Most of the time, his dreams were a twisted carnival of death and destruction, a hellscape painted with the damage he’d rained down upon the world—the families he shattered like glass, the people he both protected and unjustly condemned all rolled into one messy package. The innocence he laid waste to.
That feeling of blood, sticky and warm, congealing beneath his nails was so visceral that it would jolt him awake, heart racing, only to find the reality of canine paws instead of the crimson horror he’d expected. Reagan didn’t often wrestle with guilt; he was all too aware of his own faults, and one glaringly clear was his knack for brutality. The collapse of civilization had simply paved the way for that dark side to shine in the limelight, even if he could occasionally brag about being somewhat fair—like a judge who enjoyed the execution.
He was the kind of guy who’d waltz into a bar like he owned the place, looking to start a fight just to remind everyone how tough he could be. Reagan was no knight in shining armor—hell, he wasn't trying to save anyone—but when it came to his brand of justice, he liked to think he was equitable with his punishments.
So, no, guilt wasn’t a frequent visitor, regardless of how hard his twisted dreams tried to force it upon him by shoving such feelings down his throat.
Funny enough, when he slipped into slumber, it was as if reality pulled a fast one on him. The landscape around him wasn’t littered with crumbling ruins like he expected; instead, it was almost absurdly tranquil to the point of being romantically nauseating. Blinking groggily, he lifted his head to drink in the scenery, when the delightful little voice of Rina graced his ears. Her words, far from warm, felt like daggers, yet he brushed off the sting, even if it pricked his nerves just enough to try his patience. She strutted around like he’d committed some unpardonable sin to vex her, but to be honest, Reagan figured he was doing more than enough to play the accommodating gentleman.
“Why, Rina, isn’t it a bit presumptuous to think that the center of my world revolves around you?” he shot back, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm as he rose to his feet, stretching his muscles with a theatrical flair. If those thick muscles rippled and flexed underneath his ochre fur in a way that might catch her eye, well, that was just an unfortunate side effect, wasn’t it? Shaking off the remnants of sleep, he turned to face her fully, and couldn’t help but notice the disgust etched across her features. Rolling his eyes at her exquisite brand of bitchiness, a small snarl curled at the corners of his lips.
“What’s the matter, honeycakes? Trying to ditch me?”
yes this is absolutely fine! <3
