#the idea he'd so something 'wrong' like commit suicide

[gf-boyfriend]

Admittedly I don't know much about nirvana or Kurt Cobain but I feel like it should bother more people that people saw an outspoken feminist who had clearly been having trouble with addiction and his mental health kill himself and immediately went "it's probably because of his BITCH wife"

[cryptidghostgirl]

The Line (Port Mafia!Dazai x Port Mafia!Reader)

Pairing: Dazai Osamu x Reader

Description: Something is there, but if they both pretend it isn't, then everything is okay.

Warnings: Angsty but also more fluff than angst I think, mafia stuff, bomb talk, its Dazai so double suicide mentioned once. Sex also mentioned in passing like once. I think that is it, please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 1,262

Master Lists:

All Master Lists 

Bungou Stray Dogs Master List

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

A/N so i found a screenshot of this tumblr post of this quote on pinterest and besties,, I am running with it. I will add the quote in at the end.

Was it his hand on the small of her back? Was it the feeling of his whispered breaths against the shell of her ear? When had the line been crossed, if it had been crossed at all? Neither really seemed to know where it had even been drawn in the first place. Perhaps that was the trouble with it all.

Danger was a part of life for those unlucky enough to call themselves members of Yokohama's notorious Port Mafia. It was the only constant, in Y/n's eyes. Well, danger and Dazai, but they were kind of one in the same, weren't they?

"Belladonna."

The same low, constant hum. She looked up from her desk.

Dazai stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an aloof air. He'd grown quite a bit in the two years since she had met him. She supposed she must have grown as well but, somehow, he still seemed to be exactly the same. It was the calculating quality of his gaze. It was the smirk, the way the light glinted off his hair.

"That's new."

Y/n gestured towards the man with the end of the pen she grasped in her hand. Almost without thought, he raised a hand of his own to the bandage on his left cheek.

"I suppose it is."

They were never supposed to have even met one another in the first place. Their jobs were ones that should have pulled them far apart from each other's graces. He was an executive, after all, and she was just a lowly clerk. She dealt with numbers, paying off people who needed paying off, covering up the footprints of great men like him. He was supposed to send his subordinates to deal with her. That was what everyone else always did. Dazai wasn't like everyone else though, was he.

"I've got something for you." he stated, straightening up and taking a few steps into the room, his hands firmly in the pockets of his coat.

Y/n raised her eyebrows.

"What is it, another job?"

"A present."

Dazai pulled a box from his pocket, snapping it down on top of the work Y/n had splayed out over the desk's surface before her. It was large and flat. She eyed it suspiciously.

"It wont bite."

"You do."

"I said it, didn't I?"

"What is it, a bomb? Think it would be funny to watch me struggle to deal with something like that?"

"Don't give me any ideas." Dazai playfully replied.

"Is it full of anthrax? I have already told you, I have no interest in committing a double suicide."

"Just open it."

The Mafia was a dangerous place, those who worked there lead dangerous lives. There was no denying the living, breathing thing between Y/n and Dazai but... there was no place for such a creature here. Besides, neither of them would know what to do about it if there was. They had both forgotten how to be gentle long ago, were unsure if it had ever been in their nature in the first place. All that was left was the sharpness.

Hesitantly, Y/n picked the dark red box up and opened the lid. Nestled in the black velvet of the interior was a necklace. It was old, an antique locket of sorts with a few flowers engraved on its oval front.

"Nightshade." she commented.

"Made me think of you, Belladonna."

That was one of the things that helped tow the line, the invisible and complex line. Y/n never called Dazai anything other than his last name and Dazai only referred to her as 'Belladonna.' At first, the name had irritated her. It had felt like a denial of her personhood, her individuality. That was before she had known there had been a line to cross at all. She was older now, wiser. She looked back up at him.

"How sweet." she bitterly replied.

Dazai smiled his lazy smile in response. A girl could give up everything for a smile like that, even her life. Y/n wouldn't though. If she was willing to, that was mean it was all lost. They would have crossed the line long ago, if that were true. They couldn't have that. The line was what kept them safe, kept hem sheltered, kept them. He closed the distance, stepping up beside her in the space behind her desk.

"Here."

Long, slender fingers snaked around the locket's delicate chain, pulling it from its bed. Y/n's breath caught in her throat as his fingers brushed against the back of her neck, securing the necklace. It felt heavy against her chest, a foriegn weight that seemed to cut right through her skin to her bones below. Gently, he slipped a hand under her chin, tilting her face up to him.

"Perfect." he hummed.

Had they already crossed it? Was it too late? If so, what had been the deciding factor? Was it the late nights up on the roof, talking till the sun rose? Was it the knocks at her door at odd hours? Had it been their legs tangled together beneath the covers night after night, no sex required?

"Thank you."

What needed to happen, what change had to occur for them to be able to say the words that echoed in the backs of their minds?

Dazai's hand lingered on her face for a moment longer. Y/n mourned the warmth of his touch as he dragged his fingers from her.

"I have to go."

Y/n sighed, turning back to her messy desk.

"The work of a Mafioso is never complete, is it."

A statement, not a question. Dazai let out a light laugh in agreement. Y/n picked her pen back up, listening intently to his footsteps as he crossed back over to the door. At the sound of a pause, a hesitation in the pattern, she looked back up.

"Same time same place?"

She smiled. Tonight, the kitchens. Stolen food, stolen time. Stolen kisses too most likley.

"Yeah."

Belladonna. Something poisonous, something detrimental. Something completely and entirely his, if he was brave enough to take her. Dazai wasn't so sure he was, not right now at any rate. Dazai was a man who didn't like uncertainties. In fact, he avoided them at all nearly costs. He didn't know if the day would ever come when the bravery or the assurance would arrive. With things as they were now, it felt inevitable. A ticking bomb, a precariously placed glass. One wrong move, and everything would shatter.

With a curt nod, he disappeared back out into the hallway. Y/n listened to his footsteps against the carpet of the hall as he retreated, picturing the way he must look in the moment, wondering where he was off to.

The line was there, the brick wall between them. They both knew it. How far was too far? Was it holding hands as they walked down the street, checking to make sure no one could see? They already did that. They already did a lot of things. Maybe... maybe the line would dissolve when the fear left or, maybe, when it felt more manageable, they would be able to cross it, if they hadn't already.

How far was too far?

Y/n reached her hand up to her chest, fingering the cool silver of the locket where it hung at her collar. Maybe, just maybe, they had gone to far already. Maybe the world was already falling down around them, they just hadn't noticed it yet.

----

Here is the quote that inspired this:

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

The Lost Chapters of Jon Snow

Pairings: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 15.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, character deaths, graphic descriptions of blood and violence, rape, forced sex acts, abusive/forced relationship, sex under threat of death, male victim of female sexual violence, suicidal ideation, visions of smut & visions of p in v (between Reader and Robb)

Notes: Did you ever wonder what Jons story looked like during the chapters he was not a main character? These are snapshots into how the events of Heart of the Great Wolf effected Jon, that we did not previously get to see in this story. Series Masterlist Here

“Being me a horn of ale, Snow. And pour one for yourself.”

Jon should have known right away that something bad had happened, but in no way did he understand what the world looked like down South enough to guess. Night hadn't even properly hit and already one thing after another piled on top of each other, what was one more thing to add to it, he thought.

He and Sam had said their vows. Brothers of the Nights Watch they were, and yet to start off, from the woods beyond Ghost came trotting out with a human hand in his mouth. They had all went to seek where he found it and two rangers laid dead not far away from the Weirwood beyond the wall. Yarwick had quickly identified them, Othor and Jafar Flowers but with no hint of where his Uncle Benjen may have been, it felt less morose in Jons chest then it did unsettling. If his uncle was simply gone, then why were two of his company back here all alone?

There had to be more to it he thought, and maybe there was. Sam had mentioned that there was no smell to the bodies at all, and at this point there should have been. Lord Commander Mormont's attention had been called over a raven from Kings Landing, and so he made his way to his office, ordering the rest of them to help move the bodies so Maester Aemon could examine them. All Jon thought as he walked into his office, was of his uncle. He didn't at all realize, it was the wrong family member which was to be his newest fear.

Jon was hesitant as he poured, and he could sense the Old Bear was choosing his slow spoken words to him very carefully, sitting at his desk going over what news the raven had brought. “The King is dead.”

Pausing in his movements, far too much to choose one thought, passed through Jons mind. The air in the room felt thick, and he knew that the conversation was not about to end with that as the worst of it. Not quite turning to him, he had no idea if the words came off as calm as he was attempting to sound. “Is there any word of my father?”

Moving to place the ale on his desk, Jon was told to sit. Already he felt sick, he'd rather not sit he'd rather just be told what happened here and now with no lead up. Get it out of the way and maybe Jon could stop the nerve wracking pounding of his heart. Eyes wide, he did as he was told but what came out of the Old Bear's mouth was not at all what he was bracing himself for. “Lord Stark has been charged with treason.”

If that sentence did not make sense to Jon, the next one made even less.

“They say he conspired with Roberts niece- your brothers wife, to deny the throne from Prince Joffery. They both have been arrested as traitors to the realm.”

On instinct, Jon held his hand out. Needing to read the words himself but still it made no sense in his head every attempt. His father wasn't a man who did things like that, his father was the most honourable man Jon's ever known. If a mistake hadn't been made, then something else very wrong had led to this, he knew it.

The only so called treason his father ever committed was rebelling against injustice done to his own family over twenty years ago, but you? You were smart. A good girl. Someone who, insult or honour, always did what you were told. Not a conspirerer in a game of kings. He read the words again and again, and for some strange reason he recalled something the other day.

He thought of you often, he dreamt of you often, but only days ago Jon could recall having a strange image in his head of you somewhere he's never seen next to his father and he had done what he did any other time he imagined such a thing. Threw it away in his mind of simply a yearning to see again the girl he never would.

Not a clue where he was even moving towards, Jon stood up. Making his way to the door he could suddenly see all of them. Leaving on the Kingsroad and the realization that if his father and you were being charged as traitors, what about-

“I hope your not thinking of doing anything stupid. Your duty lies here now.” Stopping mid step, Jon didn't really look back at him. No, not stupid, necessary, but what was that? All Jon knew, was he had to get out of this room. He had to do something, he couldn't stand by and let this all just happen.

His voice was weak, and he knew it was a plea the Lord Commander would not accept but Jon had to say it anyways. Someone had to be thinking of them. “My sisters were in Kings Landing too.” And he was right, it wasn't anything the man accepted. He just told Jon, he was sure they'd be treated gently.

Jon couldn't stop that feeling of anger as he walked about Castle Black. His duty lay here, but if his father and you were rotting in a dungeon, who was now doing the duty of protecting his sisters? Arya and Sansa were just girls, young and naive in their own ways and the gentle they'd be treated with didn't feel like it was going to be the same definition Jon would have of it. It was Joffery and the Queen, who was there to stand in between them and his little sisters if there was no one left there to do it, or care?

What was the point of honour, if it meant Jon had to choose what honour was supposed to mean more over the other?

It didn't get better as time passed. People were awkward around him, people whispered and either looked at him strangely or avoided his eye entirely. He didn't want to think about what they were saying, Jon didn't have time for it. Or the patience.

Standing in the kitchens, he was distracted. Quieter then normal and looking nowhere but where the knife in front of him was cutting and the sights in his head he was being told to abandon the idea of protecting. Giving Arya a sword didn't mean Jon trusted her to be safe with it. She was young, short, small, and too quick and snarky for her own good and even if she knew how to use it, that wouldn't protect her against the power of a crown calling her father a traitor.

The last time he saw her, the way as they always had for years, she jumped high into his arms for a hug and nowhere in that city would a girl barley eleven years old find herself safe enough for long enough for- for what? For him to go get her?

For Jon to leave the Nights Watch and find his sisters? If Arya wasn't safe with a sword, Sansa was even less safe without one. She didn't understand violence, she wouldn't have anything or anyone to protect her without their father, but again, what was Jon supposed to do? Hope his little sisters assumed Jon just didn't know the danger they were now in? Did they believe the treason the crown claimed you and their father had done?

Would Arya and Sansa hate him more or less, if they realized Jon knew they weren't safe there, but had to stand here and choose not to do anything about it? His family weren't traitors, his father wasn't a traitor and neither were you. But Jon could only stand there, and feel that helplessness grow into anger at being told to do nothing for the people he loved.

At least, do nothing actually productive. But he sure did something with that anger, only it helped no one, including himself. The second Jon heard Ser Alliser's voice his muscles tensed, trying not to look or focus but he spoke right at him, walking right up beside him. “Now there's a rare sight. Not only a bastard, but a traitors bastard.”

The worst of it all, was that Jon knew it might have been less of an offence if he reacted right away.

Ten, twenty, maybe thirty seconds had passed. Sam, Pyp and Grenn all taking their turns glancing over to Jon as he stood there in complete silence. His eyes looked up to Ser Alliser, who condescendingly nodded for him to go back to work, to stand there and let the man insult his father.

Too bad for both, his father meant more to Jon then not reacting to that look in Ser Alliser's eyes. In a second, Jon flipped his grip on the knife and felt not a shred of regret going for him. Anger and red hot rage flowing through his blood, but he'd rather see it pour out of wherever he stabbed the man then let it fester silently inside his own mind. Instantly, his brothers reacted.

He could hear Sam and Grenn yelling, “Jon, stop put it down-” Right as he came close, Pyp moved to haul Jon away as Grenn tore the knife from his hand. Every part of him felt as if it was screaming to let him finish the job and damn the consequences, but the three of them knew Jon better then to let it happen.

Leaning angrily into his person, Ser Alliser all but hissed at him. “Blood will always tell. You'll hang for this, bastard.”

Jon couldn't do anything to help his father, couldn't do anything to help you, and couldn't do anything to help his sisters, and now he wasn't even allowed to be angry over it. The Old Bear didn't hang him, but it was clear to Jon as he was confined to quarters, that he had more coming his way. More then just that night, setting an already dead man on fire.

It was days later the next news of a raven came. Funny thing it was, how it was almost a skill the degree to which Jon could go from such an easy mood to something intense and far too angry raging deep in his bones. Sitting next to Sam, he was trying to pry out what it was he claimed he couldn't. “I'm really not supposed to say.”

Tilting his head in amusement, Jon prodded him a little more in jest. “And yet, you really want to say. You want to say that..” Leaving the air open for Sam to pluck up the courage and spit it out already, but just as days before, Jon almost wished he never heard it.

“There was a raven. I read the message to Maester Aemon.”

By the weary look in Sams eye, Jon expected it to be more of his father. But, it was somehow even more conflicting for Jons resolve. It was about Robb. Robb and you. “Someone helped her escape Kings Landing in the middle of the night, a Kingsgaurd. She's reunited with your brother, they're heading South together. To war.”

Every lack of luck in Jons life, the only thing he's heard of you in months, and twice now in days both things left him torn of too much. On paper, he should be happy you escaped. But it wasn't your freedom which left Jon's blood chilling inside him. It was his lack of freedom now. You had fled and joined Robb, going to war with him even beacuse if it wasn't duty you did, it was always trying to do what was right and now Jon had to sit there and do the opposite.

Robb was heading South declaring war on the Lannisters with you at his side, and Jon only had one breathless thought as his eyes drifted to nothing at the surmounting pile of useless he felt. “I should be there. I should be with them. Both of them.”

Jon had imagined you in his head more time then he could count since being at the wall, but it wasn't until he sat there in the hall with Sam, did he realize. Maybe he wasn't imagining you. Jon should be there, with Robb, but maybe, something was forcing Jon with you. It was too detailed, too unknown, an image he had not the creativity to pretend was his imaginations capability. He should be there with Robb, but it wasn't until that day did Jon finally come to understand, something in his mind, was keeping him with you.

Both in armour as you stood in an unknown land next to Robb. His silver and heavy, yours thinner and black almost something like scales as it sat lighter on your person. A shattering of nerves left just a distant heaviness in both your eyes as across was blood on yours and Robbs person, all he could see was Robb twisting his arm to hold at your wrist, and you returned the gesture right back, before the vision was gone. If you and his brother left for war, Jon started to wonder if he was watching it.

Guilt, anger, and confused shame all swirling in his mind, but maybe if he had one thing to hold onto, it was that just perhaps the gods had granted Jon one grace. If there was one hope he clung onto as everything told him to abandon this duty and go to his family, it was that you were not gone from his life entirely.

If Jon was seeing you standing beside Robb at war, he couldn't help but wonder, how much more of you would he finally be allowed to see again. He felt angry and useless here, but if he was seeing visions of you, it might be of some comfort.

Were anyone to hear Jon say what was happening in his head, they'd think him out of his mind no doubt. It was cold beyond the wall, and too easily someone could argue that the cold can mess with the head a little bit. Not even Sam would believe him if he said what was really happening.

There was not a shred of doubt anymore to Jon however. He knew he was seeing you. For a solid fact, Jon knew he was seeing you. First it was dreams, then in waking days he thought he was making things up because he missed you but it was impossible to deny now. He saw things of you that came true, and he continued to see things of you that were happening along the same war path he was not following.

Robb was King in the North now, which meant you stood beside him as his Queen, and Jon desperately wished it was that which he was seeing. Show him his brother growing into a leader, or your rule together, but don't show him this. It wasn't battle and strategy Jon saw. No, Jon would see, hear, and sometimes, somehow, feel only the moments of quiet he never got to.

What Jon had with you, before you had Robb, was minimal in the grand scheme of things. He knew a bit of what being with you felt like. He knew in great detail what your kiss was like, he knew what a truly beautiful sight your bare body looked like, and he knew some bits of how you felt against him. It was supposed to be enough, he'd lay awake at night at the wall and those small parts of you were his only comfort.

Eyes shut in the dark of his quarters, and he could just barley feel your soft skin under his hands or hear your gentle, high pitched sigh in his ears and Jon would fall asleep just a little easier. He would never have you the way he wanted to, the way Robb had you now, but what Jon did have was supposed to be enough.

But then he'd see you, hear you. Not just you, not just alone or in memory.

As he sat close to the ground, back up against a tree, Jon almost dropped his sword as soon as he heard it, and he nearly cut himself by accident as soon as he felt it. Your high pitched sigh in his ear as your breathe trailed along his neck like a phantom. If he closed his eyes, maybe he could feel you actually pressing your lips there. But if he closed them, he may stop seeing it. And Jon couldn't tell if he wanted to stop seeing you like this quite yet. No matter how awful it made him feel.

It was in front of his eyes as much as the crowded yards of Crasters Keep was. He could see both, and hear both. But it was not himself in a memory of you he watched. It was Robb. Robb taking you, the way Jon dreamt of being able to do with you for years.

The room you were in, some war tent no doubt fitted just enough to be fair of a King and Queen, but without the pomp he imagined many others might have wanted. In terms of luxury, Robb was as humble as you were and it made Jon swallow harshly at how easily you matched his brother. Once, he thought it was himself you were made for, but now he wasn't so sure. Robb touched you easier then Jon ever did even after six years.

You were gorgeous this way, eyes barley keeping open and your mouth parting with breathless begs and pleads, but it burned Jon everytime it was “Robb” he would hear you sing. At the mercy of his brothers touch, you moved just the way he wanted and never protested how thrown around he'd toss you about.

Watching as if before him, Jon could see the way you were moulded perfectly to Robbs demand, and Jon, aggravatingly, almost could feel as if he was the one inside you. His brother had you on your hands and knees, your back arching into each thrust as you barley gasped for air before Robb took it away again. It was rough, the way his brother fucked you, but gods help him, Jon could tell you took Robbs cock as if you were born for it.

Barley a word you'd mutter out, just begs for more, begs for Robb to do whatever he wanted, and promises that you'd be good for him as you cried into the air. So perfect it sent shivers down Jons spine more then any winter winds out here. None knew, none could hear, not your cries nor Jons thoughts but you were so effortlessly loud without being obnoxious.

Just the sounds that couldn't be contained, but he would've. Forced to sit there, eyes dark and narrowed, Jon watched and knew he would've by now, flipped you onto your back. Covered you with his body, pressing you into the sheets and stolen every last breathe with his lips. Kiss you so only he could feel your cries and none would hear it.

Robb would mutter filth at you then groan and Jon somehow knew you were clenching around him so tightly, but he couldn't help the wonder on his own as he watched. Jon wouldn't talk to you that way, and clearly you couldn't get enough when Robb did, but Jon would make up for it. He'd slow down, take you so every inch dragged along your sensitive walls and pull your needy cries that way instead of seducing them with words.

You reached a hand back, and Robb pulled you up. Knelt upright on the bed, your back against his chest as he fucked up into you, and muttered low in your ear as you begged for him to finish inside you. And you were perfect for it, beautiful for it. Jon would never get the chance, but every insecurity left his head as he watched you in his own wide eyed silence.

You begged for his brother, begged for Robb to spill inside of you, but Jon wished it was him. He'd keep your lips pressed to his, you'd barley be able to beg, beacuse he'd spill inside of you before you could go too long without it.

So, imagine the true cruelty, as the image before Jon shattered out of nowhere. Left back in only the cold of Crasters Keep and you were gone. He was used to it by now, he supposed. Without much due, Jon picked Longclaw back up, and returned to properly taking care of it. He saw you enough that he could go about his business and none would know what he watched. But too often, Jon knew it was such an intimacy he never had that he was being forced to witness you have with Robb.

It didn't make it much better, when minutes later Sam came walking up to him with one of Crasters wives standing wide eyed next to him. “What are you doing?”

“This is Gilly. She's one of Crasters..daughters.” The fact that both terms were used interchangeably was vile, but it wasn't the girls faults for that. It was however, Sams fault that he spoke to one of them in the first place, when they definitely weren't supposed too.

With a bit of a shortness he glanced to her, “Hello Gilly.” Eyes flying back to Sam with the same quiet, even tone on his words to allow him to explain himself before Jon lost it. “What are you doing?”

The girl, Gilly, tried to implore to him first. Saying that Sam had told her Jon could help, and he couldn't fathom what in the world Sam had gotten himself into now. Trying to shoot it down, that they weren't even supposed to talk to any of Crasters daughters, Sam interjected. “She's pregnant.”

Oh, Jon was going to throw Sam head first into the snow. Slowly letting Longclaw fall into his lap, he turned his head up to look at him in disbeleif. Talking to one of these girls was one thing, but Sam managed to find one to talk to that just so happened to already- gods help him, Jon already didn't like the feeling he got around Craster and this was not making it any better.

Quietly, Sam managed to get to the point. A point Jon would've rather been anything else but what it was. “We have to take her with us when we leave.”

“What?” All but slamming Longclaw down onto the snow, Jon stood stepping towards Sam as he tried to keep his voice from all but yelling at him. Saying he knows the idea sounded mad, Jon felt as if he was losing his mind. “No, it doesn't sound mad. It's impossible.” The two of them arguing back and forth, as this was the last thing Jon wanted to deal with at that moment.

Gilly interrupting with a more gentle approach then either of the two men before her, “Please Ser, please. I can still run if I have too.”

That did not make Jon feel any better for arguing against it, knowing she seemed desperate for someone to help but she and Sam were asking for something that had no solution from him. His tone quieter, trying to be fair to the girl and staying calm as he looked to her. “It's just not possible.”

Jon couldn't change his mind, but she certainly implanted something there which he suspected she didn't actually mean to do. “I'm going to have a baby, if it's a boy-” Before cutting herself off, mouth agape as she realized how close to a mistake she got.

But Jon wouldn't let that one go. It was one of his first thoughts as they got here. Craster had countless daughters, but not a sign of a son anywhere. No boys were in Crasters Keep which were not men of the Nights Watch. His eyes darker as he looked to her, something less kind and sliding into more demanding as he asked, “If it's a boy, what?” But she wouldn't say. Opening and closing her mouth before choosing the answer of silence, Jon inhaled deeply. Turning to properly look her in the eye, he felt his patience wearing thin over this. “You want us to risk our lives for you, and you won't even tell us why.”

Either shock, or upset, or disbeleif, maybe even a bit of fear Gilly looked between them as she ran off without another word. Sam beside him now louder and much more indignant then he was trying to be in front of the girl, all but scolded him. “Why do you do that?”

Turning his head to look back at him, Jon was back to wanting to shove Sams head in a snow bank as the irritation rose once more. “Do what? Ask her a question?” Sam tried to argue that he was cruel, and that time Jon let his voice raise more to a shout. “Cruel? Sam are you in such a hurry to lose a hand?”

Shaking his head, Sam defending himself as if it really made a difference. “I didn't touch her,”

What he wanted was worse Jon knew, and he was blunt with him about it. The man had said anyone who touches one of his wives loses a hand, and Sam was coming to Jon with something about a hundred times worse. “No, you just want to steal her. What do you think Craster cuts off for that?”

If he wasn't so frustrated over far too much in his life, Jon might have felt bad for the unintentional comparison he put forth as Sam whispered, “I can't steal her. She's a person, not a goat.”

But once more, there was too much on his mind. His father was dead, he didn't know if Arya and Sansa were safe or even alive, he didn't know if Bran and Rickon were safe, and to top it all off he almost every day it felt like, had to watch his brother be King with the woman Jon loved. And if he had to have a vision of you and Robb fucking once more time, he might lose it.

But in fairness, he knew none of that was Sams fault. He came to Jon trying to help this girl, and Jon had to address that without taking his frustrations out on him with it. Collecting himself, Jon knew Sam didn't respond to arguing well, but he did with logic and reason. “We're heading deeper and deeper into wildling territory. We can't take a girl with us. Mormont wouldn't have it, and even if he would, what would we do with her? Whose going to deliver a baby? You?”

Quite literally any answer was the right one except for what Sam actually said. “I could try.” Turning his head away as Jons brows narrowed at him, Sam moreso he suspected was trying to just plead his reasons to himself, he already knew what Jon was saying. “What? I read about it..a bit..”

There was little Jon could do about anything in his own life, let alone this one girls own. It didn't make him feel good, but Jon was as honest as he could be. “I'm sorry, Sam. We can't help her.”

Though, Jon certainly thought to himself later, that he wished they could help. But he wouldn't tell Sam that, beacuse it would mean telling Sam what he saw that night, and every bit of it made Jon feel sick. Realizing Craster was taking his newborn sons into the woods, to seeing one of them walk up and take the child, to the stunningly unsettled revelation that the Old Bear knew about it already.

Jon could only say it to Lord Commander Mormont exactly as it found it in his mind, close to that of a yell in shocked anger, “He's murdering his own children, he's a monster.” But nothing could compare to the inhuman dread building inside of him as Jon gave his own honesty once more, but a strained mutter with something fearful behind it. “I saw it. I saw..something take that child.”

Both men wished it weren't true, but the Old Bear was right as he spoke just as quiet and feared of the unknown about it. “Whatever it was, I dare say you'll see it again.”

In his moment standing there on his own, Jon wondered if you were seeing things as Jon was. If you watched parts of his life now, as he was yours. He hoped not. He didn't want to have seen what he saw take that child, and away at war you had far more to be concerned with then things far north you couldn't possibly understand.

Besides, as twisted as it felt for Jon to watch you and Robb the way he was forced too, he didn't want you to have the same conflict. He could tell you loved Robb, and Robb loved you, that much was certain from the visions in Jons eyes. It tore his heart a bit to think it, but Jon was glad you and Robb had each other, he truly was. And as much as the selfish side of Jon wanted to know if he was still part of your life even as a figure in your mind, he didn't want to get in the way.

He told you that night before your wedding that he wanted you to be okay with the fact that you were going to be Robb's. And that still hadn't changed. His brother deserved to be loved, and so did you.

But these visions Jon kept having, it just made that feel all the more needlessly complicated.

As if things weren't bad enough, as if he wasn't already grappling with what Qhorin Halfhand was about to make him do, Jon was getting the increasing urge to turn around and fling this girl into the closest body of water. He was immensely fed up, but this was his punishment for hesitating too long.

Taking a life like that, his first real one like that of an execution, that wasn't something Jon had done. He fought and killed a wight but taking a human life like that was new. It wasn't as easy as men pretended it would be. But, Jon decided instead of forcing himself to do it, he'd try mercy. So he took the wildling hostage and it all led to this.

They came back looking for him, and it got them captured and killed and now it was only Jon and the Halfhand left. The plan was the same, someone needed to get inside Mance's army and both of them knew they'd boil the Halfhand alive before ever letting him escape with his life. But the man argued that they might be able to trick the wildlings into trusting Jon, and the only way to do that was coming.

Jon still hadn't taken a life. But he was about to, and he was struggling to accept it.

Or, he'd be struggling to accept it more were it not for the bane of his existence making him miserable behind him. Acting as if she was so much better then him, when all she had done was make things worse for Jon. He ended up most nights having to have Ghost sleep in between he and her, beacuse she would try making advances on him in the middle of the night.

Whatever she thought this was, it wasn't. But she was loud, and rude, and hypocritical and wouldn't listen and so Ghost had to protect him at night. She was tied up, and still, Jon didn't really feel safe being asleep around her, so Ghost had to be there. Now that the positions were flipped?

Shockingly, none of the mercy Jon showed, was shown to him. He many times had to almost silently implore Ghost to stay out of it, he needed to do this, and so he needed to put up with this. Thankful, there was something about he and his direwolf that was almost beyond needing words. Ghost understood what was in his head right now, and let it happen, and kept his distance, but were Ghost any closer, Jon knew he'd be able to hear him growling at her.

If her non stop loud talking wasn't the thing giving Jon a headache, it was the way she quite literally, was smacking him with the flat edge of his sword. Smack after smack she would hit him with it and it was really testing him. Ned Stark did not raise his son to hit a girl, but gods Jon would've been about to turn around and hit this one if it wouldn't also immediately get him killed.

“We should be there by sundown. Won't be a fun night for you. Mance knows how to make crows sing. If you know what to say, you might just make it through the night.” Jon never once said anything about the things which would happen to her when he reached his brothers, but there she walked behind him, the glee in her voice about what Mance Rayder was going to do. What torture Jon was to endure come nightfall, as if it was going to be the best part of her day.

Besides hitting Jon in the back of the head for the hundredth time. When did he ever hit her? Right, never. He felt his temper rising, and for the rest of their sakes he hoped not all wildling girls were this obnoxious.

“Not talking's not the way to go.” He had been silent, not any interest in speaking to her, but once more she hit him again.

So Jons patience ran thin, and so did his ability to control the short temper in his words. “Careful with that, you might cut yourself.”

As soon as he said it, he knew it was only a matter of time. Qhorin Halfhand had the advantage of where he walked being able to see the right opportunity, and so Jon knew he was going to have to start attempting to create ones for the man. It had to happen, and just maybe, he'd get Ygritte to shut up for once while doing it. As if he hadn't been training with a sword since he was old enough to hold one, she acted as if it was this easy.

Only, Jon had used a sword that long. Ducking in an instant, he turned to move behind her. Eyes all found them, and Jon needed to keep them on him. As long as it wasn't happening, Jon could work up to what he was going to have to do without quite thinking about it. It wasn't real yet. So he kept the eyes off the Halfhand, and on him instead. “Never swung a sword before, have you? You look like a baby with a rattle.”

It was an easy target he knew, mocking Ygritte with how he knew in a fair fight she'd stand not a seconds chance against him. But she was easily riled up as if she could ever deny it, and so she turned to him in anger as he did her. A brief thought in Jons head that the girl hadn't done anything anywhere near enough to prove that the bravado she held, was earned.

Jon thought however, that it was you who did earn the right to hold that sort of superior attitude, but never would you come close to it. In a sword fight, Jon knew he'd be able to cut a smug, over confident Ygritte down with ease. But Jon knew one thing for certain, you were one who could take Jon on in a sword fight. He taught you not just how to fight, but how to hold your ground against Jon himself and you both always sparred with a playful fun in your eyes. Even this far away, gods help him beacuse Jon could still see bright as ever how beautiful you looked, in memory and in visions of now.

Ygritte just looked like an angry child who wasn't getting her way.

But the Halfhand took the opportunity, knocked down the one holding him captive, stealing back his sword and making his move. Knocking Jon down to the snow, Jon had to find the mindset right away. This was their only chance, Jon had to make this convincing no matter how much he didn't want to do this. But he had to, yelling for him to stop, the Halfhand goaded him into the right mindset like they both knew he would. “Why, traitor? So you can give Mance Rayder an invitation to Castle Black?”

Rattleshirt yelled at the wildlings holding both men back, yelling them to let them fight. Being allowed to grab his sword, Jon and the Halfhand fought. He was good, and he was convincing at seeming angry, but they still both knew, Jon had to be better, beacuse they would never trust the Halfhand. Back and forth they swung, trying to find the grounds to get this right.

But, the Halfhand was smart and knew exactly what needed to be done to force Jons hand into winning this fight, and played right into a weakness. Yelling at him, “Your traitor father teach you that?” Jon moving onto the attack only for the Halfhand to parry, and the final nail in the coffin was landed that had Jons blood boiling just the right amount of steaming red to find the strength, hearing the man yell at Jon, “Or was it your whore mother?”

That anger swam right through him, enough that he swiftly was able to knock the sword from his hand and then in a moment of silence, they both stood staring at each other knowing Jon had to do this. Running his sword right through him, Qhorin Halfhand looked right into Jons eyes with a conviction and trust that they were making the right decision, barley whispering to him almost as a reminder of why they made this sacrifice, “We are the watchers on the Wall.”

Falling dead to the ground, Jon heard nothing around him. No words, no conversation. The wildlings spoke, some maybe to him even, but Jon heard not a single bit of it. All he could do was stand there seeing and feeling how plunging his sword through Qhorin Halfhand felt, and a horrific ill crept up in his throat.

His first kill was a good man, a man who did nothing wrong, who died beacuse Jon failed to kill a single wildling. One of his own brothers of the Nights Watch. The first red staining Jon Snow's hands was a man he wished he never killed, just to convince these people to trust him.

Looking back to see them burning the Halfhands body, Jon wondered how long it was going to take until this sweeping guilt came up from the earth and swallowed him whole.

The guilt wasn't allowed to stay long, before he knew it, he was in their army camp. One hundred thousand wildlings and Jon was being led there to meet Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall. It was now or never, it didn't matter how much Ygritte and Rattleshirt trusted him, Jon needed Mance Rayder to trust him or none of this would ever matter. Ghost slunk silently in the background, keeping his blood red eyes no where but ensuring he was always paying attention to where Jon was. His only protection left, the only tie to who he really was left, beacuse Jon was entering that tent as nothing but a lie.

To be honest, he wasn't what he expected at first. Large and imposing, yes. But there was something rumbling and unhinged in the mans demeanour. Hair a wild orange and a thick beard to match as he ate, not looking up to him yet. His voice was low, and Jon suspected were he to yell, it would rumble the earth like thunder. “I smell a crow.”

Rattleshirt spoke behind him, “We killed his friends.” Jon worked hard to stand there in stillness, keeping his breathing even. He had gotten them killed, it was no ones fault but his for not killing Ygritte when he should have. “Thought you might want to question this one.”

Still, he didn't look at him. “What do we want with a baby crow?”

Ygritte coming to a defence Jon didn't want, “This baby killed Qhorin Halfhand. He wants to be one of us.” Jon was at the very least glad someone bought it, beacuse Jon felt such drowning guilt it felt as if it was painted all across his very face.

The man felt even larger as he stood, Jon looking up at him, blue eyes staring him down harsh with not a hint of impress. “That half handed cunt killed friends of mine. Friends twice your size.”

But that didn't scare Jon, he even had seen a giant out in that camp but every one of them were men, they were all made of the same things. Looking with no more intimidation in his eyes, Jon spoke with a rough truth, “My father told me big men fall just as quick as little ones if you put a sword through their hearts.”

This was an imposing man, not a single ounce of care in his eyes as he rumbled deep in kind. “Plenty of little men tried to put their swords through my heart. And there's plenty of little skeletons buried in the woods. What's your name, boy?” Jon answered, but in a second did it clue in, who he was clearly speaking too.

It wasn't anything but everything he was taught and valued, but he kneeled, “Your Grace.” And everyone in the room laughed. The man before him, found it the most amusing.

Arms reaching out with a bright glint in his eyes as he jested to the others, “Your Grace? Did you hear that? From now on, you'd better kneel every time I fart.”

Then, he stood from the corner of the tent. Tall just like the man before him, but there was a serious air about him that was more then just the orange bearded ones intimidation. “Stand, boy. We don't kneel for anyone beyond the wall.”

Looking at the real Mance Rayder face to face, for a single second Jon thought to himself it was odd that in a way, the man looked as if he'd somehow seen him before. Even worse though, and even though it was impossible, Mance looked Jon in the eye with the confidence no stranger beyond the wall should've had. “So, your Ned Stark's bastard.”

No one here should have known that. Ned was his fathers nickname, bastards weren't even a concept for children here beyond the wall, he'd never met this man before. And suddenly Jon realized, there was something more dangerous about the King Beyond the Wall then he ever knew.

As the others left, Jon had no idea what she wanted at all, but the simple fact that Mance had caught Ygritte giving Jon a look as she left the tent was enough it seemed. “The girl likes you. You like her back, Snow? That why you want to join us?”

Even if he could even slightly tolerate her, Jon would consider himself an utter disgrace of any kind of man, either as man of the Nights Watch, or a man with Stark blood in his veins, if meeting one girl was enough to make him betray his brothers. The other man, found only amusement in the comment that Jon cared not for. “Don't panic, boy. This isn't the damned Night's Watch where we make you swear off girls.”

No, he thought. Jon only swore off one girl.

And right here, in that tent as the only girl these men spoke of was Ygritte, Jon wished you would appear to him here and now. He didn't care what he would have seen, he wanted to see you and only you. Don't lump Jon into the kind of men who jumped from girl to girl as they fancy, he thought.

Jon had a girl. He'd only ever have one. His first girl.

But, he managed to convince them to trust him. Mance knew right away, Jon didn't care about the girl outside, or being free, or anything of the sort. Jon convinced him with the truth. That he had seen one of those things, one of the Others take a baby boy away in the woods. That the Lord Commander already knew. “I want to fight for the side that fights for the living. Did I come to the right place?”

Simply telling him, they would need to get him a new cloak, but Jon did not miss the fact that Mance Rayder, had not actually answered his question.

Jon felt worse then he ever had before in his life. He was miserable, and lying, and everything felt wrong. Who in the seven hells was he anymore? Being with you never felt like this, it never made him feel uneasy, it never made him hate himself, it never made him hide from the truth beacuse it felt sickening.

But he had to lie about it. Beacuse he knew the word. He knew what word was to describe what had happened, what was happening, but he couldn't accept it. Jon was a man. A strong, capable man. He shouldn't be allowed to say that happened to him. He should be a better man then that beacuse everyone would laugh and mock him if he said what he was thinking.

Everyone but you. You'd see through it right away if you saw the way Ygritte was with him, and you'd know the truth Jon was painfully hiding from. You, and Ghost. He had to send Ghost away. She demanded it. It was the only way, they all knew if Jon walked out of that cave without doing it, they'd know he was still loyal to the Nights Watch and they'd kill him faster then he could come up with an excuse.

Ghost wouldn't ever have let it happen, and he almost didn't. His direwolf let a lot happen at Jons order, but this was not one Ghost would stand back from. He would have torn her apart if Jon didn't send him away, and he hadn't seen his direwolf since. It made it all the worse. What he had to do, what she made him do, and how much he felt disgusting for it.

Jon never felt such a deep hatred in himself when he was with you. He'd have you on his bed, perched on his lap with your soft lips against his, part of your dress falling down your shoulders almost exposing your breasts were you not pressed tight against him. He'd guide your covered hips along his covered cock and it was a heaven which was found in your touch together.

So why did he feel dirty, filthy? Like his skin was so covered in a grime he'd have to tear it off just to get it all clean. But he couldn't. He did what he did, and whatever forced pleasure his body found, only made Jon want to scream.

He didn't care that you married Robb, he didn't care about any of that. Even if he'd die without it, Jon would have waited that entire lifetime to share it with you. That belonged to you, just like his heart but Jon let Ygritte take it and it was only a miracle which Jon didn't break down that day.

He had seen you in the middle of it. A vision like before, but this time, his vision was of you telling Robb you were pregnant. The glee shared between you both and the way his brother took you after as Jon was forced to watch as he himself was taken, but by force. But Jon was still here, and so were the wildlings and now he had to pretend he was part of this.

Jon had to pretend Ygritte was who he wanted, and he had to pretend he didn't feel fear now everytime she came close to him, not knowing when she'd just take and take what Jon didn't want to give all over again. He lied to himself, and said this was normal. This was how a relationship felt. In fear and avoidance.

So why, did Jon sit there terrified at the thought that you could see this? If this was real, why did you knowing about Ygritte scare Jon? Why did the idea that you thought Jon moved on, make him feel as if he was nothing but a low life who was betraying you? But now they all thought Ygritte and Jon were with one another, and Jon had no choice other then to pretend like it was all okay.

He couldn't think about how much he missed you, and how desperately he wished you were here instead of her. Being with you felt like Jon and you were born to find one other, being with Ygritte made him feel like a stranger in his own mind.

He knew too, his father would be horrendously disappointed in who Jon had become.

“But I'm your woman now, Jon Snow. You're going to be loyal to your woman. Don't ever betray me.” Sitting next to him she said it with such conviction. But if that was how it was, why did Jon dream of you every single night without failure, why did he still see you in visions day after day and wish he could reach through them and return to you?

But he couldn't say that. She'd kill him here and now. So he just said, “I won't.”

She kept talking, and threatened him as if it was cute and Jon sat in silence feeling ill. He had to love her, he had to. He couldn't do this otherwise, he couldn't think of you. It had to be her, beacuse Jon couldn't handle feeling like he was betraying your love.

You and Jon teased one another, so he had to tell himself, Ygrittes threats and insults were essentially the same thing. You were strong willed, and Ygritte smugly saw herself with a superior opinion, that was the same thing, right? Your touch was gentle, and selfless, and so unbelievably loving, and Ygrittes was selfish and forceful and mean.

Maybe, Jon thought, if he just didn't let her touch him anymore, he could lie about the rest until he believed it. He had nine hundred feet of the Wall to climb, so maybe he could spend that, telling himself his love for you didn't matter anymore, beacuse his survival was dependant on loving her.

But then they got to the top, and Jons world shifted. He could see here and elsewhere, but it wasn't a scenario he watched. Just you. Standing out in the woods, green all around you with red watering eyes and something devastated in them that made Jon want to pull you into his arms, but then you looked up. You looked at him.

Wherever you were, you could see Jon as he saw you. You were so upset, and Jon realized you had seen exactly what he didn't want. You had seen him too, and he wanted to lash out. You looked at Jon, shocked you both were seeing the same vision of the other at the same time, but you also had seen what looked like Jon moving on. It looked to you, like Jon didn't love you anymore.

As soon as you were gone though, Ygritte moved to kiss him. But he rejected it entirely, twisting from her and just walked away, damned the looks they all gave him for it. You had seen him, and now you thought Jon didn't love you anymore and he hated it. He hated this plan, he hated he had to kill Qhorin Halfhand for this plan, and he hated that he gave up the only thing he had left that belonged to you, to her.

Jon never felt more alone then ever.

He always remembered something his father told him. It was after the first time he had gone with him to witness his father carry out an execution. He had told Jon something that stuck so heavily with him every day since.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.”

Jon since that day, even more so now as a man, tried to live by those words. And today, he had a growing feeling deep in his gut, that it was all coming to an end. The words of his father he lived by was about to clash with the free folk and what they demanded of him. All knelt behind a stone fence, waiting for Orell to return from scouting, and the news he came with only made that prediction of Jons that much stronger. “Only one old man, and eight good horses.”

Tormund turned to Jon, asking why one man would have eight horses, and he was honest about it. “He breeds them for the Watch.”

Discussing what to do, Jons eyes once trained on the grass intently, raised up in a deep protest as Orell whispered with the larger man, “He's got some gold in there, and proper steel. Let's carve him up.”

He knew what he was doing, Jon knew exactly what they were all about to think if he said it but not for a second was any of this right. Roughly he hissed out, “We just take the horses and go. The old man's no threat.”

Jon had gotten good at detecting when Ygritte was putting on a soft tone to manipulate him, and there was no patience left for it in Jons body. He too knew, mercy, was not something she cared about, not with the dangerous blood thirst that ran through her veins. “He’s an old man. A spear through the heart’s a better way to die than coughing up your last with no one but your horses to hear.”

A better way to die he thought, was when the gods fated it too. Not being slaughtered beacuse they wanted to plunder his own livelihood. Not even sparing her a glance, Jon kept his attention on Tormund instead. “The Watch might send a few men looking for a horse thief. They’ll send a lot more to hunt down murderers. “

The strange thing was, Jon at the very least, found it in him to respect Tormunds honesty. He didn't manipulate or lie, he was blunt and honest about his intentions and goals without care of what others thought. But regardless, as he leaned into Jons space and spoke, Jon knew he wasn't going to let these people do this to an innocent man. “I hope so. Killing crows in their castle is tough. Killing them out here in the open, that’s what we do.”

All jumping over the edge, the group made the run across the field and Jon came up with a plan in the seconds it took him to reach it. He knew horses well, and he knew how easy it was to spook them. Not a soul saw him do it but the gods, and that was the only eyes he cared about. Slamming his sword down onto a passing rock, the clink echoed enough to reach the horses ears as they neighed and shifted.

Enough together it would grab anyone's attention. Stepping outside to see what the ruckus was, the old man spotted the group running his way, and moved thankfully quick. Jumping onto one of the horses, the man begun to make his escape as Jon had one last thing to do.

Raising her bow up to shoot an arrow into him, Jon angrily called Ygritte's name. Just enough of a distraction to throw her aim off enough so the man could escape. Her head whipped around to glare at him, and Jon could only avoid her eyes and walk passed her in silence.

If this was love, why was a deep part of him, still scared of her?

By the time they caught up to the old man, it was pouring rain, and getting close to dark. Jon couldn't help the uncomfortable thought, that they had spent a lot of effort hunting down one innocent man.

Ygritte and another shot the man down by plugging his horse full of arrows, sending him flying to the soaking ground as the group all walked up on him. Tormund approached from the opposite side to face him, and the man still with a tough resolve, pulled a knife out and pointed it at him. Jon, turned his head slightly away.

This was who the free folk had hunted down, an old man with but a knife on him and nothing more, just defending his right to be alive. He felt sick.

The ironic thing to him once more, was that it was Tormund who showed the man respect. Man to man, he didn't lie or soften the blow, but was respectful and honest as strange as it seemed as he simply took the knife and tossed it away to the side. “Where were you riding?”

“Doesn't matter now, does it?”

Tormund agreed calmly, that it didn't matter. But, it was the angry yelling of Orell that made Jon feel even worse. “Cut his throat, or he'll tell the crows we're here.” His heart sunk more in his chest, how could he stand here and be part of this, the man didn't deserve this.

Pulling his own blade out, Tormund spoke with a raw honesty, “You understand.”

The old man holding a hand out, looking up to him with one last request. “Let me stand at least. Let me go with a bit of dignity.” Despite everything, Tormund held his hand out and helped pull the man up on two feet, himself.

But Orell, was the one there, who could sense what was going on. He knew what was going on in Jons head and he had poked and prodded at him about not being on their side and it seemed tonight he was going to press the issue just as Jon felt he was reaching his breaking point. “Make the crow kill him.” He moved to get right in his face, voice low and both men knew, that the other knew the truth. “You're one of us now. Prove it.”

But Orell didn't want Jon to kill him, he wanted to expose that Jon was lying once and for all.

Jon knew, if he didn't kill him, he was fighting his way out of here and it would be one against too many to be able to escape easy. Pulling Longclaw out, he let it rest gently at the mans neck. “She looks sharp.” Jon could only nod, maybe, if Jon could do it, it would give the man some solace knowing the blade was good enough to be clean and quick.

But then he'd have to do it. Jon stood there, keeping the sword there as the rain poured around them all and he couldn't stop looking at the man instead of his blade. He was an innocent man, and he stood there hearing his last words, watching him pray to the same gods Jon prayed too. A swirling devastation rose in his mind and in his eyes, why should they get to do this to an innocent man? Why was this who Jon was supposed to become?

Jon looked him in the eye, and heard his final words. So why hadn't he moved yet? They all goaded him. “Do it.” Ygritte was seething anger as she looked at him, and it felt horrible. This was who she thought Jon was, and this was what she thought was worthy of such anger, Jon hesitating to kill one, innocent man.

Jon shifted his grip, as if that was the problem. Tormund yelling at him, “Come on, boy. Go on,” So he raised his sword above him, and Jon knew, this wasn't who he was. Jon looked him in the eyes and heard his final words, but still, he thought, the man did not deserve to die.

His sword fell loose in his grip, as he accepted it was all over. The mask had slipped for good and putting it back was impossible. But just as he did it, Ygritte unceremoniously shot the man dead with an arrow and hell all broke loose.

The fight was chaotic, and just as Jon was almost overwhelmed, multiple men going for him as Orell yelled with an attacking swing, did a figure leap passed them both taking a man to the ground. Turning in shock, Jon saw a wolf, a direwolf and a darker one just as large attack another.

His brothers wolves?

But he had no time to think, Jon fought Orell off, and no hesitation that time, plunged his sword right through the mans chest. Rasping with the most confidence Jon had felt in years, “You were right the whole time.”

The mans eye's turned white in his final moments, and as quick as he fell, did Orells eagle screech. In the mind of his own bird, he attacked Jon, knocking him to the ground and tearing at the skin on his face, trying to go for his eyes before Jon gathered his bearing and knocked him harshly away.

In seconds, Jon climbed up onto a horse, and rode away from them all without a single regret. Only a day later, as he gathered his bearings to plot his path to Castle Black did Ygritte find him. He tried one last time to hopefully get away without issue, playing off what he knew she felt for him, and all it did, was get Jon shot full of arrows so much he felt faint even just riding away from her.

He hadn't had a vision or dream of you in days. Jon could only think in that agonizing ride to Castle Black, that he never wanted to see Ygritte again, and how much he desperately wanted to one day, find a way to see you instead. See you beyond just visions that told you lies. You loved Jon for who he was, and he was a fool for ever thinking he'd love someone who wasn't you.

Ygritte only loved someone who was never real, but you loved Jon Snow exactly as he was. That, was the woman he wanted to see again. And maybe if he were lucky, he'd find a chance. But, when Jon woke up in Castle Black, Sam came to him with news. News of Robb, and news of you, shattering his heart.

Jon knew, he would never get that chance ever again.

“Three dozen bodies with slit throats tossed off the top of the Wall. Seems like that would be a good lesson.” The men all shouted and slammed fists against tables, but none of it helped. None of their eagerness to right the wrong, changed what happened.

As soon as the boy arrived, Jon knew right away, he'd never forget the day Olly came to Castle Black. A boy of twelve telling a horrifying story of losing everything to him. The massacre they had committed and likely he was the only survivor. A hand firm and as comforting as could be sat on Ollys shoulder, as Jon did not hide the way his eyes shined with something unshed. It wasn't the same way or how, but he knew. Jon knew what losing your entire family and home felt like.

He knew what being left alone in the world felt like, and Olly was too young. It wasn't fair.

The worst part though, was that they didn't just do it to do it. They did it beacuse they knew it would cause this reaction. They knew, it would lead to the men rallying for justice. For once as Jon stood there, hoping to be a pillar of any support to Olly, did it feel strange that for once, he agreed entirely with Ser Alliser.

Without Mormont there anymore, Ser Alliser was acting commander. Standing in the middle of the hall, speaking loud and clear the exact thoughts Jon was thinking on his own. “If we go after them, we'll be giving them what they want. They want to draw us out, pick us off a few at a time.”

Maester Aemon sat with the same wisdom as ever, with more then any of them combined it sometimes felt. He was quiet, and all fell even moreso to listen when he spoke. “We have just over two hundred men. And that's including stewards and builders. And me. We can't afford to lose a single man. We must remember our first responsibility. We are the watchers on the Wall.”

Jons head sunk, but not once did his disagree. Qhorin Halfhand did not sacrifice himself to Jons blade so they could sabotage themselves for the sake of justice. No justice could be found if they died before they could protect anyone else. He already had enough of failing to protect the people he loved.

He couldn't protect Robb, he couldn't protect you. So Jon would protect the only thing the gods graced him with left in this world. The Watch and the Brothers now remaining to him.

Admiring Pyps spirit, he insisted there had to be something they could do. But in the quiet, Ser Alliser turned to Jon, both for a serious answer, and he suspected, to test the loyalty remaining in him. “You're a champion of the common people, Lord Snow. What do you say to Brother Pyp's proposition?”

Loyalty however, was all Jon had left. Loyal to the things which truly mattered, and the Nights Watch was not going to be able to protect anyone if they let the free folk slaughter them all. “Mance Rayder is coming. If the wildlings breach the Wall, they'll roll over everything and everyone for a thousand miles before they reach an army that can stop them.”

Robb already lost his Kingdom to the Boltons when they took his life. Jon couldn't let the free folk come and ravage through what of his home, his brothers home, his families home, was left. Jon couldn't save Robb, but he could protect what was left of his Kingdom from this one thing if none else.

Just as Ser Alliser spoke of shoring up Castle Black, did the horn bow. One blast, rangers returning.

And suddenly they all scrambled to get to the tunnel. Only two figures came through barley standing on two feet as they dragged each other. Others helped, some grabbed Grenn and Jon grabbed Edd.

It might be, he suspected, the first time in years that Jon actually, genuinely laughed as Edd strained out in pain, “Thought you'd have blue eyes by now.” Leave it to Edd to be the one to get the first laugh from Jons miserable life, seconds upon his return.

Sitting them both down, freezing and in pain Grenn showed the red marks of the chains that kept them so long from coming back. Edd telling them that they were kept at Crasters by the mutineers, the brothers who killed Craster, and killed Lord Commander Mormont. But the terror hit Jon, leaning down to Edd he rasped out “Are the mutineers staying?”

The answer was what he expected, but also the worst case scenario. Grenn explaining “They're not going anywhere. They've got Craster's food and his wives.”

Edd muttering morosely of the fates that likely were finding them. “Poor girls. Never thought they'd miss their daddy.” Grenn explaining that it was Karl running things, and Jon instantly knew what kind of men that stayed there. Those girls had been through enough with Craster, he couldn't imagine what torture they were finding with men like Karl Tanner keeping them hostage.

Taking a step away from the group, Jon ran a hand over his face realizing what they were going to have to do. They couldn't stay there, they'd be met by Mance Rayders army and they'd sing faster then drunks in a tavern. Once more, Jon thought of the Halfhand. He died for this, the men he was with died for this, that innocent farmer died for this.

They couldn't fail now. Turning to Ser Alliser, Jon's tone was deep and urgent as he cut through the discussion around him. “We need to ride north and kill them all.” Ser Alliser trying to tell him that justice could wait, but Jon interrupted once more, raising his voice as his heart raced. Eyes wide and full of the same dread they all were beginning to sense. “It's not about justice. I told the wildlings we had over a thousand men at Castle Black alone. Karl and the others know the truth as well as we do. How long do you think they'll keep that information to themselves when the wildlings are peeling their fingernails off?”

Voice dropping as his face twisted and narrowed, they were risking too close to the line of loss as he looked up to Ser Alliser. “Mance has all he needs to crush us, he just doesn't know it yet. As soon as he gets his hands on them, he will. Then he'll throw his full strength at us.” Turning to the rest of the men, he let his voice raise, they needed to know how urgent this was has Jon felt. “And even if every one of us kills a hundred wildlings, there's still not a thing we can do to stop them.”

What was worse, was that in a horrible way, it didn't matter that Jon had led men to end the mutineers, beacuse still more death came. This time Jon felt the guilt just as someone else did. But Sam didn't deserve that guilt inside him, and Jon sat next to him that night feeling horrendous, feeling that dark rooted anger twisting inside of him that they couldn't do anything.

They had hit Mole's Town. The closest place North before the Wall, a little run down town where it was mostly known as a place the brothers would sneak out at night to and visit the brothel. It also, was the same brothel where Sam had taken Gilly. Not for that, not even a chance, in fact it was that sort of act which he was protecting her from.

Knowing the kind of men Karl was, or Rast, men who in their free lives outside the wall were killers and rapers, still were in the walls too. And Gilly was one, defenceless girl with a baby who despite the sometimes amusingly quick and sharp attitude she held, was nothing of a fighter. So Sam made a deal with the brothel owner, Gilly would live there and in return she'd cook, clean, and look after the other working girls babies as long as they gave her no other work.

But after Ollys village was attacked, Jon was the one who was the guilty party, not Sam. He had talked him out of going back for her, once Ser Alliser ordered none of them to leave the castle and now that the free folk had rolled through it, Jon knew no one was left. Including the brothers who still snuck out that night.

Jon tried weakly to tell him, “You couldn't have known.” But Sam was grief stricken, and it made Jon feel so much more guilty. Gilly and Little Sam didn't deserve that, none of those girls in Mole's town deserved that, no one did. Sam didn't hide the tears in his eyes, as Jon sat trying to keep down that gut wrenching anger brewing within, which Grenn was not able to hide.

He paced back and forth, shouting the rage that Jon felt inside. “We're just cowering here while they slaughter our brothers?” Edd more calmly behind tried to argue that they were supposed to have been in the Castle, but Grenn grew angrier. Edd and Grenn both had a point, but maybe it would help letting it out as opposed to Jons silence making him feel worse. Maybe not. “Oh, so it's alright then? Black Jack, Kegs, and Mully chopped to pieces 'cause they broke the rules?”

Edd stayed calm at least, “I didn't say it was alright. I'm saying they shouldn't have been there.”

It was a strange time to think it, but Jon could recall the morning after he tried leaving Castle Black to find Robb and you after his fathers death. How easily the Old Bear called him out for leaving, only to placate his fears. “Don't look so terrified. If we beheaded everyone that ran away for the night, only ghosts would guard the Wall. At least you weren't whoring in Mole's Town.”

Sam next to him cut the wound even deeper as he muttered “She's dead because of me.”

Grenn still enraged pacing back and forth, “We pledged to guard the realms of men. We can't even guard Mole's Town.”

Jon had to interupt, he knew Grenns rage, he truly did. But the truth no matter how hard, had to be accepted. The two men hated each other, but Jon knew Ser Alliser was entirely right in ordering all of them to stay within the Castle Black walls. “We can't go after them, you know that. It's what they want.”

Gods help him, he hated that he knew how Sam felt. “Little Sam..as if I cut their throats myself.”

Oh Jon knew too well what that pain was, and it made him feel heavy for not having any words to comfort him over it. Little Sam wasn't his baby and Gilly wasn't his wife, but really, for Sam they still might as well have been. Jon still dreamt every night, a vision of you dying in a pool of your own blood. And he could always see the wounds in your stomach, right where he saw you gently guide Robb's hand to, when telling him you were with child.

Not all of those free folk were bad people, many of them, men like Tormund were just acting as soldiers doing what they knew, what they were told, but it didn't make it any easier. In fact, it made it harder to accept. How on earth did Jon ever trick himself into thinking he could've been one of them.

The mask slipped beacuse Jon refused to kill one innocent man, but by now? How many innocent men, women, and children had been slaughtered since? Olly had described a woman with red hair who shot his father dead, an expressionless look on her face as she walked away. Jon thought to himself, how many have you killed since I left, Ygritte? Is that what she wanted him to become?

You always looked at Jon too highly, always saw him as a better man then he was, but you also always pushed him for more. You saw his potential and supported him no matter what beacuse you believed in him. You never pushed him to be someone he didn't want, never forced him into anything.

You always had a soft spot for children too, you helped raise all of his younger siblings on and off. This would have utterly horrified you. His gut twisted, knowing that you didn't just die that night, but you were slaughtered like an animal right in the stomach where your own child was growing.

Around him, Jon could hear the others trying to assure Sam she might have gotten out, might have escaped somehow but Jon couldn't convince himself to say anything. If Gilly was dead, Jon didn't want to give Sam the pain of false hope. That was equally as cruel as the bloody truth. But as he sat there, it clued in his mind.

Brows narrowing in thought as he connected the dots of the maps he knew like the back of his hand. “If they hit Mole's Town, then we're next.” Looking up with an unnerved distance in his eyes, Jon looked despite knowing he wouldn't see them. Not until they wanted to be seen. “Mance's army must be close.”

Finally, Pyp asked the most pressing question. “How do two hundred men kill a hundred thousand?”

The silence was his answer. Edd circled around to them, pouring ale into each of their mugs as he spoke grim. “Whoever dies last, be a good lad and burn the rest of us. Once I'm done with this world, I don't want to come back.”

All five of them drank together. Their days were finally numbered.

He was trying not to get angry, it wasn't Sams fault. He didn't know. No one knew. He explained it that day the only way someone like Ser Alliser would care about, and from they point on he just let them all say what they wanted about it. None of them would've believed him, and even if they did, they'd mock him for it. Everything Jon was capable of, and yet they'd torment him for not being able to defend himself against one wildling girl.

As if it was that simple. Jon didn't need to be held down to be forced into it, it was far more complicated then that, but no one cared. The only person who would've cared was you, and you were dead, so why should Jon care anymore about people knowing the truth?

But Sam kept trying to ask. “I want you to tell me what it was like to have someone. To be with someone. To love someone and have them love you back. We're all gonna die a lot sooner than I'd planned. You're the closest I'll ever get to know it.”

His hands tensed and untensed, trying to keep himself calm. His men needed him to be calm and in control tonight of all nights. Jon loved you, and you loved him. That was it.

“You know right? Even if I don't say it?”

If Jon could go back and say damn it all, he would've just told you how much he loved you if he knew how this was all going to end. You died thinking he didn't love you anymore, and now Jon was facing death where everyone would wrongfully assume he loved someone who wasn't you.

He tried very hard to divert the question to anything else. “So you and Gilly never-”

They went back and forth about vows and what not but in truth Jon didn't really care. Not now. As they walked, it was only when Jon found themselves alone for half a moment when he finally got fed up enough and turned to Sam. “I didn't do it beacuse I wanted to Sam. I did it to keep myself alive. I don't know what being with someone you love in that way is like.” Your name came from his lips for the first time in months, and it stunned Sam silent. “She died before I could find out. Ygritte is nothing like her. Not even close.”

That ended the conversation. If they died tonight, or tomorrow as they all expected, he wouldn't do it with no one knowing it was you he wanted to be with. Just one person had to know what he had with you was the only real thing he's ever felt. Someone had to know Jon only ever loved you, beacuse you died, thinking that he didn't.

All beacuse of what Ygritte forced him to do.

The barrels all rolled into place, Jon found himself standing next to the man himself. “That's the last of the oil, Ser Alliser.”

Both men stood there, looking out into the darkness as he asked what he already knew. “A hundred thousand you say?” Jon confirmed once more, feeling the same motivated dread he did. “You can say it if you like. We should've sealed the tunnel while we had the chance like you suggested.”

But Jon didn't want to say it. He didn't agree, but he understood why he refused. And pointing out who was right or wrong about what didn't matter now. They were here to do the same thing, defend the same place and people. Hating one another or not, tonight Jon and Ser Alliser stood on equal ground fighting for what they both knew and felt in their bones, was the right thing. “It was a difficult decision either way, Ser.”

“Do you know what leadership means, Lord Snow? It means that the person in charge gets second guessed by every clever little twat with a mouth. But if he starts second guessing himself, that's the end. For him. For the clever little twats. For everyone.” Mormont had tried to help Jon become a leader, and it was him who says he first needed to learn how to follow. “This is not the end. Not for us. Not if you lot do your duty for however long it takes to beat them back. And then you get to go on hating me and I get to go on wishing your Wildling whore had finished the job.”

In truth, Jon wished she did too. Then he wouldn't have to experience the painful reality of knowing what living without you in this world felt like.

When it mattered most, Lord Janos Slynt was exactly what Jon knew he was. A coward. They looked to the fire and the army of Mance Rayder as they stood high on the wall, and the man was the only one of them who panicked. “No discipline. No training. Gang of thieves, that's all this is. I commanded the city watch of King's Landing. Those men obeyed orders.”

What in Seven Hells was this man even going on about? Jon turned to him, yelling without a care for holding back now. “We can't just let them attack the gate,” Janos babbled something about the steel as he lost more and more of his own command. Jon gesturing out, yelling in the cold wind to the sights coming for them. “Those are giants riding mammoths down there. Do you think your cold, rolled steel's gonna stop them?”

If they all made it through, Jon made a note in his mind to thank Grenn later. Coming to him, he leaned over to Slynt with an easy lie on his lips. “Brother Slynt, I've just got word that Ser Alliser needs you below. You're the most experienced man he's got, he said he needs you.”

So he left like a coward, and Jon knew the men up here still needed a commander. He had learned how to follow, and he felt the call to action as natural as it ever had come to him. It was time Jon lead.

Watching as the fight raged on, two giants came down from their mammoths and the worst begun, if they got through it was all over. They used their great strength to begun pulling the gate off and open with ropes, and Jon knew if they did one thing it was they needed to hold that gate closed. If Mance's army got in, it was over, for them, the watch, and everyone who the free folk would rampage over in what was left of Jons home.

Turning to Grenn, Jon couldn't have known how much he was going to regret choosing someone who meant that much to him. “The outer gate won't hold. Take five men, hold the inner gate.” Grabbing his arm before he left, Jon muttered roughly “Hold the gate. If they make it through...”

But Grenn was a fighter if Jon had ever seen one. Not a doubt in his mind as looked back at him. “They won't.”

The night raged onward, and it was a strange sight in the carnage to see Sam coming up behind him. “What are you doing up here?”

An urgency in his voice as Sam relayed the dire state below. “The Wildlings are over the walls. Ser Alliser has fallen. The castle walls can't stand much longer.” One leader high, and one leader low. But now? It all fell onto Jon, he needed to be the leader fighting for the only purpose that mattered. Giving Edd command of the Wall, Jon turned to make his way down the path.

Grabbing Longclaw, he it pulled free with a yell to his men, “Come brothers, now fight with me,”

For a split second, Jon feared it was all over. He stood there, knowing he couldn't kill her faster then she would kill him. Ygritte was angry, upset and kept Jon at bay with an arrow pointed right at him, but this wasn't who she thought he was.

This was the man he always had been, the one he wanted to be. Ygritte forced him to love her as someone else, but he wasn't that falsehood. Jon Snow stood for better then the destruction and bloodshed she raged in favour of.

But perhaps, he used it for once, to manipulate her to his advantage. If he stood there, risking her shot, letting her think he wouldn't or couldn't kill her, then Ygritte wouldn't turn around. And she wouldn't see what was coming her way, just like how Ollys father never saw her arrow coming his way.

The boy stood with a bow in hand, and as she thought it was her Jon was looking at, Jon made eye contact with Olly. He was a good shot, and Jon trusted in that. The nod was to him, not to her, and when the arrows flew, Jon found himself uncaring, as the memories of what she forced him to do flashed before his mind.

Maybe it was cold or cruel, but Jon could feel the filth she made him cover himself in when she would force from him what he never wanted to give her, and he couldn't find it in himself to care when she fell to the ground dead. Jon Snow already lost the woman he loved, and your name sure as hell wasn't Ygritte.

He didn't want to think how many brothers he lost that night, but Jon forced himself too. Pyp was gone, an arrow through his neck and the gods were cruel enough that Jon knew she had done it. He should have killed her that day beyond the wall, he should've just killed her when Qhorin Halfhand was still alive. Beacuse then Pyp would still be alive. The brothers all around him would still be alive.

Tormund was the only one left, the men surrounded him but he was angry and a fighter with rage flowing through him and they all stood back in a degree of fear, instead of fighting him. But Jon, for once, finally didn't care about how Tormund saw him. Walking over with a crossbow in hand, Jon yelled to him. “Tormund. It's over. Let it end.”

Gruffly spitting at him, “This is how a man ends-” But Jon had no more patience for it. Raising it up, Jon shot Tormund in the leg, and just as he yelled out, Jon kicked his blade out his hand and to the ground. He had been the only one with the bravery to get anywhere near the wild man.

“Put him in chains. We'll question him later.”

Jon turned and walked away as his brothers dragged him off. Tormund yelling and spitting in rage, “I should've thrown you from the top of the wall, boy.”

Rasping quietly to no one, Jon didn't really care if he heard him or not. It didn't matter. The dead were all still dead and there was no changing the past. Most who Jon cared about, were still gone after all.

“Aye. You should've.”

It was a terrible idea, but every idea everyone had left was a terrible idea.

Qhorin Halfhand had said it the best all those years ago. “Sneak in, kill Mance, and scatter them to the wind.” And he was right. But no one here was willing to do it, beacuse it was a plan that ended in death for the brave soul who would end him.

Jon had lost his father, brothers, sisters, family, home and you. He had nothing left in the world outside, all he had left was the watch and the brothers who died, after turning to him to lead in the darkest part of the night. As he approached Sam, he knew it would be the last time he saw him too.

But no one here was going to make this sacrifice. Which means it was Jons responsibility, and truthfully, Jon felt as if it was the only path left for him that made sense. Do one last thing, beacuse Jon had nothing else left.

Sam called it a great victory, but he rasped roughly at him the hard truth. “Great victory? Mance was testing our defences. He almost made it through. He has a thousand times as many men. They'll hit us again tonight. Maybe we can hold them off for a day or two, but we can never beat them.”

Walking away Sam realized what Jon was thinking, trying to argue with him not to do it, but Jon kept walking anyways before being told it was a bad plan. In honest, Jon sort of smirked. They were all full of lots of those these days, weren't they? “You're right. It's a bad plan. What's your plan?”

Grenn lay dead, he held the gate just as Jon told him too. Add another person Jon cared about that this was going to be for. Jon was doing this for him now too. He deserved better.

Pulling off Longclaw, he handed it to Sam. “I promised Jeor I'd never lose it again.” Taking it gently, the two looked at each other. The only person Jon had left, and he was about to walk away from him too. “In case I don't come back.”

“Jon. Come back.”

He knew he wouldn't. But Jon walked through the gate anyways. He had one last stand to make that no one else would. Beacuse he was taught to be a leader, and sometimes, leaders had to be the ones to throw themselves on their sword to save the rest. And just maybe, Jon couldn't do any of this anymore anyways.

Walking into that camp, Jon felt little care left for the life he was about to give up.

Only as he stood in Mance Rayders tent, as the two men realized Jon was there to kill him? That's when it all changed. That's when it happened.

Moving outside, men on horseback charged into the camp. More numbers on horses then the free folk knew where they came from, and they had come north of the wall too. Taking down men left and right, Jon knew right away these were not men of the Nights Watch, and they weren't free folk either.

These were soldiers. Real soldiers.

Mance in minutes realized they stood no chance, and yelled a surrender to his people. “Stand down, I said my people have bled enough and I meant it.”

Standing next to him, Jon watched as two riders in the distance approached. The banners he realized, weren't just normal Westeros banners. It was inside a heart set ablaze, but Jon knew the sigil all the same. Beacuse inside that burning heart, was a Stag. A crowned Stag.

Climbing down from their horses, Jon knew it was no coincidence men had come to their aid. Sam and Maester Aemon sent pleas to whoever remained in the Seven Kingdoms to help them, and at the last minute, only one King answered that call.

Without seeing him before, without even hearing a name, Jon knew who came to their aid. Older, much more rough and serious in every way, but he could see it clear as day. He knew what was coming, yet still wasn't prepared for it. It was still too raw.

The man looked at both of them, and found Mance Rayder's gaze. “You're the King beyond the wall. Do you know who I am?”

Sensing nothing that Jon was about to spiral into a meltdown from, Mance simply jested, “Never had the pleasure.” But it was Jon who felt his heart sink in his chest at the truth of who came to help him in the end. It was a connection to the one thing Jon would never let of again. The second man spoke what Jon already knew, but he still felt stunned in his heart hearing it.

“This is Stannis Baratheon. The one true King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

[pastelclownkitty]

thinking about my drdt milgram au that stemmed from a comment my friend made

teruko would definitely take the role of the prison guard. she is so sick of everyone there and its very funny. also monotv as jackaloupe

oh also the voices are still canon because they're peak comedy

putting the rest of this under the cut since its just me dumping random thoughts..it is on the brain

i think xander would be very similar to kotoko? in the way that his crime could be killing genuinely awful people.. maybe he'd even take the role of harming those found guilty like she did. i also do believe it wouldn't be too out of character for him to try and form an alliance with the guard like she did.

would be fitting if charles accidentally killed his brother and genuinely didn't remember. i'd have to think of the details but it would surely be an accident.. perhaps something went horribly wrong when he was messing around with chemicals and it ended up killing his brother in some way.. hehe

ace and nico are fairly obvious. nico would end up killing one of their bullies (cmon. they already tried canonically) and ace would accidentally drive someone to suicide via bullying. though i'd have to expand on ace more since all crimes in milgram are supposed to be morally gray in one way or another.. i'll think about it

similar situation to nico, arei would probably kill her sisters. i'd have to distinguish them more if i end up building on it. i think arei's situation could be less of a "heat of the moment" thing and more of an elaborate plan since i do think nico's murder would be more impulsive

EDIT: just had an idea!!! another possibility for arei's murder could be that her sisters pressured her into doing it, possibly with the promise to cut down on their torture or even make her "popular". would make things a lot more interesting, so i'll likely go with it

arturo would definitely try reviving a dead celebrity like shidou did with his wife. you cant even try to tell me im wrong. i don't think arturo would regret it at first however.

with whit.. no clue. i was thinking it could be like mahiru's, but i also wanna make whit a little more on the sinister side? he deserves to be a little fucked up. just as a treat. i just know his mvs would be really cheerful like mahiru's

idk how david would commit murder but he'd definitely have a "its not my fault" muu 2nd trial moment. also xander's admiration of david is staying canon though i'll build on that later. take it as you will for now

if anyone shows genuine interest in this concept i might elaborate on it further!! just needed to get this concept out to the public instead of rotating it in my brain. also if anyone wants to add anything themselves i fully encourage you to!!! would love to hear it :]

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Grief in all its Strangeness

Heyyyy so today has not been a great day. I was wondering if you could write something for Merlin or maybe the Avengers about that feeling when someone has died (by suicide, but you can ignore that if you'd like (you can ignore this whole ask if you'd like)) and you didn't actually know them, or even interact with them ever but you crossed paths occasionally and now they're gone and it just feels wrong. And somehow you also feel guilty? Idk. Your stories are always a comfort for me :) – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: suicide, one of the knights (not a main character) commits suicide offscreen, it is not shown/recounted but the fic revolves around the grief after the incident

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 2146

One of the knights is dead.

Merlin didn't know it at first; that would explain why he'd barged into Arthur's chambers and been surprised that the Prince was already out of bed—granted, not dressed and out of bed, but out of bed nonetheless—and why Arthur had been even snappier with him than normal. And it wasn't one of those 'fun' snappy moods either, the ones where Arthur's getting a bit overwhelmed with the pressures of being a prince and all that came with it, and he needed to mess around or he'd go insane—Morgana's words, not Merlin's. No, this was one of the moods where Merlin figured out he needed to put his head down and get out before it escalated to one of them saying something they really didn't mean.

He finds out from Lancelot what's happened.

"One of the newest knights was found yesterday," Lancelot says, taking Merlin off to a side corridor where no one ventures often, his hands hidden beneath the swaths of red fabric and his voice too low to tremble, "I imagine the Prince is taking it harder than most."

"Why would Arthur be taking it harder?"

"This knight was one of the youngest Camelot ever trained. And he was found with…" Lancelot's breath stutters and he quickly coughs. "It's quite obvious what he died from. Why he died."

Oh.

Oh.

"Oh, no," Merlin mumbles as Lancelot nods solemnly, "I'm—I'm so sorry."

"Thank you," for how could Lancelot not be grieving too? "I—hh. It was a surprise, to be sure. It seemed like he was…well, like he was fine. I suppose we never really know for sure, do we?"

Merlin nods. His head spins with the idea of one of Camelot's knights, his body found by his brothers-in-arms, and then not even able to find the thing that killed him because, well…

"I don't mean to muddy your day with—"

"You're not muddying anything," Merlin interrupts quickly, "I asked, you told me. Thank you. And, um, I'm sorry for your loss too."

Lancelot smiles ruefully, nodding once more and clapping his hand against Merlin's shoulder. As he turns to walk away, Merlin's hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. He stops, turning back, and Merlin swallows.

"You've got me," he says in a rush, "you—you know you've always got me, right?"

Lancelot's brow furrows for a moment, before realization dawns and his mouth opens a few times, trying to form words. Merlin just stares at him, waiting, until another smile forms on his face, sweeter than the last.

"I do," he says, stepping back into Merlin's space and taking Merlin's arm too, "of course, I do."

"Right."

"Right."

"Is this—do knights hug, or—?"

And he actually gets Lancelot to chuckle as he opens his arms, letting Merlin give him a hug and whispering another thank you into the space between them before he pulls away. He watches Lancelot walk away, red cloak billowing out behind him, and looks down at his own ruddy hands to see the calluses and blisters that have started to show a similar color.

That does explain why Arthur was in a mood, and despite himself, Merlin feels a pang of sympathy for him. It was one thing to be a knight right now, he supposes, to have lost one of your brothers, but quite another to be the Prince: responsible for his training, for him, and still for the rest, and not able to talk to anyone. For who could Arthur talk to who would listen? The other knights—well, if they could get over the power imbalance between knight and prince, that would be miracle enough. Then there might be those who blame Arthur for the knight's death, or who could be placed in an equally volatile situation. And none of the other nobles would have the same emotional weight that Arthur would, he was the only one who was a knight, who trained and lived and breathed with them.

And the King…

The day Uther Pendragon cares about something, not as an extension of himself, but for it and it alone, Merlin will walk into the lake and never emerge again.

So: who does Arthur have? Well, he has Merlin.

Not that Arthur would ever really admit it, not in front of anyone in any way that matters, but he does have Merlin. And so, Merlin will be there for him, in any way he can.

He orders Arthur's favorite foods from the kitchens for dinner. It's a massive platter—but then again all of Arthur's meals tend to be—and he staggers into the wall a fair few times going up the stairs, but he gets it on the table before Arthur can look up from his desk. He turns his back and picks up another chore before Arthur can see what he's done, scrubbing at a determined spot on Arthur's gauntlet.

He keeps his ears pricked for the pause in the scritch-scratch of Arthur's quill, waiting until he can peek over his shoulder at the scrape of Arthur's chair.

"Merlin."

"Mm?"

"These are…" Arthur clears his throat. "Thank you."

Merlin hides a smile. "You're welcome. Figured you'd be hungry."

"You saying I'm fat?"

"I'm saying that it must take a lot of energy to do all that work without taking a break."

A soft huff but it's a laugh—he made Arthur laugh, just a little. He looks over his shoulder again and sees the remnants of a smile on Arthur's face as he tucks into his dinner, and he allows his own to bloom again as he goes back to scrubbing at the metal. Arthur's chambers fade back into the quiet sounds of their coexisting as Merlin's hands go bright with exertion, until everything gets suspiciously quiet and he turns just in time to catch a roll of bread flying at his face.

"Oi!"

"Thought you looked a bit peckish," Arthur grins, getting up and going back to his desk, and Merlin gnaws off a bite and sweeps the crumbs onto an empty plate.

This…this he can do.

He doesn't order Arthur's favorite every time, but he makes sure he orders the things that he likes. He does his worst chores when Arthur isn't in the room, or at least keeps the obnoxious ones to a minimum and makes deals with the other servants to have them taken care of while they're out during the day. He plays the fool, the jester, the easy target when he needs to, and if he can send Arthur off to bed with a smile more nights than not, he counts that as a win.

It's not…easy to check in on the knights as well, but it's easier than it should be. Arthur trains the knights, after all, and Merlin would be lying if he said he hadn't noticed the way he's being a little softer, a little kinder with them in the wake of the death that's occurred. A few of the senior knights lend themselves to their brothers as well—he sees Lancelot comforting two squires who have tears in their eyes, he sees one of the sword-master's regular demonstration partners speaking softly to a young knight whose hands won't stop trembling, he sees Leon holding who he later learns was the knight's beloved, letting him cry into his shoulder without saying a word.

He happens upon the three of them in the armory later that evening and wordlessly returns with a tankard of the finest wine he can lay his hands on, three goblets, and a small plate of pastries. He doesn't speak to the third knight, but both Leon and Lancelot find him the next day and pass on their thanks. After that, well, it becomes a habit to walk past the armory to see if there's anyone else waiting there.

He's thinking about how many plates of cinnamon pastries he'll have to ask the baker for when Gaius yells in shock and he looks down to see he's burned his hand.

Gaius frets and scolds him for not paying more attention as he carefully wraps up his hand, but Merlin can't stop looking at the red, red, red skin beneath the sickly pale bandages. He doesn't pick at it, but he tugs them down just enough so he can see the bright color again. Arthur gives him a curious look when he sees the wrappings and he mumbles some excuse about being clumsy that Arthur laughs at. He finds himself looking at it throughout the day, the bright red skin.

It is a strange thing to be surrounded by grief.

Merlin didn't know this knight. He didn't know their name—well, he knew their name now, his name was Larkin—he didn't know what he liked to do in his spare time, he didn't know his favorite food, he didn't know what Larkin wanted out of life. And yet as he watches the knights grieve, watches Arthur grieve, his chest fills with a selfish desire to know, so that he might grieve too.

The first time that thought crosses his mind, he balks at it. Who is he to wish for grief? Who is he to want to steal the pain of others and hoist it onto his own shoulders? Is it not enough that he is here for the ones he does know, the ones he does care about, while they grieve in their own ways?

The burn blisters.

He thinks of Larkin, cold in the middle of the night. He thinks of his body on a smoldering pyre. He thinks of the acrid smoke in his throat and eyes. He thinks of Freya at the bottom of an endless ocean.

He thinks of his own shaking hands, red and blistered, and spends a thoughtless night awake and alone in the dark, staring unseeing at his own grief.

Distantly, he realizes that this is selfish too, in its own way. If he should mourn, should he not mourn this loss? Why is he mourning a loss that could only be his own, when he could make his suffering communal? But he could no more wish his own grief away than he could unburn his hand, which aches and itches under the bandages as it glows red and warm. He thinks of the strange numbness in his gut when he sees the knights grieve, and of the burning guilt in his chest that no one else shares his.

He lets Gaius change his bandages and goes up to Arthur's chambers.

When he opens the door, Leon and Lancelot up from their seats at the table and he instantly turns, going to fetch the mead, the ale, the wine, but Arthur's voice stops him.

"Merlin, come sit."

Merlin sits. Leon looks at him for a moment, then down to his hand, and holds out his own. After a moment, Merlin lets him have it, the other clenching in his lap at the twinges as Leon examines the burn.

"Nasty thing," he says quietly, "how did it happen?"

"Wasn't paying attention. Got distracted."

Leon hums, looking back up, but he doesn't let go of his hand. Merlin's brow furrows, mouth opening to ask what's happening, when there comes a knock at the door. On instinct, he rises to answer, but Leon's hold keeps him seated as Lancelot goes instead. He returns with a platter of baked apples, still slightly bubbling, and Merlin's eyes widen. Over the last of the steam, he sees Arthur smile just a little, coming to sit across from him. He feels Lancelot's hand settle in the crook of his shoulder, still slightly warm from handling the platter.

"We're here for you too," he says softly, and Merlin's eyes fill with unshed tears.

Arthur's chair scrapes across the floor. His boots thud as he rounds the table and strong hands pull Merlin up from the chair and into a solid chest. The wind leaves him at the sudden rush of solidwarmArthur around him and the gasp jars the tears from his eyes. The last thing he smells before his nose closes is the slightly toasted spice of the apples and the faint trace of polish from Arthur's armor. Arthur's chin hooks over his shoulder.

"Go on," he murmurs, "it's okay."

Grief is still strange to Merlin. Comfort doesn't have to be.

[doctorguilty]

F&c thoughts more (suicide ment a lot)

I think the story board discussion really backs up my point the narrative got really cruel to simon though like I've been saying, it was weird to go out of the way to bring up like brand new flashbacks and send him on like a guilt journey over things he didn't do wrong particularly like, the autism which I stand by, and the story at face value was simon being willing to, in a sense, commit mental suicide by sacrificing his life and sanity to protect fionna's world, which is sort of his like, excuse in a way to give up, you know? Like he was already so depressed he missed being ice king because he didn't have to face his life, you're following me right, about the serious depression?

And then we get these boards with some unused dialogue that is way more direct about Simon's intent when it came to doing the ritual to see betty. We're sort of under the impression he was somehow trying to save her, something like that, and then after he apologized for everything the lifting him towards her mouth and him resigning to it seems like a "I accept what's coming to me". But no, no no its worse..!! In the unused dialogue he outright says, out loud, he was attempting to do the ritual because he wanted golbetty to consume him (and he would die. That's what would happen.), and maybe that way they'd at least be reunited in a way. Before meeting fionna before deciding to find a new crown for her, and destroy his brain, he was trying to get to the place he wanted to be to finally kill himself, with the closure he wanted. Do you understand. Do you follow me. And he changed his mind after meeting fionna, (even following the unused dialogue) that he would prefer to live and instead just sacrifice his brain. We can pretty much assume, the scene we ended up with, was more of his implicit desire to die (and fionna no longer needed simon to be alive to exist), and instead golbetty grants him another chance because SHE wants him to live. Which is nice don't get me wrong ! Like really it's nothing betty did it's like, the writers choice to put him through weird guilt about (the almost non existent??) power imbalance and disregard everything in between, in both AT and what betty fucked around and found out with, And again like, disregarding the whole part of the f&c highlight that the world would be a wreck without him having survived with magic etc like ... the star.. did we forget the star .....

Its just. Idk maybe it just hits too close to home to have this blatantly autistic and dangerously suicidally depressed man go through all that extra apologizing and weird framing of what he's at fault for when there's nothing like TRULY there is nothing and I'm not even kidding like it just doesn't make sense ,,,, give him a happier ending in s2 I am just feeling so unsatisfied with how his suffering was treated in the end (when it was otherwise like???? Really terrific the rest of the way through? How it was handled??)

Tbh I think the horny fans have the right idea taking it and running with "simon has a giantess vore kink for his chaos god wife" because that's just less depressing than how the reality was handled. Like sure I'll align myself with that. At least he'd be like, rewarded a little more on par with the happiness he (and betty for that matter!!) deserves :[

Idk like am I insane!!! Can anyone hear me! It's still so dark in here

[for-the-love-of-javert]

is there a reason you didn’t provide a “none, he’s gay” or even a “none, he’s asexual” option on that poll, when listing people javert might have gotten with? because that man could be ace, he could be gay, both would fit javert really well. but into women? literally never. genuinely not possible for him.

The question was about Javert dating female characters

Male characters poll to come another time.

It was purely a random idea to do that poll while I was thinking of something to post. And the question was about 'If Hugo had allowed Javert to have a gf'.

There aren't enough slots in the polls to do male and female characters in one poll. Anything is possible and I don't interpret him as being gay when he's never even had a sexual encounter. Also this question could also include purely platonic relationships with no sex but some affection.

It's meant to be for fun not a serious debate thing. Also I write fanfics and I write my AU Javert as hetrosexual/cis. I don't read his and valjeans 'relationship' as being a sexual/romantic attraction either. Though I would neve rule out the possiblity or even likelihood of them being friends. I do not see them as being in love in any way what so ever. But that's just me. I see Javert developing a respect for Valjean and an admiration for the fact that Valjean has managed to turn his life around and become a good man. Maybe a bit of jealousy too because Valjean was able to experience something that Javert has never had. Love, a family, a child. But we will never know for definite whether he is was homosexual or not because there is no hint of him ever having a relationship with anyone in the book. Not intimately not even as a friend. He is a loner. Him being a-sexual is something I wouldn't dismiss. But he lived his life like a monk and aside from his work as a police officer/man of the law and justice, which was the fundemental core of his entire existence he has nothing and nobody. So I do think it's wrong to say it's not possible for him to have relationships with women. Surely he'd keep his options open before deciding which way he is inclined. I wouldn't rule out him being bi.

But honestly I just didn't get the gay vibe from him at all. Not when he hasn't even experimented with anyone or been on a date. Also he's emotionally shut down except when he gets irritated/angry with criminals. I don't think he's ever let anyone in if I were to stick with the canon storyline. Dude keeps himself to himself and obviously his life is much easier that way. I also think he has serious mental health problems throughout his life that he manages to keep in check until the night he commits suicide. Then he got hit by the emotional/mental runaway train and he couldn't handle it and jumped.

I'm not dissing you for thinking that he's gay, a sexual, a triceratops or whatever (my brain is shutting off now I need some sleep) , you interpret it however you want to. I just didn't interpet it the same way as you and with no further writings from Hugo or anyone who knew him to state whether he intended for Valjean and Javert to be gay or anyone else for that matter. Then I can't see that as canon because that's just not how my brain absorbed the info when I read the relevant parts.

But imo anything is possible. So yes, I think relationships with women or just one woman is definitely a possibility. Also aren't some of the barricade boy's gay/bi and could certainly be interpreted as being one or the other. Javert is far more complex a character to me. There's a lot to explore and consider with him. Lastly. If someone had asked me before I started my second reading of The Brick which character I thought was gay. Without seeing the films or musical, I'd have said Marius. But then Hugo married him off to Cosette so........

Sorry for the waffling reply. I'm off to bed now. See if I have regained my ability to spell and give shorter answers tomorrow. It's 4.28 am lol.

[bougiebutchbitch]

Just saw your post about Kakashi secretly resenting Gai for sacrificing himself in the 4th war. If I may throw an idea your way (because I adore your kakagai content!):

Maybe you've addressed this arc in the past before and i haven't seen it but. I actually think a similar conflict would've come up much earlier in the series- namely when Gai vowed to kill himself if Lee died from surgery during the chunin exams.

It's been awhile since I've watched so I can't remember if Kakashi was even aware of Gai making this vow in the first place. But if he knew about it...

Wow. WOW. Imagine how freaking betrayed Kakashi must've felt, having Gai practically force himself into Kakashi's life throughout their adolescent years. To have opened his heart to another person despite the endless losses he'd suffered only for Gai to (potentially) throw his life away. Not in battle as a shinobi, not to save a comrade.. just. To honour his student. And this is not even touching upon the potential parallels that can be drawn between Gai and Sakumo in this scenario.... big yikes.

I think it would've been an absolutely HUGE turning point in their relationship. I'd really love to hear any additional thoughts you might have on it, if you're interested. No pressure to respond though, haha. :)

OW!!!!!!!!!!!! OW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you, I needed to cry today.

First up - you are 1000% correct. Gai's plan to commit suicide if Lee dies... buddy, that's not okay. I know he and Lee are supposed to be like... this jokey exaggerated spoof of dedicated Master & Student who are way too fired-up and passionate about everything, but c'mon, holy shit.

Gai has such an interesting relationship with self-sacrifice as a form of nobility and mAsCuLiNiTy and devotion - whereas for Kakashi, anyone else's self-sacrifice is a source of trauma and horror. But his own? He's more than willing. He's still wayyyyyyyyy too eager for die for others, even at the start of Naruto and throughout Shippuden.

Yet there's something numb about his sacrifices. From pleading with the kids to run away and leave him at Zabuza's mercy, to his literal death in the Pain arc, to him throwing himself in front of Sasuke to take Kaguya's attack without any hesitation... It's not big and dramatic and showy. It's in-the-moment choices, quick and decisive. I get the sense he's almost always ready to die for someone else - perhaps as an immensely fucked-up way of assuaging his own survivor's guilt, or because he still genuinely sees himself as someone who has inherently less human worth than everyone around him.

In contrast, Gai greatly idolises his father, to an unhealthy degree when it comes to following in his footsteps. For him, the ultimate display of love is dying for someone else - a philosophy that is equally as fucked up, in its own unique way.

But when we consider Kakashi and Gai's differing yet similar relationships to the concept of suicide and sacrifice... Isn't that what it all boils down to? Their fathers?

You have Sakumo, whose son found him slumped over, drenched in blood and moonlight, slain by his own hands because he couldn't face living anymore. And Dai, who went out in a brilliant conflagration, saving his son and proving all those who looked down on him wrong.

Doesn't that pose some interesting questions?

Is there ever a 'good' way to die? Is any form of suicide inherently less tragic, more noble? Or are they all just as messed up as each other?

Maybe it doesn't matter. After all, those are questions that can only be answered by the people left behind.

But I like the idea that out of those people left behind... Gai sees a difference there. Kakashi doesn't.

Which is to say: I cannot imagine Kakashi ever being cool with Gai offing himself if Lee hadn't survived his operation. I think he'd be pretty fucking worried about Gai - and even more so when he reaises Gai isn't suffering with depression or self-loathing or a lack of self-worth (all of which Kakashi is intimately familiar with, and could empathise with and understand). He just... thinks suicide is an ay-okay way of showing your love for someone. And that uncorks a whole barrel of trauma for Kakashi to deal with.

Did Gai not want him to kill himself, when he was in ANBU? Or did he just not want Kakashi to kill himself without a 'good purpose'?

I want Kakashi to ask that point-blank to Gai's face - and, perhaps, for that to be the point that makes Gai question his own convictions about what entails an acceptable reason to die.

[hanemiso]

Operation: Dairy For Dazai

>>>a dazai osamu x reader<<<

request: "omg i love your post about Dazai and his possibility of having lactose intolerance hahaha, i wish you could do a fanfic out from that"

a/n: um this is such a great idea??? this was so much fun to write omg i hope y'all like it! also i know dazai doesn't necessarily drink coffee with milk and sugar/creamer, but for the sake of the story he does! also sorry if the gif looks weird, i couldn't find his weird little run anywhere else.

synopsis: no one has seen dazai drink milk or consume dairy of any kind...it's up to the agency to figure out if dazai is lactose intoleralnt or not!

warnings: one swear word, dazai not being able to handle dairy

"hey atsushi, you ever notice that dazai doesn't consume dairy?"

"what do you mean, y/n?" atsushi asks, glancing up at you from the computer.

"think about it. have you ever seen dazai drink milk? eat cheese? buy ice cream?" you press on, raising your brows.

atsushi takes a second to think before responding with, "now that you mention it, no i haven't...why are you asking anyway?"

"i think dazai is lactose intolerant."

you now have atsushi's full attention as he rolls closer to your desk and furrows his brows. he looks around the room for the brunette you're talking about before turning back to you, "you think so? i don't know...maybe it's like a dietary thing."

you deadpan, "you really think the man who goes out of his way to try new attempts at committing suicide--the one who came into the office with a hallucinogenic mushroom from a random mountain--is concerned with his own nutrition?"

atsushi goes silent and nods his head in agreement.

"come on, atsushi. i mean, why would that be the one thing out of his entire diet that he'd choose to cut out?"

"that's true, i've seen the kinds of things he eats...but why is this something you're interested in?"

"because, atsushi, the thought of THE dazai osamu even having one slight weakness--and the fact that it very well may be dairy, of all things-- is amusing. you don't find it interesting? that he can survive things like bullet wounds and getting kidnapped without any problem, but a glass of milk could completely ruin him?"

atsushi was beginning to take interest in what you were talking about. you had a point, he couldn't deny that. they don't know much about dazai and his life as it is. just as it began clicking in his brain, kunikida walks over to your desk to tell you both to get back to work. at the sound of his footsteps, you turn towards him and before he can say anything at all, you ask him the same question as atsushi. kunikida has a smiliar reaction and response to atsushi, which just adds to the curiosity of dazai's possible dairy problem.

"i don't pay attention to that idiot's diet anyway, nor do i care." he says matter-of-factly.

anyone could tell that kunikida was slightly interested, just by the way he was continuing to linger by your desk as you continued talking about it with atsushi. soon enough, tanizaki had joined the conversation; then ranpo and kenji, and soon everyone in the agency other than fukuzawa. everyone was huddled around your desk, sharing memories of dazai's lack of dairy consumption. it was then decided that this theory of dazai being lactose intolerant would be put to the test when dazai returned to the office.

ranpo had come up with the idea, it wasn't too elaborate but a simple plan that could trick even the likes of dazai into drinking a glass of milk. during the discussion of dazai's dietary habits, it was also brought to everyone's attention by kunikida that it seems dazai doesn't have a high spice tolerance either. with that in mind, the plan was for the agency to have a joint dinner tonight, with curry on the menu tonight; spicy curry to be exact. dazai always flirts with you in the office, so it was your job to distract him by indulging in his pick-up lines and such. once he takes a bite and realizes it's too spicy for him, he'd try to find water to alleviate the pain, but coincidentally there is no water in sight. because of this, he'd be forced to drink the glass of milk you hand him. of course, if this didn't work, for dessert you'd give him a cup of coffee with milk and sugar (he uses non-dairy creamer in his coffee anyway).

you and kyouka set up a table to put the bowls of curry on, while atsushi and kunikida began bringing in the curry. tanizaki, naomi, and ranpo were in charge of getting the desserts to really sell the image of a nice gathering. kenji and yosano were in charge of tinkering with the water pipes to close off any possibility of access to water. this task was treated with such care, as any mission brought into the agency would be. each and every one of you were interested in learning about this side of dazai; are you going the extra mile for such a minuscule detail of someone's life? yes, but will it be amusing to find out the truth? also yes.

soon enough, dazai is spotted out the window. the truth is about to be revealed, and you are all nervous but excited.

"remember guys, act natural! operation: dairy for dazai starts now!" you exclaim quietly.

you can hear everyone take a deep breath and begin "talking" amongst themselves as dazai walks in. he stops in his tracks as he eyes the table holding all the bowls of curry and widens his eyes in surprise.

"oh? what's this?" he asks, gesturing to the table.

"y/n suggested having dinner in the agency tonight, so we got some curry and desserts." atsushi explains.

"have a bowl, dazai-kun." you smile at him as you hand him the bowl of spicy curry.

"ah, you're too nice, my belladonna!" he exclaims and grabs the bowl.

so far so good, you think.

you can feel the tension in the room as everyone waits for dazai to take a bite. the conversations carry on amongst people, but no one was truly paying attention to what was being said. the gazes of each member of the agency shifted to dazai as he raised the spoon up to his mouth. you could hear the sound of everyone in the room holding their breaths, even kunikida was sweating.

once the spoon had been placed in his mouth, everyone froze in place. you and atsushi tried to pretend to not be paying much attention to dazai, but it was so hard not to when all of a sudden he stopped chewing. you both slowly turn your head towards him and see his eyes go wide once again. he hurries to the nearest trashcan and spits out the spoonful, quickly turning and looking for a cup of water on the table.

"w-what's wrong, dazai-san?" atsushi asks, also sweating.

"h-hot! spicy curry! atsushi-kun, i need water! please!" dazai exclaims.

you run to the table and pretend to look for a cup of water before grabbing the glass of milk and hurrying towards dazai.

"sorry dazai-kun, i couldn't find any water, but i heard milk helps with the pain!" you hold out the glass of milk.

it feels like time stops as dazai sits there, breathing shallows breaths in attempts to stop the fire in his mouth, and contemplating whether he wants to try his luck with continuing to gasp for air or drinking the milk. he hates suffering, after all. in his mind, all that matters at this moment is extinguishing the flames dancing on his tongue. he grabs the glass, just as planned, and drinks a couple big gulps. everyone is now turned to him, asking if he's okay.

"i'm...fine." he says between pants.

now it was only a matter of time. the dinner continued as normal, but dazai wasn't as social as usual. he sat down with you and atsushi as you continued to talk about different missions.

"oh yeah, dazai-kun, do you remember--" you turn to look at him but realize he's staring at the ground intently as sweat beads on his face, "dazai?"

he blinks once and tries regaining his composure as he looks up at you with his usual smile, "yes, belladonna?"

"are you feeling alright?" you ask with concern laced in your voice.

"of course i am!" dazai tries to reply cheerily, but his bright tone is cut off by a rumbling in his stomach that makes his face twist.

he tries replacing his expression with a smile again, but it looks more pained as another low rumble emits from his body. at this point, everyone in the office is stealing glances. he looks back at the ground as his eyes widen yet again, and only two words are uttered before he takes off running to the bathroom:

"oh shit."

everyone stares at the door, processing what just happened. it was so silent, the only sound you could hear was dazai's rapid footsteps echoing down the hall.

"i knew it." you smirk a bit to yourself.

but your feeling of victory is brief as the horrid smell invades your nostrils. your poor co-workers get assaulted by the same stench, and you all are forced to evacuate.

operation: dairy for dazai was a success, but at what cost?

------------------------------------------

BONUS: how chuuya found out about dazai's lactose intolerance

chuuya was the only person who knew of dazai's problem with dairy, but the way he found out was purely accidental and scarred him.

the event took place when they were 17, and they were both stopping for a drink at a local cafe after a mission. the mission wasn't too bad, but it was early in the morning and chuuya wanted coffee. dazai told him it would stunt his already lacking growth, so chuuya wasn't in the greatest mood; he never was around dazai.

"i wanna sit down so you can order for me!" dazai claps his hands together.

"hey! i don't wan-" chuuya begins to protest but dazai cuts him off while walking away.

"you know what i like!"

chuuya grumbles in annoyance as he heads to the counter and orders two drinks. in his fit of anger, he accidentally ordered two coffees with milk and sugar, but failed to notice as he brought the cups to the table dazai sat at. he narrows his eyes as he sets the cup down in front of dazai and sits across from him. chuuya stares out the window to try and tune out dazai when he hears dazai ask him something quietly.

"is there...milk in this?"

chuuya scoffs and replies, "what's wrong, can't handle a bit of milk?"

he was obviously joking, but the sound that emits from dazai's body in response makes him realize it was no joke. dazai quickly stands and runs to the bathroom while chuuya sits there in disbelief, but with the hope that the rest of the day won't be ruined because of it.

that was wishful thinking though, as they frequently had to stop at public restrooms on their way home and chuuya had to deal with the rancid odor that followed dazai as closely as his own shadow.

taglist: @justmycupoftea93 @loveliestmolly @darlingimawitch @b-i-t-t-i-e-s @browneyespinkhair @silverstar22x @stupidfrogfreak @anotakugardener @jhopesstickeredcarrier @joyfulartisanstudentlamp @spacedoutcoffeebeans @puddingowo66 @kaeyapng @beomluvrr @imobsessedwithskkanditshows

[queergodot]

Something I do think is underexplored in the fandom regarding Phoenix's reaction to Miles' character undeath is his anger. Not his anger at Miles faking his death, but his anger at Miles killing himself.

There's quite a few moments in canon, even before Phoenix finds out Edgeworth's alive, that Phoenix expressed anger and disdain towards him. The most obvious is his repeated refusal to talk about, or even hear Edgeworth's name. But there's also his aggressive denial towards Pearl that prosecutors can have 'a heart of gold' or be anything but bad, and other such moments. Phoenix's hostility towards Edgeworth was present long before he found out he was alive.

It's not even really an implication or interpretation that Phoenix was angry at Edgeworth for (presumably) committing suicide. It's text. And he wasn't angry in that helpless sense people feel angry at loved ones for dying as a way of dealing with grief; Phoenix's anger was pointed and had clear direction.

He was angry because he saw Miles committing suicide as him giving up, running away from his problems, and succumbing to his pride. Phoenix had believed that Miles needed saving, both from what he had become as the Demon Prosecutor, as well as from whatever made him become that, and had dedicated the last few years of his life to doing exactly that. When everyone, including Edgeworth himself, believed that he was a bad person and beyond helping, Phoenix ignored everything they were saying because he believed otherwise. And it worked, didn't it? He gave Miles closure regarding the murder of his father, exposed the manipulations of his mentor and put a stop to them, and proved that if Miles used forged evidence, it was without his knowledge. Phoenix did everything he could to show the world that Edgeworth wasn't bad, and proved to Edgeworth that his worldview was wrong and needed adjusting, that he needed to change. He put Edgeworth in the best possible position to change and become the better person Phoenix had always known he was, deep down.

And then Edgeworth seemingly kills himself, leaving only a note reading 'Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death'. Prosecutor.

It is pretty clear Phoenix took this as a betrayal. That he interpreted Edgeworth's apparent suicide as a confirmation that everyone else was right to see Edgeworth as nothing more than an immoral prosecutor obsessed with his win record, and that he was supid for believing otherwise. He believed Edgeworth had killed himself because he couldn't handle the changes Phoenix had brought to his life, the way he'd forced him to re-evaluate his worldview. That he'd rather die than put the work in to change.

For the record, this is a terribly unfair and insensitive way to look at suicide. Suicide occurs when someone feels so hopeless that death feels like the only way out. It is not weak or cowardly, and people who commit suicide or are suicidal deserve compassion. The idea that suicide is selfish is distressingly common, and this demonization is detrimental to efforts of suicide prevention. Being angry at someone who committed suicide, like being angry at someone who, say, died of cancer, is understandable in the sense that human emotions are often irrational, and people still have a right to feel them. But it is unproductive and unfair, and if externalized uncritically, can cause serious harm.

That said, I don't think it does anyone any favors to overlook this part of Phoenix's character, or reduce his anger at Edgeworth to 'mad at being deceived' or even 'misdirected grief'. Because while I'm those things were a part of his anger, the majority of it was very clearly anger at Edgeworth's perceived inability to get over his pride, and 'betraying' Phoenix by refusing to become better.

While it's certainly possible (and even likely, imo) that at least part of the reason this reaction was written was the lack of understanding about suicide displayed in AA2 (see also: Edgeworth telling Adrien Andrews he doesn't care if she kills herself and this somehow turning out to be a good thing), I do think it actually makes sense for Phoenix and is an interesting character note. It shows kind of a darker flip side to his saviour complex (that AA3 goes more in depth on via the character of Godot), which I think makes Phoenix a more complex character. Plus, although I'm unsure if this was intentional (because I'm not sure to what extent the plot of AA3 had been planned at this point), Edgeworth wasn't the first person Phoenix tried to save, even as people told him not to try. That was Dahlia. With that in mind, I think it makes a lot of sense for Phoenix to become bitter and angry at his efforts seemingly failing for a second time, even if this is irrational and unfair.

It is also in line with the resolution of this arc in AA2. Phoenix's anger towards Miles wasn't resolved by an apology from Miles, or a promise from Miles not to disappear without warning again, or something. Because, while obviously a dick move, Miles leaving wasn't truly the issue here. The issue was that, in the past year, Phoenix had come to hate an imaginary version of Miles he couldn't save, who he believed ran away from becoming a better person. And when confronted with a version of Miles who left specifically in order to become a better person, who did not in fact shirk his responsibilities and who did deserve Phoenix's belief in him, Phoenix was unsure how to react, and thus kept clinging to his faulty worldview. And ultimately, this was resolved by the realization that he still trusted Miles, that he believed that Edgeworth would do the right thing, and thus, letting go of this faulty worldview when presented with evidence to the contrary.

Farewell, My Turnabout plays with a role reversal of Phoenix and Edgeworth, and while I think many aspects of that could've been a lot better handled, this particular one, I think, was actually written very well.

So it's kind of... weird? Disappointing? To see people instead squarely frame Miles as in the wrong in this arc, or reduce Phoenix's reactions to Miles' presumed death to grief, self-blame, and/or righteous anger. It is especially strange to me whenever I read a fic with the interpretation that Miles did want/try to commit suicide before going to Europe, and Phoenix's anger lessens when he finds out. Because honestly, while Phoenix was definitely angry about Miles faking his death, he was more angry at the idea that Miles committed suicide/ran away because of bruised pride and a refusal to change. If Miles did genuinely plan on committing suicide, and told that to Phoenix... well. Frankly, that would probably get pretty damn ugly. And I get that's not necessarily fun to think or write about for everyone! But personally, as someone who likes exploring character's flaws, I wish it'd be adressed more often.

[itsnerdygirl98]

I started this letter as a letter to my ex, but it ended up being a letter to myself. I have to issue a trigger warning though, I am going to go into details of suicidality, active suicide attempts, and self injurious behavior. Additionally I mention a few things some people might find physically gross, e.g. vomit, blood. With that said, I just want to share this because I feel proud of the work I've done in myself: I am no longer suicidal and I am receiving professional help.

Dear Loki,

I have to say that I've been through a very, very rough patch. After we broke up I was so hurt and angry at myself that I just couldn't accept that our relationship hadn't worked out.

You had no way of knowing this, but the only other relationship I had was with my dad. And as you know, he committed suicide when I was seventeen. All throughout my childhood, and even more after his death, I blamed myself for him abandoning me. Somehow I internalized the idea that my purpose in this world was to fix my parents' relationship, by loving my dad back into my life and, eventually, my mom's life. My parents divorced when I was very young, about four or five years old. This translated into deep resentment and feelings of failure towards me and my one and only "responsibility". I saw myself as unworthy of love because I couldn't even love my dad enough so that he'd stay with my mom, not even enough so that he'd stay alive. I know that this makes absolutely no sense, but that is what I told myself for years. I grew up trying to be the perfect kid to make up for my failure in making ammends within my parents' relationship.

Why am I sharing this with you, Loki? Well, when we broke up and I actually started to feel the sadness and grief, I was immediately transported to five year old me. I started to feel like I had done something wrong within our relationship. I felt like I was failing again at loving the most important person in my life. I couldn't accept your rejection because I couldn't deal with the fact that another crucial relationship in my life failed. I was totally blinded by a deep fear of abandonment and I went into survival mode.

I am not proud of the things I said and did after the phone call where we mutually agreed that our relationship had to end. I started begging you to take me back in every way I could possibly think of. You were so kind and patient with me afterwards that I took those caring gestures and interpret them as hopeful signs that you still loved me. I am sorry for trying to manipulate my way back into a relationship with you. I am sorry for using your own words and beliefs against you. I am truly sorry.

I write this apology in hope that you can make sense of our last conversations. I know that everything I said and did cannot be undone nor unsaid. However, I want you to know that I am truly, deeply sorry for hurting you.

I also have to admit that this apology isn't only for you, Loki. I really do need to forgive myself for all the choices I made. After our last call on September 22nd I tried to overdose on paracetamol. That had been my back-up suicide plan for years, so I had a growing stash of pills hidden in my bedroom. I was so ashamed of everything I said in that call without meaning it, just to get you to agree to restart our relationship. I felt so empty, so scared, so desperate. It didn't help that throughout the days in between our calls I started to feel progressively worse. I stopped taking my antidepressants, I started to self harm again (almost as often as I did, when I first started cutting myself), and I just couldn't bring myself to go to college classes (they seemed so boring, absurd, and I was constantly dissociating through them). So consider that I was severly unhappy with most of my life choices and add to that mess the failure of my attempts to get you back. I truly felt like I had nothing left to fight for.

On September 22nd, after our last call, I realized that I was being manipulative to you and to myself. I couldn't feel any joy or excitement for anything at all. I hated my college classes, I hated the version of myself that showed up in that last call, I felt like I had been lying to me and to everyone else in my life. And obviously, I felt the pain of failing at trying to love someone else and at letting that someone else love me.

I just felt that these failures were proof that I actually was unlovable, that I actually was worthless. Somehow, I concluded that I had given life a good, honest try and that it wasn't worth it. I felt like my family would be better off without me. I felt like all of my worst nightmares were actually true. I felt like you had seen me as I see myself: A disgusting, worthless, perverted, psychopathic, sadistic slut. So, I believed that if I had proven to myself that I was a monster, it just didn't make any sense to convince the world otherwise.

I simply cannot explain how I got out of that mindest. I had truly given up on my life. I just couldn't see anything good in being alive. I felt ashamed and disgusted at myself. Regardless of all of my thoughts and feelings, in spite of my efforts to end my life, I couldn't do it. I tried and tried to kill myself. Granted, most of my attempts were reckless, impulsive, and badly planned. However, I didn't die and I know it wasn't because of a lack of willpower. I have to admit that I believe God was actually saving me from myself. In other circumstances I would give a million arguments against that belief. I know logically, scientifically, and naturally you could find explenations of what I'm about to tell you. However, I am choosing to believe. How could I not do so?

As poorly planned as my plans were, I feel they were quite lethal. When I tried to overdose on paracetamol I took five times the lethal dose and plenty of sleeping pills. The sleeping pills were intended to make me fall asleep as quickly as possible so that even if I ended up throwing up, I'd be lying down asleep, so I'd aspirate my vomit and die. So I took the pills and I fell asleep and I did throw up. I clearly remember suddenly waking up just in time to bend over the side of my bed to throw up. Call it a natural refllex if you will, but I truly feel like God woke me up. I know I was too drugged to make any decisions on my own, I mean I slept for like 36 hours straight after that. I just don't think that I would reflexively gain full consciousness for a spare second to bend over and throw up. I can see how one's body would be naturally inclined to bend over, but if it was truly a reflex what made me do that, why do I have conscious awareness of that second? Again, you can still say this doesn't proove anything, in fact, I didn't actually believe this at first glance.

On my second attempt I tried cutting my wrists and planned to bleed out in the shower. Definetely an ill-thought idea because I was constantly watched and I wouldn't have had time to actually bleed out before someone found me. However that didn't even happen.

I have self harmed for years and the deepest cuts I ever made on myself were done with a boxcutter. I also knew that I had a better chance of actually bleeding out if I made deep, vertical cuts along my forearms. Again, I was used to the sting that felt the boxcutter in its way. And I also knew that I had to press the blade very hard into my skin. I did. I even tried stabbing myself because I got so frustrated that my skin just wouldn't give in. I only managed to get scratches on my arm, but there was hardly any blood. Who or what made the blade of my boxcutter blunt? I knew that it wasn't blunt because I had used it less than a week before that to make deep-ish cuts on my thighs (I mean the cuts easily bled when I self harmed), and to make those cuts I applied a small fraction of the pressure I was trying to apply on my second attempt. I had also hidden it after self harming and nobody had found it. My family took away scissors and stuff like that after my first suicide attempt. So nobody could have actually used it. Now I see it as God's doing, but honestly I could think of a million other reasons why that attempt failed, so I get it if you don't think it was God's work.

For my third, and last, attempt I tried choking myself with a belt. I tightened the belt around my neck as much as I could. The belt was made out of braided leather with each leather strand wrapped in fabric, so it didn't have actual holes to adjust it at a standard withd. To fasten the belt you just kindda wiggle the stick of the buckle through the braid wherever you wanted to adjust it. So believe me when I say, I tried as hard as I could to asphixiate myself. However, regardless of how much I tightened the belt I could still breathe through my mouth. I insisted and gagged myself with socks rolled into a ball and procedded with the belt tightening. I passed out three times while doing this. Every time I passed out, I woke up feeling just like on that first attempt. I truly felt as if someone or something had woken me up just in time to escape death. It took me three attempts to realize that maybe something bigger than me wanted me alive. Now I know there is a natural reflex that will make you try to remove whatever item is blocking the flow of oxygen to the brain. I know that it is instinctive to fight to keep breathing. But honestly I just find it hard to see my failures in any light other than the fact that God wanted me alive. I know I cannot really state that as a fact, but since it is my letter and my experience I'll take the license of calling it however I want to. Call it chance, call me lucky, but I really feel blessed.

My life is God's. I truly surrendered to Him after that. I whole-heartedly believe that God loves me, even if the psychopathic slutty monster within me is real, God still loves all of me.

Even if I take off any religious beliefs I do think that I had to meet you, Loki. I know I had to fall in love with you. To me, everything had to happen like that so that I could understand that all along God was really trying to tell me He loves me unconditionally. God has immense power and that power translates into immesurable love. However I also think that things happened so that I could actually learn a lot about myself. I truly learned a lot through this experience.

Thank you for prooving to me that, in spite of my demons, I am worthy of love. Thank you for being my first boyfriend. Thank you for being part of my testimony. Thank you for showing me that I can love other people, but most importantly, that I can be loved.

I am scared as hell to try to go and find love again. I am not ready to date. I have a lot of underlying issues to address before I can truly think about dating someone. For starters, I have to figure out how to love myself. I want to have a clearer understanding of my values and of who am I so that I don't end up trying (and failing) to mold into someone else's ideal partner. I don't want to manipulate people so that they love me. I don't want to change who am I in order to be loved. I don't want to give in to everything other people want before asking what do I really want.

So thank you, Loki, for being that leap of faith, that hope, that maybe, that chance I took that forced me to face my issues while prooving to me that I can love and I can be in love.

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Fractured Ice - Ch. 5/7

Xue Yang whisks a nihilistic Lan Xichen off on a murder roadtrip to raise Xiao Xingchen and Meng Yao from the grave. Because that will solve all of their problems, right? AU where Wei Wuxian never came to Yi City and Xue Yang is still running around post-canon disguised as Xiao Xingchen.

Lan Xichen in an agony of suspense, hands shaking as he pulls Liebing from his qiankun pouch and puts it to his lips.

Xue Yang bites his finger and traces symbols on the sarcophagus in blood, breaking the seals.

Lan Xichen holds his breath.

Nothing happens.

XueXiao & XiYao - Rated M - Read on AO3! Tumblr: Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3  Ch. 4 Ch. 6

Ch. 5: damn right, you should be scared of me

Lan Xichen feels dull and heavy as they pass through the gates of the Unclean Realm.

“We were not expecting Zewu-jun!” babbles the Nie chamberlain as they arrive. “Please excuse the lack of reception; we received no notice of the Clan Leader’s arrival—”

Lan Xichen glances at him dispassionately, then dredges up a small smile and ducks his head at the chamberlain, almost overbalancing and falling forward thanks to the weight of his forehead ribbon.

A-Yao never would have been unprepared like this when he served in the same role. Never would have shown it, at the very least. Would have made the guests feel welcome, his quick mind adjusting to the new circumstances with alacrity and grace—

“My name is Xiao Xingchen,” says Xue Yang. He puts his hands together and bows deeply at the chamberlain. He’s fully back in his Xiao Xingchen role, all gentle refinement and forceful softness and slight _ otherness _, as if he’d learned social graces somewhere outside of normal society. “Zewu-jun and I have come to see Clan Leader Nie on matters of grave urgency. Our visit is to be kept secret.”

The man glances at Lan Xichen for confirmation. Lan Xichen nods.

Another bow. “Please follow me, then, Zewu-jun. This way. Thank you.”

Xue Yang winks at Lan Xichen as they follow the chamberlain through a series of side passages to the reception hall. Lan Xichen gets the idea that he’s hugely enjoying this farce. In another life, he feels, Xue Yang, might have been an actor.

Lan Xichen, on the other hand, feels his sense of dread growing as they near the hall.

Any hint of color in the Unclean Realm is swallowed by the overwhelming sense of grayness. Slate gray walls. Slate gray floors. Gray ornaments, gray ceilings, gray fixtures and furniture and sconces and statues and carvings.

Exactly like a tomb.

Lan Xichen keeps one hand out, just in case the stifling walls begin to move, to crush him, as he’s convinced they will at any second.

“One moment, please.” The chamberlain bows low at Lan Xichen and disappears through a door. Slate gray, with black accents, set in a dark gray frame.

He returns a few minutes later. “I regret to inform Zewu-jun that Clan Leader Nie is in an important conference, but he would be happy to meet with you tomorrow, or perhaps the day after tomorrow—”

Lan Xichen backhands him into the wall with his full Lan strength and pushes open the door, locking it behind him and Xue Yang.

Nie Huaisang hops to his feet, dropping his paint brush. “Zewu-jun! What a pleasant surprise—”

“Some conference,” says Xue Yang, glancing around at the empty chamber.

Nie Huaisang gulps visibly. Lan Xichen can almost hear the ropes and pulleys creaking in his head as he decides whether to fall back on his old Headshaker routine or acknowledge the fact that Lan Xichen is onto him.

He goes with the former.

“What can I do for Zewu-jun?” he asks, bowing deeply and seating himself on his throne-like seat. He seems to make himself smaller as he does so, as if well aware of how the seat dwarfs him and wanting to play up the impression of smallness, of helplessness, of innocence and vulnerability. “And, of course, our venerated cultivator friend.” He rises again, bows at Xue Yang with a flap of expensive silver sleeve. “It is a true privilege to meet Xiao Xingchen once again.”

That’s right; Nie Huaisang met Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen at the same time A-Yao and Wangji did. Lan Xichen hopes that Xue Yang, remembering this, will reign in the theatrics.

Xue Yang bows a bit too low. “The honor is all mine, Clan Leader.”

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Nie Huaisang is wearing one of his after-all-it’s-not-as-if-_ I- _ can-be-of-any-help-to- _ you _ looks, and Lan Xichen is seized by the sudden urge to rip his quivering little face off—

He blinks the thought away, a bit unnerved at the idea that Xue Yang might be having more of an influence on him than he’s thought.

Nie Huaisang, in turn, looks even more nervous than usual, as if he’s aware Lan Xichen is not quite himself.

_ Good. You should be afraid of me, you murderer— _

Lan Xichen looks away from Nie Huaisang, eyes roaming over the familiar room. He’d spent many hours here visiting with Nie Mingjue, and then, later, playing guqin opposite A-Yao—

Had A-Yao truly killed Nie Mingjue?

Nie Mingjue had tried to kill A-Yao more than once as his mind deteriorated, but Lan Xichen doubts A-Yao could have done such a terrible thing to their sworn brother in return. If there was one thing A-Yao had proven, it was that he could bear up under repeated slights. He can’t remember if A-Yao confessed to Nie Mingjue's murder at Guanyin Temple, but it doesn't matter. He’d confessed to killing Qin Su, and Lan Xichen himself had watched her commit suicide, witnessed A-Yao’s grief. A-Yao’s guilt and self-loathing, it seemed, was all-encompassing at the end, smothering him, choking all rational thought and pushing him to shoulder every impossible sin in the face of the united wall of hatred that faced him in Guanyin Temple.

_ Not me, _ Lan Xichen wants to say. Will be able to say, soon enough, if all went well. I _ never hated you— _

“Brother Xichen?”

Lan Xichen pulls himself out his thoughts. “We have come to pay our respects to Chifeng-zun,” he says.

Nie Huaisang looks alarmed. “Mingjue?”

“It has been a year since his entombment. I thought it only proper to pay my respects now that I am able to travel again.”

Nie Huaisang picks up the fan he’s painting, using it to hide the lower half of his face. “I’m—I’m afraid that’s not possible, Brother Xichen.”

Xue Yang bows low. “And why not, Clan Leader? Zewu-jun has traveled long to get here.”

“I—er—”

Lan Xichen wonders if Nie Huaisang received a message from Lan Qiren, something about keeping Lan Xichen in the Unclean Realm until the Lan cultivators could arrive. For all that he doubts his uncle would have taken Nie Huaisang into his confidence, the signal could have gone out the second he’d stepped inside the fortress’s gates. Or perhaps Nie Huaisang simply sensed something wrong on his own.

“It’s like this,” says Nie Huaisang, emitting a nervous little laugh from behind the silk fan. “Er—you see—Da-ge is resting in the eastern family tomb.”

“Meaning?”

“Er—well—that’s where we keep our more—how should I put it?—problematic dead.” His eyes dart over to Xue Yang, as if he’d rather not air clan laundry in front of a near-stranger, no matter how distinguished. “There are many seals on the tomb, many—er—dangerous areas—”

“The tomb is booby-trapped,” translates Xue Yang bluntly.

“It’s perhaps not as safe as one might have liked—”

“Like the sabers’ Stone Castles?” asks Lan Xichen. Even before Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s little adventure, he’d heard stories from Nie Mingjue.

Nie Huaisang blanches. “Nothing like that! These spirits aren’t dangerous—it’s simply a precaution—”

Lan Xichen can almost see the calculations in Xue Yang’s head—how fast the cultivator could pounce at the clan leader, snatch his stupid fan away, grab him, _ force _ him to help them—

Lan Xichen shakes his head at Xue Yang warningly. “Your brother was my friend, Huaisang. I have a right to pay my respects, as I was in no condition to do so when he was entombed.”

Nie Huaisang’s tone changes to one of pathetic flattery. “You won’t hold this against me, will you, Brother Xichen? Please understand, Brother Xichen. You know how I value our clans’ friendship, Brother Xichen; but I just simply cannot. Nobody in a hundred years has stepped foot inside the tomb unless it’s to bury a body; even I pay my respects from outside the tomb—but not _ too _ close—”

Xue Yang smiles as if about to make a comment about there being one more Nie body to bury if Nie Huaisang keeps this up, but for once his mouth remains shut.

Nie Huaisang hops off his oversized seat and scurries over to a side door in a funny little trot. “I’ll call the chamberlain; make sure you have comfortable rooms made up!” he says, and he darts out.

Xue Yang smirks. “He certainly lives up to his reputation.”

But Lan Xichen shakes his head. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

By request, Lan Xichen and Xue Yang eat alone together in Lan Xichen’s quarters, the same ones he used to stay in when he was a frequent guest here.

“This food is as bad as the Lan junk,” says Xue Yang in disgust. “What did they put in here? Haven’t they ever heard of salt? Meat? Chicken? Honey? Are these raw carrots and leaves stewed in fucking barley water?”

“They prepare it specially for me,” says Lan Xichen absently. He can’t bring himself to eat. He paces the room, trying to ground himself with the firmness of the hard gray stone beneath his feet, the solid smoothness of the walls under his palms, but he’s drifting and he knows it.

“So we can blame you for this inedible garbage? At least at the Cloud Recesses they know how to prepare the stewed leaves properly; this, however—” Xue Yang frowns suddenly. “You don’t look so good, my friend.”

Lan Xichen has sunk to the bed, leaning forward on his knees.

“Zewu-jun?”

“I’m fine.”

“Not worrying about the Lan popping in? I'd say we should get moving, but you don't look great. ”

Lan Xichen glances up. He'd forgotten about the Lan since leaving Nie Huaisang. “I thought we decided my uncle would never trust Nie Huaisang with the truth, and you told me you asked around and were told no Lan cultivators were seen heading here—”

Xue Yang shrugs. “I’ll admit, I half expected to be arrested the second we stepped foot in this metal box. Glad we got an opportunity to eat instead, if you can call this food. I'd figured you could fight us out, maybe take out the Headshaker in the confusion, do the Nie Clan a favor while getting a bit of your own back—”

“I wouldn’t hurt Nie Huisang, no matter how much I wanted to.”

Xue Yang raises an eyebrow. “Never?”

“I am not a murderer.”

“Murderer, killer, same thing.”

“We’ve been through this. It is not at all the same thing.”

Xue Yang makes a face and puts down his chopsticks. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll be right back.” He slips out of the room. Through the door Lan Xichen hears him sending the chamberlain out for different food, but he doesn’t pay attention to the actual words. He’s been here many times before, he knows this guest chamber like the back of his hand, but suddenly the room is unfamiliar. A flash of alarm, as if he can’t remember how he got here even though he can clearly remember the past two hours.

At least he thinks he does.

He lies down on the bed, taking deep, meditative breaths. Stares up at the ceiling. Familiar gray ceiling with familiar stone carvings, but the memory of when he last saw this ceiling is hazy. Hard thin mattress—was it always so hard?—“a warrior’s bed”—who had told him that?

A faint brush of memory: a shared meal—a war conference—a blade flashing beside his—but all that stands out is the sound of guqin music, played in duet.

A sensation of floating, of expanding, of being outside himself, reaching through the walls, feeling the wetness of the rain that has begun to fall—

He opens his eyes. He hadn’t realized they were closed. Xue Yang is just finishing up his meal, watching Lan Xichen with an almost worried expression he just manages to hide as Lan Xichen sits up.

“We leave in five minutes,” he tells him.

Xue Yang grins. “To the tomb?”

“To the tomb.”

* * * * * *

They fly out over the fortress walls.

“I counted a dozen sentries on the parapets,” says Xue Yang as they land. He returns Jiangzai to his qiankun sleeve. “They definitely saw us, despite the rain.”

“Your knocking out the chamberlain did not help matters.”

“He was in our way.”

“He was bringing the dessert you ordered.”

“He had it coming.” There’s a new bounce in Xue Yang’s step, as if he’s happy to be _ doing _ something, _ after _ something. If Lan Xichen didn’t know that there had been nothing but vinegar-water at supper, he’d think the delinquent cultivator had been bending the elbow too freely. “You should have seen the look on his face when I asked for extra honey for my dumplings. As if none of these musclebound Nie ever—”

“Xue Yang, we haven’t the time.”

They hadn’t flown very far, needing to preserve their spiritual energy for the booby-traps and ritual at the tomb. They hurry down the road, expecting guards to be following them at any moment, but the night is quiet save for the pattering rain.

“You do know the way, right?”

Lan Xichen nods. He knows where all the many Nie tombs are thanks to the many internments during and after the Sunshot Campaign, but he hadn’t known which one contained Nie Mingjue and A-Yao or he could have spared them the afternoon’s charade.

“The Headshaker, I feel, is someone I could get on with,” says Xue Yang, who seems to feel it his duty to fill any silence with conversation despite the fact that silence would serve them far better. “Squirrely little bastard, isn’t he? Never boring around him, I’d guess. Always something to laugh at.”

Lan Xichen ignores him. Barely even hears him. He’s outside himself again. He tries to bring himself back into his body, focusing on the drenching wetness chilling every inch of his skin and the muddy squelch beneath his feet as they cut through a hardscrabble little farm, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s bobbing above his body, watching a tall blue figure and smaller green-and-black figure slog side-by-side though the rain.

Without consciously deciding to, he embraces the feeling.

He’d spent the better part of a year like this. It’s familiar. Welcome. A cushioning cocoon of numbness.

And yet, still somehow sharp. Focused. Clear.

A part of him somehow knows that it’s a blessing, how a few hours in the Unclean Realm undid all of the changes of the past month. Knows that he needs the old version of himself to do the things that will need to be done to bring A-Yao back.

Besides, he’s happier this way, on some level.

It’s almost dawn when they arrive, drenched and shivering, at the tomb.

Outside the tomb are seven Nie guards, which explains why nobody has come after them.

“You!” Three of the guards converge at the sight of the intruders. “Oh, it is—begging your pardon, Zewu-jun—”

Lan Xichen reaches inside his qiankun pouch, removes his guqin, and blasts them into the tomb’s outer wall with a single arc of blue light that illuminates the falling rain like lightning.

Xue Yang nods approvingly at the three bodies lying prone at unsettling angles. “You tore through them like rice paper.”

“Captain! We heard—” Four more guards run up.

Four more guards flung into the wall with such force Lan Xichen has Xue Yang check to make sure none are dead.

Not that he cares. Nothing is real. Nothing matters.

But just in case.

“All breathing,” says Xue Yang. “Do you think you could teach me that technique? No?” He glances at the tomb door. “How about using it to open the door, then? Preferably without the blue light giving everyone and their great-aunt our location.”

Lan Xichen’s heart is pounding so hard it’s a miracle the countryside isn’t roused by its thunderous beat.

This is it. Inside is A-Yao.

His A-Yao.

Waiting for him to rescue him—

He summons the awful, wonderful energy swelling within him, focuses it, releases it through his guqin in an explosive blast of energy, rocking the thick stone door off its hinges.

Xue Yang grins delightedly. “I was wrong about you Lan,” he says. “What you lack in pizzazz you make up for in power.”

Lan Xichen strides in. Xue Yang follows, Jiangzai out and resting across both shoulders in a way that, if he’s not careful, might result in his severing the tendons in his shoulder.

Xue Yang takes a torch from a wrought-iron sconce on the wall and lights it with a touch of his finger, a trick he’d learned from the Wens. The light and warmth are welcome, but Lan Xichen is still soaking wet and chilled to the bone. The chill goes deeper than mere autumn coolness. It’s a chill he thought he’d gotten rid of but had in fact just burrowed deeper, to be excavated in the Unclean Realm.

That’s fine, though. He likes the cold. It keeps him awake. Keeps him on his toes, despite his detachment.

Sharp. Focused. Clear.

“No booby traps,” says Xue Yang as they step into a chamber a bit bigger than the Nie reception hall. “Do you think the little chipmunk lied to keep us out?”

“Undoubtedly. Lying is his specialty.”

“Same decorator as the Unclean Realm, I see. All gray stone and ugly monster carvings. At least the Unclean Realm doesn’t reek.”

Lan Xichen ignores the overwhelming musty smell. “There. This one.” He rests both hands on the lid of the sarcophagus. A faint hum can be felt through the thick stone. They had sealed off Nie Mingjue’s ghost, immobilized it, but he can still sense the power of the two spirits, locked in eternal battle. How metaphorical of a battle still remains to be seen. “What next?”

Xue Yang is pulling materials out of his qiankun sleeve. “First of all, we have to be prepared to fight a ghost once we open that coffin—”

“We are not fighting Nie Mingjue!”

“He’s not exactly going to want to sit down to tea, though if we had tea it might we worth a shot—”

“We immediately suppress him.”

“Not liberate? Xiao Xingchen was always keen on setting them at rest.” His tone is dismissive, but Lan Xichen senses the effort it takes to mention Xiao Xingchen so casually.

“His spirit is too far gone for that. The kindest thing would be to put it out of its misery.”

Xue Yang shrugs. “You’re the boss, Zewu-jun. Don’t mind me. I’ll work around you. Actually—” He bows, suddenly deferential “—I will need a drop or two of your blood.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t bother asking him what it’s for. Doesn’t matter at this point, as long as it can help.

With surprising delicacy, Xue Yang pricks Lan Xichen’s finger where it won’t interfere with using his flute, guqin, or sword.

“And now,” he says, removing something from his qiankun sleeve with a flourish, “we prepare the accommodations for our guest of honor.”

It’s the spirit-trapping pouch he’d given to Lan Xichen and long since taken back, its brown sides smooth and blank. As Lan Xichen watches, riveted, Xue Yang uses Lan Xichen’s blood to cover the bag in intricate, entirely foreign symbols.

Xue Yang hands it to Lan Xichen when he’s finished. “Just one moment; I need some...grass from outside. I’ll be back in a second.”

He lights another torch and leaves, returning soon with a handful of grass. He scatters it on the coffin and sets up the rest of the ritual, humming to himself, drawing an intricate array around the sarcophagus in red from a jar he has with him. Red paint, Lan Xichen would have assumed had he been paying even the slightest bit of attention to anything but the spirit-trapping pouch. After all, where would Xue Yang have found so much fresh blood?

“All right, then,” says Xue Yang, straightening up and rinsing his reddened hands off with water from his canteen. “Step away from the sarcophagus, Zewu-jun, if you please. We have work to do. I’ll need the pouch back, please. Thank you.” He waits until Lan Xichen is a safe distance away before putting his hands on the side of the sarcophagus lid. “Sword out,” he reminds Lan Xichen. “Or flute, or guqin, but don’t just stand there.”

Lan Xichen shakes himself out of his reverie. “Do you truly think he might attack?”

“I just know that that fan-waving little prick would rather torment your friend’s spirit than set his own brother’s spirit at rest. After a year of being confined in there like that—”

“It wasn’t that simple,” Lan Xichen has to admit. It had been explained to him once, the rationale for leaving both spirits like this, but he can’t remember the details right now.

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “I’m sure it isn’t. Now, places, everyone.”

Lan Xichen in an agony of suspense, hands shaking as he pulls Liebing from his qiankun pouch and puts it to his lips.

Xue Yang bites his finger and traces symbols on the sarcophagus in blood, breaking the seals.

Lan Xichen holds his breath.

Nothing happens.

Frowning, Xue Yang pushes the heavy stone lid off the sarcophagus.

Black smoke roars up from the sarcophagus, spinning furiously in a tight vortex. It rushes Xue Yang, flinging him into the wall before he can react.

Lan Xichen begins to play battle music.

Nie Mingjue is one of the angriest spirits he’s ever encountered. But though Lan Xichen is not the man he used to be, tonight he’s committed.

Sharp. Focused. Clear.

Xue Yang is back on his feet, Jiangzai drawn, but he’s smart enough to stay put as Lan Xichen plays.

He channels all of his remaining spiritual energy into Liebing, channels the affection he bears for the man the spirit had once been, channels his feelings for the man whose spirit this man is tormenting, and with the sense of something rupturing, Nie Mingjue’s spirit dissipates.

“I told you it was sheer spite, keeping him in there,” says Xue Yang, spitting blood. “If you could do it, anyone could.”

“Not everyone can do what I can.” Lan Xichen isn’t bragging; it’s simple fact. He glances over anxiously at Xue Yang, who stands looking down into the sarcophagus. “What now?”

Xue Yang turns away and draws unfamiliar symbols in the air.

The array glows red.

At the sight, Lan Xichen goes entirely numb. He’d swear he’s as faded as Nie Mingjue, as vague and amorphous as his birth name, Huan—“to dissipate”—a handful of vapor, a human-shaped patch of nothing so focused on Xue Yang’s next words that it’s lost all sense of self.

Xue Yang turns back to Lan Xichen. In his hand is the spirit pouch.

The symbols on the sides are glowing with a touch of the array’s eerie red light.

Grinning, he tosses it to Lan Xichen.

“He’s all yours,” he says.

* * * * *

Up Next: Xue Yang and Lan Xichen pay Chang Ping a friendly visit in a desperate bid to bring A-Yao back.

Or: Don’t try this at home, kids.

Chapter 6

[emerald-echeveria-plant]

(Me: when will you stop?

Also Me: till the earth explodes :3)

Name:

Veronica Flare

Name pronunciation:

Ver-on-i-ca Fla-re

Nickname:

The executioner

Personality:

Flamboyant, vengeful, extravagant, sadistic, loyal, looney, charming, jokester

Age:

523 years old

Species:

Venus flytrap

Sexuality:

Pansexual

Gender:

Transwoman

Pronouns:

She/her

Ethnicity:

???

Looks:

Backstory:

(WARNING: mentions of torture, suicide, & transphobia)

During the era of which Hatred was ruling over Amoretia, she had many enemies who would happily want her buried alive. So in response, Hatred decided to strike fear into them. She thought they'd be much easier to control and leave her alone if they were afraid of her. Yet, how could she accomplish it? Torture. But an amount of torture that would keep them alive and make others fear her. If her enemies saw the state of her victims, they would see what she was capable of. At first, Hatred would handle most of the torturing but couldn't for long. Her armies and supporters needed her leadership. So, Hatred hired multiple tortures to do the job for her. The job was simple, torture the enemy but too much to a point where they die. One problem though. Some of the things Hatred would instruct them to do, was a bit too much for them... Such as It affected their mental and emotional health. Hatred didn't care though, she still wanted them to do it. If they didn't, they would be met with her wrath. And one of the things no one should ever do.. is anger the queen.

The tortures slowly fell in numbers. Some of them going insane from what they committed. While others committed suicide. A few of them tried to start a revolt against the queen with the prisoners they were supposed to be torturing. In response, Hatred had them tied to a ship and slowly had it sink. Hatred hired more torturers but it would always seem to be a repeat of what happened last time. Going insane, suicide, and revolting against her. Seeing as no matter what she did, the issue wouldn't go away. After pondering with herself for a while, she came up with a perfect idea.

She'll create her own torturer.

Hatred went through many spells books in order to find a way to create such a being. Not being satisfied with any of the options she had, she went onto experiment. While she wasn't away fighting alongside her armies or making plans with her cabinet, she'd frequently experiment on how to create life. Her first few experimentations didn't go as planned. Most of them coming up as failures in her eyes. Hatred would get severely frustrated with not getting the results she wanted. Often destroying her own room in the process. Hatred tried for months to create the perfect specimen. They had to be equally terrifying, threatening, and cruel. As well as some certain traits that would make them not become insane or betray her. She made a specially designed potion containing such traits. Making the being morally corrupt, sadistic, and loyal to her and only her.

A year later, she finally got the result she wanted... Well, sort of. By using a venus flytrap along with a potion and black magic, she created a being from it. A being she would call Victor Flare. Of course Victor wasn't exactly what she wanted. To her he was way too skinny, not as tall, and not terrifying looking at all. Yet, he had some form of intelligence and had all four of his limbs along with working organs. By this point she was growing tired of experimenting and decided to go with him. He was born twenty three years old yet had the mind of a newborn. Right after he was created, Victor was immediately put to learning about Hatred's ideology. It confused him a lot at first. Mainly because he had no clue how to read or write. After realizing that the creature she created couldn't just learn about her ideology, she allowed him to be taught subjects like math, science, and language arts. Victor eventually learned how to read and write as well as speak. After becoming intelligent, Hatred thought that he was finally ready. She began to teach him how to torture her enemies. Most of the time the torture lessons would be hands-on. Victor found himself enjoying giving pain to people. Most likely due to Hatred making him have the certain traits that she desired. She was pleased with the outcome of seeing him torture and made him her royal torturer. Finally getting what she wanted, Hatred could finally focus on spreading her ideology as well as defeating some of her enemies. She'd usually bring back some soldiers on the enemies side or even her main enemy for Victor to torture. He'd always do as she requested in order to make her happy. Hatred never physically showed her happiness but did seem to be pleased with what he did. Although he could do better. Hatred eventually casted a spell that gave him powers that would allow him to do more awful things. The powers were tied to his species which allowed him to control and manipulate plant life. Victor became fascinated with his powers. His first thought was how there were so many ways to make a person suffer. He would then use his powers, primarily manipulating vines in order to tear them apart, limb by limb, slowly and painfully.

As much as he enjoyed making Hatred's enemies suffer, he started having other thoughts. He began to question his own actions. Why was he torturing these people? Sure he liked it but why them? He knew they were the enemy but why were they the enemy? When asking Hatred these questions, she only reiterated that they didn't follow the right way of how to truly live. How love was an infectious disease and how it would be the Galaxy's downfall. How she was born in order to stop such a thing from happening. Even though Victor was maybe five months old at this point, knew that her ideology was incredibly flawed. Yet, he never commented anything about it. Knowing that if he did, she'd torture him as well. Victor knew that these people he was hurting were innocent... Strangely, it made it much more fun for him. Most likely due to him being specifically made morally corrupt. After answering that question, there was another question brewing in his mind.. Who was he? Well he knew who he was. He was the loyal servant to Hatred who was given the task to harm her enemies. But.. who was he really? Behind those layers of plant flesh and blood? What was the core center? This lead to him questioning his own identity.

He questioned if he was only a torturer and if that was the only thing in his life. Victor wanting more meaning in his life took up hobbies. Mainly reading books. His favorite books being that of fairytales. Victor would also often be taking care of his appearance. Nobody wants blood stained faces after torturing all day. He first wondered if he wasn't a torturer, what else could he be? Maybe a makeup artist or a hair dresser. Those jobs sounded thrilling but not as much fun as tearing someone's skin off. As much as Victor took care of his appearance, he could never shake the feeling something was off about him. He felt uncomfortable in his skin. Often covering his skin with layers of clothing. He never knew why though. He didn't know but felt like he needed to. Victor would only get his answer when he was reading another one of his books. It showed illustrations of beautiful women wearing gowns and enjoying a picnic. Victor felt what would be known as "gender dysphoria". He felt uneasy with his own gender. As if he was born in the wrong body. Well, he kinda was as Hatred would put it. Although it was more about gender for him but it was everything else from Hatred. She didn't even want him to have a gender in the first place. Victor would slowly begin to put on makeup. First it was a bit of eyeliner then lipstick and full on layer of makeup. He felt comfortable with himself as he put on the makeup. Victor felt beautiful. When Hatred was away, he'd sneak into her room and wear one of her dresses. He didn't like the colors but enjoyed wearing it regardless. Eventually, Hatred would catch him doing this. In response she yelled at him before kicking him out of her private quarters. She wasn't mad about him wearing a dress but actually about that it was HER dress. Hatred didn't like it when people touched her things. Despite that, Victor began to take on more feminine traits. He started to talk in a much more high pitched voice. He wore high heels while torturing people. They were confused but didn't question it if they wanted a harsher punishment. One day, Victor full on dressed in a beautiful long gown, heels, and makeup. He adored it very much and praised himself for looking so good. Yet, he still didn't feel comfortable with himself. Despite looking gorgeous, he didn't like his gender. He didn't feel like he was born in the right body. He was destained to be someone else. Victor came to the conclusion that he wasn't born to be a man... He was supposed to be a woman. But how exactly could he turn into one..?

Magic. That was the answer. If Hatred could create him with just a potion and a few funny magic words, then surely there was a way for him to become a woman. After looking through several spell books, he finally found the spell he was looking for. The creation of a potion that would allow one to permanently become a woman. It was hard work but Victor managed to collect all the ingredients he needed to make the potion. He then finally drank the potion. It was a success and a bit later, Victor would change his name to Veronica. Along with his pronouns to she/her. When Hatred came to learn of this, she didn't really care. All she wanted was her enemies to suffer. Veronica happily compiled as soon as Hatred called her by her correct pronouns.

Veronica finally felt comfortable with herself. Enjoying to be in her own skin and loving herself throughout. Although she was met with a problem, many people loathed her for torturing people. When her enemies found out that she was trans, they decided to harass her on that. Often yelling slurs at her and sending hurtful letters about how horrible of a MAN she was. Veronica was angered by this. Offended that they still thought of her as a man and not as a woman. She could take being called a horrible person for committing atrocious acts or even being called a literal hellspawn. Veronica found their insults to be humourous sometimes. She'd even provoke them to insult her more. But misgendering her was taking it too far... She wasn't a man anymore and was happy being her true self. Then it all came crashing down when many people began to refer to her as "Victor" her deadname. Finally reaching her breaking point, Veronica unleashed hell on Amoretia... All of her enemies would feel her wrath for treating her horribly. Many of them were mainly torn limb from limb while others had much more horrible punishments. One person was slowly impaled by a bamboo shoot. Another covered in flowers that attracted bees and slowly died from being stung to death. Yet the one person that met the worst fate was young woman by the name of Patty Marrion. Patty would often be the one harassing Veronica daily. Calling her all sorts of horrible things, saying her decisions were choices instead of actually feelings, and literally made pamphlets demonizing trans folk. After weeks of being tormented, Patty was now at the mercy of Veronica who wasn't very keen on letting her go. Veronica seem to play it simple though... All she asked Patty to do was drink a glass of wine she specially made for her. Patty knew this was one of her sick and twisted games of Veronica. She expected to be poisoned but nothing to seem to happen at first. Yet before Patty could respond, most likey taunting her about how her planned failed, she began to feel something change inside her... What Patty hadn't realized was that Veronica put inside a special seed. A special seed that slowly turned Patty into a tree... It was quite a horrifying sight as Patty realized what was happening to her. She begged for mercy. Apologizing repeatedly for her actions. Yet, it was too late... Veronica watched in glee as Patty slowly circumed to her fate. Right after the transformation was complete, Veronica took an axe, chopped down the tree, and made a lovely chair for Hatred to sit on. Veronica's tyranny wouldn't end after those events. Right after she went in a rampage and gifting Hatred the chair, Hatred promoted her by making her executioner. As well as have some form of control over Amoretia while she was away fighting wars. It was a very good deal for Veronica as now she could implement about how much she adored being herself and torture anyone she wanted!

Unfortunately after two years of this, Hatred would then be "executed" by her enemies. Veronica became extremely depressed that their "wonderful" and "fantastic" leader was put to death. Not wanting her legacy of destroying all love to die out, Veronica tried to lead Amoretia and the armies herself. Veronica never truly believed in destroying love but would do it out of respect for Hatred. Yet, the other monarchies weren't going to let that happen. They declared that Veronica had to be put to death for her crimes. She would end up going on the run for a while. Then, it seemed like she straight up disappeared. There wasn't any trace of her left. No leads, no eyewitnesses, and no sightings. Amoretia would soon be ran by a government in order to establish some sort of order. Sadly, the kingdom would never return back to it's prime time... Although some people on Amoretia do still believe Veronica is still out there... Plotting.. Seeking revenge.. and going to return one day.

Likes:

Makeup, fashion, taunting others, desserts, making jokes/puns, torturing people, violence, & practicing magic

Dislikes:

Being misgendered, her deadname, people disrespecting Hatred, insects, stepping on her shoes, transphobes, dull things, and sour foods

Powers/abilities:

Nature manipulation - connected directly to the natural world and thus can communicate, influence, manipulate and control nature

Potion making - substances with magical properties such as enhancing physical and mental abilities, healing, granting powers, changing shape, or bewitching someone depending on the kind of potion that is made.

Immortality - endless lifespan

Weaknesses:

Fire - the most feared thing a plant could ever face.

Vulnerable - can have a long lifespan but can still die

Water - isn't a very strong swimmer

Physical strength - Veronica isn't the strongest and even Baozhai could beat her in a fight

Occupation:

Torturer & Executioner

Other:

Veronica's flytrap flaps often closes whenever she goes to sleep or whenever she doesn't want to talk to anyone.

[zoffra]

Chapter 4 - What is betray

The taxi brought Machi, Nobunaga, and Kortopi back to the hotel in a tense atmosphere.

'But yes, he's with us... Stop roaring, Phinks!... I can't understand a word, see you later.' Nobunaga hung up and sighed deeply.

He glanced at Kortopi in the rear-view mirror, sitting in the back seat, 'You should have left a note, at last! What the hell is wrong with you? Leaving one of your copies, Sharnalk almost had a stroke!'

'You're losing sight of what's important. He shouldn't have gone out at all.' Machi answered in a tired voice.

Faced with Kortopi's silence, the swordsman lost what little patience he had left, 'Answer when someone speaks to you, kid.'

'Leave it, Nobu,' Machi intervened and tapped the child's thigh, 'He'll speak when he's ready.'

Nobunaga bristles, 'Stop always defending him, you're not doing him any favors. I can tell you he's lucky we got to him before the others. And drinking too! Phinks was so pissed that he lost his words, and the ones I understood don't sound good.'

Machi grinned at the thought of the trio waiting for their return.

.....

No sooner had they entered the hall doors than Feitan and Phinks rushed at them. Feitan lifted the child by his collar, shaking him hard enough to make his teeth tremble, while Phinks blocked the way of the swordsman who wanted to get in his way.

Kortopi opened his mouth to speak, but Feitan cut him off. 'Don't bother,' he scolded 'Your fault. Party ruined. '

Kortopi, mortified, hung limply in his arms as tears streamed down his cheeks. Feitan softened immediately and put him down again. He ran his thin fingers through his own hair, embarrassed, 'You going to kill us. Lot of concern for you. Don't redo.'

He walked to the elevator and gently pushed the child down his lower back, inviting him to walk with him. Machi deactivated his Nen and followed them, closely followed by Nobunaga who released his fingers from the handle of his katana.

.....

The next day, Kortopi woke up with a start.

In three days, meet at 5 pm in front of this subway station, alone. I repeat it to you one last time, I forbid you to speak about our interview to your friends, if you try to deceive me I'll know.

Kortopi, consumed with guilt, had followed Wedy's instructions and hadn't picked up a word since the day before.

Am I betraying the spider?

At this thought, he thought of his dead companions. Uvoguine had died for the spider by refusing to pass on information, and ironically, Pakunoda committed suicide in order to bring it to the other members. Korutopi's thoughts were reorganized around a single goal.

I must protect my comrades, even if it means betraying the spider

The child wondered how he could fool the troops when he saw Sharnalk's head sticking out of the doorway, 'How about a game of cards, Sleeping Beauty?'

.....

'Revolution.' Shizuku revealed his four cards as his friends pulled the grin.

'Eh, we said we don't play with wild cards!'

'You're making it up, we never said that!'

'Forget it Bono, Shizuku never remembers something she's forgotten.'

A little later, Kortopi went to a secluded room, feverishly pressing the keys of the phone he'd borrowed from the manipulator. The misunderstanding that troubled their card game had given him an idea.

'- ...Hello? ♠'

'- I-it's Kortopi, I'll be quick. I know you've left the troupe, but as a former companion I-I'd like to ask you a favor.'

'- It has the merit of being direct... but no. Only the fight with Chrollo interests me and I've negotiated with the exorcist to that end. Don't delude yourself into thinking it was for the brigade. Bye ♠'

'- W-Wait! Just give me the number of the needle-man, the one who passed himself off as you in York-shin, that's all I ask!'

Hisoka had never intended to hang up, Kortopi's direct call had already aroused his curiosity but he wanted details.

'- Oya, oya... ♥ I listening you.'

Kortopi gave him a detailed report of the situation. He told him about Wedy, the notebook, and the fact that the brigade was potentially next on Kira's list. The child couldn't see him, but on the other end of the phone, the room the magician was in was filled with a sinister aura.

She wants to break my toys?

Kortopi's little voice brought Hisoka back into the conversation.

'- Done deal ♦ I'll contact him for you, but don't call me from the blondie's phone anymore.'

Kortopi breathed a sigh of relief when a new realization hit him, 'Will you ask him... if I can pay in installments?'

'- Little boy ♠ Even if he let you pay in a hundred times, you still couldn't afford it. I told you I'll take care of the rest. Just get a phone.'

.....

'- 'Hello, this is Illumi Zoldyck. Apparently, you need my services.'

When he heard his identity, Kortopi felt an icy wind go through his body. To the world, the Zoldyck family is a feared and respected family of assassins, but in the spirit of the brigade, the patriarch is still the one who killed a comrade in the past.

Faced with Kortopi's silence, Illumi spoke in a reassuring tone, 'Listen to me, I know the brigade has a history with father. But he had his mission, and I've mine. I'm calling you to set up the terms of my contract, nothing more.

* Three days later, day of the meeting *

Illumi came out of the bathroom of the hotel dressed in Kortopi's clothes. He looked at his new appearance in the mirror, mumbling to himself, 'You're really tiny...'

The child couldn't help but stare at Illumi with admiration, appreciating his talent for transformation. However, there was still a hint of doubt in his mind. He wondered why an assassin of his rank had accepted such a mission. He would be paid, but much less than an assassination contract. The higher the risk, the more he was paid, Kortopi knew that.

'If you have something to ask me, now is the time.' Illumi glanced in the mirror at the child while readjusting his tunic and pants.

'Why are you giving me a hand?' The question had been burning his lips for hours.

'It's not a helping hand since I'm getting paid.' The murderer replied instantly, in a neutral tone, combing his hair to reveal only one eye.

'I'm pretty sure you had more interesting contracts on hand. You had nothing to gain by accepting this mission.'

Illumi sighed, resignedly, 'Let's say this is my way of thanking you for what you did.' The child looked at his double with even more curiosity.

'Remember the kids you took hostage at York-Shin? One of them is my brother, I saw you when you stepped in to protect him.'

Thank you

He doesn't say.

[bahytarek]

Ben Tennyson - Ben 10,000 - Ben 10K

Hero of Heroes - Wielder of the Omnitrix

Ben has been through a lot growing up. It all might seem glamorous, and sometimes it looks like fun but the truth is that this life isn't all perfect.

He's had many victories throughout his life. He defeated Vilgax, destroyed Zs'Skayr, made peace with the Highbreed, saved Galvan Mark II from a psychotic vengeful Galvanic Mechamorph, prevented the Incursean Empire from taking over the Earth, made other realities and dimensions a safer place, and created the entire Universe twice.

This man never stops doing what he does best, being a true hero. He spends most of his time saving the universe or stopping some crook. However big or small the problem, Ben risks his life and jumps ahead to save the day. We saw that sometimes, Ben does get hurt, even if he got hurt as an alien. Ben risks his physical health without even considering how bad things could get because he believes that if he doesn't step in, things could get worse, and can you blame him? People depend on Ben on a daily basis, and the job just gets harder and harder on him the older he gets, never really getting a chance to relax. Notice how I said job.

Ben started this life since he was 10, and took it as a game up until Vilgax threatened his family and showed him the risks of being a hero. Ben has spent most of his childhood as an outcast and as a target for bullying, the Omnitrix made him feel like he was worth something, like he was a hero. After defeating Vilgax for the first time, Ben still goofed off but knew deep down that there will come a time where he'll have to get serious.

Zs'Skayr is a complete psycho, instead of beating the snot out of Ben like Vilgax, he hit him where it really hurt, mentally. Zs'Skayr possessed Gwen and threatened Ben by making her stand on the ledge of a building, willing to commit suicide by jumping off. The next time Zs'Skayr attacked Ben's family, Ben was over protective of Gwen and Grandpa Max, he was scarred by his last encounter with Zs'Skayr. Gwen took it as him being cocky and selfish but the opposite is true, and for a 10 year old, Ben was completely brave.

In Secrets of the Omnitrix, Ben believed that Gwen was killed and completely blames himself, wishing it was him instead, a feeling that no 10 year old should feel.

Ben eventually unlocks Feedback, an alien he feels strongly attached to. During this time, he became enemies with a corrupted Galvanic Mechamorph named Malware. Malware eventually destroyed the Conductoid's DNA within the Omnitrix, making Feedback unaccessible. Ben loses for the first time, and in his rage he straight up murders Malware. I assume it was after that incident Ben removed the Omnitrix for 4 years.

Enter Alien Force. Ben wears the Omnitrix again because he fears for his Grandfather's life. This choice wasn't easy because it shows that he enjoyed being normal, but as soon as someone needed his help, he didn't hesitate to slam it on his wrist. He eventually becomes close friends with former enemy Kevin E.Levin.

Ben matured a lot during the first two season of Alien Force when he had to deal with the fact that his beloved Grandfather "died" and that he was in the middle of a Galactic War. After it ended and Max was revealed to be ok Ben managed to be happy again in season 3. Yet once again, Gwen mistakes this as him being cocky and wreckless, and even though he was a little cocky, Ben was just truly happy for once, and felt like a true hero again. At the end of Alien Force, Ben blew up the Omnitrix to stop Vilgax, proving that it's not the watch that makes him a hero. Ben doesn't feel this way though, and proceeds to take the Ultimatrix from Albedo.

In Ultimate Alien, Ben is now famous, not only across the stars, but on Earth as well. He has to deal with fame and criticism at the age of 16 while still trying to pass in his classes and save the Universe everyday. To a kid, this is a lot of pressure. In the beginning Ben seemed fine with it, but at some point it just seemed exhausting. Above all of this, his relationship with Julie, his girlfriend at the time, was rocky. She wished that he was there more but how could he? He's constantly trying to keep the Universe safe, he hardly even gets a good night's rest, and she expects him to be available? Again, the other characters make it look like it's all Ben's fault but the truth is, Ben can't do anything about it, despite the fact that he could turn into aliens, he's only human!

Ben eventually fails to save the 5 aliens that trusted him and then has to deal with the fact that his once best friend Kevin, is once again evil. It's up to Ben to stop him, it has to be him wheither he likes it or not, and this obviously hurt him, but he has no choice but to stop him, even if it meant to go to the extreme if the situation required. Because deep down, it's his fault, or so he thinks. He believes that maybe if he defeated Aggregor himself, if he was strong enough, Kevin would be ok. In the end it all worked out, but at what cost? Ben considered killing his friend, this will forever haunt him. He even willingly "sacrificed himself" to free all the Ultimate Aliens that blamed him for their imprisonment inside of the Ultimatrix, not because he had too, but because he wanted to. Freeing these creatures to him were far more important than his own life. At the end of Ultimate Alien, Ben gets the Ascalon and can now recreate the universe in anyway he wishes, destroy all evil, but he doesn't, he just fixes everything. Ben isn't arrogant or misuses his powers. Even though Ben can now control Alien X (or eventually) he wouldn't do anything extreme because he has limits, he knows right from wrong.

In Omniverse, Ben has gone through a lot. Gwen and Kevin left him behind, his only two real friends that could ever understand him in a way. He eventually gets close to his new plumber partner Rook Blonko. At some point, Ben recreated the Universe after it was destroyed and is the only one that remembers it's destruction. Even though he did something so heroic, he was forced to stand trial in front of the entire Universe for it. Not only that, but because of this one moment, another villain, Servantis, makes a hit squad to kill Ben just because he believes that Ben is too powerful to be trusted. Servantis also reveals Kevin as a sleeper agent. Ben again would blame himself for Kevin's turn but was more optimistic about saving him this time. Instead of trying to kill him, he just wanted to leave, regroup, and come up with a plan (he didn't know of course that Kevin was secretly good).

Ben was also forced to leave his friends and family behind on Earth thanks to the Incursean invasion. He was forced to deal with Malware, the alien that killed Feedback and mentally scarred Ben for years. He learns that in most realities he becomes evil. He temporarily died right before giving his Omnitrix to another Ben, but instead of being saddened by the fact that he's dying at such a young age, he gives advise to the other Ben to become a hero, to protect this Universe from monsters like Vilgax. Ben as a person has gone through so much growing up, and we got to watch him become a true hero, a hero of heroes. He mentored a younger alternate version of himself, he taught Rook how to be a hero instead of just being a plumber, he taught Kevin the importance of friendship, he inspired Gwen to become Lucky Girl and pursue magic, he motivated Grandpa Max to become a plumber once more. Literally everyone that gets close to Ben will have some kind of heroic trait because Ben shows them what it means to fight for others, to be selfless, to truly become a hero.

Ben knows about the man he'll become in the future, he's well aware that things will get harder and that he'll be a hero for ever. The pressure of knowing that he'll have to fill those shoes eventually must put some pressure on him sometimes.

We now know that at the age of 20, Ben becomes more serious and more of a loner. The reasons why are unknown, and the possibilities are endless. Maybe he blames himself for the loss of his Grandfather's arm or maybe he couldn't handle the fact that he was forced to throw Kevin into the Null Void again. Whatever the reason, Ben decides that it's for the best to do what he does on his own. Due to his history of almost losing his loved ones, it's easy to understand that at some point something happened that made him quit having a team. He'd rather die than see the ones close to him get hurt, but with this solitude and loneliness, he eventually became angrier and less sociable. We also learn that with the help of his master control, Ben used XLR8 to patrol the entire planet on a daily basis to stop any kind of crime from happening.

Ben no longer sees this as a game, it's his mission, it's the one thing he believes he's good for, being a hero. It's all anyone ever needed from him, it's all he thinks he needs to do. What's troubling how ever, is his loss of self. Ben got so comfortable with the idea of going hero all day 24/7, he no longer becomes Ben, because to him, Ben is just a weak human transformation. He no longer needs Ben, he's just the wielder of the Omnitrix, all that matters to him is being who people need him to be when he's needed, but not by being himself.

After the episode "Ben 10,000", Ben lightens up and begins to become the man he once was, one by one. In "Ken 10" he's happy, up untill he sees Kevin again, realising that he can't escape the mistakes of his past. This is when Ben reverts to his serious, more stubborn self, and pushes Ken, his son, aside to take Kevin down. Later when he sees Ken hurt, he loses his temper and demolishes Kevin as Waybig.

Four years later, we see that Kevin is better, angry, but better. Ben is still happily married with Kai (unlike Julie, Kai is also a hero, thus understanding the responsibilities and the pressure that Ben is under), Ken grew to be more of a hero, making his father proud, and Ben's life seems to be fine in a way.

Ben's life wasn't easy nor fun, but in the end, he has a group of loving family members and friends to support him when needed, and as long as they are by his side, he can learn to enjoy life and still be the hero the world needs him to be.

[icharchivist]

Lavi learning about the abuses Allen went through would be interesting in adding another layer to his insight into humanity. A part of Lavi's bookman hard cold logic mentality could rationalize the extremes rhe Order committed for survival (not that he'd like it). But the people who hurt Allen, at and before the circus, don't have that excuse. They really would fit Lavi's stupid and violent view of humanity he had pre Order/Allen. But unlike Lavi, Allen still choose to see love and goodness-

2 in the end. He saw the loving bond between Mana and his dog. He recieved the warmth Allen the dog gave him and mourned his death openly. He felt guilty for hurting Mana and wanted to make up for it. He also still wanted to get and give love despite not having any memory of experiencing it pre Mana. I think that's what confounds Lavi the most. Lavi's seen evil and just made himself cold/indifferent to everyone non bookman. In Lavi's eyes, Allen can see past the ugliness and love what needs to-

3 be loved. No matter how much it hurts, Allen still walks forward. I think Lavi does wish he could have done that too. It's just interesting because Lavi could have been the type to resent Allen for his kindness and outlook. Instead the first sign of Allen being different made him change his whole outlook. Like he had become that little 6 yr old again venturing into new territory. He'd probably feel that way again if he knew just how horrible Allen's past was and how much that drove Allen.

YES exactly! 

This was exactly what I meant in a previous ask about “cruelty hiding behind a purpose” bc in war this is what you see.Of course there are sadistic scary people who are only there to hurt people, but they will all hide behind whatever purpose the war has to offer. Even Lavi being tortured atm by a brunch of sadistic genocidal guys is litterally for the purpose to get information. 

But hwat happened to Allen had no rhyme nor reason and it is not exactly the kind of suffering Lavi would be used by. Humanity sucks, yeah, he’s seen it in wars, but battlefields is not always the best way to get to know humanity per se. Sure, humans who keep themselves into those wars - those politics who send people to die for their battles, the hopeful who die young, the horrors, the people who take advantage of it, the people who do horrors trying to stop the war “end justifying the means” type, the collateral damages and how civilians can respond with fear, while others may show out their selfishness - all of this is a specific set of humanity that is nothing alike Anything Allen even went through. 

And it’s ofc not saying that those wars weren’t traumatic to start with don’t get me wrong, I think that for Lavi to cope with such emotional distachement those wars had been plenty traumatic in their own way. what i mean is that, Lavi is prepared for the cruelty that comes with war. Not those that comes with the regular world.

The thing is that Lavi had to learn to cope very early and his exemple was Bookman who told him to shut off his emotions. I mean, Lavi got wounded by a straybullet on a battlefield when he was 7, one year after he started his recording duty. Even if Bookman is a loving father figure as much as possible, the uprising of the Bookmen is Not Healthy. Especially not for a child who has to process countless of horrors. 

So to shut down his emotions seemed the normal course of action to take. And from tunning down your emotions you lack your ability to care, by keeping your heart under locks you don’t let anything touches you. 

And... it’s interesting because without Mana we can’t know how Allen would have been. He would have been bitter perhaps. When you look at last chapter, it seems like fighting with Cosimo wasn’t a first time thing considering how quick Allen was to react - yet you can see that Allen still had a confrontational behavior, he didn’t let things happen to him. He had to be beaten into submission and apologizing and then emotionally abused in order to keep him back in track. Yet we still see him refusing his situation, rejecting it. Even as a kid. He was full of anger but he didn’t accept it. Even when he was forced to.

Having Mana and the dog had been salvator for Allen. Some people he could pour his hearts onto, people who would give him warmth, people who would make sure his feelings were valid. After all even we do have a scene of Mana helping Allen process his grief toward the dog.  And Allen was young enough to still form himself around that.

There’s something i’ve been told in therapy that the environment you were at at 7yo  can change your entiere development as of then, since it’s when your brain really is starting to try to make sense of the world around you in more personal details. 

Lavi was on battlefield at that point, seeing people dying and dying and dying. Allen was at that damn circus, with cruel people, but he met Mana and started to travel with him right at that time.  And they had to give logic to their life experience so far, both of them. 

tbh I wonder if Bookman slightly dotting Lavi when he was in convalescence might not have made it impossible for Lavi to be completely emotionless because of that one spurr of love Bookman let in (even if then Bookman had always reproached him the thing in question for emotional distance as well). But as it was, Lavi had to make sense of the war around him. That was his primary focus. Hell if he had been in nothing but wars, how much does he even know about common life and suffering not war related?

And Allen saw all the cruelty of humanity, but he found something that genuinely made him happy, a warmth and optimism he wasn’t quite receptive to at first until he found himself at peace in it. He rationalized his life thus far and realized this, this is the kind of behavior that makes me happy. And he clang to that, and with Mana’s tehn sudden death and the akumatization Allen felt guilty about, it was important for Allen to carry that happiness on, knowing how much this had changed his life for the better. 

And like you say, that’s exactly things that could surprise Lavi because Lavi never had any opportunity to see that sort of love. I mean... Bookman is one thing, but it doesn’t change too that Mana was just as much a stranger to Allen than anyone in that Circus. If anything it proved Allen that humanity might not be that bad, actually, since that random human could take care of him. On the other hand we have Lavi who only ever could count on Bookman - and we know that he considered Bookmen above humanity. Bookman was still someone who had a duty to protect Lavi. Mana, as far as Allen knew, didn’t. 

And this adds too to the shock of thinking Mana only cared for Allen because of Nea, because the whole reason that it could have given Allen’s faith toward strangers, toward humanity, was that Mana was a stranger who still treated him kindly. The moment Mana had ulterior motives, this unconditional kindness Allen built himself upon wavers. Because for Allen it’s essential that a person who had no reason to care about him ended up extending him this kindness, and that’s how he ended up living his life.

I don’t specifically think Lavi would ever really think that he should have approched the situation like Allen did because there’s a lot of specifics entering in count in their specific trauma and how they coped with it.

But it is still telling, that for Lavi the horrors of wars became so nomrla, so usual, so easy to cope with, that the horrors Allen had been through are... a complete different affair. And to see that above all of that Allen took the approach of being kind, no matter what, to always be extending a hand for those in needs... It would be puzzling. How does on react to suffering this way? 

At war Lavi might have ended up believing there’s no point trying to save people, it’s a lost cause, if they don’t die now they will die later on the battlefield. And if they survive they will have the weigh of this pointless war on their shoulders.But Allen’s salvation came from a person caring. It wasn’t life or death. Saving someone there would help create a better future.

And honestly, Lavi did resent Allen when he first meet him, albeit it was because of the whole “that idiot called an akuma and is so lucky with his stupid eye and he doesn’t realize none of us can actually trust each other because the enemy is everywhere”. Lavi was extremely patronizing in his first appearance. He thought Allen was lucky. Until Krory’s castle. 

The more Lavi manages to unveil about what kind of person Allen is the more he realizes how wrong he had been the first time around. That his desire to save others at all cost wasn’t naivety but hyperawareness of what suffering was like. 

Allen did show his kindness the first thing around Lavi. he was soft. He actually showed pain at the idea of killing others humans, to whcih Lavi just said “what a baby.” Allen had shown his desire to help too all step into the Krory’s arc when they had to approach Krory. It’s just that Lavi brushed it off as naivety. Until he realized how wrong he was.

And especially, Lavi had seen that Allen was right in his love. I mean in the following arcs Lavi and Krory are super close and it shows they’ve become friends. Had Allen not taken the time to help Krory this friendship wouldn’t have existed. Lavi can witness everyday how Allen’s words improved Krory’s life for the better. When Allen was dead, Lavi could still see the direct impact of Allen’s kindness by his side. Hell, Krory saved Lavi’s life on that damn boat too. Had Allen not talked Krory out of suicide none of this would have happened.

I think comparing him to a child again is a good move bc it showcase a lot his internal fight with his younger self crying at him for taking different steps, for caring so much about others. In order to move on Lavi should put back in perspective how he had dealt with life so far, and Allen had always been a guiding light in that purpose.

To know the horrors Allen had gone through would already be a complete different spin on suffering than anything Lavi have ever experienced. 

And the kindness Allen showed, that is already so strange to Lavi, yet so encouraging, is just all the more powerful.

I think Lavi would realize that. Especially with how much Allen’s kindness as its own power was the very thing he sneered upon until he realized it was the most important thing Allen ever gave out.

So his reactions to the horrors... I don’t see him handling it well. But i do think it would be important.

.... and I rambled a lot again i’m sorry but this is a topic that really fascinates me ahdjkf