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Yeah, I can understand Hannibal I had to put it down a few times, I love Zombie movies bc they stress me out😭😭 and PHM was so good I loved it def recommend it
I don't know if you're know Poppy Playtime, but the relationship between Borealis and Homelander reminded me of Poppy and the Prototype's relationship (Borealis would be Poppy; Homelander would be the Prototype).
I haven't, but I'm curious to know what aspects reminded you of their relationship
Guys, guys, guys, hear me out, what if I wrote for Vought Rising and did a Soldier Boy x Human! Reader (maybe a masc reader? Or a male reader? Try something new, also I would love to write for queer Soldier Boy who doesn't know how to handle that and the forbidden love element during the time/with Vought) and since the character would still be named "(Y/N)," it adds to the whole "Oh, shit" for Ben when he meets Borealis because they chose the name of the one person he loved but could never truly be with because the world hated them for who they were, same as with Borealis
(Also would totally name the series "See Yourself Become the Hero" since it's the reverse)
See Yourself Become the Villain (Book 2) Chapter Twenty-Three
Found Family! The Boys and Supe! Reader
Platonic Yandere! Homelander and Supe! Reader
(Platonic! Soldier Boy and Supe! Reader)
Chapter Twenty-Three: Instability
Summary: While (Y/N) reunites with their family, Homelander reunites with the Room. Blood is spilled and pain is remembered.
Chapter Warnings: Mentions of abortion, child abuse
Annie felt a bit steadier when she returned to the shelter. While she still felt emotional and likely would continue to become upset the longer that Firecracker spoke, Annie felt prepared to face it head-on instead of cowering. That was the important point.
“Now, y’all heard a lot tonight about who Starlight really is.” Firecracker spat vitriol with a smile. “But you still haven’t seen the true monster behind the mask. And the truth…oh, it is so much worse than you could ever imagine. Oh, no. Six months ago, Starlight visited a clinic.”
Annie stared. Her hands dropped to her sides. Her heart jumped in fear.
“She wasn’t going for a checkup,” continued Firecracker.
“What the fuck?” breathed Annie. Everyone left in the shelter began to look up as they heard the incredulous anger in her tone.
“She found out that she was pregnant.” Onscreen, Firecracker was displaying the medical records with Annie’s name on them. “And she had an abortion.”
“Are those my fucking medical records?” Annie’s voice was strangled, halfway between sobbing and screaming.
“She was raised a Christian,” said Firecracker scathingly. “She knew the difference between right and wrong. She knew exactly what she was doing. So you won’t tell me that those teens over there, that they’re safe with her!”
A tear fell down Annie’s face. It wasn’t grief. It was rage.
“With that baby killer?!”
Annie stormed to the doors.
“Annie, wait,” said MM, standing. Before anything else, though, he heard Frenchie over the earpiece. He’d been caught. MM looked in alarm at Butcher. “Butcher—”
“Fucking hell. Frenchie.” Butcher stood and ran from the room, MM on his heels.
(Y/N) blinked. They were alone. They turned to the TV. They hoped Annie tore the woman with the bad waves apart.
“She could have given it up for adoption,” prattled Firecracker. “But no. She murdered it!”
(Y/N) didn’t understand those arguments. It was barely anything in Annie’s stomach, six weeks as a clump of cells. But people were strange about life and death. (Y/N) wasn’t. Or, at least, they knew they weren’t anymore.
Light crackled, and Annie landed onstage, glowing with her power. She marched towards Firecracker, who grinned cockily.
“So you finally came to deb—”
Annie’s fist connected with Firecracker’s face. People screamed and ran. Annie swung again, and Firecracker hit the ground before she had a moment to even think. While people scrambled for safety and turned cameras on the fight, Annie kept hitting Firecracker, unthinking about everything except for feeling violated and furious.
(Y/N) tilted their head as they watched. Firecracker is pathetically weak.
“Stop.”
MM grabbed Annie’s arm and pulled her back. Annie’s glow flickered, and she faltered.
“Look,” breathed MM warningly.
Annie looked around. Everyone was staring at her. Fearful. Worried. Cowering. Her eyes widened. She had fallen for the trick, the bait, and now—MM pulled her away from Firecracker and offstage, even as her eyes darted around in a panic.
(Y/N) tilted their head as they watched the cameras lose sight of MM and Annie. That was disappointing. It was…good to not kill. But it was disappointing.
They heard sirens, and they looked out the doors. People were going to be arriving. They stood from the desk, and the lights flickered off, obscuring them from anyone’s sight.
The backdoor opened. MM stood there, a grimace on his face. “We need to go.”
(Y/N) nodded and followed him out. They didn’t say anything to Annie, who’s hands shook with the weight of what she’d done so recklessly. They didn’t say anything to Frenchie, who had bruises blossoming around his neck. And they didn’t say anything to Butcher, covered in blood—especially not when the waves had shifted around him.
l
“It’s funny,” said Homelander as he stepped into his little white room with Barbara. “I-I remember it being so much bigger. You know why I used to call this the Bad Room?”
“It was just a room, John,” said Barbara. “It’s neither good nor bad.”
“(Y/N) and I would disagree.” Homelander still relished getting to say their name. They were siblings, and they were out there, somewhere, and Homelander would get to have them back. They were his—blood and name.
“Borealis was…a different case than you,” said Barbara. “They were born wrong. We should’ve known they would turn out the way they did.”
“They were born perfect,” said Homelander. He smiled. “I should know. I was there when they were born.” He could still feel the blood of (Y/N)’s mother on his hands. She’d refused to come back to Vought, had tried to run and take away what was his. And so he’d left with only the baby. Perfect, innocent, pure. It was the world that had poisoned them, weaklings like Hugh Campbell and Starlight turning them against him.
“Did you come back here just to torment those people?” said Barbara, breaking him from his thoughts. “Doesn’t that feel a little…a little small? They were just following orders. Dr. Vogelbaum’s, Stan Edgar’s, and mine.”
“Yeah. But they followed them.” Homelander looked at Barbara coldly. “None of them had the backbone to stand up and say, ‘This is wrong.’ ”
“ ‘Cause they were scared,” said Barbara.
“We were children,” snapped Homelander.
“They were scared,” reiterated Barbara. She crossed her arms. “You know, I was there the day you were born. They paid some poor runaway two grand to carry the embryo to term. But you lasered her guts open from the inside. You rose in the air with your umbilical cord still attached, like some creature of myth. Or nightmare.”
Homelander blinked, shifting slightly. He had never heard this story before.
“You killed three doctors and a nurse while you were at it,” continued Barbara. “And then, just trust me, it was downhill from there. So yeah, yeah, everybody was terrified of you, from your first breath.”
“Except for you,” said Homelander.
“Mm.” Barbara didn’t admit yes or not. “That’s the reason we were grateful when Borealis’s powers didn’t show from birth. We had to coax them out at the end, but it was better than a bloodbath. It meant she didn’t know she had the power to kill us. But you?” Barbara shook her head. “We have no physical power over you. We never did. You could’ve broken out of here anytime you wanted. We couldn’t have stopped you. But you didn’t. Because you couldn’t stand the idea that we would be disappointed in you.”
Homelander’s hands clenched behind his back.
“You mean it made them easier to control,” said Homelander darkly.
“And yet she’s the one who rebelled,” said Barbara, not caring for the correction. She knew she was upsetting him. But he came for answers, and answers she would give. “Your need for approval and love. Vought brought in the best psychologists in the world. Developed the protocol to carefully engineer that need so that you would be obedient.”
A muscle in Homelander’s jaw twitched. A trained dog—that’s what Vought saw him as. One that was biting too often.
“In many ways, that was out greatest success, especially when it completely failed in Borealis,” continued Barbara. “By the time we identified that her mind wasn’t responding in the expected manner, she was too old. But you…you were exactly what we needed. And we were what you needed: approval. Love.”
Homelander slowly shook his head. “I don’t need any of it anymore.”
Barbara didn’t believe him. “Doesn’t matter what you do to me or the rest of the staff here. Your need for love is so deep, it’s so human, you’ll never be able to overcome that.”
Homelander chuckled and smiled. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not human. And neither is my son or my sibling. And I’m going to make sure they know it.”
Barbara’s face flickered into a frown at the present-tense when it came to Borealis.
Homelander strolled past her and paused in the doorway. “You know, I really do want to share with you why I called this The Bad Room.” The manic gleam had returned to his eye.
l
“Today’s events have sadly confirmed my suspicions,” said Neuman on TV. “While I respected President Elect Singer, it’s disheartening to see him align himself with Starlight, someone so clearly out of control. What’s even more troubling is that I considered Starlight a friend. But her violent, out-of-control attack on Firecracker was someone I don’t recognize.” She shook her head. “I won’t speculate on—”
Hughie looked up from the safehouse couch. He gave Annie an apologetic look as she entered, exhausted and disheveled. MM and (Y/N) entered the safehouse after her. While Hughie got up, Kimiko hugged Annie. She looked at (Y/N) and pulled them in next. Hughie had explained everything, and Kimiko was glad to have them back. She’d missed them. They understood her. (Y/N) hugged back before letting go and stepping back.
“What happened to your leg?” they said, looking at Hughie.
“It’s okay,” denied Hughie. He had been shot. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” asked Annie, stepping forward worriedly.
Hughie shook his head. “I’m not important. I saw the Firecracker thing. That fucking asshole.”
“No, no, I shouldn’t have lost it,” said Annie, shaking her head.
“How could you not lose it?” scoffed Hughie. “It was, like, the most private thing between you and me. And to fucking broadcast it like that, that’s a fucking violation.”
“Hughie,” said Annie, tears in her eyes. “It’s not helping, okay?”
“Right, sorry, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” said Hughie.
Annie let out a trembling breath. “I agonized over that decision.”
MM murmured to (Y/N), “Come on. Let me check you over. Let’s give them a moment.”
(Y/N) nodded absently and followed him into the other room while Hughie and Annie talked the situation over. MM took them into a side room and opened a first aid kit he kept in the safehouse (actually, he kept several. This group went through them like paper towels).
“Sit down here,” said MM, pointing to a desk. (Y/N) hopped up onto it. “Okay, I don’t have much, but I’ve got a basic kit.” He held up a penlight. “Follow this with your eyes, okay?”
“I feel it either way,” said (Y/N).
MM let out a long-suffering sigh. “Just do it, okay?”
(Y/N) settled down and followed the pen, left and right, up and down. MM frowned. Their eyes were adjusting to the light regularly, but the light in his hand flickered. It went out. MM looked at it and then at (Y/N).
“Did you do that?” he asked cautiously.
The penlight flickered back on, and (Y/N) didn’t break their stare. MM furrowed his brow. (Y/N) hadn’t been able to do that before. Before he could ask anything about their powers, though—how the hell do you do a medical test for those?—he had to continue with the basic checkup.
“Okay.” What else was MM supposed to say? “Open your mouth.”
“Ah.” (Y/N) let MM shine the light in.
MM drew back. Everything seemed normal; their body was working fine. But that, honestly, was the strangest part. (Y/N) shouldn’t be standing, walking, talking—they should be dead. But they had put themself back together. They were alive. But their memories were gone. Their mind was…fractured, like they were in a fugue state and their own little world at the same time. Something had gone wrong. And MM needed to figure out what to help them.
“(Y/N), did you know anything about…anything when you woke back up?” asked MM. “Your name, memories of faces…”
“I knew the waves,” said (Y/N).
“What are the waves?” said MM cautiously.
“They’re around you. The lights. The sounds.” (Y/N) shrugged. “All of it.”
Oh, great, thought MM. Butcher’s diagnosis of “off their rocker” was looking pretty accurate. “Okay, yeah, right.” MM straightened. “Can you roll up your sleeves?”
(Y/N) rolled their sleeve up, and MM grimaced. Old scars littered their arm. Some were burns from laser, scarred over from a year ago. Others were faint and light against their skin, tiny burns and cuts from old experiments and fights. It was a painting of pain.
Despite knowing that the scars could no longer cause them pain, MM avoided touching their skin. He peered at the old scars and searched for new ones on (Y/N)’s skin. He couldn’t find anything. They may have “pieced themself” together, but there were no marks of the “sewing” (Y/N) had done.
“(Y/N),” said MM. “When you say you pulled yourself together, what do you mean?”
(Y/N) hummed. “I was alive. There was energy. I used it.”
MM frowned. It had to be the energy from Soldier Boy’s explosion. Had they absorbed it? “Other arm.”
(Y/N) lifted it, and MM took another look. He grimaced at a burn mark on their upper shoulder. It was nasty and old, and beneath it was a familiar pattern of burns from Homelander. He recognized them from the battle before they lost (Y/N). The scars weren’t healing well, either. MM’s gloved fingers carefully touched the jagged skin.
Hands. White Coats. Bright Lights. Needles. Knives.
Green and purple light exploded out. MM hit the back wall and grunted as he hit the ground. The table beneath (Y/N) cracked, and a window blew out. (Y/N) fell to the ground, and their arms curled around themself, squeezing their eyes shut.
The door of the office flew open, and the rest of the Boys and Annie stood in the doorway. They looked from MM to (Y/N) and back.
“I bloody well told you they were on the fritz,” said Butcher, and MM grumbled under his breath, only bruised.
“Holy shit, (Y/N), are you okay?” said Hughie, approaching them.
“Don’t touch me!” shouted (Y/N), eyes squeezing shut. The world rippled with green and purple light. “Don’t touch me…”
“(Y/N)…It’s okay. It’s just us. You’re not—Whatever you’re remembering, it’s not real,” said Annie carefully, kneeling to be on (Y/N)’s level.
The lights flickered around them, popping with anxious bits of lavender and lime. “I don’t—I didn’t—” The lights faded, but (Y/N) didn’t open their eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why that happened.”
(Y/N) didn’t move, though. Annie looked up at the rest. Hughie swallowed worriedly. (Y/N) might be back, but their mind and their powers were more unstable than ever.
l
The ice cream cake lay melted on the abandoned table, collecting dust. The oven door was closed, the stench of rotting, burnt flesh filtering out. Computers and desks sat empty, screens shutting off. The door of The Bad Room was tightly shut.
Within, tattered clothes covered the ground. They were stained red with blood. That same blood dripped down the walls and fell from the ceiling. Torn limbs and organs littered the floor. Empty eye sockets in torn faces stared upwards.
Barbara shivered, back to the door. She would starve to death in that horrible room.
In the elevator, bloodstained as he had been the day he was born, Homelander closed his eyes. He was satisfied. He smiled. He had done what was necessary to grow. He had taught the Lab a lesson. And now…he and (Y/N) were the same. They had both turned their back on Vought’s little labs.
However, Homelander had acted in order to humiliate. (Y/N) had acted to escape. The pair were not equal. Homelander would never recognize that, though. He would only smile, a predator in his element.
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Hiii Mouse, hru??💕💕 Just to preface this isn't me telling u to write them but in my head I made a list of things I think Mouse would do perfection, so here it is My newest obsession PHM(Project Hail Mary), Thunderbolts, Superman(2025), Hannibal, WWZ(World War Z), Zombieland, Atla, and low-key just thought of this Lego Batman movie??? Idfk where that came from but anyway love u Mousey!! 💕💕💕💕
I have only seen like 3 of those, but they're all 10/10 (Superman, AtLA, Lego Batman). Started watching Hannibal and unfortunately had some negative associations at the time so took a break, PHM is on my to-watch list, and zombies/thriller stuff stresses me out (insert crying emoji).
I am trying out various ideas in my head for what to add to writing after See Yourself Become the Villain Book 2, particularly since A Shot in the Dark will be relatively quick to write overall and I'm toying with discontinuing Burden of Truth until more Moon Knight or more inspo for what to really do with it
I like to think about 42% of Borealis’s problems could be solved if they were given a coloring book and some colored pencils. It ain’t gonna fix the memories or the DEEPLY Disturbing childhood, but it does give them a nice mood outlet that’s not just doing nothing, violence, or weed. That and perhaps then they can more or less show The Boys and Annie what THEY see.
They would love some crayons and a piece of paper. Let them go crazy, it would be so much fun.
That also reminds me, I have this thought that, like, in an AU where they grew up safe and had no powers, I think they'd like the arts and humanities. As much as their powers are cool and the relationship to physics is interesting, Borealis and their powers aren't really simpatico, one feels like a product and the other is a person
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I was wondering if you were up to write for lotr cuz I can not seem to find good fics on here lmao
I have considered writing for Legolas or something if I can get my hands on scripts and such. I definitely want to start something new soon-ish since I'm finishing a series soon
I was just wondering if. You had been watching the witch hat atelier anime because I would love to see you do a book with an apprentice reader I just know you would be amazing at writing something like that as it would be similar to witch reader in your supernatural book series ❤️
I haven't watched Witch Hat Atelier. I've been looking for something new. Is it good?
have you seen a knight of the seven kingdoms? not expecting u to write anything abt it ofc i just think you’d like it if you haven’t seen it!! i know how much you love the found family trope with a character lying to said found family about their identity bc their fear judgement about their background w/ the occasional splash of toxic bio family
Ooh, isn’t that a spinoff of something or am I wrong? It sounds interesting though
Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Thirteen: Prophets
Summary: Crowley tries to plot with multiple prophets; the Winchesters interrupt.
“Okay,” said Sam, looking up from his computer. “I got something.”
“What?” said Dean, opening a beer—his latest and continued coping mechanism for missing Castiel and seeing him places.
“Well, this kid went missing from a preschool,” said Sam.
“I hope they get found, but how is this us?” asked (Y/N).
“At the same time he vanished, a surprise tornado hit, lasted maybe 20 seconds, then, uh…shazam! Back to perfect weather,” said Sam.
“And they pooh-pooh climate change,” said Dean.
“That’s more like us,” said (Y/N).
“Similar wackiness has happened over the past few weeks in other places—uh, Tulsa, a bus driver vanishes and a river gets overrun with frogs.” Sam scrolled farther on his computer. “New Mexico—a mailman disappears, the earth splits open.”
“Alright. So we thinking demons?” said Dean, looking over Sam’s shoulder.
“Yeah, possibly, but…I mean, this stuff was major.” Sam shook his head. “These folks have nothing in common—no religious affiliations, different hometowns, all ages. Why would demons want them?”
“Why do demons want anything?” said Dean.
“There must be something tying them together that has nothing to do with demographics,” said (Y/N). “Not like the census screens for supernatural.”
“Alright. So we’re on this?” said Dean. Sam nodded in confirmation. “Okay. Suit up.”
(Y/N) groaned. The suits were so formal.
“Hey, you wanted to be an FBI agent,” said Dean.
“That’s because I’m nosy,” said (Y/N). “God forbid I also have a sense of style.”
l
In their suits, Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) headed up to the front door of a plain suburban house. The evening light filtered in through the windows on either side of the door, and when Sam knocked, they saw a young woman peeking out. Sam held up his badge, and the woman had to open the door. She eyed them uncertainly from behind the chain keeping her safely within the home.
“Mrs. Hagar? Agents Roth, Malloy, and Joel. We want to speak to you about Aaron Webber’s abduction,” said Dean formally.
Mrs. Hagar flinched at the boy’s name, guilt and shame and worry flashing across her features. “Like I told the police, one minute I was taking Aaron to get cleaned up, and the next minute…I woke up in a park three blocks away.” She spoke quietly, knowing it was an insane story and that no one would believe it.
“And you have no memory of what happened?” asked Sam.
“No. He was just gone,” said Mrs. Hagar.
As she spoke, Dean gave (Y/N) a look, and they pretended their phone buzzed and lifted it to their ear.
“Can you think any reason why somebody would want to harm him? Um, any enemies?” asked Dean.
“Enemies? He’s five,” said Mrs. Hagar, confused and now suspicious of the people asking her such questions.
“He means maybe his parents had enemies and someone took Aaron because of that,” said Sam, smoothly creating a seamless story.
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…” murmured (Y/N), and Mrs. Hagar didn’t react other than furrowing her brow.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“It’s, uh, code for your own safety so that you can’t reveal anything under enhanced interrogation,” supplied Dean. He moved on before she could question the answer. “Now, when you woke up on the floor, were there any signs of struggle?”
“No,” said Mrs. Hagar.
“Smell like sulfur?” asked Sam.
“How did you know that?” asked Mrs. Hagar in surprise.
“Lucky guess.” Sam exchanged a look with the other two. “Thanks for your time.”
Mrs. Hagar was grateful for the chance to lock herself up inside once again, and she closed the door without another word. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) turned from the front porch and headed back towards the impala.
“No reaction to the exorcism,” said (Y/N). “She’s definitely not still possessed.”
“But she was with Aaron went missing,” said Sam. “I’m willing to bet a demon got hold of Aaron Webber.”
l
(Y/N) sat up abruptly as they heard a floorboard creak. “Dean?” they stared at him out the window. He stared out with a strange, faraway look in his eyes.
“What’s going on?” said Sam, sitting up in alarm. “Are we alright?”
“I don’t know. I just saw something,” said Dean, furrowing his brow.
“You saw what?” said Sam cautiously. Dean was having one of his moments that were clearly trauma responses that he would refuse to address as such.
“Cas,” said Dean.
“You saw Cas? Where?” said (Y/N), sitting up straighter. They were fully awake.
“Right there.” Dean gestured to the motel window. “And-and-and earlier, on the road. I feel like I’m seeing him.” He shook his head, trying to convince himself he was being ridiculous.
“That’s…not possible. I mean, you said it yourself. You made it out and he didn’t, right?” said Sam, still half-asleep but trying to get Dean to come down from this episode.
“I tried so damn hard to get us the hell out of there,” said Dean vaguely, turning away from the window.
“We know you did,” said (Y/N). Dean had fought for himself and Castiel, and then he had returned and fought to find (Y/N). Dean didn’t give up on the people he cared about.
“You know, I could have pulled him out.” Dean was staring into space like how (Y/N) did when contemplating their own monstrosity. “I just don’t understand why he didn’t try harder.”
Sam stood. “Dean,” he said softly. “You did everything you could.”
“Yeah, but why do I feel like crap?” scoffed Dean, using sarcasm to obscure his true feelings of grief.
“Survivor’s guilt,” said (Y/N).
Dean hummed but didn’t respond.
“If you let it, this is gonna keep messing with you,” said Sam. “You got to walk past it.” He clapped Dean on the shoulder before heading to the bathroom.
“Dean,” said (Y/N), and he looked at them. “I get it. I feel it a lot about my parents.” Dean blinked. “It’s tough. But you don’t abandon people. It’s not who you are. If there was a way for you to open a door back to Purgatory and pull Cas out, you would.”
“Yeah. I would.” Dean looked down. “I just—I miss him.”
(Y/N) knew why, and it was for a very different reason than why Dean ever missed Sam or (Y/N). “I know, Dean. I know.”
l
“Hey, our case become more complicated,” said Sam, yawning and taking another sip of coffee.
“You mean more complicated than a dead end?” said (Y/N).
“Haha,” said Sam sarcastically. “It’s not just Americans who are vanishing. Uh, this guy, Luigi Ponzi disappeared walking between two subway cars in Rome. And right above ground, there was a freak hailstorm.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Europe,” said (Y/N).
“I’m not getting on a plane,” said Dean instantly.
“That’s your line?” said (Y/N) incredulously, and Dean huffed.
“You don’t need to go to Rome.”
Everyone jumped, and (Y/N)’s magic sparked in alarm as the voice spoke. They whirled, and their eyes widened. Castiel, disheveled and exhausted, stood in the middle of the room.
“Cas?” said (Y/N) in shock.
“Cas?” said Sam in surprise.
“Cas?” Dean’s voice was strangled with so much emotion it was overwhelming.
“Hello,” said Castiel.
Dean took a step back and grabbed the kitchenette counter to support himself. Sam’s mouth opened and closed with no idea what to say. (Y/N) swallowed their shock.
“Do you…want some water?” they offered. Castiel wasn’t in his best shape, and they didn’t have much, but (Y/N) cared about him.
Castiel nodded and sank into a seat at the small table. “Thank you,” he said as (Y/N) grabbed a glass.
“Unbelievable, man. I-I cannot believe it,” said Sam, still staring. “You’re actually here.” Just a few hours, they’d all been convinced Dean’s guilt was causing hallucinations. Instead, Castiel was there. On Earth. With them.
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to reach out, but for whatever reason, I wasn’t at full power,” said Castiel, shaking his head. “So I couldn’t connect with you.”
Sam looked at Dean. “That must have been why you kept seeing him. I mean, you think?”
“Yeah. Yeah, uh, I got to be honest.” Dean couldn’t stop staring—this was Cas, his Cas, back, back with him—and faltered with his words. “I-I-I’m thinking, how the hell did you make it out? I mean, I-I was there. I-I-I know that place. I know how we had to scratch and claw and kill and bleed to find that portal and make it through it, and it almost finished me.” He swallowed his guilt and pain from thinking he had lost Castiel. “So, uh... so how exactly are you sitting here with us right now?”
“Dean, everything you just said is completely true. And that’s the strange part,” said Castiel honestly. “I…have no idea. I remember endlessly running and hiding from Leviathan, and then I was on the side of the road in Illinois. And…that was it.”
“And that’s it?” repeated (Y/N). Even if Castiel was telling the truth—and they believed he was—it was a strange story. Something or someone else had to be involved with his escape. The question was what that meant. For the moment, though, (Y/N) was just glad to have their friend back.
“Yes.” Castiel took a long drink of the water, put the glass down, and frowned at his hands, still stained with dirt and grime. “Oh. I’m dirty.”
Dean chuckled slightly. That was Cas. “Purgatory will do that to you.”
Castiel stood and headed towards the bathroom to clean himself up. Dean stared after him.
“Dean?” said (Y/N). No response.
“Dean?” said Sam more forcefully.
Dean blinked and came out of his memories. “Huh?”
“You alright?” said Sam.
“You do see something severely wrong here, right?” Dean sat down tiredly. “Sammy, (Y/N), I remember every second of leaving that place. I mean, I remember the-the heat, the stink, the pain, the fear.” He shivered slightly and swallowed. “I have that whole ugly mess right here—” he tapped his head “—and he says he has no idea how he got out? I’m just not buying it.”
“I agree that something’s up,” said (Y/N). “But I think Cas doesn’t know what happened.”
“What do you mean?” said Sam.
“I think that whatever got him out wanted to make sure that, for now, he doesn’t know how,” said (Y/N). “It’s going to come and bite us in the ass because nothing good comes for free, but I think Cas isn’t hiding anything.” They looked at Dean. “Least of all for you.”
A strange warmth collected in Dean’s chest at that declaration. “Yeah. I hope so. I just—I saw the shape that he was in. I mean, there was no way he was fighting his ass out alone. No way.”
“Alright. So, the question is who or what got him out,” said Sam.
“Exactly,” said (Y/N). “And what do they want in return?”
After that ominous question, the door of the bathroom opened, and Castiel reemerged, freshly shaven and wearing a proper suit and trench coat. “Better?” He extended his hands to show them the outfit and get their opinion.
“Better,” said (Y/N), smiling fondly. Sam nodded. Dean watched Castiel and smiled slightly. He nodded.
Castiel looked pleased and sat down. “So, what is going on currently?”
“Crowley is trying to stop us from closing the Gates of Hell,” said (Y/N). “He’s the King of Hell.”
Castiel looked at them. “That is quite the mission.”
(Y/N) shrugged. “We shoot for the stars.”
“But right now we’ve lost Kevin and now demons are kidnapping random people across the globe,” said Sam.
“What are we at, seven?” asked Dean.
“Yeah, uh, Luigi, Justin, Aaron, Maria—” began Sam.
“—Maria, Dennis, Krista, Sven,” finished Castiel.
(Y/N)’s head snapped towards him. “How did you know those are the names?”
“Well, they’re prophets,” said Castiel. He was matter-of-fact as ever, like all his angelic knowledge was obvious.
“Prophets?” repeated Dean.
“Yeah, angels instinctively know the names of every prophet—past, present, and future,” said Castiel casually.
“So this list is the name of every one of ‘em that exists?” clarified Dean.
“Yes, until the next generation is born,” said Castiel. “Plus Kevin Tran, of course. The other seven are future prophets, since, uh, only one can exist at a time.”
“Uh, how is Kevin a prophet if Chuck is a prophet?” asked Sam, frowning.
“I’m not sure what happened to Chuck, but, um…he must be dead,” said Castiel, shrugging.
“Dammit, and he didn’t even get to publish any of the cool stories I’m in,” grumbled (Y/N). Dean snorted, and Sam facepalmed at the fact that was (Y/N)’s issue.
“So, the next one comes off the bench if Kevin goes down?” asked Dean.
“Exactly. And they have no idea who they are, of course,” said Castiel.
“So Crowley is going to make sure he has all the prophets if one stops obeying him, like Kevin,” said (Y/N).
“Insurance,” said Dean. “Boy, he’s getting desperate.”
“Explains all the weird phenomena. Lower-level demons nabbing heavy-duty cargo,” said Sam. “The vessels of God’s Word—boom.”
“I get the feeling something’s going on,” said Castiel.
“Oh, yeah,” said (Y/N).
Sam’s phone rang, and he lifted it to his ear. His eyes widened. “Mrs. Tran?” He stood. “Well, where the hell have you—What?” He looked at the others in alarm. “Crowley’s got Kevin.”
(Y/N) groaned. “Goddammit.”
l
Dean, Sam, Castiel, and (Y/N) sat in the impala and kept a wary eye on the empty road extending into the horizon. Dean shifted impatiently.
“Where the hell is she?” he said.
“She’ll be here. Uh, mile marker 96 was kind of the halfway point,” said Sam.
Dean sank back into his seat, and he glanced in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t look away from Castiel’s face. Everything from Purgatory came rushing back, Castiel’s hand slipping from his, their screams, Dean’s desperation—He jerked back to the present, breath shallow.
“Cas, can I talk to you outside?” he said abruptly.
Sam and (Y/N) exchanged looks, and Castiel blinked in surprise. He got out of the impala, though, and Dean and he took a few steps to the side of the road.
“That’s not going to end well,” said Sam.
“Yeah, especially since I think Castiel is way more aware of what his feelings are for Dean than Dean is about what his feelings are for Castiel,” said (Y/N).
Sam groaned. “This is going to go on for years, isn’t it?”
“It already has for years,” said (Y/N).
A car pulled up at the edge of the road, and Sam and (Y/N) got out immediately. Dean and Castiel had gone quiet, and they all watched Mrs. Tran get out of the car. She shifted nervously and looked them all dead in the eyes.
“You can do this, can’t you? You can get him back?” asked Mrs. Tran. Her only focus was her son.
“How did Crowley find you?” questioned Dean.
“Oh, I hired a witch, and she ratted us out,” said Mrs. Tran.
(Y/N)’s eye twitched.
“A witch? Why’d you hire a witch?” said Sam incredulously.
“You had a perfectly good one who wouldn’t rat you out right here,” said (Y/N), gesturing to themself. “Unbelievable.”
“I know, I know! But I wanted her to make demon bombs, of course!” Mrs. Tran pulled out a notebook. ‘These are Kevin’s notes.”
All of (Y/N)’s irritation flew from their mind, and they perked up. “Demon bombs?” They looked at Dean and Sam. “I’m making one if I can get the ingredients.”
“Kid, I’ve never been so down for magic,” said Dean.
“Mrs. Tran, do you have any idea where Crowley could have taken Kevin?” asked Sam.
“No. But, uh—” Mrs. Tran opened her trunk “—this guy might.” In her trunk was a bound and angry demon.
“Oh.” Dean grinned and pulled out the demon-killing knife. “Let’s talk.”
l
A few hours later, the impala and Mrs. Tran’s car pulled up outside a large factory—because Crowley loved his abandoned asylums and factories. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) got out of the impala. Mrs. Tran moved to leave her car, but Sam slapped handcuffs over her wrist and the steering wheel.
“Sorry, Mrs. Tran,” he said.
“Wait! What?!” she protested as Sam got out.
Dean ignored her and opened the trunk again. “This it?” he said, gesturing to the building.
The demon nodded hastily. “Yes.”
“My son is in there!” said Mrs. Tran desperately.
“Which means Crowley already has leverage. He doesn’t need another hostage,” said Sam.
Dean stabbed the demon and killed it. He closed the trunk. Sam nodded at him, and (Y/N) rolled their shoulders, flicking a small knife around in their hand.
“Oh, come on!” said Mrs. Tran.
The hunters, angel, and witch ignored her and headed towards the factory. (Y/N) picked the lock, and they all slipped inside. They crept along the edges of the building, ducking under pipes and weaving through stairways. As they heard footsteps, the four hid around a corner, and Dean lunged at the demon once its back was turned. The demon fell to the demon knife before it had a chance to alert anyone to their presence.
“Alright. Me and (Y/N) will check that way,” said Sam, gesturing to the left. Dean nodded, and they split up—Sam and (Y/N) on the left, Dean and Castiel on the right.
As Sam and (Y/N) went, they spotted four demons below them, and they glanced at one another from the stairs. Sam jerked with his head for them to step back, and (Y/N) nodded, slipping back behind the doorway.
Sam stepped down into the room. The four demons turned, sneered, and smirked.
“Winchester,” said one.
“Looks like you guys got me,” said Sam, putting up his hands.
The demons advanced, grinning at the idea of tearing him apart. Idiots. (Y/N) pulled a small glass jar from their pocket and threw it into the air. It hit the ground, and Sam covered his eyes. It exploded, smoke filled the air, and the demons inhaled. The moment they did, their souls—whatever was left, that was—burned, and they screamed as they were exorcised. When the light of their deaths receded, (Y/N) and Sam looked down, and they saw shadows of the demons’ forms permanently burnt into the ground.
(Y/N) grinned. “Hell yeah.”
“Hell yeah,” agreed Sam. Demon bombs for the win.
They headed farther forward until they arrived at a locked door. (Y/N) gestured to it, and Sam lifted his leg to kick it down. It fell inward, and they stepped in. The room was empty save for an octagonal table that had bloodstains littering it. (Y/N) and Sam exchanged a worried look, but then the sound of shifting gravel caught their ears.
A small boy peeked out from behind a concrete block. Aaron Webber. Slowly, several other missing persons looked from out under the table and behind other columns. They stared at (Y/N) and Sam.
“Hey,” said (Y/N). “We’re here to help.”
“If you want to get out of here, follow us,” said Sam.
The would-be prophets didn’t hesitate. Sam and (Y/N) ushered them from the building. Sam pulled out his phone and, while making calls, he checked each traumatized person over for injuries. (Y/N) watched the factory, itching to go back in. From within the factor, a bright golden light emanated. That was Castiel’s power. (Y/N) grimaced in worry—he had said he wasn’t at full power. They didn’t want him to hurt himself.
“We should go back—” said (Y/N) as Sam glanced at the shivering prophets.
“(Y/N), do not go running towards where Crowley is,” said Sam.
“But Dean and Cas—”
“We can handle ourselves,” said Dean, emerging with Castiel hanging on his arm tiredly. Kevin, clutching part of a stone table and lacking a finger, stumbled out after him.
“Kevin!” said Mrs. Tran. Sam leaned in and removed her cuffs so she could run to her son.
“Cops are on their way,” said Sam to Dean and Castiel. “They’re gonna pick up the prophets. Um, they’ll all be heading home.”
“What about us?” asked Mrs. Tran.
“I called a friend of ours, Garth. He does what we do,” said Sam. He paused. “Well…n his own way. He’ll keep an eye on you guys.”
“He’s a good guy,” said (Y/N).
“No more going off on your own,” said Sam. Mrs. Tran rolled her eyes. “You get that it was hiring that witch that got you into all this, right?”
“Call me if you want a spell,” said (Y/N).
“You do not have experience, (Y/N),” said Castiel.
“I’m a quick study,” said (Y/N). “A witch prodigy.” It was, in fact, true. The more they tested, the better they became.
“How you holding up, Kev?” asked Sam.
“You kidding? I want to seal those bastards up forever.” Kevin held up his hand that was wrapped in a makeshift bandage. “Took my finger.”
“I may be able to fix that,” said Castiel, passing by to speak to Dean.
“In the meantime, just lay low till we get back to you, okay?” said Sam.
Kevin nodded. He and Mrs. Tran had learned their lesson.
(Y/N) watched Castiel go to Dean, and they spoke in low voices to one another. Dean lowered his head and looked away from Castiel, a telltale sign that he was being vulnerable and therefore uncomfortable. Then, he looked up as Castiel spoke, and he furrowed his brow.
“Uh-oh,” said (Y/N).
“What?” Sam looked over and saw Dean tensing as Castiel kept speaking. “Oh great.”
“They’re having a domestic,” groaned (Y/N). They started walking over.
“Oh, wait, (Y/N)—give me a second,” said Sam, excusing himself from Kevin and mrs. Tran.
“Everything okay over here?” said (Y/N), appearing beside Castiel and Dean.
“Yes,” said Castiel, even though Dean’s arms were crossed. “Just setting a few things straight.”
“Okay. Good,” said Sam, smart enough to not prod. “Garth is gonna lay low with the Tran family, and so, while they’re there, we’re going to work on finding the other part of the demon tablet. We have to track down the other piece. You’re with us on this one, right, Cas?” Castiel was starting into space. “Cas, you okay?”
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See Yourself Become the Villain (Book 2) Chapter Twenty-Two
Found Family! The Boys and Supe! Reader
Platonic Yandere! Homelander and Supe! Reader
(Platonic Soldier Boy and Supe! Reader)
Chapter Twenty-Two: Truthbomb
Summary: (Y/N) listens and watches. They learn a lot.
Chapter Warnings: typical the Boys warnings
(Y/N) watched Frenchie watch the people of Annie’s Starlight Home. They held a cup of tea that Frenchie had insisted would help calm them down. (Y/N) didn’t need calming. They were calm. They were in sync with all the waves again. They had found the source of the energy they liked, and now they were all in sync again, no longer buzzing like a part of the melody was missing. Or, well, there were bits and pieces still slightly discordant, but overall, (Y/N) was alright.
“Why are you staring at him?” said (Y/N), looking at Frenchie while he glancing surreptitiously at Colin who was hard at work getting kids out safely.
Frenchie jerked. “Oh, no reason, Petit (Y/N).” He smiled nervously, and he knew from the unsettling intense gaze (Y/N) had on him that they didn’t believe him.
“There’s a reason, you just don’t want to tell me,” said (Y/N), sipping their tea. “This is good.” They didn’t notice Frenchie grimace at the callout and instead said, “Can I help?”
“Help?” repeated Frenchie. “No, non, you’re alright here.”
“But you said the person across the street is bad and that I’m a hero,” said (Y/N). “So I should help. I want to help.” They wrinkled their nose. “I don’t like her.” On top of what Frenchie had explained—a long-winded and very flowery-metaphor-full explanation of (Y/N) being some sort of hero who escaped Vought, which was corrupt, and Homelander, who was a monster and still trying to hurt people by using the Seven and Vought and supes like Firecracker, and they were there to stop them—(Y/N) wasn’t a fan of her waves. They were all wrong.
“Neither do we, mon ami, but we don’t want people to see you,” said Frenchie. “You could be in danger.”
“But I don’t die,” said (Y/N). “So isn’t danger alright?”
Frenchie looked at them fully, the slight tilt of their head, the straightforward expression. There it was, slips of the (Y/N) he knew more familiar, damaged by trauma. “Petit (Y/N), no one should suffer for nothing.”
(Y/N) shrugged as if they were listening but not really agreeing and took another sip of tea. “But I could help.”
“You could,” said Frenchie. “But it is better for you to stay here. You need time to…”
“Heal?” supplied (Y/N). “You guys think something’s wrong with me.”
“You have no memories,” pointed out Frenchie. And they were talking about waves and generally acting more mentally unraveled.
“Oh, right,” said (Y/N). “That.” They shrugged. “They’ll come back.”
“You can’t be sure,” said Frenchie. “And they will be…painful.”
“I know.” (Y/N) hummed and lifted their hands, examining them. “I can feel them.” They traced lines on their arms, old scarred flesh. “I see them.” They looked at Frenchie. “You all think I’ve become fragile.” They shook their head. “But I know.”
“You know?” repeated Frenchie.
“I know,” said (Y/N).
“Know what?” prompted Frenchie.
(Y/N) smiled. “Everything.”
If this wasn’t incredibly concerning behavior, Frenchie would be very interested to know what drugs could make him feel as confident in that statement as (Y/N) seemed to be.
l
“M, I got a favor to ask,” said Butcher as he and MM snuck to the backstage of Firecracker’s TruthBomb show while another supe took over for a segment.
“Think you’re in a position to ask for a favor?” said MM incredulously.
Butcher continued anyways, “If I can’t get the job done before I, uh…” He swallowed. “I need you to get Ryan away from Homelander.”
MM softened slightly. “Oh, Butcher.”
“I got to be realistic,” said Butcher. “Some days I can barely even fucking stand. Get him out of there. Raise him.”
“Raise him?” repeated MM incredulously.
“You’re the best dad I know, MM,” said Butcher. “The best fucking anyone.”
“That might be one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me, but…what if Ryan doesn’t want to go?” said MM.
“Then you’ve got to make him,” said Butcher. He could see Becca staring at him, imploring him to protect her son.
MM was silent for a long moment, unsure of what to say. Before he could decide, he spotted Firecracker across the trailers. “White trash walking,” he said, and Butcher turned to see.
Butcher grinned and began to clap, his asshole persona returning. Firecracker stopped in confusion and turned around. “Top-notch show, luv. Just weren’t sure whether you wanted us to kneel before your cross or burn it.”
Firecracker stared. “Oh, you’re those motherfuckers that killed my friend.”
“Yeah, crying shame, that,” said Butcher with a grin. “But if it’s any consolation, he’s up there with God, noshing on his holiest of holies as we speak.”
“Alright, alright, keep your hair on, love,” said Butcher, putting his hands up. “We just want a little chin wag’s all.”
“Talk American,” snapped Firecracker.
“Right. You remember that magical summer when you was twenty-eight, working as a counselor at the Capes for Christ Bible Camp in Davie, Florida, and you met that lovely fifteen-year-old boy who tickled your fancy, and, well, then, tickled more than that, didn’t he?”
Firecracker paled.
“Ring any bells?” said Butcher impishly. “Here’s a little keepsake snapped by the Broward County Sheriff’s Department that you can stash in your wank bank.” He held up a photograph of a nearly nude Firecracker inside a car. “You are your little Bieber edging in the back of your RAV4 in the car park of Buca di Beppo.”
“Whatever Voodoo Vought’s lawyers pulled to get your statutory charges dropped, I don’t think they’re gonna matter too much to your evangelical audience back there,” said MM, gesturing to the stage where the crowd was cheering for Ezekiel. Firecracker shifted uneasily.
“You’re gonna tell us everything you know about Sage and her grand plan, or I hit this little tweet button here,” said Butcher.
Firecracker looked at the screen. She took a breath. “How about I just send it myself?” She pressed tweet before Butcher could react. “Fuck around and find out.” She walked off. She had a plan. She could spin this. People always listened to her.
l
Annie stared at the screen after Firecracker’s speech about being saved from her sins by Jesus Christ—the fucking sin of having sex with a minor. People were clapping. People were fucking clapping. Annie was disgusted. She couldn’t believe she was ever involved with Capes for Christ. They were all monsters. And then the story of her accidentally blinding someone when she was thirteen. She couldn’t handle it. Annie stood and rushed out the back, overwhelmed.
“Mademoiselle Annie!” said Frenchie, standing to go after her.
“Not so fast, Frenchie,” said Butcher, returning with MM after a frustrating defeat. “Here.” He tossed something to him, and Frenchie caught them. “Keys to her trailer. Go give it a toss, will you?”
Frenchie looked at (Y/N).
“Don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye on the mental patient,” said Butcher.
“I’m going after Annie,” said (Y/N), standing from the desk.
“No, no, you can’t be seen,” said MM. They had cleared everyone out of the building for safety, but if (Y/N) went outside while crowds were packed in front and wandering around the entire office, they could be spotted, and that would put them into the line of fire when they weren’t ready. And they definitely weren’t ready.
(Y/N) opened the door to the corridor leading outside. “She’s here,” they said, and they stepped through, closing the door behind them.
MM looked at Butcher. “How the hell did you even get them here?” They seemed ready to wander at a moment’s notice.
“The waves, MM, the waves,” said Butcher cheerfully, patting him on the back.
l
Homelander looked at the wall marked with his height over the years. He could feel the silence behind him. His eyes scanned the room and landed on another old cell of his. His face twitched.
“Marty,” he said softly.
“Yeah?” said Marty, attempting to keep his voice light.
“Come here for a sec,” said Homelander. Marty obeyed. “I’d like to apologize. For Frank.” He exhaled. “Look, I guess I-I got a little grumpy, and I-I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”
“Of course,” lied Marty, putting a smile on. “These things-these things happen.”
“Thank you,” said Homelander. “I just worried. Vought was so mad at (Y/N) for breaking out and killing all those people, and I didn’t want you to be mad of me. Of course, I’m upset at (Y/N), too, but I forgive them for killing. It happens. We get angry.” He smiled. “And sometimes we remember just how much people hurt us.”
Marty swallowed.
Homelander patted him on the shoulder and squeezed. Hard. “But you were always one of the kinder ones.”
“That’s right, John,” said Marty as if speaking to a child.
“ ‘Homelander.’ ” He wouldn’t remind him again.
“Homelander,” repeated Marty hastily. “We were friends. I was always nice to you.”
Homelander laughed. “Yeah, that’s right. You were. Mostly.” His humor dropped, and Marty paled. “Well, you remember the nickname you had for me, right?”
Marty hummed as if he didn’t.
“Really? ‘Squirt,’ ” said Homelander. He chuckled, and Marty hastily matched the laugh. “Yeah, you called me ‘Squirt,’ silly. You remember why?”
“No,” said Marty, nervous.
“Oh, f—Marty, okay,” scoffed Homelander. “But you do remember, though, that I used to be left in there—” he pulled Marty in front of a cell “—for hours, days on end.” Just like (Y/N) had been in their own cell.
Just like Homelander had left them with Stormfront. He would never remember that, though. He would never remember he perpetrated as much torture as he suffered.
“Completely alone. Right?” continued Homelander. He leaned in. “Only, I was never really alone, was I? Mm? Big Brother was always watching.” He laughed. “You were always watching, weren’t you, Marty? But growing boys have…certain needs, shall we say? So I figured out that when you did your rounds at night, I had a couple of minutes to myself to, uh…well, to do what boys do. And-and that would be the only time of day that I would feel anything good. So this one time, I, uh, couldn’t get finished in time. And you caught me with my pants down. You had a really, really good laugh at me. Remember?”
Marty paled. He knew what was coming. Just like Frank, he was going to be taught a lesson.
“That’s when you nicknamed me Squirt,” said Homelander. “I got to be honest with you, Marty.” He sighed. “You really hurt my feelings.”
Marty looked at him. “I…I am very sorry.” He said it with his whole chest, as earnest and heartfelt as he could possibly make it.
Homelander nodded. “What’s done is done,” he said graciously. “Water under the bridge. But stay there a sec.” He walked back towards the chairs while Marty watched from the doorway. “I do want you to jerk off in front of us right now.” He wanted Marty to feel the humiliation he had as a young boy. He looked at the rest of the scientists. “Hey, guys, come on over here.”
The scientists swallowed but had to turn towards him or risk their own punishment. Marty swallowed nervously, shifting uneasily.
“We’re all gonna laugh at you, okay?” said Homelander, looking at Marty intensely. “That way, you will know how it feels, and I think I’m gonna feel better.” He smiled.
Marty laughed nervously as the crowd formed. “Homelander…I am really very sorry.”
“I know, I know,” said Homelander. “Thank you. Now, don’t be shy. Take your pants down. Now.”
Marty swallowed and obeyed. He had to or he would die.
He died mere minutes later, bleeding out on the ground as his dick was blown off with a laser-hole through him.
And Homelander laughed the entire time.
“Stop it, John.”
Homelander paused at a woman’s voice. “Barbara.” He turned around to face the older woman. “Uh…the cake’s melted, I’m afraid.”
Barbara sighed. “Please put him out of his misery,” she said, nodding to Marty.
Homelander shrugged and looked at Marty, who was crying and holding the hole in his body. It spilled blood over the ground, pooling like tar with liquified organs. The scientists swallowed bile.
“I forgive you, Marty.” He put a boot on Marty’s head.
Crunch
l
“You’re not okay.”
Annie looked up from where she sat against a wall. She smiled tiredly at (Y/N). “I’m not.”
(Y/N) sat down next to her. “You shouldn’t listen to her.”
“What she said was true,” said Annie. “Not the full truth,” she added bitterly, “But enough that everyone will listen.”
“Probably,” said (Y/N). “I’m sorry.”
Annie smiled tiredly once again. “It’s not your fault.” She reached out and patted (Y/N)’s arm gently, careful to keep to the shoulder. “At least if TruthBomb is a shitshow, you’re here. I missed you a lot.”
“I missed you, too,” said (Y/N).
“You can’t remember me,” said Annie. “You can’t miss what you can’t remember.”
“Yes I can,” said (Y/N). They tapped their heart. “I felt it. Everything missing.” They smiled. “And I found it again.”
Annie looked at them. “You seem so…calm. It’s strange. Usually you’re tense.”
(Y/N) hummed and leaned back. “I'm just...here.”
Annie grimaced. One moment of complete lucidity and then a statement like that. It was going to take a while to understand whether or not (Y/N) was getting better. “You know…if I was feeling like this before, you always said I should be honest, screw the consequences.”
“I did?” said (Y/N).
“Not exactly that,” admitted Annie. “But you inspired me to be honest.”
“That’s nice,” said (Y/N), smiling. “I’m glad I was a good person.”
“You still are,” said Annie softly. “You came here because I was upset. You want to help.”
(Y/N) shrugged. “I like when it’s all steady. I don’t like it when it’s all jumbled.”
Annie let out a breathy laugh. There was no other reaction to have to that.
“I hope I remember you,” said (Y/N) abruptly.
“If you remember me, you have to remember everything else,” said Annie. Those memories would break the calm that (Y/N) seemed to have now.
“I think it would be worth it,” said (Y/N).
“How can you know that?” said Annie.
“Because you’re a good person,” said (Y/N). They leaned towards Annie, and their head settled on her shoulder.
Annie tensed slightly, unused to (Y/N) initiating any sort of physical contact like that. “You—How can you be sure?” She had messed up so much, and the more Firecracker spoke, the more everyone knew it.
“Because the entire day, you’ve cared about other people more than yourself,” said (Y/N). “Bad people don’t do that.”
Annie’s eyes burned. “Thank you, (Y/N).” She took their hand and squeezed.
(Y/N) hummed.
Beneath her fingertips, Annie felt their pulse beat in a steady rhythm. Unconsciously, her breathing began to echo it. Slowly, she calmed, a steady beat pulsing under her skin. She closed her eyes, exhaling as some of her tension was released.
(Y/N)’s eyes glowed faintly green in the dim corridor.
also, nobody (except maybe you, since ur the author) will fully convince me that MC doesn't have even at least a *little* bit of survivor's guilt pertaining to the events of Ushti's destruction/desecration
They definitely do. There's a reason that their identity will always be Ushti before Mandalorian or Jedi. They might fit and be a part of another place now, but they were born and raised somewhere that doesn't exist. They feel a need to carry that with them, to remind people Ushti didn't completely die, there are still some out there.
Also, related, I don't think MC would ever be like Mando in the way that their practice of being a mandalorian wouldn't involve never taking their helmet off. Yes, that would be "being like their dad," but I think that MC is their own person, and Mando would respect that now that the practices of various mandalorians are more accepted. Plus, as I've said, the MC definitely wants to show their face, show where they came from. If they hid their markings for the rest of their life, they'd feel like they were trying to cut out their Ushti heritage, and that would really kill Ushti more than the empire did
