Here's a fun concept to write about: under what circumstance would Yaorochi or Saragimaru feel remorse?
Snakes...
Saragimaru would, likely to me, feel remorse if their actions indirectly cause Yaorochi harm or danger, seeing as a direct harm would result more in guilt and self-hatred. That's the easy answer. I also feel, in the vein of a more difficult answer, that Saragimaru would feel remorse if they didn't prevent someone from heading down the path they themself have gone down. Saragimaru does not like themself, that much is clear. To allow mini-saragimarus to run around — or worse, to cause these mini-saragimarus to exist, would likely be something they deeply regret. If Saragimaru were to end up inadvertently revealing enough about themself for someone to get attached to them in some way, they would likely feel remorseful; there is nothing for that person to get attached to, or so Saragimaru thinks.
Yaorochi is a more difficult case. Yaorochi has little consideration for others outside of Sukune and the Tasouken. They'd definitely feel remorse if something were to blemish or scratch the sword, blaming their lack of attentiveness to their object of fascination. As for Sukune, feelings are more complicated. Sukune takes care of Yaorochi who's more like an unruly pet in their dynamic, but if Sukune were to genuinely be hurt enough — on an emotional level — to truly leave Yaorochi behind, Yaorochi would definitely feel great remorse for making things turn in that fashion. Doesn't mean they'd show it, though. I suspect Yaorochi also feels some remorse for how the situation with their siblings went, though it's more in the vein of "I put myself in far more trouble than I needed to" rather than sympathy towards their dead siblings.
Does Logan know what his dad did was abuse, or does he not really understand?
oof, right back on the angst train
tws: abuse (and self-blame for said abuse), bruises, gaslighting
alright. so. the thing about Logan is that he has been taught, from an incredibly young age, that what his father was doing was meant to be for his own good
his father always (always, always) had some sort of “reason” for his treatment of Logan. some sort of rationale for why Logan needed to be punished. granted, these reasons were myriad -- it took Logan a while to find the pattern, as obscured as it was -- but whenever his dad decided to punish him, there was always an answer to the “why?”
and, yeah, there were times where Logan questioned the legitimacy of his father’s justifications -- because as he grew up, he learned about abuse and being abused (through his peers, through his books, through his classes), he looked at the bruises on his arms and thought hey, isn’t that me? -- but every time he stopped to think “is what my father doing wrong?” there were also innumerable people around to tell him that it wasn’t
there were his teachers, who were friends with his father, who would spend time with Mr. Crofter at lunch and express sympathy that such a charismatic man could have borne such an asocial and bitter son.
there were his teammates, who admired his father, who looked onto Logan with unadulterated envy for having an NHL caliber player as a personal coach and mentor
there was his mother -- his own mother, who he loved and who he suspects may have loved him -- who would help patch him up after his fathers “lessons.” who would thumb away his tears. who would hold him in her arms and tell him that this was for the best. that his father knew what he was doing. that it hurts now, but in the end, Logan would be the best version of himself that he could ever be.
so, yeah, Logan had his doubts. occasionally.
but ultimately, no, he didn’t understand that it was abuse.
it was just... training, right? it was discipline. it was something that Logan brought upon himself, something he could have avoided if he had been more efficient, more successful, more well-behaved
Logan’s parents taught him that it’s only abuse when you don’t deserve it. for instance, Roman and Remus: they didn’t deserve any of it. ergo, their parents were abusive.
but Logan? Logan’s almost certain that he deserved every single moment. maybe even more, if Coach Thomas’s reaction to him is anything to go off of
It’s amazing how two pink lines can change literally everything.
Adriana had been slumped on her bathroom floor for nearly an hour now. All around her were exactly eight sets of pink lines. Eight tiny plastic pieces that screamed, “congratulations, your life is over.” She had taken such care to make sure life was exactly how she wanted. She worked before attending university, so she’d be on her feet afterwards. She had spent so much of her time helping to raise her siblings. She had just done so much to set everything up to be successful. But now her life was crumbling.
Adriana had watched Matteo Allen since high school. He was two years older than her and quite honestly, anything any woman could have wanted. Handsome, kind, responsible, and reliable. For the first few years, she saw him as nothing more as another one of the guys. Someone to laugh with, someone to be stupid with, someone to cry to when things went sour. Yet, somewhere in their timeline, she started to see him in a slightly different light. He was more attractive suddenly. He seemed sweeter, more enticing. Before she knew it, the two of them had become tangled up. Tangled in between the sheets, tangled in their general feelings, just a mess. It had been on-and-off for, well, she couldn’t remember how long now. Every time she felt herself getting closer to wanting to truly be with him, she ran. Just like her mother ran.
She felt sick to her stomach, generally uneasy about everything. Her body trembled and ached, her throat and chest were sore from her guttural screams. How could this happen? They were destined for bigger things, a baby was not one of them.
Adriana sat on the floor for another hour and a half before she even decided to move. Her face stung from the salt in her tears and her eyes were sore and tired. Even so, this was not how the night should end. She couldn’t tell her family, she couldn’t tell her friends. But she had to tell Matteo. After all, he was her best friend, her lover, and really the only person that made her feel safe in this world aside from her very own father.
It was 11:30 at night before she finally mustered up the strength to pull herself together. Dressed in a filthy pair of oil stained jeans and one of his t-shirts she had stolen, she was ready to have the biggest conversation of her life.
The muffler to her rusty, beat up 1997 blue Ford pickup let off a loud bang, like a gun backfiring as she started the engine. All the way to the Allen farm, it clanked and clattered, probably alerting everyone that Adriana Callahan was once again going to see Matteo Allen, just as she had done so many times before. Late night trysts, ending with bittersweet conversations in his bed. Talk of how desperately they wanted their siblings to do better than them. Talk of how badly they wanted to break their own generational curses. Not tonight, though. Tonight she was going to tell him he now had another person to protect, another mouth to feed.
While it was only a short distance from her home to his, it felt like hours before she had finally parked in their drive. The engine hissed beneath the hood as it attempted to cool itself down. She was sure that if he was awake, he would probably have expected her to come back inside. How badly she wanted to sneak in through those doors and cuddle beneath his sheets, where the entire world was okay, even just for a little while. Not that night, however. Her makeup stained face and disheveled hair all but screamed how fucked up things were now.
Reaching up, she turned her cab light on and angled her rear-view mirror down so she could look into her own eyes. Gone was the care-free girl that had just graduated nursing school. That’s when the tears hit her again, a second wave of the unbearable heartbreak. Another five minutes were spent crying.
Her gaze turned back to her red, swollen eyes in the reflection again. All she felt was absolute hatred and guilt. How could she do this to him? He already had so much on his plate, he couldn’t afford a baby. Hell, he couldn’t afford her. There was also the fact that she was sure the second everyone found out, there would be pressure for them to get married. She wasn’t even sure if he felt the same way she did. Could she really live with herself if he settled into a marriage that he found cold and loveless? Matteo meant so much to her, she knew he deserved the damn world. Could he really have that with a young bride and baby? Probably not. Then there was the matter of stress. It wasn’t fair to ask Matteo to add taking care of a newborn to his already overfilled plate.
That brought her to her next fear - having to settle for everything. Matteo was perfect, that was clear for anyone to see. But having this baby with him, potentially having a future for him meant she could never leave. She’d never go to London to be a nurse in the big hospitals. She’d never get the experience she wanted. Instead, she’d be weighed down in this ridiculously small town for the rest of her natural born life.
All of that though? Her consequences, she could have dealt with. She could have settled for a job at the clinic to spend her days under the sun and stars with the Allens she had come to love as her own flesh and blood. She liked the idea of raising her baby in an area with fresh air. The idea of having her little one run barefoot in the grass while Matteo chased them. The idea of them playing with the goats and giggling at every idiotic thing they did.
But poor Matteo’s life would never be the same.
By this time, she had been sitting in her truck for almost twenty minutes. The front porch light turned on. Fuck. She had to think fast. Get out and run into his arms or leave. In a panic, Adriana found herself turning the key in the ignition. Her engine roared and her muffler clanked and clattered once again. Before she knew it, she had peeled out of their drive and was back on the road.
Adriana didn’t go straight home, though. Just about a half mile away from the farm, she pulled over on the side of the road, overcome with emotion. She turned off her old beater once more, but this time was different. The second the engine settled, she had made her decision. She was going to go home, pack her things, and leave for London in the morning. Her and her unborn baby were the villains in this story, so she’d remove herself.
She couldn’t just leave him, though.
Pulling out her cellphone, Adriana had called Matteo. Nothing. A few more minutes went by, again, nothing. On the third call, she finally let it go to voicemail. Her voice was raspy and trembling as she finally spoke.
“Teo,” she croaked, her tone rough from her crying and her dry throat. “I couldn’t tell you in person but I’m leaving in the morning. I don’t think I’ll be back for a while. It’s-- It’s not you…” She began to choke up and was desperate to stifle her tears so he wouldn’t be too concerned. “Something came up and I… I have to go. I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. Please don’t hate me for this.” Silence fell over her for a moment, before she spoke back up. “I love you, Matteo. I really fucking love you. So please know that I wouldn’t leave you if I didn’t have a good reason. I’m sorry.”
Her tears seemed to drown her the moment she hung up the phone. It was the moment she knew she would never have Matteo Allen again. The moment she realized she was about to be all alone in this world.
Adriana started her rust bucket one more time and made the drive home. She was so sure she’d never be happy again. The brunette was also convinced that she’d never again find love with someone. It hurt, knowing she wouldn’t have that bliss, but she would have done anything to protect him. Even if it meant breaking her own heart.
a concept (probably in an au vjfjdgdbcb): farrah shows up to practice, right after school, drunk out of her mind and while everyone’s getting mad and fighting with annleigh to take her home, either reese or eva stands to the side and asks her why she was drinking during school and slowly everyone stops screaming as they realize farrah’s started crying
I’m going to post this here but it’ll also most likely be a chapter of Wake Me Up, I’m Dreaming, if that’s alright!!
I guess this counts as a teaser/spoiler for my AU, but it’s not giving away anything huge. (Since this is Farrah-centric, nobody dies)
TW for any part of Farrah’s storyline when she’s alive (Alcoholism, depression, self-hatred - in addition to crying and drinking relapse)
Sound. Too much sound, hurting her head, cutting through the buzz.
“Take her home!” shouted one of the many voices - did it belong to Kate? - out of the group’s kerfuffle. “It’s not safe to throw her through the air if she can’t even think coherently. The school’s going to put their foot down about having an adult at practice if our flyer throws up or blacks out.”
“We are having practice, end of discussion. Farrah is welcome to sit out, or Annleigh can take her home,” Riley announced.
Farrah shrunk a little. She’d thought they wouldn’t notice. It was a tiny bit - couldn’t hurt much - but now she felt dizzy and sick and... guilty, for some reason? She knew she didn’t have a reason to, but she felt like a let down. Like she’d let down herself.
“Why was she even drinking anyway?” demanded Cairo. “Annleigh, I thought you were keeping an eye on her. It’s a safety issue, this can’t be happening again. Farrah, are you okay?”
Annleigh rolled her eyes. “She’s fine. And I’m trying to! She’s 15, she’s not a toddler, she can look after herself. She didn’t tell me she’d relapsed!”
“That’s because she’s drunk!”
Mattie pulled herself to her feet, biting a nail as her eyes darted around the room. “I think I should go,” she declared nervously.
Oh, look, Kate, Cairo, Riley, and Annleigh’s were all at each others’ throats again, they’d almost scared Mattie off, Chess and Reese were trying to stay calm and uninvolved, and Eva was clearly overwhelmed and confused by the situation. Nothing new.
Except so much pain, and noise, and shouting, and everyone fading into a terrifying mess.
And a hand on her shoulder. “Farrah?” Reese whispered tentatively.
“Yeah?” she mumbled back, avoiding eye contact.
“Why were you drinking during school?” she probed, more gently than Farrah expected her voice to be. “What’s wrong?”
“I wasn’t! I- I-“ she trailed off. That was a lie - an obvious one. Nowhere to hide.
Her ankles started to wobble as hot salt stung her eyes, face freezing up. Her face was wet, she was ready to collapse into a puddle of tears, and all she wanted was to go back in time, stop the screaming and the fights, all her fault-
A voice broke through the din.
“STOP IT!” shouted Eva, much louder than anyone had heard her speak. The voices stopped. “Guys… I don’t think Farrah’s okay.”
Blurred faces turned to her, some painted with concern, some blank, some angry - angry at her?
Farrah wrung her hands together as she tried to untie the knot in her tongue and the lump in her throat. When she found her voice, it felt more like a tiny shadow.
“I- I broke me,” she whispered, teardrops falling faster and faster. “I ruined everything.”
Before asking for anything, arms - too many to belong to one person, who were all these idiots? - wrapped around her; she wasn’t going to complain, though - it was warm and safe and… confusing. “What?”
“You’re going to be all right,” Reese promised. “Recovery’s not linear.”
“But- but I fucked up practice.”
“Who cares? You’re our friend. Doesn’t matter,” Eva assured her. “Practice can wait.”
“I’m proud of you,” Mattie - where the hell did she appear from? - piped up, smiling. Even Chess appeared and held out a hand to squeeze.
Okokok. Than, Logan comforting Remus after he freaks out on his brother when his emotions and everything are just all over the place and he feels bad but Logan's hugs are just so nice he can't help but feel better
Gosh, I feel so bad for getting to all of these so late ! I work on these whenever I can which is often at 1 am and I'm procrastinating other work asjdjs; I hope this is what you meant, friendo !
Tw: self-hatred, some violent depictions from rem being rem, panic attack, if I miss any (same with tags) please tell me !
His hands were shaking. Why were they shaking ? He wanted them to stop shaking so badly. Roman was still talking but he couldn’t make out what he was saying anymore. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but his twin just said something that caused his brain to feel as if it was getting repeatedly stabbed by an icicle in the next second. All he knew now was that he wanted him to shut up. Shut up.
Everything was too much. Too much. Too much.
The thoughts flooding in as if a vein just got sliced open were TOO MUCH. He wanted them to SHUT UP.
He didn’t even realize what he was doing until he already swung his fist. Roman was likely caught off guard with the way he stumbled back with a shout. Remus didn’t even give the other any time to rebalance himself before he dashed off.
Oh god, what has he done ? They’re going to throw him out. His brother is going to hate him again. He hurt his brother. HE HURT HIS BROTHER.
He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, practically scrambling across the floor with his mad dash. He didn’t even have to think about it as he shoved himself through a familiar door. A messy room, that many would assume to be tidy, with a singular figure tucked in the corner of his window sill, a book resting in his hands and more by his side.
Rem knew he looked like a mess at that moment. His makeup was probably already running down his cheeks as he heaved air as quickly as he could into his shaky being. The way the other’s face quickly snapped into one of concern and the way he rushed over, leaving the book to fall to the floor seemed to confirm it to him.
Logan hanged back a bit from his trembling form, and he knew Log was saying something but his ears were ringing too badly to interpret anything. However, the second Rem raised his arms with such terror and the need for help in his eyes gave him two arms quickly surrounding him.
He was so stupid for having done that. He didn’t even know why Log would so willingly even come near him; he was terrible. Dangerous. A Monster.
A hand resting upon his head stopped his spiraling thoughts like a falling body finally becoming one with the ground. He focused everything on the way it weaved in and out of his messy strands, on the way the warmth seemed to now surround him, the way the chest pressed against his face slowly rose and fell with intent.
He began to breathe in deeply to the same rhythm, sobs trapped in the back of his throat. He was contained. He couldn’t hurt anyone while trapped like this. Despite how much he hated the thought of needing to be contained for what he might do, he couldn’t help but slowly let go of the tension claiming all his muscles at the thought of his very own threat level being eliminated.
Log’s words finally began to trickle into his mind as the white noise began to fade out. “I have you. Just breathe. You’re going to be okay,” kept getting repeated so gently into his ear as the other seemed to shield him from the world.
“I... I h-hurt him.. oh god, I hurt him,” Rem couldn’t help the words rushing out between sobs, some explanation peppered throughout if one could even understand his muffled, panicked speech.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I know you didn’t mean it. You panicked and lashed out. You’re going to be okay,” he didn’t believe the words being told to him but Log was saying it with such confidence he couldn’t help but wonder if the other was right even if it was for a fleeting moment. Log kept his tiny mantras up as he guided them to the bed which Rem was secretly thankful for as his legs threatened to give out underneath him.
He clung onto the nerd with all his might as they merely sat there, Log stroking his hair and whispering soft reassurances. Eventually, his sobs began to die down as the warmth and love coming from this thought to be cold man began to seemingly infect his own being. His eyes hurt but he wouldn’t dare let go of the shirt in his fingers. The thought of his makeup being rubbed all over said shirt almost brought a chuckle out of him if his throat didn’t feel like he had nails shoved down it mere moments ago.
Yes, everything was going to be fine. I’ll talk to Rom later. He’s my brother, he would understand. Yes, yes, he was going to be okay.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of panic, non-negative thoughts circled in his head and with them, came the exhaustion. He didn’t even make an effort to move as he felt so safe in the arms holding him so closely. He honestly wished he had the energy to kiss the man those arms belonged to; instead, he let himself slump against him.
“I love you...” was all he could provide in a fragile whisper. He didn’t even need to hear the echo of it as he let himself fall asleep with a warmth settled in his chest.
This is a series. Start here, continued from here.
This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3.
AO3
Cw: pain medication, discussion of potential narcotics addiction, blood (imagined), permanent injury, loss of use of a limb, past surgery, past noncon, victim-blaming, self-hatred, death mention
~
Sam followed behind Isaac as he walked down the hall and out the back door of the house. He paused to pull his worn leather boots on, and helped Sam step into their shoes. He pulled in a deep breath and walked towards the lake. The sunrise painted the sky in bright oranges and reds, stretching out above them forever, clearer somehow than when they were south. Isaac drew in another slow breath.
Sam walked quietly by his side. Their breaths weren’t so ragged as they were yesterday, though Isaac knew it would be painful for weeks. He winced at the memory of his own cracked ribs, and at his own dull ache with every breath. They walked through the overgrown grass of the yard, untended. The place must have been empty for a long time when Gray moved in. The quiet swooshing noises their shoes made against it made Isaac feel just a little calmer.
Soon the grass gave way to sand. It shifted under Isaac’s feet. His hands curled into fists as he walked slowly, making sure Sam could keep up. When they stumbled, he stopped and took their shoulders in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think about it, that… Do you want to just sit? Would that be alright?”
Sam trembled in Isaac’s grasp. “Um…” They looked past Isaac and bit their lip. “If we could, could make it to that log there and sat down, that would be…” They drew in a quick breath. “That would be, would be good.”
Isaac glanced behind him at the log just at the edge of the water, roots gnarled and twisted towards the sky, the wood bleached by the sun. He nodded. “Sure,” he said weakly. “But please don’t, um, push yourself. I know that—”
“It’s fine,” Sam said breathlessly, and started walking again.
Isaac swallowed hard as he walked just behind Sam, watching how they limped as if their left leg was hurting them, how they shuddered every time they jostled their arm. When they reached the log and Sam lowered themself down, Isaac heaved a sigh of relief with them. He sat beside them and looked out across the lake, almost perfectly flat and reflecting the brilliant sky above them. A bird called in a nearby tree, and another answered it. Isaac breathed in the clean, cool air and felt his shoulders relax slightly.
They were quiet for a long time. Sam breathed stiffly beside him, rocking every now and then, holding their arm carefully against their body. Finally they took in a stilted breath and wet their lips.
“Finn’s been keeping the pain meds,” Sam said softly.
Isaac turned, his eyebrows pulling together. “What?”
“The pain meds.” Sam shifted uncomfortably. “Finn’s holding onto them, giving them to me one at a time. They say it’s so I don’t develop an addiction. Apparently morphine’s really hard to come by and they don’t want me having withdrawals.”
Isaac’s gut felt ice cold. “And do you… think you’re developing an addiction?” He laced his fingers tightly together.
“No,” Sam huffed. “Like I said, I can’t. I don’t get to take more when I want to. But it’s just…” They gritted their teeth and took another breath. “It hurts. And it… makes me mad that I can’t have more.”
Isaac chewed the inside of his cheek. “Pain still the same?” His hands itched to hold Sam, to ruffle their hair, to push back against everything in the world that threatened to hurt them. Somehow, he felt like that wasn’t what they needed right now.
“Yeah.” Sam winced. “Hasn’t gotten, um, better. I don’t know when it will.”
“What does Finn say?”
Sam scoffed weakly. “Finn says it should’ve been getting a little better by now.”
Guilt twisted in Isaac’s stomach. “Oh.” Muzzle flash. Spray of blood. Punch to his chest. Falling to the ground with Sam on top of him, bleeding. Always bleeding.
Sam’s lips trembled and they bit down hard on their lips. Their head tilted back and they looked at the sky, tears brimming in their eyes. “S-something’s wrong,” they whispered.
“Can I touch you?” Isaac murmured. Sam was still for a moment, then nodded. It sent the tears rolling down their cheeks. Isaac drew closer and took their hand, squeezing it in both of his. He tried to keep his hands from shaking.
“I d-don’t…” Sam’s voice went tight with tears. “I don’t know what, but… something’s… n-not working.” They shivered and leaned against Isaac.
“What’s not working?” Isaac said softly, leaning back so he could see their eyes. “What’s not working, Sam?”
Sam shivered and looked down at their right hand where it rested in the sling. “My hand,” they whimpered.
Isaac’s eyes fell shut against the sudden burn of tears. His shoulder was nothing, his right hand was nothing, they were things Isaac could deal with. It was just pain. It was just his pain. But the idea that Sam may be permanently damaged from a mistake Isaac had made…? Dread crept into his heart as his gaze moved over them. They looked up and met his eyes, their own wide and filled with tears.
“Wh-what’s wrong with your hand?” Isaac rasped. His throat worked as he swallowed the searing guilt that tightened there.
“Um…” Sam glanced down at their hand again. “I c-can’t move it.”
Isaac’s stomach lurched like he’d just been punched in the gut. “What?”
Sam whined softly and their face twisted. “I, I don’t know if it’s from, um, the bullet, or…” They shook their head fiercely. “It’s not Finn’s fault. It’s not. But I d-don’t know if, um, it’ll get better, b-but…” They winced. Their thumb and forefinger jerked in a clumsy, uncoordinated movement. The other fingers didn’t move at all. “And I’m, um, numb.”
Isaac swallowed the bile that crept up his throat. He forced down a sob, willing his voice not to shake. “Where?”
“Um…” Sam gulped. “L-last two fingers. And, um, the inside of my wrist. A-and my forearm.” They pressed their lips together and whimpered.
“Oh, god,” Isaac whispered. “Oh fuck…” He was crumbling in on himself, collapsing. Sam won’t recover from this. Finn can’t go in and fix this. They can’t fix nerves. He knew enough about the human body to know that that’s what this was, the bullet had torn through a nerve, and there wasn’t a surgeon in the world who could fix it that would be willing to treat Sam. He slumped forward. His arms wrapped around his chest. “No…”
“I don’t know what to do,” Sam whispered. They whined softly and pressed their left hand to their face.
Isaac’s hands jerked and he was pulling them into his embrace before he heard the gasp of pain and stopped. He angrily swiped the tears away and forced himself to look at Sam, at the tears staining their cheeks, at the way they winced with every breath, at the sling that concealed the truth: the damage caused by the bullet would probably never heal. He ran his hands through his hair and forced out a breath through his teeth.
“Sam, h-have…” He curled his hands into fists. “…have you told Finn?”
“No,” Sam whimpered. “I don’t want them to, to blame themself, I know they will, because they… they’re just like you, Isaac, sometimes…” Sam trembled and moaned softly as it jostled their arm. “They blamed themself the whole time C-Colleen had us. They blamed themself. I saw it every time they, um, touched me. They did their best and it still wasn’t enough and—” They cut themself off with a horrified gasp. “Oh, god. I didn’t mean that. Oh, I… I didn’t mean it wasn’t enough, I meant… nothing they could have done would have… um…” They reached out and grasped Isaac’s arm. “Please don’t tell them I said that. Oh, god, I’m so… sorry…”
“S-stop,” Isaac mumbled, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. “I swear to god, Sam, stop. Please.”
Sam raised their eyes to Isaac’s. Tears clung to their eyelashes. “S-stop what?”
Isaac rocked forward and pressed his face into his hands. He groaned. “Just… stop apologizing. I know what you meant, and if Finn heard you, they would, too.”
Sam let out a shivery breath. “I just don’t want them to think it’s because of, um, the surgery. I kn-know they, um, they did their best, and no one else could have done it, and… and they saved my life, but they won’t, um, see it that way.”
Isaac blew out a breath through pursed lips. “I know.”
“I just…” Sam experimentally moved their thumb and forefinger again. They winced and gripped their right hand with their left. “Ahh. Um… I just wish it could be numb, um, up here.” They pointed to their shoulder. “Because it feels like a, um, a hot poker going through my arm.”
Isaac clenched his jaw. “And the pain meds don’t help?”
“No,” Sam breathed, their face twisting. “They do. They do. Just… not very much. Not enough to sleep very well.”
“I’m sorry, Sam,” Isaac whispered. He grasped their hand and squeezed.
Sam huffed out a pained laugh. “The cat helps, though.”
Isaac paused and turned to Sam. “The cat?”
“Yeah,” Sam said with a faint smile. “Gray’s cat. Nata. He’s been sleeping with me since we got here. He’s, um, really nice. It’s like he knows when the pain is really bad.”
One corner of Isaac’s mouth pulled up. “Just like Gray.”
“Yeah,” Sam said as they leaned against Isaac. “Just like Gray.”
The sky lightened over them. The clouds faded from their oranges and pinks until only their edges shone a brilliant gold. The lake shimmered in the slow breeze.
Sam took a shallow breath. “What did you need to tell me?” they murmured, looking out over the lake.
Isaac curled in on himself slightly. “Ah. Yeah. Um…” I’m fucking the man who hurt you, tortured you, broke you. I’m fucking the man who hurt me, too, and made me hurt for months after that. I’m fucking the man that nearly got us all killed. But I want him, I love him, so fucking much, and he makes me so fucking happy.
Sam turned their eyes to Isaac, worried and so damned hurt. Their eyebrows pulled together and they searched his face. “What is it, Isaac?”
Isaac shook his head. “Shit.” He let go of Sam’s hand, so they wouldn’t have to touch him after he told them. So they didn’t have to touch him when they found out Isaac was just some twisted, broken thing that folded at the first soft touch he’d felt in ages. When they found out Isaac gave in and liked it when he was tied down and fucked while someone watched his humiliation, just because it came from someone he thought he might have feelings for, when he was trapped in the middle of a nightmare. They didn’t have to touch him when they found out that Isaac was so fucking weak that he’d accept any love that was offered.
No. Gavin deserves more than that. He deserves so much more than that explanation.
Isaac set his shoulders and stared out across the water. He wet his lips and held his breath before he spoke.
“A lot happened between Gavin and I at Colleen’s house,” he said softly.
Sam leaned back and huffed out a breath. “Oh. Yeah. With the… um…”
…with the rapes, done by a man I already wanted, and I would have let him do it even if I wasn’t in chains.
“Y-yeah,” Isaac croaked. “Um… he’s… Sam, you know he’s different. I know you do. And when he was… when we were…” He cleared his throat. “I know the guards did the most to, um, to you. And that he, um, was forced to watch most of the time.”
“Yup.” Sam’s expression was unreadable.
Isaac swallowed uneasily. “But you know he… he never wanted that.”
“Yeah,” Sam murmured. “I know.”
“You know how much he loves us?” Isaac said, his voice weakening.
“I th-think so,” Sam said with a wince. They adjusted their arm slightly in its sling.
“Well I…” Isaac’s throat worked as he swallowed again, his insides tingling with dread and worry. After this, they won’t want to have anything to do with me. After this they’ll, they’ll know, that I’m… that I’m…
The refrain was always the same, no matter what. I’m weak. I’m worthless. I don’t deserve I don’t deserve I don’t deserve… Isaac shook himself and forced the thoughts away.
“I love him, too,” Isaac whispered. He shivered in the light tendrils of the breeze as it moved over his skin. He waited for Sam to respond. They blinked and stared across the water. Slowly, they drew a ragged breath in through their nose.
After a long moment, they opened their mouth. “Why him?” they murmured.
Isaac’s head fell forward. Because I’m weak. Because I’m broken. Because I want to punish myself by keeping my torturer in my life, in my bed, and I’m so fucking selfish that I don’t care if he hurt the others, too…
No. I love Gavin because…
“Because he’s a good man… now.” Isaac shifted uncomfortably. “He’s made so many sacrifices to keep us alive. Because he’s different, and he’s changed, and I trust him. And because he’s good to me.” Isaac’s voice faltered. “He’s so… Sam, he’s so damned good to me. He wants me to be safe. He wants me to feel, to feel good. He’d die for this family, Sam.” Isaac’s eyes burned with tears. “He almost died for this family. He’s one of us now. And I don’t know why. I don’t know how it happened. But I… l-love him. And I want to be with him.”
Finally, Sam brought their gaze back to Isaac’s. Old hurt burned dully in their eyes. Isaac quailed when he saw it.
“Does he make you happy?” Sam said.
“Yes.” The word rushed out of him.
Sam searched Isaac’s face with their gaze. After another moment, they reached out and clasped Isaac’s hand again. “Okay,” they murmured.
Isaac dared to draw in a slow breath. “Okay?”
Sam chewed their lip. “Does he feel the same way?”
Isaac nodded. “Yeah, Sam,” he breathed. “Yeah. He does.”
“Hm.” Sam’s eyes fell closed and they shuddered weakly. “I thought so.”
Isaac balked and his mouth gaped open. “You… you thought so?”
Sam nodded. “Mm-hm.” They hissed and held their left arm tight to their chest as they breathed. “I thought he might be… um…” They gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t think he had any idea what love felt like before he left his mom. So I wasn’t sure, but… it looked like he was starting to feel that way for you.”
Isaac’s mouth was dry. “When?”
Sam gaze a wry smile. “While we were south. It just… looked like he had feelings for you.”
Isaac forced his shoulders to relax. “Well… he did.”
“Hm.”
Isaac let out a breath. The breeze ruffled Sam’s hair and tickled on the half-healed cuts on Isaac’s arms. He ran his hands through his hair and looked at Sam again. “You ready for breakfast?”
Sam shifted and smiled. “Yeah,” they said softly. “I’m, um… I’m hungry today. I kinda haven’t been, but today…” Another shrug.
“That’s good,” Isaac said warmly as he rose and held out a hand to Sam. “That’s a good sign.”
“I know you couldn’t eat for a while, after,” Sam said, and winced.
Isaac’s head dropped forward. “Yeah,” he rasped. It was such a well-trodden path, such a familiar burst of my fault my fault my fault I deserve… He shook his head to clear it. Will I ever be able to live without that? Who am I without my shame?
He gently rubbed the back of Sam’s neck, longing to pull them into his arms, sling an arm over their shoulders, just touch them, remind himself that they existed, that they were safe, that they were alive. He’d so very nearly lost them. They’d so very nearly died in his arms and—
STOP. He hated the refrain, the constant pulse of shame in his head that he’d never even realized was there. He hated the never-ending ache in his chest that reminded him of what he was, what he’d done. He hated the dread that came with every time he wondered, will I ever be enough?
Will I ever heal?
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head again. He turned towards the house and began the short walk back.
Do any of the boios have any unhealthy ways of dealing with conflict?
MANY of the boios have unhealthy ways of dealing with conflict
tws: fighting, arguments, bad coping mechanisms, hurting feelings On Purpose, self-hatred, lashing out, grudges, cursing, allusions to abuse and neglect
out of the core 8, Emile is honestly the only one who has any sort of healthy conflict-resolution habits. he’s good at staying level-headed and compartmentalizing his emotions, making sure to acknowledge them while simultaneously making sure that they don’t inform his argument too heavily. (this, he has learned, is a skill that all good therapists should have). that said, he’s usually able to talk through any conflict pretty well, although his calm demeanor sometimes has the adverse effect of making the person he’s in conflict with feel patronized (because “don’t try to therapy me right now, Emile”)
Remy tends to respond to conflict in stages: first, he will tell whoever he’s arguing with off, holding back No Punches while he verbally demolishes them. second, he -- depending on how angry he is -- may remain passive-aggressive for some time after the argument, avoiding further direct confrontation so that he can stew in his anger for a while and allow himself time to simmer down. finally, if he deems something that someone has done to be particularly heinous, he’ll hold onto a grudge for as long as he sees fit. (and holy shit, can Remy hold onto a grudge)
Patton is the suppression king; if he has a problem, his go-to is to pretend that he doesn’t have said problem, putting on a happy face and attempting to appease whomever he has a conflict with at the cost of his own emotions -- or, in other words, he bypasses the conflict by just letting himself be hurt and then forcing himself to get over it. the argument he has with Roman poses a unique problem because it’s one of the very few instances where Patton's opinion on the issue at hand is so strong that he can’t pretend that it isn’t just to appease Roman; thus, he’s left trying to convince the team that he isn’t actively falling apart while trapped in a conflict that he doesn’t know how to resolve.
Logan is likewise a suppression king; however, whereas Patton attempts to hide how he’s really feeling to put on a happy front until he can’t anymore, Logan attempts to stifle any and all emotion while letting the frustration/sadness/what-have-you grow and grow until it overflows. usually, he’s able to manage conflict pretty well because he can let out some of that pent-up aggression or grief on the ice, where chastising a teammate for a bad play or crosschecking an opponent for being a massive tool is accepted and encouraged. now that he’s effectively been sidelined, though, he has no outlet, which... can’t end well, honestly
Roman handles conflict head-on, but not necessarily in a healthy way. he’s strongly opinionated, incredibly passionate, and when he’s convinced that he is right, he can be too stubborn for his own good. whereas both Logan and Roman grew accustomed to moderating heir own emotions to appease their parents growing up, Logan held onto this habit while Roman used his newfound freedom to let his emotions run rampant. consequently, conflict with Roman is explosive; he will not hold back on letting someone know just how much they’re in the wrong, and he uses some choice language to do so, oftentimes resulting in hurt feelings all around (including his own)
Remus, when in real, actual conflict with someone, tends to do everything in his power to piss them off as thoroughly as possible, downplaying outrage to fire up their own like until they say something that breaks through the mask and finally gets him to start shouting. in other words, he tries to treat it like a game until the game isn’t fun anymore, at which point the gloves come off (sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally), and he deals with the conflict head-on, like Roman. arguing with Remus is infuriating because it feels like he isn’t taking your emotions seriously, but that honestly isn’t the case. really, he’s just so used to having some sort of anger or general disdain aimed in his direction that he’s had to learn how to make it seem less serious than it is lest he literally fall apart
Virgil reacts to conflict with short outbursts of concentrated anger followed by a ton of guilt and attempts at self-reflection that ultimately result in self-loathing. when he himself is stressed, he tends to lash out, saying vicious things that he doesn’t mean and making empty threats that he immediately wishes he could take back but won’t because he’s too fed up in the moment. then -- and this is the part that he hates about himself the most -- he’ll run away when things get too rough because it beats having to stand there and think about the things that he has done
D deals with conflict in two ways: 1) he, like Virgil, will lash out, delivering hard truths and mixed insults with devastating effects, or 2) he will get incredibly petty and act out with increasingly antinormative behavior until someone finally snaps, be it the one he’s acting out on or D himself. the method that he undertakes depends on the circumstances; in situations where the problem can clearly be addressed, he tends to do the former,whereas the latter is reserved for instances where he can’t freely talk about what’s bothering him.
it’s worth noting that, although some of the boys handle conflict in less destructive ways than others, none of them are inherently unsympathetic. the way they process conflict is, in large part, informed by the way they were raised (or, in Remus’s case, the way that he was never raised at all)
