbed by the collar, dragged the rest of the way to that awful, sterile room down the hall from his cell. He’d only experienced it once so far, but he had a feeling that it would be a common occurrence. He was left on one side of the room, a short chain clipped to his collar and keeping him on his knees, forced to face the wall he was chained to.

“Raise your hand and hold it against the wall, boy.” He ordered him, but Zander didn’t move, instead he was trying to get himself free from the chain. After grabbing whatever it was he needed Mr. Whitaker stormed back over, he grabbed his wrist and yanked his arm up, forcing him to place the palm of his hand against the wall.

“The fuck are you doing?” Zander tried to see what he was planning, and his eyes went wide at the sight of the hammer he held, which he only saw just as it was brought down hard on the back of his hand.

He howled in pain, loud enough to block out the sickening sound of his bones breaking, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to jerk his hand away, but Mr. Whitaker had an iron grip on his wrist and even the slightest movement caused pain to shoot through his hand; he wasn’t sure he could even move his fingers at this point. He thought that would be the end of it, but he drew back again and once again his hand was hit with the hammer, harder than last time, and he only felt the excruciating pain for a split second before he passed out, the only relief he could possibly get in this situation.

***

He was still in that room when he woke up, but he wasn’t chained up anymore. He was laying flat on his back, staring up at the lights that were far too bright for him right now. He didn’t feel any pain at first, not until he tried to move, even the slightest twitch of his fingers brought all that agony back, it felt like he’d been hit a third time. He hissed in pain, squeezing his eyes shut again.

“Don’t move.” It was Cain, which for once, was of some relief to him. “Your hand is fucked.”

“I can feel that…” He muttered. He could feel blood had dried down the side of his neck, between getting thrown down the stairs and having his hand destroyed, he’d completely forgotten about his ear. He opened his eyes as Cain came over to him, and the first thing he noticed was his busted lip. “Fuck, did he-“

“Don’t.” He said bluntly. He knelt down beside him and helped him sit up, Zander wincing as he did so. Cain had brought a wet rag with him, doing his best to wipe away the blood that had dried on him. “You should consider yourself lucky. He’s done a lot worse to people for a lot less.”

“I don’t feel lucky.” He said, finally daring to look at his hand. He could only look for a second, it looked wrong and he had to look away before he passed out again. “Why are you helping me…?” He asked.

“Why did you punch my father?”

“He deserved it.” He shrugged, whimpering as even that movement hurt his hand more.

“And you deserve this. At least, this once you do.” He said, finally satisfied with having cleaned away most of the blood. “Your hand is going to hurt for a while, he said you aren’t getting it fixed until tomorrow.” Zander wasn’t entirely sure if this could be fixed, but he decided to just hope for the best, not that there was much else he could do.

Cain helped him back to his cell so he could at least be miserable on his bed. He’d never been in this much pain before, it wasn’t the first time he’d broken a bone, but when he broke his arm he’d been immediately rushed to a hospital, both his parents had been there, he wasn’t just left to suffer for hours. He felt sick to his stomach, even more so when he looked at Cain again after being helped to his bed and realized there was more than the split lip, the red marks on his face, around his neck. It made him angry all over again.

“Dude, are you- are you okay…?”

“I said don’t.” Cain snapped at him. “Just- just stop, okay? None of that concerns you, just, stay out of it. Sit down, stay quiet, just… pretend it’s not happening.”

“I can’t do that-“

“Well you’re going to have to.” He said. “It’s better for both of us, okay?” He hadn’t actually seen Cain like this yet, it seemed to come from out of nowhere but it was odd enough to him that he knew he was serious, that for once, he might want to actually listen to him. Well, he didn’t want to, but he might have to.

“Fine…” He muttered, and Cain seemed relieved.

“Thank you.” He sighed. “Try… try to take it easy for the rest of the night, okay? I don’t want your hand to get any worse.”

“Right…” He watched him leave the room, he seemed to hesitate for a moment but he left without another word, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Zander alone in the dark room. He had no intention of getting up to bother with the light, in fact he tried his best to not move at all, tried to ignore the persistent aching pain that made him sick and brought tears to his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against the wall, taking a shuddering breath and hoping desperately that Cain was serious about him getting treatment.

***

Tag List: @whumpthatboy , @galaxywhump , @legallylibra , @to-whump-or-not-to-whump , @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi , @as-a-matter-of-whump , @grovegrocer , @renkocchi , @whumpasaurus101 , @inky-whump , @lonesome--hunter , @ladygwennn , @simplygrimly , @withering-whump , @lave-whump , @whatwhumpcomments , @thatsthewhump , @just-another-whumper , @starnight-whump , @unicornscotty , @wingedwhump , @a-series-of-whumpy-events

Let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!

#whump #my writing #my oc’s #zander #cain #Charles Whitaker #pet whump #dehumanization #hand whump #this should’ve been written a long time ago #edit: added tag list #forgot about that

[melodyalanaroster]

To answer some Fanfic Questions...

So, this is my response to @broxklynn‘s post... I decided to make this its own post... So that It can be properly answered.

1. How and why did you start to write? Is there some kind of story behind it?

I started writing in general when I was in elementary school... Back when I just had a Platform 9 3/4 journal, not many friends, recess, and a desire to immerse myself in the world of Harry Potter. I enjoyed writing, and even joined the Writer’s Club in High School (but I eventually left to join Anime Club and Divergent Thinking Society). As for writing MCL fanfiction, I began writing Sam’s and Alana’s stories as early as when I first got into the fandom, back in 2013. Alana’s story started out as “A Fresh Start”, had a one shot called “When I Wake”, then turned into “Let The Dawn Be Broken”, and is now “The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster”. The final product barely has any hints of the first 3... In fact, Sam’s story, “Fighting Darkness”, has been completely debunked due to what I’ve decided to canonize in “The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster”. Writing MCL fanfiction has been a major help in distracting me from the depression that was caused by family issues, severe abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, my mom’s disease and her death, as well as working at several shitty jobs. Writing has helped me escape reality and keep myself sane enough to not be a black hole of hate, anger, and sadness to my friends and boyfriend.

2. What do you struggle the most with your writing?

There are 2 major things I struggle with... 1 is Timing. I often set deadlines for myself that I never meet and it makes me so frustrated that I miss them... There are currently things in my drafts that were meant to be “Holiday Specials” for Valentine’s Day and Halloween 2020 that are still unfinished... It makes me feel like I’m letting my readers down, when its more of me letting myself down... The other thing is Inspiration. Because I hate my job, I often think about Alana’s story in an effort to not be completely consumed by the fact that I do hate my work... Due to that, I often come up with ideas for my story that I think are FANTASTIC for my story... But, by the time I get home, I’m either in too much pain or too tired to write, or I’ve forgotten the ideas...

3. What is your favorite genre to write?

I love writing Romance with a bit of Slice of Life and a hint of Action/Adventure... 

4. Slowburn or “Flame”/PWP?

Slow burn any day.

5. How do you overcome writer’s block?

If I absolutely can’t write... I work on other stuff I need to do... Typically, something around the house, or something online I need to do... I also look for cool stuff to add to wish lists... I’ll occasionally play videogames or read comic books... In an effort to subvert writer’s block, I like having multiple chapters in my drafts at once. If I’m not in the mood to work on one chapter, I can work on a different one.

6. What kind of thing you dislike the most, when reading a fanfiction? (for example: particular plot, grammar mistakes)

One thing that makes me upset (and it makes me madder when I do this) is misspelling... Especially when it looks like its almost blatant... You have autocorrect, USE IT! Or when a fanfic is so awful, yet the author acts like their work is a gift from god... I don’t mind a “bad” fanfiction... Hell, the concept of “My Immortal” is so bad that its hilarious... But Fifty Shades did a lot of damage and E.L. James acts like she’s bigger than Jesus... Seriously, she wrote Twilight fanfiction, changed some minor details and names, people who have no knowledge of BDSM ate it up, and she acts like she’s a “Sex and Relationship Guru”...

7. What’s the biggest issue for you, when writing a Beemoov fanfiction?

The biggest issue for me is finding out when to allow for Beemoov’s writing and placement to take place in my story. I don’t like a lot of the events of UL and LL, so I’m often finding myself in a position where I have to watch video playthroughs and go “Okay, how can I omit this character, but keep this scene?”. I’ve had to do that A LOT with Alexy and Rosalaya.... Although, to a certain extent, I’ll often cut their scenes out altogether. I really hate what Beemoov did to them. They were great characters in HSL, but became utter shit in UL and stayed shit in LL. To make up for Beemoov’s writing style, I’ve created my own characters, added in old characters (like Kentin and Armin), added in bits from the manga (like Viktor, Severina and their fathers), and gone off on my own storyline. The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster is close to MCL at times, but often veers off onto its own road.

8. Have you ever created a character based on person in real life? (celebrity, someone that you know, etc)

YES!!! A LOT of characters in my story are based on real people! Alana’s step-father, Nate Films, is closely based on Nathan Fillion. A lot of her family members are based on members of my own family, just changed a bit to fit the story. Lynne Roster, Alana’s mom, is what I had always dreamed my own mom would be... Hell, Alana’s cat, Sylvester, is based on my own childhood cat, Luna.

9. How do you feel about your own characters? Do you think of them as your babies or have rather love-hate relationship with them? (And, do you have favorite one?)

I love most of my characters. I do hate 3 in particular... But, you’re supposed to hate, or at least not respect, them... That’s why I poured my hatred into them... Those 3 are Carol, Kai and Azrael. Carol has aspects of my abuser in her. You’ll see more of her when I finally post the HSL related chapters... And understand what I mean... Kai is based on one of my real life cousins that I’ve not been happy with for years (the one who my bf has deemed “the family failure”). You mainly see him in the Cousin Mels chapters, and in the Christmas Special... Azrael is the one who is seen the most in the UL chapters, and she is a main adversary for Alana. She is the one who broke her the most, the one who ended Alana’s relationship with Nathaniel, the one who truly traumatized her. As for ones I love... The one I love the most is Alana... I know, she’s a reflection of me, so that’s kind of vain... But, she’s a part of me. When I do finish her story and am at the point where I need to say “Goodbye”, it will hurt....

10. Enemies-to-lovers or friends/bestfriends-to lovers?

Definitely friends/best friends to lovers. I also like toying with what happens when best friends turn to lovers, but circumstance parts them and one moves on...

11. Is it easy for you to get inside your character’s head? Can you empathize with them? Is there’s some similarities between you and your main character?

It is VERY easy for me to get into Alana’s head... Like I said in #9, she is a reflection of me. She looks and acts like how I’d like to in a lot of situations... Her life is more interesting, traumatized, and more well off than mine... But, she is still me in major ways...

12. Who has been the biggest supporter of your writing?

Definitely my boyfriend. He doesn’t really understand the game itself... But, he likes how happy it makes me and he respects how much of my heart, soul, blood, sweat and tears that I’ve poured into writing my story. He loves listening to me read passages from it to him while I’m working. He gives me advice and his opinion is highly valued... My family knows I’m writing a large story, and have seen some of the images that I’ve gotten commissioned, but they don’t really know or care about the game. They do respect the fact that I am writing. They love the fact that I’m slightly following in my mom’s footsteps in that regard (she wrote 3 books and several poems). My online friends have been very supportive as well! I’m constantly updating them on what I’ve worked on each day in my Discord Server and the words of encouragement always help.

13. How do you handle criticism?

Not well. Due to the abuse and family issues mentioned in #1, for a good amount of my life, I’ve gotten nothing but harsh criticism... So, now that I’m away from all that, at 26 years old, I’m just now getting to a point where I’m starting to take it better... But, I’ve got a long way to go.

14. Do you like giving your characters trauma? Why/why not?

I hate sounding like a sadist... But, I’m going to anyway, so fuck it... Yes. I have done awful things to Alana over the years. In A Fresh Start, she got sexually assaulted and ostracized. In When I Wake, she gets into a car crash, put into a coma, and in her dream state murdered by Francis in front of Nathaniel. In Let The Dawn Be Broken, the plan was for her to end a war. In “The Melancholy of Melody Alana Roster”, her childhood cat dies, her mom gets sick, she gets abused by Carol, her best friends get ripped away from her for a bit, she gets sent to a country halfway around the world alone, she gets assaulted and ultimately turned into a weapon of mass destruction.... I’ve even thought of killing her mom off at one point... But decided against it...

Now, granted, A Fresh Start and Let The Dawn Be Broken never saw completion, but happy endings were planned for them...

I do this, all while giving Alana happy endings in each story because “If Alana can go through utter hell and make it through, then so can I.”... I know, I’m “god” in that regard and I can control how Alana’s life is.... But, the fact that in my writing, she ends up standing tall, happy, with everything she wants, after everything she goes through does make me feel better.... 

15. Are you proud of yourself? When you look at first piece you wrote and compare it to the latest one?

Yes. If you look at A Fresh Start, you can tell it was written by someone fresh out of High School. There’s no real depth to it. Let The Dawn Be Broken isn’t much better... But, The Melancholy of Melody Alana Roster has become my magnum opus. It is the largest piece I have EVER written, and will probably remain the largest piece I write. I am very proud of what I have created... And when its last word is written, and I am ready to get it made for it’s place on my shelf, I will feel very bittersweet about it... That being said, my original plan for a sequel involving Nathaniel’s and Alana’s daughter, Aurora, has been discarded. I don’t believe Aurora could ever have as much of my heart that her parents do...

And there you have it! Some insight into my world, writing, and history!

#my candy love #my candy love fanfiction #mcl fanfic #mcl fanfiction #fanfic #mcl #mcl alana #mcl alana roster #alana roster #melody alana roster #melodyalanaroster #the melancholy of melody alana roster #mclhsl #mclul #mclll #amor doce #amour sucre #sweet amoris #Sweet kiss #sweet love #Sweet flirt #sweet crush #cdm #cdmu #Corazon de Melon #corazon de bombon #slodki flirt #dolce flirt #writing #fan fiction

[a-very-sad-peach]

Sick of Forgiveness

I could be having the most innocent, harmless conversation with my parents and my mood will still be worse off than before simply because I had to interact with them. Proof: I was just depressed before the phone call with my mom and now I'm angry for no reason as well.

Man, I told my mom I forgave her for her mistakes but I'd be lying to myself if I said I was ever actually ready to forgive her. It felt right at the time, and even though I know better now I don't think I would've changed my response. Why? Because If I say forgive her, im the only one feeling the anger, resentment and helplessness. And I'm doing it all pretty silently for the most part. If I said I didn't, it might tear us apart entirely and coming back home everyday to a even more broken home is not something I can handle now or ever.

I feel sick. Why am I forced to carry the burden of being the bigger person for something so personal and painful? Am I ever going to get closure? Am I going to be this angry forever? And silently too? How long do I have to endure being the doormat?

This is not the first time I've forgiven someone for hurting me so much even when I'm not ready, just for the other persons sake. I did it with my best friend too. But forgiving her payed off and I ended up holding no resentment against her. But then I remember all the pain they put me through and it ends up hurting just as much as it initially did. How annoying. I can't hold a grudge against my best friend even if I tried but I still have to subconsciously suffer from what she put me through all those years ago. My self esteem hasn't healed from what happened, but I forgave her anyway because for some reason losing her as a friend would be worse. Annoyingly enough, she is part of the list of few things in this shitty world that keeps me somewhat sane.

When is it my turn to be as angry as I want? I am so sick. I am so sick of forgiveness.

#sadpeachrants #mental health #mommy issues #daddy issues #parental issues #dysfunctional family

[minalous]

nothing like us (m)

pairing: jungkook x reader

warnings: siren!jungkook, soulmate au, mentions of death, a little bit of smut, a lot of angst, jungkook is smitten

genre: angst | fluff | smut

words: 3k

This is one of the seven fics for the project “Greek mythological creatures” that I have been working on for my mutuals 💖 This is for my baby @joonsrack​ !!

♡

“I lied to you. You shall never live”

The bridge was empty, not a soul to be seen for miles but there he was. Power dripped from the tip of his tongue, words waiting to be spilled and control the woman walking on the bridge’s rails. 

“You are safe, beautiful.” he said “Dance for me, dance once more”

The woman would obey his every command with no hesitation, his power was growing stronger by the years and now was his chance to test it. When he saw her walking down the street, he immediately sensed her vulnerability, a weakness that came to become his strength, to be able to control her as his puppet. The wind kept howling as if it knew there was a life getting taken, piece by piece he was consuming her, devouring her soul. The trees were dancing along with her, following her every step, their leaves crying for her as the wind was taking them away from the tree’s embrace. 

Fingertips light as the morning breeze playfully wandered on her feverish skin, his voice was becoming the devil's whisper, the voice that will dethrone her from her crown of beauty. 

“Do you trust me, beautiful?”

“Yes” she foolishly said

“So naive, trusting so easily” 

His chuckle was dark as the night, dark as his heart and soul. Nobody would be able to resist his power, the way he could make his way inside one's mind, the way he could twist someone's thoughts and make them his own. 

Once he saw how the girl was so willing to do as he said, he wondered how far she would go, how much he could break her will. 

"Ready to jump?" he asked

He asked her to jump to her death the same way he would ask someone to sing. It was so easy for him to toy with people. And he had someone to thank for, someone who made him who he is.

"Before you jump, I want you to wake up, to wake up and see how it feels to get your life taken" his voice was cold as ice "but you cannot scream or run for your life" 

The woman came to realise how her life was about to end, the first thing she did was to beg for her life. Pointless, all of her screams for help, all of her begging to spare her life were nothing more than mere noise to his ears.

"Please, Jungkook. I don't want to die" 

A tear dripping down her face, acknowledging her fate is sealed.

"Jump" 

Jungkook did not watch her die, he did not stay to see her take her own life. He had already started walking away. Jungkook was only interested to see the agony inside the eyes of his victims. Oh how he loved to know he had the power to end lives, the thrill he would feel rushing through his veins as he feasted upon the horror of his actions. 

Because once again he had someone else to blame for everything. If he had no reason to live, nobody else should be given a reason to live.

"One by one, those who wronged her shall all die. One by one, you shall all meet her fate" 

Another century has passed, another lifetime without you. Jungkook could never forget you, could never resist the urge to hunt people down like him, people that took you away from him. Because you were too kind for this world, too innocent.

In a moment of desperation, he decided he needed to take his mind off of you and put some of his anger into good use. Some of the people that are responsible for your death are hunting around his territory, a grave mistake but to them was a game of power. Jungkook did not wish to waste any more time, he had his servants arrange a ball where the most powerful and important people would love to attend. 

"Sir, here is the list of the people who accepted the invitation for tomorrow night's ball."

He sat down in his office to read the list, to see if everything was going according to the plan. The list in Jungkook's hands proved how foolish some people are. Of course those idiot rivals of his fell right on his trap, rivals he was trying desperately to get rid of, men he despised. 

The people he came to despise were followers of his father's circle; his own kind was hunting him down only because he made the mistake of being weak to his father's eyes, because he fell in love with you. 

You were nothing more than a servant in everyone's eyes but not to him. In his eyes you were strong, smart, independent. The times he had caught you rebelling against his father's incompetent men were more than enough to make you one of his favourite people. 

Sooner or later, Jungkook trusted you enough to approach you and you felt you could trust him as much as he did. Small chats led to conversations, faint smiles led to stolen kisses and love led to lust. 

"Sir, we need to discuss about tomorrow night's wine menu"

But Jungkook could not focus in the present, his mind was focused on how your lips felt so soft, how good your warm body felt against his, glimpses of the nights you were moaning his name. He loved the way you moaned his name, you were so eager to please him that you were not afraid to let him be your first. 

"Jungkook.. please"

He almost lost his mind the moment he pushed his length inside you but nothing could compare to the next thing that happened.

"I love you"

Jungkook loved you so much, for so long. His heart could burst from happiness in that moment. That night he said he loved you too, that night you became his. 

"I will always find my way back to you. I promise" you whispered as he fell asleep in your arms 

Only if your secret was to stay hidden, only if you were lucky to run away together.

"Sir, dinner is ready."

Daydreaming about you was one of the few things keeping him sane. The ball tomorrow night could be a success and the burden in his heart could become a little easier to carry. Only if it were that easy to handle the pain inside his mind and soul.

The night of his revenge was here, the darkness covered the town with its thick veil and the monsters were out to play. Nobody was more prepared than Jungkook in this game of hunt. The men attending his ball were under the belief they were the hunters. Little did they know that their fate would be worse than his lover's. 

Jungkook is orchestrating his plan inside his mind. He is standing at the top of the stairs, his eyes stuck on his prey. The men have come here to remind him of his place and where he belongs; his place is right next to his father but it is not as easy as it seems. His father was the one who took his lover away, a crime he cannot forgive nor forget. Never. 

Thoughts travel once more in the past, his mind clouded with anger. They were planning on leaving that day, they wanted to have a new beginning together, to start a family. But his father had far too many eyes surrounding his son. He knew his every movement, his every thought, his every wish. 

"Father, please. I will not leave. Please do not hurt her."

His father was not pleased to see his only son falling under that woman's spell. He was convinced that the woman was a witch and she came to kill his son. 

"She cannot stay here, she cannot be around you"

Jungkook did not plan to lose her. He tried to run towards her but his father was too strong to fight him, he tossed Jungkook across the room like he was made out of feathers. The men holding her handed her a dagger, she willingly took it in her hands. Her eyes were dark, she was now lost under his father's spell. 

"Pierce your heart with that dagger. Do me this favour, will you?"

Jungkook's heart was beating so fast inside his chest, he could not believe his father could be so cruel towards the only person that made him happy for the first time in his life. He screamed your name louder than a thunder, so loud that he could feel he had you back for a second. 

"I love you" you whispered before piercing the dagger through your heart 

Jungkook could only remember crying for a few seconds before his whole world went black. He woke up with you in his arms, covered in blood and his father nowhere to be found. Losing you felt the same as losing his last piece of sanity. He never meant to become who he is today but not caring at all was the only way he could make it until today. 

He was missing you every day of his immortal life. He was missing your touch, your affection, your kindness, your eyes, your scent. You smelled of lilies and vanilla. Your scent felt like home. Your scent.. 

Jungkook could smell your scent. For a second he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him, the daydream being too real.

Jungkook runs down the stairs, his senses directing him towards that familiar scent, the scent of you. His steps lead him into his kitchen where he sees a young woman.

"My love" he whispers 

He can see a woman standing right in front of the sink, filling a glass of water before turning around. Jungkook's sudden presence scares her, the glass meeting the cold floor.

"I am so sorry, sir" 

It was you. When your eyes met his, he could tell. It was you.. After all this time he has found you again.

"Those eyes.. I could never forget those eyes." 

"Pardon me, sir, I cannot hear you" you say confused 

"You have her eyes" Jungkook says once more 

"I am sorry, sir, I cannot understand what you are saying" you add 

You cannot hear what Jungkook is talking about, you are embarrassed enough you have entered inside his kitchen like you own it. You are trying to carefully pick up the broken pieces when Jungkook touches your hand. 

Nothing can explain, nothing can put in words how you felt when his hand touched yours. A wave of euphoria and unbearable love filled up your heart. For a moment you forgot how to breathe, the time stopped and it was only Jungkook and you. Your eyes met and locked, the room was spinning but at the same time it stood still, it was you and him against the world. No sound could be heard except for his heartbeat. His eyes could see through your core but it did not scare you, his image was new to you and yet so familiar. How could one person make you feel so safe and happy when you do not even know them? 

You turn your eyes into another direction and try to make your way out of the kitchen. Something doesn't feel right, your heart aches to leave him behind. 

Jungkook is standing still at the same spot he was a second ago. 

"Do not tell me you do not feel what I feel right now" he tells you, his voice trembling with pain

"It is not my place to feel, I am promised to another man"

Jungkook looks at you, his eyes filled with grey skies, a wounded man walking towards you. And before he can protest against whatever it is to happen, you touch his face with both of your hands, eyes gazing into the depths of his soul.

"It is so strange.. It feels like I know you." 

You truthfully feel it, deep down you sense an emotion so strange, a newborn feeling.

 "I was waiting for you, for so long"

The new feelings are starting to become so unbearable, so hard for you to hold them inside your heart and in a desperate move you let them explode. More than anything you desire to kiss him and Jungkook senses it, he closes the space between your lips. He takes his time to taste you, a chaste, deep kiss is the beginning of your downfall inside his arms. He tastes so sweet that you ask for more, his tongue slowly swirling around yours. Jungkook is now under your skin, he has you where he wants you. 

"Do you love me?" he asks you but with no words 

Mind and soul scream yes.. Yes, you love him

"Do you need me?" 

Yes, you need him. 

That night Jungkook felt blessed to have found you, that night he spared his enemies' lives so you won't see him as a monster. He would rather wait, wait until he knows you could understand his reasoning behind being a killer. He needed you to understand how your beautiful siren ended up luring his victims into their death instead of luring them into paradise.

Days go by so slowly since you came to know the feeling of true love. Being around your fiance is nothing more than a routine to you. He is a lovely man who wants nothing more than to make you happy and it hurts you so much to betray him. Jimin has been a gentleman from the first day he was introduced to you, a truly beautiful man.

Every day you spend with Jimin, you feel falling out of love with him. The more you stay with him, the less happy you feel. You need Jungkook. The days you accidentally see him are the days you feel the happiest. The air around you seems lighter, your heart gets filled with strange emotions.  

You saw Jungkook yesterday at the library where he was reading a book. He was so far away from you, yet you had never felt closer to someone. With only one look, a sweet memory played like a song inside your mind. A melancholic song that only you and Jungkook could hear, one last chance to have you hear what his words may never be able to explain. 

The same dreams, the same memories, the same soul. Inside his thoughts, he let you walk among broken pieces of his mind, memories from when he was with someone he truly loved. It was like looking into a mirror once you saw her. The woman was crying and begging, nobody able to hear her. But she was not crying because of her fate; she was crying and begging for her lover's fate. Her heart was broken to see the man she fell in love with hurt. 

Jungkook was bleeding on the floor, so far away from her. Her mind was fighting her body but in vain. She wished she could go there, hold him inside her arms, tell him everything would be alright. She knew he was strong enough to overcome his physical pain, she was aware that her life was already over. What she wanted was to have a last chance to tell him how much she loved him, to touch him so he could feel everything was real and she never meant to harm him. 

It was true. She was a witch and she was there to kill Jungkook. Her mother demanded she ended his life with the dagger Jungkook's father made her end hers. She could not bear to tell the truth, she could not bear to see what would happen if his father's anger was to get directed towards Jungkook. 

She let go. She took her own life, willingly, no spells, no mind control. She smiled at Jungkook with her sweetest smile and told him she loved him. You could feel both of their hearts getting broken, a sharp pain into your heart breaking it in half. 

A deathless death. The immense pain Jungkook felt at that moment was enough to break the veil between the underworld and the earth. The woman was blessed with the chance to write her love into the stars, she was blessed to avenge her death and her lover's pain. Within seconds all of his father's men were lying on the floor, gasping for air but his father was lucky enough to slip from within her grasp. 

When the memories started fading away, you could feel your body giving up on you. It took all of your strength not to faint, Jungkook already by your side to hold you as if he knew you were exhausted from this experience. 

"I am sorry" is all you say before drifting off 

Sea of people, inside your dream there are so many people. No familiar faces to be seen, strangers among strangers, people passing you by and it starts being so difficult to breathe. The people around you start becoming shadows, fear consumes you bit by bit, no hope of getting out of here alive.

You close your eyes in hope of waking up from this nightmare when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

"You need to wake up" 

It's a familiar voice. You slowly open your eyes to see a woman standing right in front of you, her whole body radiating light, so bright that the shadows can barely be seen.

"He needs us. He needs you"  

The more you look at her, the more you can tell it is her. It must be her. 

She softly puts her hand in yours and you just knew, you knew what you had to do, you knew who you were, you knew what Jungkook meant to you. Her feelings are yours, you share the same soul. You had a second chance in love. All you needed to do was to open your eyes.

And once you do, you see him; Jungkook looking at you with the same look in his eyes when he first saw you. His voice calling your name, awakening your heart's desire to fall in love with him all over again. You have found your way back to him as you promised you always will.. 

Jungkook gives you his hand, offering you everything your heart has always wanted.

"Take my hand now" 

#ficswithluv #ksmutclub #bangtanidx #magicshopnet #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #siren jungkook #jungkook soulmate au

[atopearth]

Collar X Malice Part 2 - Okazaki Kei Route

I wonder how Okazaki's route will go, since instead of focusing on a case, Ichika  wants to broadly focus on her reason for being a police officer, namely to protect people. Anyway, other than it being sad to see Mineo rather cold after his super cute and sweet route, I also find it saddening that we have to start all over again with Kazuki and their strained relationship😭 Anyway, Yoshinari is a pretty funny guy, he's like Mineo, capable but silly lol. I guess it's convenient that Okazaki will wake up when he hears a gun taken out of its holster lol. But yeah, it was obvious that Okazaki knew who Ichika was, there's no way they could have hidden that. Anyway, Okazaki saving her from a bunch of guys and then holding her hand was cute. I think he's right that even if it feels weird at first, to feel someone's warmth when you're scared really helps to kinda calm you down. Well, okay, Ichika is pretty ridiculous. Lol, like I can forgive her for trying to rush into a raging fire to help someone the first time but for her to try a second time?? I'm glad Okazaki shouted at her because that was beyond reckless. She has no protection, no plan, no idea of anything and she wants to save someone that's at the centre of a blazing fire? Even if she's panicking, that's pretty crazy. Not to mention that this was a park, she really should have focused on helping people around her who could be injured or feeling sick from the smoke etc. Anyway, Okazaki helped her come to her senses so she really should thank him for saving her life tbh. I know Ichika is inexperienced but I feel like this incident made it seem like what she lacks is common sense instead, but I'll give her the benefit of doubt since someone was burning to death in front of her, and that's difficult to accept and endure knowing there's nothing she can do.

I honestly feel terrible for Sugawara. I can't imagine how frightening it must be for her to be stalked for such a long period of time with no one to help her, and then having the guy wanting to kill her and himself, that's pretty crazy and I feel so sorry for her. I can see why she would trust anyone who saved her from this situation when the police obviously didn't. Omggg, there were two stalkers?! I can't imagine her frustration and fear to be relieved from one stalker (since they got arrested) and then end up being stalked again, like seriously that's absolutely crazy and I don't think any person could handle that. Okazaki pulling his gun out against Ichika (after finding out about her collar) was pretty dramatic. Seems like the memory erasing thing happens to everyone who gets captured? Anyway, I honestly felt so bad for Sugawara when she felt that being imprisoned as a criminal was better than going home and getting stalked again, it's just so saddening.. I think it was really cool and strong of Ichika to tell Okazaki to shoot her if he ever believes that she is causing things to go wrong in the investigations, it's like she's leaving her life in his hands knowing that he will make the "correct" decision. I've always admired Ichika's determination. I do feel bad for Okazaki though. Reporting Ichika to his superiors or not is a difficult decision, especially considering how seriously he takes his job. I think Ichika's thoughts really hit the nail on the head on why I just don't feel on board with her and Okazaki together. Like yeah, they're cute but I agree with her that it doesn't feel like Ichika exists in the depths of his heart, rather he is looking for something from or inside her hoping that she has it because of the "kind" person she is, and yeah apparently he's found it and wants to protect her and believe her, but I just can't help but feel that he's not really looking at her for her?

Okazaki's texts are so cute with the emojis lmao. It's also sweet how they share tidbits of their everyday life with each other. HAHAHA, I nearly died from laughter when Okazaki talked about how his robot vacuum "ran away" and never came home because he left his front door open😂😂 Okazaki buying Ichika flowers first thing in the morning to try and cheer her up from her lack of progress with the recent X-Day case was so sweet. Anyway, I have to agree with Mochida, it's really frustrating to be practically the complaint hotline department for the X-Day incidents but know nothing of the progress or results to properly reassure the public. Like literally, all they do is try and soothe people and their anger but have nothing to really inform them about, it's like they made this department just to have some people take the brunt of the complaints so others can work "easier". 

I didn't think that the rough looking guy that's a part of Adonis was actually a policeman before! Doesn't help that he looks pretty different from his photo that's at least 5 years ago... I feel like that's so saddening though, like one superior ruined so many young cops lives. Honestly, hearing that one of them has been in a mental asylum for years, and the other one left the country and never came back really kinda shows how traumatised they were by whatever happened with that "bad" cop guy that died. I feel so terrible for Sanjou and all those rookie cops Todoroki crushed mentally and physically with abuse. They all desired to be a policeman to protect people and all had dreams they wanted to fulfill, and they all endured because they believed in their justice and protection, but in the end the only thing they got was injustice and hatred from the people they tried to protect because of Todoroki's mistakes. Honestly, no matter how meaningful my job is, I don't think I could endure all that, so I'm not surprised Sanjou has resorted to becoming who he is. Sure, he's going against his principles back in the day by hurting people, but even though a part of him is still there, at the same time, he's definitely tired of everything. The thought of the moment he finally broke really tore me because thinking about all he endured is painful. On the other hand, it's interesting he thinks that Adonis can replace the police itself since really Adonis in other routes and kinda here is wrought with problems and people who are reckless and don't really have a clear goal aside from revenge. Unlike him, most of the people besides the leaders don't care about making society "better" because they're focused on their own pain and justice for themselves. Not that they're wrong to do that since Adonis chose them for that reason, but it's also because of that that Adonis is a mess that won't be a rebirth of a proper version of the "police".

I don't know if any sane person would really chase after Sanjou when Ichika's recklessness got Okazaki injured, and she's definitely useless in a battle without him, not to mention tending to his wounds are probably more important right now lol. I mean, it's not like I don't understand Takaeda's position and the need to quell the anger of the public with how incapable the police have been in stopping the X-Day crimes etc, but can't he at least be a bit more subtle with how dodgy he wants to be? Lol. Who parades around telling moralistic police officers like Morioka and Minegishi to just arrest all the suspects and not care about concrete evidence or solid alibis??? Like yes, these actions will totally make the public think you're great the moment anyone complains and this comes to light lol, like seriously. It's such a silly short term fix to the problem that I have no idea how he even thought it would be a good idea. Honestly, I would be pretty mad if I was Ichika and Okazaki said he wanted to die protecting her since he's looking for a meaningful way to die. Like excuse me?? I knew the whole protecting thing wasn't really about her even though he liked her to an extent, but I would be so annoyed if someone was "using" me like that. Sure, she needs someone to protect her and it's perfect since he doesn't really care about his life, but it's frustrating to think that in the end, how much does he really care since it's like he was just looking for someone that's kinda nice but at high risk of dying? Loll. It's like she as an individual was never really in the picture for him. I know he doesn't mean it maliciously but yeah... Something nice to see in this route is Kazuki reaching out and caring for Ichika himself because he was worried about her getting hurt, it was cute how he told her to take a day off because she's an underling anyway so it doesn't matter if she goes to work or not🤣 It was also nice to see them properly communicate by themselves, however I do think that the only reason this is happening so smoothly is because they want to get this part out of the way loll.

Anyway, Okazaki's inability to understand Ichika kinda pisses me off but Ichika isn't really communicating when he doesn't understand, so they're both wrong lol. However, I hate it when people apologise without understanding why they're wrong, like it's cool to apologise for hurting the other person, but it's not cool when you're going to insist on what the other person is mad about, so really, you might as well not apologise and instead try to communicate about the problem instead. Also, I feel sorry for Sasazuka and them, they're trying to solve the X-Day cases and here are Ichika and Okazaki having a lovers quarrel, I'm honestly glad they told them to get out and come back later because they're definitely useless to the investigations right now. I also don't really care for how Okazaki suddenly "realised" he likes Ichika and just straight out publicly confessed to her, because I personally don't feel it lol but other than that, I'm not fond of love confessions like these lol. I think what annoys me the most is Okazaki's flippant attitude as if nothing is wrong and it's not a big problem? Like he's handling it in his own way and I'm sure he's serious about it but the way he does it just pisses me off. I liked the way he was in the beginning but I guess when it comes to conflicts, his attitude is one of the worst to handle. Yoshinari is such a sweet guy, I don't know why but I feel like he's dodgy loll. Anyway though, sorry if I'm wrong, Yoshinari!

Anyway, hearing Okazaki's story really helped me understand him a bit better. Personally, the bit where he said rather than guilt for causing his colleague's death, he was more scared of dying the same way as his colleague in such a "meaningless" death kinda clicked with me. Maybe it sounds really derogatory and negative to myself, but for a long time, I've felt something similar to Okazaki in a sense, like I wouldn't actively look for danger like him, but if I were in a life threatening situation with my family or friends, I would hope that I'm the one who would die protecting them rather than the other way around. It's just, when you feel like your life is meaningless but others' lives have "value", it's hard to not think that you would want them to be the one to survive rather than yourself. So honestly, it's kinda funny to relate to Okazaki a bit even though he's been such a frustrating character to me lol. At least now I can see why he's so persistent on finding a meaningful way to die, because I think he's right, if I was going to die some way or another, I would want to die saving someone important to me. It was really cute how Ichika kept trying to show him that if he died, he wouldn't be able to eat such delicious food or watch the next part of a movie next year. It really makes me think hmmm, I'd really like to see the end of One Piece so that can keep me going lol. Something I find interesting in the materials/notes is that the Adonis who attacked the Prime Minister Okazaki was protecting two years ago was the original Adonis. The Adonis in the present are apparently viewed as a dummy group of that one🤔 I feel like that's a pretty important detail for the future, like is this Adonis just inspired by them or is it the real Adonis~ Anyway, I think what I found most chilling about Okazaki's story was when Tsukishima kept saying it was Okazaki's fault things went wrong as he was dying from being squashed by the rubble that should have squashed Okazaki. He probably meant it in some other way since he obviously regarded Okazaki as important enough to save him but hearing that as someone loses their life is definitely something difficult to handle, like these are their last words and they're telling me it's my fault so they're definitely right kinda sentiment.

Honestly, I've been rather meh about this whole route, especially with Okazaki's attitude etc, but after he so honestly confessed his feelings to her when they were watching the horror movie, I couldn't help but melt to his words. He was so sincere and honest about how he enjoyed those little moments such as the silly texts with her that I couldn't help but feel touched. He's a frustrating guy but I really do like him. Even though I could understand Ichika for trying to protect Okazaki by going to Adonis, it also made me really annoyed because she was doing exactly what she got so annoyed about Okazaki doing, which is not caring for his own life, so her not caring for her own life when she promised him that they would find a way to live together made me mad. I'm glad Okazaki got mad at her, but I'm also sad that he felt hurt over it. Especially when he already told her that if she died, he'd probably just die too. I mean, there was no way Okazaki wouldn't notice how weird she was anyway lol. 

I guess I have to agree with Okazaki's statement though, everyone has something that they want to protect, and whatever it is that protects their precious something, that is what their justice is. In the end, what we deem as justice is what we believe can protect the things important to us such as other people, our friends etc, and that is also why even if our views of justice can be "similar", what it means to each person will be different, which also means that if we lose what we desire to protect, then our justice becomes meaningless. Anyway, I really like Sanjou. I like how he does what he wants and I guess to an extent, I can understand his sentiments of not caring about this world and dying. Honestly, Sanjou breaks my heart. When Okazaki told Sanjou to leave with him (as Sanjou bombed the place and decided to die with the collapse) and he said Okazaki changed, it felt like Sanjou was really happy for him because they both connected and understood how it felt to want to die. I found it most saddening that Sanjou understood Okazaki's sentiments that yeah maybe he could eventually find something in the future worth living for, but the problem was that he didn't have enough hope to keep living in this crappy world searching for it, and I think that really made me want to cry. It's just so sad that he didn't have someone like Ichika telling him how much they wanted him to live🥺 I wonder why the Prime Minister's son is a part of Adonis🤔

I really thought I missed the trigger mode when Ichika seemed like she was dying lolll, TIL that you can check the backlog to see if the trigger mode was a success or fail so that makes things easier haha. I honestly think it would have been so tragic if Ichika died saving Okazaki though, I can't imagine having to shoulder the burden of two people you care about dying to save you and in hopes of you having a good life. Lmao when Ichika finally woke up in the hospital and asked Okazaki if he was angry at her and he sent her an angry face emoji😂 I nearly cried when Okazaki let out all his emotions over hating himself for not being able to protect Ichika properly, but I'm glad that he was so frank about all his feelings to her, it's really great how well he communicates with her now. It was nice to hear him think about wanting to be a grandma and grandpa together with her. The tragic love end was a bit disappointing though, I think it would have been better to see Okazaki have to kinda live a life fulfilling what Ichika wanted rather than kinda succumbing to death because he couldn't find a reason to live anymore, like it's understandable because he's said that he'd want to die if she died but yeah..

Overall, even though I quite liked Okazaki's character, I don't think I can really say the same for his route. I guess I just found 80% of it pretty boring tbh lol, like the messages and interactions between Ichika and Okazaki were nice in their own way, but at the same time, because Okazaki was "using" her as a way to die a meaningful death, I couldn't feel the "love" he had for her imo. What he saw wasn't really her but what she could offer him, and that's pretty prevalent and obvious when you read the bad endings. However, I did really enjoy the last like 10-20% of the route, probably when they finally communicated and got to understand each other lol. It was nice to see Okazaki so honest and sincere after being able to wholeheartedly believe in a future where they both live, so I liked that. For me, the highlight was definitely Sanjou though, I think his story and character really got to me, and I'm super sad we couldn't save him (or romance him) because I think I ended up liking him more than Okazaki lmao. I still like Okazaki though, but the route was definitely lacking for me, it honestly took me a while to get through because of that lol. In that sense, I guess it made Ichika and Okazaki not feel like that great of a match for me, even though they were pretty cute.

#collar x malice