#hoooough

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Pyre (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Reader/ H. Manley Tinderstauf Characters: Reader(Pyre), Pamitha Theyn, H. Manley Tinderstauf, Jodariel, Volfred Sandalwood, Rukey Greentail, I'm not tagging everyone - Character Additional Tags: this is a gift, if you don't like it, Please do not harass me about it, All of this takes place endgame, I fudged the rules and the Nightwings all got enlightened, This is very love/hate, but in a good way?, it's also one-sided, Second Person just like in game, reader is they/them, Be nice to me I have never written in second person Summary:

it's a very nice ribbon. not too flashy, homura hears an all-too-familiar voice laugh in the mess of grief and memory. she's lost count of how many times she's heard that chipper voice. how many times she's heard that voice fizzle out and die like the rest.

homura straightens as she listens to phainon's story, allowing him the space to talk. she swallows her own grief behind a bitter nod, a silent understanding. her eyes, heavy and dull, glance up at the taller man and wonder just how much that he, too, is carrying on his shoulders. what burdens does he hold? she wonders if he'll ever tell. but she's just an observer in the moment, a listener.

she does not deserve to speak, to reply, to dare to interject at all.

homura silently fastens the red ribbon into her raven locks, tying her hair up into a ponytail in a cold, swift set of motions. she allows her bangs to fall into her face as she lowers her head.

when she looks up, she's wearing a false smile.

".....thank you. i think you're right."

while she does like to think he's right, she knows the truth; madoka herself has her own burdens to bear, saving hundreds of magical girls from despair without rest. she knows madoka chose this fate herself and yet... she can't help but worry about her.

a wolf in sheep's skin.

you are not the foe mangled by media and public perception, but you are not a gentle creature. not by nature, at least. you have fangs and claws and there is some part of you (don't deny it now) that craves to use them; deep down, you want to lash out. you were born with a scream buried in your throat, and ever since you realised the damage it could do, you have donned the gentle one's skin. you prance around out of pace with everyone, walking on eggshells because you dare not risk the frail peace you have made. you do not want to be gentle, but you are tired of hurting those you love. you are tired, and you refuse to be the beast that roars in your throat. you refuse and refuse but dear, starving wolves are always the ones that attack. you musn't wear the sheep's wool forever, because one day, the facade will come undone, and you will have to face your maw stained in blood.