#// injury tw - for the last two parts. its not in here

[admiringlove]

part one || part two || part four tw: mentions of burns, grievous injury, death, suicide ideation, etc. post shibuya au. a/n. can be read as a standalone, but i'm doing this as a mini-series.

[09:14] . . .

nanami kento hates this.

he has been home for three weeks now. twenty-one days of stillness so thick it settles into the walls like dust. twenty-one nights where the air feels too heavy, too quiet, where time passes in a hush, like the house itself is holding its breath. three weeks of watching you move around him with tireless grace, every second stitched together by your hands—your footsteps, your touch, your voice, the only things that keep him tethered to the reality he can barely stand to look at.

you do everything. you do too much.

you help him eat when his fingers tremble, help him bathe when the act of standing feels like too much, guide him to the bathroom with a steadiness that makes his stomach twist. you clean him. you lift him. you speak to him softly, with gentle words and careful smiles, never letting your voice crack, never letting him see just how exhausted you are.

and he lets you.

not because he wants to. not because he believes he deserves it. but because he can’t do anything else.

he hates it. he hates that you never flinch, that you never grimace, never complain—not even when you're helping him through the most humiliating moments, the ones where he can’t even raise his arms enough to pull a shirt over his head, the ones where he has to ask you for help to piss.

he watches you hold his shame like it's a secret between you. watches you kneel beside the tub with your sleeves rolled up, washing the burn-scarred skin of his back, as if it’s a holy thing. watches the way you press cool compresses to his shoulder, whispering words that mean nothing and everything. it would be easier if you screamed. if you cried. if you threw something against the wall and shouted that you couldn’t do this anymore.

but you don’t.

instead, you smile. not the smile he used to know—the bright, full one that stretched across your face and made his chest swell with something soft and dangerous—but this new one. thin. quiet. a shadow of what it was. and still, you wear it like armor.

you say his name so gently. you carry him without complaint. you wake before him every morning and fall asleep long after he does, sitting beside his bed in silence, brushing your thumb along his bandaged hand like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.

he knows it now. maybe he’s always known it, deep down.

you’re not doing this out of pity. not out of duty, or guilt, or some noble sense of compassion.

you’re doing this because you love him. and somehow, that makes everything worse.

because kento doesn’t feel worthy of love anymore. not like this. not when he can’t even stand on his own two feet. not when his body feels foreign to him, like a cage he can’t escape. not when every movement reminds him of what he’s lost. not when he sees himself in the mirror and doesn’t recognize what’s left.

he thinks, maybe, it would’ve been easier if he had died. if his last words—you take it from here—had been exactly that: a parting gift. a permission. a surrender.

because he knows you would have survived. he knows it would have broken you, shattered you, dragged you through hell—but you would have kept going. you would have healed in time. become someone new. found joy again, even if it took years. even if it was only in small, quiet ways.

that future feels kinder than this one.

kinder than being rolled through the threshold of your shared home in a wheelchair, burns still healing, body still aching, watching you press a kiss to the top of his head like it’s all okay.

kinder than being the weight you carry now, day after day, without ever setting him down.

"hey, you're growing a beard," you say softly, almost absently, as you collect his empty breakfast plate. the clink of ceramic against ceramic is gentle, as if you're afraid even the dishes might startle him. "you want a shave?"

kento doesn't look at you. not immediately. instead, he lowers his gaze to the blanket draped over his lap, where the faded cotton is bunched up slightly from how his legs shift, restless. he knows what you're remembering when you ask—knows the picture in your mind without needing to see it. because it's in his too.

he remembers it all. the sun bleeding into your shared room like something divine, soft golden light spilling over the bedsheets like melted honey. he remembers the curtains billowing from the morning breeze, linen fluttering like they were dancing just for you. he remembers the way you used to sit on top of him, legs straddling his hips, bare thighs warm against his stomach, your fingers coated in shaving cream as you smoothed it over his jaw with more reverence than necessary.

back then, you did it because you could. because he let you. because you liked the way he looked at you through the cream, all soft-eyed and patient, like he belonged to you in every way that mattered.

but that version of him—the one who could lift you, kiss you, hold you steady while you leaned close with a blade and a smirk and your sleep-creased pajamas—that man is gone. and this new version, the one who can’t even stand without assistance, who still winces when he shifts too fast or breathes too deep, cannot bear the thought of you kneeling in front of him again. not like that. not when everything between you has shifted into a quiet kind of grief neither of you will name.

"uh, it's fine," kento says, voice so low it nearly gets swallowed by the morning silence. his eyes stay fixed on the folds of the blanket, the lines of his fingers, the dullness of his knees beneath cotton.

"you sure?" you ask, glancing over your shoulder from the sink, where you're already running water. your tone is too careful, the kind reserved for glass things with cracks too deep to fix.

he nods slowly. once. doesn't look up.

and that’s the end of it.

you don’t push. you never do. and he wishes, briefly, violently, that you would. just once. that you’d say something sharp, anything to shake him out of this state. but you only turn back around, wash the plate, and carry the silence like it's just another thing you’ve chosen to carry—for him.

when you're done washing the dishes, you dry your hands on the old kitchen towel—the one that’s permanently damp no matter how often you change it—and walk back toward him. your steps are quiet, deliberate. as if loudness might somehow snap the delicate thread holding the morning together. you hover beside him for a second, the air between you heavy with something unsaid, before you ask, in a voice so careful it almost sounds like a memory, “do you wanna go somewhere today? the park, maybe. the mall?”

kento doesn’t look at you. just lowers his gaze to his trembling hands, pale against the dark fabric of the chair’s arms. his fingers curl slowly, like he’s still not used to the effort, like every movement is rehearsed but not yet mastered. “no,” he says, shaking his head. the word is small, too small for a man like him. it floats between you like a leaf in water—weightless, but still heavy with meaning.

you don’t move. not right away. just watch as he pushes himself away from the breakfast table, his fingers fumbling against the metal, weak and worn. and you wait. because maybe this time you’ll say something. maybe this will be the moment you snap—tell him that he should go outside, that fresh air might help, that being stuck in here, in this “stuffy” house that’s turned into a shrine for everything he used to be, isn’t doing either of you any good.

but you say nothing. you only stand there, hands folded against your stomach, knuckles tight, watching him wheel himself slowly—agonizingly—toward the living room. his back is straight, but the shake in his shoulders betrays him. and still, he doesn't ask for help. not even once.

he rounds the corner. you watch his figure pass, just a sliver of him disappearing down the hallway. he’s so slow, so deliberate, like even this—this attempt at independence—is a punishment he’s giving himself.

you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, the dish towel still clutched in your hand like some useless symbol of peace. you watch as he reaches your bedroom door, hands trembling against the wheel, pushing through the frame. he doesn’t tell you where he’s going. doesn’t thank you for breakfast.

and when he closes the door—too hard, maybe on purpose—kento swears he hears it.

that tiny intake of breath from you, soft and sharp all at once.

he swears he hears you flinch.

and as he sits there, in the quiet that feels too loud, in the stillness that scrapes at his ribs like broken glass, kento lets his eyes drift upward. to the wall. to the soft, cream-colored paint above the bed you both used to curl into like vines, tangled and warm and content.

his gaze settles on the photos. the ones you insisted on putting up, one by one, like sacred relics. you'd fought for that wall, not with anger, but with that gentle insistence that always seemed to win him over. back then, you’d smiled—hands on your hips, heart in your throat—and told him that you didn’t want to walk into this room and ever feel sadness. not when the world already offered more than enough of it. not when you could build something that pushed back against it.

you'd said, “this wall is going to be a home for all the things that make us happy. every milestone. every memory.” and he’d nodded, not because he fully understood, but because he trusted the way your voice trembled when you spoke about joy.

so you’d filled it. slowly, over the years. framed your first date, that one with the rainy sky and the overcooked noodles. framed your wedding, where his tie was crooked and your eyeliner had smudged from crying during your vows. you’d even framed that hideous, grainy picture from high school—the one where his hair hadn’t been cut in months and he was scowling at the camera. and he let you. god, he let you. he even smiled when you kissed the glass after hanging it up.

now, kento looks at it, and something in him collapses.

his throat tightens. his chest burns, not from the wounds or the healing skin, but from something worse. from the unbearable weight of love. from the way it grips him by the collar and doesn't let go.

his face crumples. the tears come fast, angry and soft all at once, trailing down his cheeks in silence before the sobs make it impossible to hold them back. he’s crying. not carefully, not quietly, but like it’s the only thing he’s capable of doing now. his body shakes. the sharp sniffs echo in the room. his vision blurs, but the photographs don’t disappear.

he doesn’t think about the pain anymore—not the itching of raw, pink skin or the way the bandages pull at his nerves. not the dull ache of muscles unused and healing too slowly. not the way his hands still tremble from weakness. all of that fades, is nothing compared to this. to what he feels now.

he can only think of you.

of how tired you must be. of how you smiled as you helped him button his shirt this morning, even though your hands were shaking. of how you sat beside him last night, reading a book aloud even though your voice was hoarse. of how you’d kissed his temple and told him it would be okay, when everything inside him screamed otherwise.

he cries harder. because you didn’t sign up for this. and he knows it. you were meant for something softer. something gentler than this. and yet here you are, anchored to him by love or duty or something in between, and he can’t tell which hurts more—that you’re still here, or that he sometimes wishes you weren’t.

he sobs like a man who has nothing left to give, except for the wreckage of what he used to be.

his hands tremble. not the kind of tremble that comes from weakness alone, but the violent, aching kind—shaking born from rage and humiliation and grief too long kept inside. it starts in his fingers, curls through his palms, climbs up his arms until his whole body is unsteady, quivering like a snapped wire. he clenches the wheels of the chair so tightly his knuckles flash white beneath fragile skin.

then he moves. pushes. forces. not gently, not carefully, but with the full, brute force of desperation. of hatred for this chair, this room, this body that refuses to feel like his own anymore. the muscles in his thighs scream, the burns along his back pull taut, but kento grits his teeth. he stands.

it's shaky. it's pathetic. it's barely anything. but he stands.

he's breathing hard, like he's run a mile. sweat beads at his brow, catching against the curve of a healing wound near his temple. his chest heaves. and before he can fall, before he can even think—his eyes lock onto it. that photo. the one from high school. the ugliest one of them all.

you love it, he knows. you love the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way his scowl didn’t hide the curve of his cheekbones. you call it nostalgic. soft. formative.

he calls it disgusting.

his bandaged hand reaches out, trembling, half-dead and aching, and grabs the frame from the wall. his fingers slip, the glass slick against gauze and sweat, but he grips it hard. and then—

he throws it.

the crash is loud. glass shatters like a scream against the bathroom door. the frame splinters, shards raining down across the floor, over the threshold, across the rug you'd chosen together.

he stands there, panting. hands shaking. body sagging under the weight of it all. he doesn’t cry. not now. now he’s just fire. bitter and barely breathing.

and seconds later, you're there.

you burst into the room like a storm breaking through silence, wild-eyed and breathless, hair still damp from the shower, your hands half-raised as if to catch him, steady him, stop time itself.

"are you okay?" your voice is high, almost shrill, choked with panic. "are you hurt? what—what happened?"

your chest rises and falls so fast it aches to look at you. your bare feet crunch softly on broken glass as you step forward, and he flinches, just once, at the sound. because now it’s real. now you’ve seen it—this ugliness inside him, this rot.

and he's hurting you.

but you don’t move closer just yet. you don’t touch him or reach out. instead, your hand floats to your mouth in slow disbelief, your fingers trembling like his were just moments ago, and you gasp.

not a sound of fear this time. not worry. something softer. awed. and your eyes go wide—not with terror, but something else entirely. something almost holy.

your gaze doesn’t drop to the shattered frame on the floor, to the mess, to the ruin. instead, you look up at him. truly look. like you haven’t in weeks. like you’re seeing him for the first time again. and he watches your face shift—so gently it makes his heart twist.

that smile. god, that smile.

the one you wore at the altar, tears glistening under your lashes, hands trembling as you slipped the ring onto his finger. the smile you gave him when he first brought you coffee at work, still in his pressed shirt and tie, nerves hidden behind the straight line of his mouth. the one you gave him in the middle of a fight, when you both knew you’d find your way back. the one he never thought he’d see again—not like this.

“ken,” you breathe. and his name from your lips feels like a benediction. a prayer. a rebirth. “you’re standing.”

he blinks at you, dazed. “what?”

his voice cracks, and he frowns, lips parted in disbelief, his whole body still humming with pain and exertion. he doesn’t look at his legs—because how could he possibly be standing?

but you point. slowly, like you’re scared if you say it too loud, it’ll vanish. like this is a dream.

you point at his knees, at the empty wheelchair beside him, the faint tremble of his calves where they bear the weight of him.

“you’re standing,” you say again, and your voice breaks on the second word. “on your own.”

and kento looks down.

and finally, he sees.

he is.

his legs are shaking, his balance is off, every inch of him feels like it could collapse any second—but he’s not on the chair. he’s not being held up by anything but himself. it’s not much. it’s not heroic. it’s not graceful.

but it’s real. he’s standing.

and when he looks up at you again, your smile’s still there—shining and tear-struck and full of so much love that it splits something open inside him. something he thought had already been reduced to ash.

“there’s glass on the floor,” he murmurs, voice soft, like it’s already breaking. “y-you stepped on glass.”

his eyes dart to the sharp glittering pieces scattered across the hardwood, to the broken frame lying face-down by the door, the photo inside half-visible—his hair in it a disaster, your face blurry from laughing too hard. he remembers hating it. he remembers how you’d refused to take it down.

“i threw the ugly photo,” he says. “at the bathroom door.”

you blink at him, then glance down, and for a second he swears you’ll yell. or worse, cry. but then you look up again, eyes warm, and you say, “in case you didn’t notice,” with a lilt that almost sounds amused, “i’m wearing bunny slippers. the ones i forced you to buy me. the cinnamoroll ones.”

your voice trembles on the last part—not from sadness, but from restraint. you’re trying not to let it crack.

he looks down at your feet. the ridiculous white and blue slippers with floppy ears and little pink cheeks. the ones you made him buy at two in the morning in some grocery store that had no business selling such things. you’d worn them the night you moved in with him. you wore them the first night you made dinner together. you wore them when you danced to no music in the kitchen.

“oh,” he breathes.

and then he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t know what to say. so he waits.

he waits, like he used to wait at train stations with flowers in hand. he waits like he did that first night he told you he loved you, eyes on your lips, terrified of what might come next. he waits like he did in the hospital bed, praying—that you wouldn't leave. that you'd stay by his side.

he waits, yearningly. aching.

hoping you’ll come closer. hoping you'll ignore the mess on the floor, and just reach for him. hoping you’ll step around the broken pieces and press yourself to him like you used to, head on his chest, arms around his waist. hoping you'll remind him that he still gets to be touched, still gets to be held, still gets to be yours.

you take one step. then another. and for a moment, he forgets about the burns, the pain, the way his legs shake beneath him like twigs in a storm.

because you’re here. and you’re walking toward him.

and when you place your head on his chest, finally, finally resting your cheek against him like you've been dying to do for weeks, your ears catch the thump of his heart—loud, steady, alive. his arms, uncertain at first, slowly wrap around you, one settling against your back, the other trembling but determined at your waist. he sighs, deep and full of relief. something unspoken in him settles.

“will you give me a shave?” he asks, voice low, breath stirring your hair.

you blink up at him, eyebrows raised, lips twitching. “i thought you didn’t want one.”

you say it with that teasing lilt he remembers from quieter mornings—back before the world turned sharp around the edges. and for a moment, it feels like nothing ever broke.

he breathes out a sound that almost resembles a laugh. his eyes soften, tender, threaded with affection. “i always want one,” he says, “if it’s you.”

you narrow your eyes, already stepping into the joke like second nature. “you have other people giving you shaves, nanami kento?”

he shakes his head, dry as ever. “ah, yes. i’m cheating on you with gojo.”

you gasp, hand flying dramatically to your chest. “how could you? with gojo of all people?”

“he insisted. said he had the better razors.”

you snort, half-laughing into his chest. “he uses a hair straightener on his clothes when they get too wrinkly. he doesn’t get to talk about razors.”

kento smiles then—really smiles—and something in the air shifts. the heaviness lingers, yes. the pain, the fear, the grief of what almost was—they don’t disappear. but they take a step back. they let the warmth through.

you squeeze him a little tighter. he leans into you a little more.

“go sit in the bathroom,” you say, grinning now. “i’ll be there in five minutes. and i’m using the aftershave that smells like that cinnamon candle you hate.”

“i deserve it,” he murmurs, voice light.

you kiss the underside of his jaw, just where the stubble begins to grow, and smile. “yeah,” you say, pulling away, “you kinda do.”

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[rayraelleaizawa]

They're going hard on you

TW: none i think

gn!reader

Short stories of when OP men go hard on you out of worry

Characters: Shanks, Trafalgar Law

Shanks

You sat in the captains office and looked at Shanks who was unusally quiet. You had an anxious feeling in your guts. You knew you had fucked up, but you didnt think he would be that mad.

The red hair pirates docked at some uninhabited island, and you were assigned to not leave the ship since Shanks wasnt sure how dangerous the island would be. But when you saw a strange animal falling from a tree and into a river, trying desperately not to drown and reach the shore again but couldnt make it, you left the ship and jumped into the river and helped the animal out of there. The scared animal didnt realice you only wanted to help him, and trashed around in your grip and scratched and bit you.

When Shanks and a part of his crew came back from exploring the island, and he saw that you were standing on deck, soaked from head to toe and trying to clean up your bloody injuries, his usually carefree face fell. He wore an unreadable expression as he told you to come into his cabin when Hongo was done treating your wounds.

Now, half an hour later and bandaged up, you sat in Shanks office and looked at your lap. He still had that unreadable expression on his face and you werent sure in what kind of trouble you were right now. You had breaken the rules before, nothing too bad, but he never acted like that because of you. You thought that he'd understand why you left, everyone knew that you had a soft spot for animals.

You anxiously waited for him to start talking, but he didnt even look at you. After another silent ten minutes, he finally said something.

"What did Hongo say?"

"He said that it is nothing too bad, just some scratches. I need to go check up regulary tho in case of infection and if I feel weird I am supposed to go to him instantly. Hongo checks the books right now if the animal that bit me is poisenous or not."

You gladly would have left out the last part, but you knew you shouldnt do that right now. He would talk with Hongo and find out anyway.

There was another short silence before he spoke again.

"What did I tell you to do? No, what did I order you to do?"

"To stay on the ship" you quietly said.

"And what did you do?"

"I...left the ship."

"You disobeyed my orders. That's what you did. No matter what relationship we two have, I am your captain and you have to follow my orders like everyone else on this ship."

You were quiet for some time. You didnt mean to disappoint him, but you didnt think about his orders when you saw that helpless animal fighting for its life.

"I'm sorry. I only wanted to help the-"

"I dont care what you wanted to do. You had clear orders. Orders, which were meant to protect you. Protect you from exactly those animals that hurt you. We have no idea if they are venomous, or aggresive, or a religious species for any natives that live here."

You stayed silent. The uneasy feeling in your stomach growing by the second. Sadness and fear joined that feeling too. You thought he'd understand you, but in the end you just disrespected him infront of his crew with ignoring his orders.

"I'm sorry for messing up" was all you could get out in that moment, and you heard Shanks sigh. He stood up from behind his desk and walked over to you.

"What am I supposed to do with you? Even when i try to protect you you still seem to find a way to end up in Hongos medical office. Why cant you just listen to me?"

His tone was softer than before, and you finally dared to look up at him. He had a worried expression on his face.

"I- I didnt think in that moment" you admitted as he bend his tall frame down to you, looking at your bandaged hand where that animal bit you.

"You have no idea how it felt to see you all bloody on deck. How it feels to know that you could die if that animal was highly venomous" he said, gently touching your arm.

You avoided his eyes and looked at the stump of his left arm.

"Yes I do know how that feels. I didnt want to make you experience this too. I'm sorry."

He sighed again, moving his hand under your chin and forced you gently to look him in the face.

"Never do that again. I love you too much for that."

Trafalgar D Water Law

You didn't look at him as he walked past you. You both ignored each other since the argument you had. You felt frustrated and angry at him, but mostly because he was right.

There was an emergency at the submarine, something about the boiler malfunctioning in the middle of the night. You were the closest to it so you tried to fix it, but you werent an engineer - you weren't sure what to do so you just improvised and tried your best until the persons who knew what to do came. Before that happened, hot water splashed onto your arm leaving a nasty burn on it.

Law had bandaged you up, but you noticed something wasn't right with him so you asked him. Which resulted in a heated argument between you two which ended with him snapping at you.

"If you have no idea of something then why do you even try? You're no help here, we just have more work now because of you."

Your eyes got teary when you thought back to his words, but it hurts even more knowing he was right. He had more work because he had to bandage you up, while your crewmembers probably had to fix the boiler more because you damaged it even more with your improvised actions.

You self doubted your worth on this crew now. Sure, you knew how to fight, but that was it. You could bandage up small injuries and cook, but in the end everyone knew how to do that. You had no specialty like the others.

With frustration bubbling up inside you that your captain and lover thought of you as an useless inconvinience, you started working even more. You didn't take a break, you just cleaned the Polar Tank or trained. The burn on your arm hurt most of the time, but you didn't care. You wanted to prove yourself that you weren't just on this crew because you and the Captain were dating.

You asked Shachi if he could explain to you how the boiler and stuff worked. He was perplexed as why you wanted to know that, but you convinced him with saying that next time an emergency happend you could actually help. He agreed, tho he knew that Law wouldn't be so happy about you working when you're already injured.

He explained stuff to you in the engine room and of course, no other than Trafalgar D. Water Law walked in on you two while you were trying to name some parts of the enginge. He looked displeased and coldly said your name and then just walked off.

You didn't want to follow him, but knew that he would be even more pissed if you ignored him. He led you two to the infirmary and told you to sit on the exam table. He then grabbed your hand and unwrapped your bandanges.

"What do you think you're doing, y/n-ya?" he spoke calmly, but you immediately noticed that he was holding back.

"Learning new stuff so next time i can actually help" you answered in a snippy tone.

"You won't do anything next time. I don't allow you to" he said while turning around.

You started to argue back that you just tried to be a help when he interupted you mid-sentence.

"How do you want to be of help when you cant even look after your own wound!"

"You were the one who told me I wasnt capable of anything, and now it's wrong when i try to become usefull!" you almost yelled back, tears of frustration and hurt in your voice.

"I never said you weren't capable of anything, I simply stated that-"

"You said I am no help, that I have no idea what I'm doing and that you all have more work because of me!"

A tear rolled down your face and you started shaking slightly as Law looked at you with widend eyes. He grabbed his hat and pulled it over his eyes as he looked down.

"That wasn't what I meant. I just...you got hurt on my submarine while I was present. I- you shouldn't have gotten hurt when I'm there to protect you."

You looked at him with wide eyes, the tears now streaming down your face.

"You are more than capable of sorting stuff out on your own, you are a big help to everyone on this crew. I didn't mean to insult you or tell you you aren't worthy to be here. It's just...this could have ended up bad. And now I see you working in there again. I can't have you getting injured when I'm just a few feet away" he added as he walked towards you and grabbed your face so you'd look him in the eye.

"I want you to be safe, y/n-ya. And i failed to do that. You and this crew, you're everything I have. I'm a doctor but I can't heal everything. I'm sorry for insulting you, my heart."

Your eyes softend at the last nickname he called you. It wasn't often that he used it, which made it even more special when he did. He is a big softy and constantly worried about you. You laid your head to his chest and murmured an apology, while he leaned down and kissed your hair.

[klunkcat]

blackholes and other parables

read on ao3

Fandom: in stars and time

Relationships: loop & siffrin, everyone & siffrin, isabeau & siffrin (can be read as romantic also)

TW's: self-harm, canon typical violence, depersonalization and dissociation, blood and injury, this ones rated M for a lot of heavier suicidal topics as per yanno, canon., It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better,

Spoilers for two hats ending!

Summary: It starts with the stage, as it always does. A boulder, and a slapstick comedian missing his queue.

It gets much worse from there.

Word Count: 18k

___

Another day, that’s all this is. Another day, you remind yourself with hands gripping at countertops and dagger hilts: just one more. If it’s the same one, wrapped up in a myriad of lines and lists, it’s still here and yours. Just yours, no one else needs to know. And there will be another one after, even if it looks just like this, so you can try again.

You’re fine. You are, it’s just that your leg is just a leg attached to the mess of strings that make up your heart and its use in what it can do, never in what it already is. You know this, it’s why you grab the glass every time, why the prick on your finger vanishes like it was never there to begin with. You’re just the blank canvas, just the actor under the spotlight. You’re playing your part and you’re fine with it, you’re fine. 

You’re also careless. 

One would think, after fifty or so odd trips, of walking through the same exact room to follow the same exact steps, that you’d learn. But you’re useless, bad at your job, and there’s another day for you to try and not fuck up, so of course you don’t. 

That’s why you’re still. Here. 

You walk a little too far into the room because you’re thinking about finding books and reading more and what the King said last time, and— 

Loud noises, crashing. All the air compressed out of your lungs at once, then blissfully, nothing at all.

It’s dark. You think you must be dreaming again; eating a tear straight down to the center of yourself and floating off into the vague inbetweens the way you’re used to by now. 

The vague thoughts like slow syrup swim past you— a door in front of you; a lock; a key. Masks that are laughing and crying and you don’t know which one fits best, but you know you’re meant to have them. There is a hallway behind the door that stretches back and back and back and you know where it goes, where all the doors lead, but you can’t take a single step. You’re alone here, it’s dark, danger is coming but danger’s already here, inside you, twisting and warping away at everything you ever had. 

You had something, you lost it, you found something new, and it’s being taken away. It’s you, and it’s you, and that never means anything good at all. 

Then: you wake up.

You look up again to Isa’s face looming over yours. Did you have a nap? Did the loop change? It’s usually Mira, it’s always Mira, or you alone in the field, but there’s no sky over the bulk of his shoulders, it’s all just gray dark and dark and— 

You’re not sure what happened, actually. The trap was sprung, you didn’t find the switch, and the rock fell. You’re not in the field. The loops kick in when you die most often, and you always die when the rock falls. But you’re here still, and it hurts, still. 

Something twisted in you lights up with glee. It’s different, something different, you say to yourself, and you have to concentrate to not let the giggles bubble straight out into the open exposed air. Only, there’s no sun above you, just old dark stone, echoing breathing in circles following you everywhere you go. Oh, you’re in the House. You didn’t think about where to loop, maybe you need to— 

Sitting up makes the strings in your chest catch lightning, a wall of pain and a hot sticky fire so distant and all encompassing that it makes you nauseous. You can’t even really feel it, just this wet feeling of hurt poking through a wall at you. A knowing of what should be, maybe. 

You wished to take hits harder, this loop, didn’t you. Not faster, like usual. Huh. Noise, there’s so much noise around you your thoughts scramble straight up into nothing and land back down uselessly. You think it might be words.

“--frin! Just, lay down, okay? Hold still, ‘Dile and Belle went to find more stuff, but you’re not s’pposed to move!”

“Shh, hey– hey buddy, can you hear me? Can you do the breathing thing with me? I know— I know it hurts, I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, j–just breathe, okay? With me?”

You know this, it’s your thing. You breathe in, and out. The pain drifts somewhere farther away, enough that your words can rush back into your head behind the static. You force your eye open— that’s, oh Bonnie’s here too. They’re safe, they look worried but whole. 

You close your eye again, breathing as slow as you can manage. Your leg, you think. Not so fast now, are we.

“No going to sleep, Frin! Belle said so!” 

You’re not, you try to say. It comes out like wet paper, unfurling on the cold ground. Can’t sleep anymore, anyways. 

“... Yeah, you do look tired, I know, but we need you to stay awake just. Just until they get back, alright?”

You make a concerted effort to blink. Anything for Isa, really. 

“That’s good,” Isa smiles, it’s wobbly. “Good, yeah, eyes on me, okay? Stay with us here.” You frown, and lick your lips.

Your whole self feels funny, floating right off the page in front of you without you having any say in it at all; you don’t even really hurt, just a thought that you shouldn’t look at whatever’s become of your leg. No burnt sugar, though. You’re somewhere, you’re still here. You don’t know what loop this is. You’d been– The picnic  happened, it always happens now and you’d gone through the door— you don’t know this part. 

It’s rare to have new scripts. So rare, you’re almost greedy for it. You hope Bonnie isn’t looking at your leg either.

Isa looks devastated, that’s not allowed. You can do this. “...eye’ve… got nowhere. Left to. Be.” You huff. Isa blinks. 

You wait for the loud laughter. Isa is your most reliable scene partner, he laughs every time. 

“Sif, did you just—” Isa starts, eyes wide. And promptly bursts into tears. Oh, oh stars. You can’t. Move, to help. 

Bonnie leans closer, eyes watery and face red. “Not funny! You can’t— you’re so stupid! You scared us!” 

“S’rry.”

“No, no it’s— don’t apologize,” Isa wobbles. Something warm falling on your forehead distracts you for a moment. “ — just want you to stay here, right? You can make jokes, I love it when you make jokes.” 

Where are… “Mira?” You manage. Isa presses a thumb across your brow, smoothing gently as he sniffles. It feels nice, you don’t feel yourself enough to know if you flinch. 

“They— they just went to find a tonic. They’ll be back. They’re both fine, Sif, I promise.” Isa says, a nervous little nod to go with it. Isa doesn’t lie, so you have to believe him.

“Craft?” You ask. Words are always hard. This is more like a bag of marbles you’re struggling to sort through.

Bonnie’s fists clench on their lap, right there by your limp hand. There’s a lot of dark all over, you notice— on your clothes, on the floor. Smudges of it on Bonnie’s hands and right there on their cheek that they don’t seem to notice. “The death hallway! The big rock fell and— you were under it, only a little. I knew you were fast but it was like I blinked! You just moved, it was—”

Ah, you think. Stupid. Scared them  with how fast you side stepped. Not enough to get out of the way completely, but, you’d have to reset anyways if you had. Wouldn’t be like clumsy Siffrin to dodge an impossibly sudden trap like that, they’d be scared worse.

Your leg groans at you through the static of everything. What did it matter if you were faster than them anyways, you’d always been the fastest. Not fast enough to not get stuck under it, and look where that got you? Wasting time, Mira and Odile wandering off alone. Stars, but that’s a terrifying thought. You should loop back. You should loop back right now so you don’t have to be such a burden every single time, such a massive fuck up who can’t even remember the first way that you fucked up and you need to loop back, loop back– 

The tug doesn’t come. You, and the parts that stick to you stay planted on the cold dark floor. An amalgamation of shapes and noises pass through you. Figures.

“You got hurt pretty bad, buddy,” Isa says, thumb still petting at your face. You maybe lean into it, the vague press of warmth, you’re not sure of anything. “Mira healed you but—” He winces.

It makes sense, you’re still at the beginning; Mira’s healing isn’t strong enough, she doesn’t have those more useful skills. It makes her more tired like this, to heal, and she’d probably tried too much at once knowing how worried she gets. It’s sweet, you love her for it. You’re not sure if she knows that. It would probably be too much if she did anyways, you always love too much. 

“It’s okay though,” Bonnie chimes in. “Right? It’s okay, because. Dile is going to find a big tonic, and Belle will use her healing again when she rests up, and— and you’ll be okay.”

Isa keeps petting your head. He’s never touched you before, not in any of the loops. You can’t help the way you freeze when you realize. 

“Hey,” Isa coos, soft as anything. Big dark eyes peering down at you with so much worry it  makes you sick. “I— I know it hurts, I’m sorry. Just stay here with us, okay? You can hold my hand, squeeze as hard as you want. I’m strong enough to take it, okay? Breathe through it with me, Sif, I’m not going anywhere on you.”

You remember thinking Isa was the strongest person you’d ever met, once. How he made you want to be more of a person, just so he’d laugh. Now, it’s like you’re an oil spill on this open lake and you’re stretching out everywhere and everywhere but he can’t touch you. They never touch you, except for when you do everything right on purpose to make them all love you. When you’re dying, too. 

Well, that’s a thought. 

He puts his hand in yours, though, and you squeeze it. Pretend that the pain in your leg even registers beyond the ache in your stomach and the split of your head. 

“Maybe, um. Frin, would you wanna hear a joke?” 

“That’s— yeah, sure thing, Bonbon. They’d love one, right Sif?” 

Bonbon, the sweetest kid you’ve ever met in all the ways they’ve also been endlessly prickly, all the ways that you fucked up and made them hate you also. You’d said once that they’d been distant from you— had that still happened this loop? You manage a nod anyway. Anything for your kid. 

Bonnie looks nervous, there’s tears in their eyes as they lean closer, hands balled on their knees. You should smile, you try to smile. It feels far away. 

They bite their lip, glancing over at Isa and back. “Okay. Um. I could make a skeleton joke, but. I don’t think you’d find it very humber-oos.” 

You blink.

“That’s humorous, Bon,” Isa says. “I don’t uh–”

“Humorous,” Bonnie repeats, stone faced. “What. Wait. Was that a bad joke? Because his leg is—”

A laugh rips through you— it hurts it hurts it feels like nothing at all, but you’re smiling, you think you’re smiling. “S’okay, Isa. I can take it,” you manage through wheezing. “In stride.”

A pause. “You–” Isa stares at you. You wait. “That’s—” A wobbly smile cracks across his face, and a surprised burst of snickers. Success.

“No,” Bonnie pouts. “Hey. I made a joke, and you didn’t laugh, Za!” 

“Sorry, Bonbon, I’ll laugh next time, I promise.” 

This is so all outside of script, the words keep sticking to your skin and your lips. Or maybe you’re just transparent and fading, somewhere in between the lines out there, watching. You can see yourself almost; head cradled in Isa’s lap, his warm hand on your brow. Bonnie nervously leaning forward, careful not to look. 

They love you, now, like this, don’t they. They’re holding you, now and they never did before.

It didn’t work before, but maybe you hadn’t loved them back enough. Maybe Mira will make it back and heal you up, and somehow your blood on the stone will be a sacrifice big enough to let you out.

As soon as you let the thought coagulate in your mouth, there’s burnt sugar on your tongue. Hah. It always happens when you think love will matter, doesn’t it? Stupid of you.

Your eye flutters closed. 

“Hey, no Siffrin, you can’t— buddy, please, no, no. Sif keep your eyes open, hey? For me? Sif? Siffrin!”

Too late. End scene. 

There’s something wrong with you. Well, obviously there is. You run through a script on purpose every day of your friends bearing their deepest secrets and fears to you just so that they’ll care about you the way you care about them. You don’t think nice people do that. Probably only the rotting ones, the ones who’s rot is so big it can stretch all the way up into the world and fester like an open wound. 

Beyond that, though; there might be something else. 

Waking up in the field this go around, you feel… you think it might be called giddy, the name for the popping stars in your fingertips. You’d gotten half crushed by a boulder and bled out on the floor in your friend's arms while they begged you to stay, and you’re what. Happy about it? 

That’s probably not normal, realistically.

Loop looks uneasily at you under the dappled light of the tree. “So.” 

“So,” You echo. 

Their eyes shift away and back. 

You’re still giddy, you have to fight to look as tired as you normally do. You know Loop can see it vibrating in your core as easy as anything, as easy as they always see everything about you. The twitching yearning need, coiled and barbed right there under your fingernails. 

“Pretty silly of you to forget the switch again,” Loop lands on. It’s maybe supposed to be snarky, but falls just outside of it. 

You shrug. “I’ll do better next time.” 

“Sure you will.” 

The barest wind shuffles at the leaves and they rustle around you for a moment.

Loop sighs. “It would be good, I think, if you didn’t make me watch that again.” 

Then don’t watch, you think, viciously, and tuck it away again. 

“I did try to move out of the way, you know,” you sulk back. 

“Not fast enough!” They sing-song back at you.

They’re prodding at you, the way they always are for reasons you never understand, but you’re immune for this go around. The fizzing in your hands makes you want to end this as soon as possible. Whatever way will get them to ask less questions. “I’ll just remember the blinding switch next time. Or not move, whatever.” 

Loop frowns slightly. “Contrary to what you may think, I don’t actually enjoy seeing you in pain.” 

You’re not sure you even were in pain though, or that it existed beyond your thoughts. You’re not sure at all why Loop cares.

“Oh, Stardust! I can’t stay mad at you. Look at you, naive and stupid, bumbling around. Missing switches you already know about. It’s so endearing, really!” Their laugh twinkles through them, sharp and high pitched. You sink into your coat. 

“I just forgot.” 

“My little darling clown. We should get you a collar, face paint. Slapstick really seems to be your specialty.” 

Annoyed, you’re annoyed. Your brain unhelpfully spins off to play books you’ve read, laughing masks and all. Bumbling foot archetype, yeah, fine, you fit the bill. It seems like someone must enjoy a good comedy, anyways. 

“It’s not on purpose,” you grouse, for the sake of having said it. 

Loop giggles. “And doesn’t that just make it all the sweeter. Stardust, I do think it would be in your best interest to loop forward next time! Just forget the whole business with the hallway, no?”

“Yeah,” you agree, because it’s easier than arguing. Why do you even want to argue, anyways? Because it was new, you think. You’re desperate for something new. Maybe you want to run it all from the first act curtain opening to the closing, just to know if something else would be new, too. 

This part wouldn’t be new again, though, would it. You’d know the lines already, so: no boulder, that’s fine. More room for improvising. 

Is it good that you’re thinking of ways to break your bones again? Just to see what else might be new? You think it must not be at all, because you want it, and most things you want are already gone and you forgot them anyways. You pause, sitting on your usual branch with the bark biting into the backs of your legs. Maybe… Loop would know. Maybe they’d be able to explain this, whatever went wrong inside you. 

You open your mouth.

Loop claps their hands together loudly. “Well! I think you have quite a bit of reading still to do, no? Best get back to it!” 

Well. Maybe next time. You nod, and hop off the tree. Maybe the wrong in you won’t stick at all, or you can bleed it out horrifically somewhere until it’s right again. Normal things. 

“Stardust?” They call, tone hesitant. Strange. Loop stares at you, a flicker of something in their eyes you don’t recognize. Or maybe you know it too well. 

“If there’s an end to this, you’ll find it. You know that, don’t you?” 

You don’t know that, but you have to believe it anyway. “There’s gotta be something to that wish craft thing he mentioned,” You agree. “I’ll find it.” 

You try to remember to force yourself to stumble at least once as you stalk through the halls, playing the part the way you’re supposed to. Poor laughing clown, less a pierrot more a harlequin. You remember not to comment on the Universe, to avoid the stack of checked out books in the hidden library. You’ll get this one right, and something will change. 

You will mold yourself into a loveable shape, and they’ll reach out and love you like they did when you were bleeding. Won’t they? 

Nothing happens. It’s the same. It’s always, blindingly, infuriatingly, the same. 

You enter the room with the broken vials, and— the fizz takes over, maybe. Or you move without thinking. Some part of your mind is lost in the dark, dark, covering your clothes and the floor and that far away floating feeling of warmth. You stab your hand a little too hard, rather than just brushing the edge, and there’s blood. Too much blood. Shit. 

“Siffrin!” Odile admonishes, immediately scooping your hand in hers. “For goodness sake, let's not go around playing with glass, shall we?” 

She’s touching you. Your brain skips. 

Odile fusses with your hand, ripping a piece of her shirt apart to clot tightly at your palm where your pale skin shines through your glove. Bonnie doesn’t have to sneak the glass from your pocket this time, because Odile stomps on it where it falls from your hand. New, you think. New, new again. This is all new. 

“Sif,” Isa pouts, crouching closer, too. “That looks pretty deep.” 

“I can heal it!” Mira offers, “Or, we have tonics, too right?” 

Bonnie nods, pulling out a vial from their pockets and dumping it all over your palm eagerly.

They hold your pinky as they do, angling your hand more towards their eye level. Isa pats your back as a strange wheeze leaves your lips. He’s touching you. Odile’s touching you. 

You’re warm, you hadn’t realized you’d felt cold at all. 

They all seem to realize at the same moment, though, and back away with embarrassed looks. 

“Are you okay, Siffrin?” Mirabelle’s wide eyes meet yours, brows pinched together and serious. 

No, you think, strangely untethered. No, I’m not. 

“Of course, sorry. Clumsy,” You offer, thinking of masks and plays, and you wait for them to all relax when they remember your role. 

Slapstick comedy. You’re always laughing. 

The usual lines take too long. Yes, Mirabelle I know what the papers are. Yes, Bonnie, I do pay attention to you. Of course I know where to find the family tale, Odile. Maybe you’ve stopped caring about the words they’re saying at all, maybe it’s all rote and it’s a shame because to them it’s their very first time sharing but you’ve. Heard it all. Before. 

You want to talk to Isa again.

Something changed, that last loop. Again, it changed again. He’d touched you, even though he always stops. Maybe this will change too. 

“Isa,” you say, brighter than you can remember speaking in a while.

“Sif, hey!” He smiles at you, crosses his arms. The most northern point in your universe, keeping himself carefully away from you.

You say the joke perfectly, you always say the joke. You need him to laugh the way he does with you, or something in you really will snap apart entirely. You think of words, big floating ones you knew once because someone taught you but the how and why goes somewhere else.  Aphelion, the part of orbit farthest from the sun. 

He laughs, the world carries onward, and you watch.

As. His hand. 

Reaches out. 

Please, you think, shooting stars and fizzing bubbles and endless, deep, painful aching, wanting. Wanting. 

Wanting. 

“Oh, hey, Sif, you okay?” 

You blink. His face has shifted, worry more than mirth, and he’s looking at your hands, which are balled up so tight you’re biting right into the meat of your palms in perfect dark crescent jagged tears. Isa’s hand is hovering just there, in the air between you. 

Shit. Stars. You forgot.

Isa’s staring. “You looked really—” He cuts himself off, you watch his hand as he visibly thinks about grabbing yours and stops himself. That’s. That’s more than you’ve gotten, he shifted closer this time. 

He won’t touch you, he never does, you wait and wait and it doesn’t happen, it might never happen, but he’d thought about it. Does that count? 

“Sif, you’re… uh. Kinda worrying me here? Having a quiet day, or?” 

Right; the lines. Your mask. “Sorry,” you smile at him, ashamed and sheepish at yourself. Fit the bill and the play carries on. “Did you need help with anything?” 

Isa’s frown smoothes out, you relax your hands. The sting of it sends something to your brain that you don’t think about. 

Nobody touches you for the rest of that loop. 

You beat the king, you don’t ask any questions about wishes even though you’re supposed to, even though you should. Another thought has slid neatly in between, like a glass in a telescope. A lens to sharpen impossibly far away thoughts, pull them right into the space before your eye. 

You’re… curious, is the kinder way to phrase it. The itch in your palms, in your skin, is loud. You feel real when they’re touching you, when he is. You feel like you can stay. 

Is it okay to want? It can’t be, because you want it in the wrong ways. 

You’re distracted, stupid. Useless, fucking stupid idiot, blindingly bad at their job constantly and yet constantly in the front, the role of the clown etched into your blinding hands: 

A sadness gets too close. Mira’s healing is on cooldown and you're out of tonics. Slapstick, right?

The slide of its attack right against your rib cage knocks your breath from you, rolling silently out into the open. The floor jumps up to cradle you, and the battle slides somewhere sideways around you. It sounds like someone is calling your name. 

Isa’s face blurs in front of yours, pale and terrified, and instantly pulling you into his arms. You’re smiling, you shouldn’t be smiling. You can’t make yourself stop. 

“---Sif, are you— M’dame! It’s—” 

“We got it, it’s done. Quick, pull them into this room over here.” 

Something shifts, your midsection howls with some distant memory.

You’re still. Smiling. 

You must have made a noise, Isa’s face crumples. “Sorry, sorry, Sif, I — hang on, okay? Here.” He lifts you up. Holding you in his arms, your head tilting to press just there against the rabbit quick thrum of his heart. Isa’s holding you, cradling you carefully and bundling all the aching parts of you close. You feel so warm, so. 

Warm.

Mira appears in your field of vision. “Hang in there, Siffrin! I’m so sorry, I should be able to heal again in a minute, oh… I should have paced it out better!” She slides her hand into yours, giving you a reassuring, wobbly squeeze. You make yourself squeeze back and see the flicker of surprise and joy pass through under her worry.

You’re stealing these moments from them all, even now, aren’t you?

Does it have to be like this? With you, broken on the outside as much as you are on the inside, before Isa’ll be brave enough to reach out first, before Mira will believe you over her own brain? You’d do it, you think sickly. Dark as night. You’d break all your bones a thousand times again and suck all the joy right out of this moment too, if it means you can have it now. Because you’re greed and you’re envy and you’d dig your greasy claws into all of them and take every good thing they can give you– you’re already cataloging it, aren’t you? How to get this ending again? How to say your parts right? 

Sick. Disgusting. 

Freak. 

“Hush, hey? Eyes on me, Sif. We’re just gunna— can you clear the— yeah, thanks Mira. Okay, shh. Okay, just putting you down here.” No, you think with all your twisted sick parts, let me stay right here. If I loop, it’ll be warm, at least. I’ll die right here like this, and it’ll be the warmest I’ve felt in years. Wouldn’t that be nice?

There’s no burnt sugar on your lips yet, no tug in your stomach, though. You can have this, for more greedy vile seconds, and you’ll take them all. 

Odile swims into focus. “Siffrin, I need you to listen, alright? This is going to hurt, but we need to apply pressure. Can you nod?” 

You think you do. Odile seems content enough. 

“On the count of three then. One, two—” 

A fire blooms in swirling constellations at your side, fiery comets and collapsing stars all in one. It doesn’t feel like anything, but why would it? Silly, really. You’re not a star, you’re a blackhole. You’re what’s left behind when the star gets too tired to burn. 

“ — I know, oh, sweetheart, I know. Okay, yeah, you can squeeze my hand here, okay? As much as you need to. Crab, I’m so sorry, Sif.” Isa’s hand is in yours, he called you— you’re still warm. The pain feels like it’s siphoning itself away into a dark tunnel, a thousand miles away. 

“I should have blocked it, oh… why didn’t I think to block it?” 

“Let’s not play the blaming game, shall we?”

“Yeah! Frin’s hurt, and—and he’s crying a lot, so. We have to be nice, right? That’s what Nille did when I was sick, said you have to be quiet and nice.” 

“Oh, Bonnie, don’t look, okay? Can we—”

“Boniface, let's give them room here, just give me one second.” 

You’re… crying? You can’t feel your cheeks at all, just the hand in yours. Just the sparking lightning, stars in your ribs. Oh, you think you’re still smiling. 

Bonnie puts their hand on your ankle, you can see them peeking up at you over the lip of the table they’ve placed you on. Frowning and worried, thumb brushing back and forth across your leg in some practiced, unthinking movement. Odile is staring intently at your side, but has a gentle palm on your stomach like a balm. Mira’s brushing your hair from your face, and Isa—

They’re all touching you. You fit this once inside the confines of your own outlines, and it doesn’t hurt at all. 

The hands leave, Bonnie and Odile floating out of sight. Isa’s squeezes at your shoulder, knuckle brushing at your cheek. 

“Mira…” he says, he sounds grave. Heavier and lower than you know him as. 

Her hands shake as they move to your stomach, there’s a horrible noise around you like the time before you’d met them, you’d found an animal caught in a trap. Left out in the winter. You’d forgotten that, somehow. 

“I— I know, I know… I’m.” Mira sniffs, watery and shattering apart in a hundred ways. “I don’t… I don’t know if we have enough, why don’t we have enough?” 

Because you didn’t stop by the room on the first floor, probably. Because you lead and they follow and you hadn’t cared about tonics at all. 

“M’bad,” you say. Think about saying, it’s the same. She doesn’t seem to notice. 

The hand on your shoulder tightens more, and Isa bends closer. “Hey, hey… it’s okay, it’s— I’m here, okay? We’re here, Mira’s here. I— why’d you take that hit, Sif? I could have handled it.”

I’m the comedian, you think. I take the falls. You promised you’d never do it again, sit in the tree tops and be left behind; it’s okay if you go, though. Someone has to go first, right?

“Don’t go at all,” Isa says, a hard whisper that sounds like it hurts. He presses his forehead into yours, eyes squeezed shut and upside down. “Don’t go, Sif. Please, don’t go.” 

You think about telling him that it doesn’t hurt, that you’re warm. That you feel here, and held, and staying for once. You can’t feel your lips to tell if you speak. 

You want to cry, stars stuck right in your throat like boulders. You already know it won’t feel as warm the second time around.

There’s something wrong with you; slapstick, laughing, you’re smiling and hollow behind it all. You touch a tear to get back to Dormont faster and your dreams slide sideways and rancid on your tongue. Rotting fissures of disgust that are shapeless, nameless. And you, floating out into the Universe. Cold, empty. Eating the stars up for the warmth they hold inside. 

You dream that you’re on a stage, and you’re watching the play, and you know your parts in all the ways you don’t know what line is next at all. You dream that there’s another version of you, standing across in the hot lights. 

Isa walks out in costume, shadows heavy on him in capes and harsh angles; he has a mask with a long nose that just barely hides the dimples when he smiles. He puts his hand on the other Siffrin’s shoulder. 

You don’t feel it, it’s not yours. You’re overwhelmed with envy and greed and rage and wake before your hand can meet your own doppelgangers face.

And, the sickness at the center of you grows. 

You’re already thinking of it before your eye even opens in the field: how to get them to worry, to get them to hold you, how to make it slower, last longer. You could misthrow the bomb, but, no. There’s too much risk. Everyone stands too close for you to allow it, it might do too much at once, you’d loop before anyone could pull your rubble out from your skin. Getting frozen just means dreams, it just means Mira unsticking you. The blindingly infuriating option in town happens before anyone can see you. 

You catch yourself fantasizing about rivers of dark sticky nothing, pouring out of your side like the night sky itself. 

Normal people don’t do this, do they? Think of ways to manipulate their friends to pretend to care for them. Calculate how slow they can die, how much worry they can swallow up and hold inside themselves. Your insides are nothing, poison-noxious-empty-nothing, maybe they always have been.

You start thinking of caskets, of open funerals. The grass under your hands feels like maggots. 

“I couldn’t find it,” you say to Loop, because it at least looked like an accident this time. They’re still giving you a sideways glance but, it’s nothing neither of you can comment on out loud. “Do you know where I should be looking?” 

“Hm,” Loop says, flexing out their hands like they’re inspecting their nails. You have a sudden pang of intense envy for the way their skin pulses under their outlines, like magma under stone. At least they’re warm, you think vaguely, but— no. They’re stuck here too. Any warmth is just what’s left, right? That’s why you’re stardust, you’re what’s left. 

They tilt their head at you. “If I was a book on a subject no one had thought of in who knows how long, I probably wouldn’t be sitting out in the open.” 

True, and there are all those ones you can’t read. Where can you learn more about the patterns and the stars? 

If you tore yourself open. You shake your head. 

“I should ask the King, right?” You sigh. You make sure to make it look like you care about this, still. Like you’re trying and you’re tired, and that’s why you messed up. You’re not sure how Loop knows you so well, but you’re fairly certain they can’t read your mind at least.

“...Yes,” Loop says, squinting. 

You stare back, thinking nothing. 

“Hm. Well, it must get tiring having to walk back to all those tears to restart, no?” 

Are they… trying to get on your nerves? Slapstick, right? They want you to find something creative, surely. 

“No,” they wave a hand, “not antagonizing you on purpose of course!” 

Hm. Mind reading is back on the table. 

They snort. “No tricks required, silly. I just know you so well!”

“It. Is annoying to walk back,” You agree, squinting back. You’re not sure what Loop would be implying, unless– they called you the director once, maybe they know this play, too. Less the harlequin more the leading role.  “Well, I do have a dagger.” 

Loop giggles. “That’s true, you—” Suddenly, the mirth drops from their shoulders, a blank wide eyed stare takes over instead. “What do you mean you have a dagger.”

You shrug,  you know what the play demands. Separated lovers, hamartia, the you across the stage that gets everything he wants. Surely, they’ve seen you leaning in and taking more, right? Surely that’s damned you already, hasn’t it? Your fatal flaw, greed and indecision, like the brightest touch of sunlight streaming across a windowsill.

“Stardust, you can’t be serious! Stabbing yourself isn’t like a tear, you know! It’ll hurt! A lot!” 

Yes, you think. You know. And it’ll pour out of you somewhere else behind the warmth, and you’ll feel real. You’ll feel like you exist. 

“I’ve died multiple times already, Loop,” you roll your eye, playing at nonchalance just like every other mask you wear. “I know. It wouldn’t be any different.” 

Loop just. Stares. 

“It wouldn’t be any—” their voice cuts off, splinters. They don’t blink. “I don’t want you to!” 

Their light flares, fractals spinning off into the swaying trees. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them react like this. “Since when are you in charge of me?” 

“Since I chose to be here to help you, obviously!” 

You scoff, tucking your face further into your cloak. “You said you didn’t choose me. You said that. So why does it matter? It’s faster, I’m dying all the time.” You think, you pick open the scab wound of the dark oil slick inside yourself and say: “I’ll just use the glass, then. It’ll be messier, won’t it?”

Dark ultimatums and threats behind painted lips, is that what you are now?

Loop’s glaring now, fists balled up at their sides. “You’re an idiot. You’re— I don’t want you to, because it should hurt, because you should care. Because you are the only thing you get to keep across all these blinding restarts, don’t you understand tha—”

Something happens. 

The air goes still, clicks. Resets, fizzes out. Burnt sugar, but you don’t feel a tug. 

Loop stares back at you, eyes white and unseeing. “You can use your dagger whenever you want. It’ll end the loop if you choose. Whenever you want.” 

“Um,” you say.

“You can use the dagger. It will end the loop.” they say, voice stretched out and blank.

You don’t move. The sugar taste goes acrid around the edges. 

Loop blinks back with another fizz before you can manage to think further. They won’t look at you.

“You should probably leave,” Loop says, tone flat in a way that reminds you of harp strings tightening. “I don’t want to see your face again, this loop.” 

You run. 

You’re scissors type, you know what that means: Cold, calculating. Unfeeling. Callous, sometimes. You’ve tried to live the opposite, ever since you— since you woke up. Since you met Isa, really, and decided to make yourself the one who jokes and leads and checks for traps. 

You’re starting to think of other words, now. Void, maybe. Trapped, is another one. Harlequin, pierrot. 

“Hey, Sif? You feeling okay?” Isa asks, in the safe room, you forget which floor you’re on. You haven’t touched your madelines at all, and you need to, or Bonnie will get upset. You know this, you just— you spaced out for a moment is all. Your thumb is on your dagger unthinkingly, inside your pocket where nobody can see at all.

It feels like you’re on a cliffside, waiting for someone to care enough to call you back from the ledge. Waiting for the wind to blow either direction and make a decision for you.

You give him a thumbs up, and cram the whole fistful of food into your mouth at once. 

He blinks, snorts. “Hungry as ever, huh? Don’t choke on it!” 

Yeah. Hungry. That’s another word you’d use. Gnawing. Constantly ravenously hungry and greedy for everything and nothing at all. 

You wear gloves most of the time, just because it’s easier. Because it means less splinters and road rash when you trip and less likely to nick yourself when you were training before. They have a pointed tip, just a little from when your nails grew out longer. 

You see your hands and you see claws. Something to dig in, to hold in place. Something to bleed. 

For the first time in a long time, the thought scares you.

You think about running back Dormont and to Loop and begging. About throwing your dagger across the room, about fighting with your fists and claws. Loop, you think, please. I don’t want to be the leading role, or the director anymore. Don’t let me have this, say no. Take it back. 

Take it back. 

You can’t keep the doll or the bell or the four leafed plant, but you can keep your hands, and those can stay yours, can’t they? If you’re good, if you play the clown right? They’re your hands and your mask isn’t your face yet, it isn’t, and you could find the way out Loop is so sure exists, and you could keep all of you right here and yours, couldn’t you?

Except.

The skin of your hands is smooth. No scar to remember the last time they touched you at all. 

The pain didn’t even matter to you then, either. It should, Loop said. It should hurt. Like the hurt is a benediction, an earned punishment. Or maybe a reward. Maybe Loop was too late already. Maybe if you cut yourself apart, there’d be absolutely nothing at all inside to fall out. 

You can’t trust yourself with anything anymore. 

Isa watches you funny, as you eat all the food Bonnie will give you. You find yourself smiling without meaning to.

You play with your dagger at the picnic with the stars lighting up the curve of your blade. 

The King won again, you were distracted. Fighting him isn’t even hard now, usually, but you didn’t tell Mirabelle to prepare the shield at the right time again, and you didn’t ask him anything about wishes at all. Stupid mistakes, forgetful ones, and everyone died. Loop would laugh at you, probably, if you’d been brave enough to see them. 

The dagger sits at home in your hands, light and quick as always. Flipping it up, around. A flourish between your fingers. You’re not sure if someone taught you this, long before like guided lessons or well worn family tradition. Maybe your mother taught you, or your father, and all that’s left of either of them is just muscle memory. Maybe you should feel guilt for your hunger, for what you want as some kind of sullying or a defacing of this last memento.

“You’re good with your dagger,” Odile speaks up, soft in the night ambience. “Practicing this late, are we?”

Performance is practice, you think someone once said. “Want to be ready for tomorrow.”

Odile leans back on her hands, Mirabelle and Isa are swinging Bonnie around between their linked arms in the field— giggles pouring up into the open air as easy as anything. Fireflies chase along with them, like stars pulled straight from the sky. 

“I think you’ll do just fine, Siffrin,” Odile says without looking at you. She sighs. “Though I appreciate your focus on preparedness. I can’t say I’m not nervous myself.” 

Odile? Nervous? You’d never have guessed. Her mask is better than yours, even. She must read it in your face as she glances over, she chuckles to herself as she pushes up her glasses. “Oh come now, it can’t be so surprising that I have nerves. We are facing the end all be all subject of our quest, are we not?”

You think about all the times you’ve won, the times you haven’t even come close. You think of a massive fist, tightening, someone calling for help— of being in the trees and thinking: they made it there without you. You swallow. “We are.” 

You flip your blade around your fingers again; this is new in itself, having a quiet side conversation with Odile isn’t in the usual script. Normally, you sit in silence, smiling at the antics of everyone else until the stars are fully out and bright and no one knows the name for them except for you, but it’s time for bed. 

You would be excited, usually. Differences are so hard to come by anymore, you should be excited. You’re somewhere beside yourself, watching from across the stage though, mask in place and empty as always.

You remember to smile at her though, and give a tiny shrug. “He’s also facing us, too.” 

Odile snickers. “You know, somehow I hadn’t quite thought of it like that.” 

You don’t know what her point is, or why she’s even speaking to you; it feels like you’re lying in a thousand directions all at once. You flip the blade, and balance the tip on your finger until your tremors shake it to the ground. Odile raises an eyebrow. 

“Is… something the matter, Siffrin?” 

Stars. You don’t even have it in you to be afraid either. Your smile is bland and stretched thin, a veneer of paint, a shitty thin nothing of cheap fabric. “Nervous, too. I guess.” 

She breathes out. Bonnie shrieks with giggles a few feet away, sending another spark of fire flies bursting into the sky. “Well, never let it be said that I’m one for emotions, but. I have faith in you completely. If there’s a way through, we’ll follow.” 

“Yeah,” you say, because you lie more than you breathe these days.

Blackholes and sinking ships, you realize you’ll just drown them all with you.

To give yourself credit, you try to make it all the way to the King. You commit yourself to trying to read the books and look for an answer, the way through that Loop promised, you even pretend you believe it. There’s something wild in your chest that sounds like a clock ticking even as you skim pages, a counting down of hands— the clock tower, six o’clock, dinner and food and your friends laughing around a meal that fills absolutely nothing at all in you, it’s all irrelevant. It shouldn’t be, though. 

It should be the only thing that matters, shouldn’t it?

If you can break out, this loop, this time, then— you won’t think about it anymore, you tell yourself. If this is it, you’ll stop. You’ll leave your dagger and glass shards and sharp edges alone. You’ll find warmth somewhere else. 

If you let me out, I’ll stop, you think, pacing alongside the stage. 

Please, you think, aimlessly. 

The Universe stays silent. 

You linger, at the end after winning once more, saving the world like it’s the first time and it’s real. You spend too much time talking to everyone as many times as you can even though Bonnie calls you stupid and Mira gives you a nervous smile and Odile pretends to read while watching you. There’s a biting tearing thing in your heart that wants out, that’s caged behind the teeth in your throat: notice, it says. Pay attention. Stop me. Keep me here. 

“It’ll hurt,” Loop had said, and you know this. You know. Your heart already hurts. 

“Siffrin?” Odile’s voice rings through the static in your head. You’re standing in front of the Head Housemaiden, and she’s looking at you with a strange half-smile, full of concern and confusion. She hasn’t started speaking yet. 

Move, you tell yourself. You’re not sure what your face is doing at all, frozen in time right before the plunge. 

Isa perks up. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

The Head Housemaiden tilts her head at you, hands clasped together. Her mouth opens and— no, you think, please. I’ll be good. I’ll stop thinking about black holes. Promise me my insides are good. Tell me there’s something at all inside, it’s not just empty, I’ll believe you this time. I swear.

“Frin?” Bonnie steps forward, frowning. You can’t. Turn your head. Watching the slow parting of her lips, the death sentence waiting beyond it. 

I didn’t even kill myself this time.

Isa reaches for you, face alarmed and serious like it rarely is. He looks sheet white, concerned beyond measure. Terrified for you, even as the world turns sickly sweet and burnt around you.

“-- You’ll be going back,” she says, of course she says. Fat droplets of tears pouring from her face like she’s sorry. She won’t even try to listen, she’s wearing a mask, too. 

“Siffrin!” 

He’s reaching for you. You can’t reach back, you don’t try to. 

It’s not like he’d touch you anyways, you’re not even bleeding. 

There’s a dream waiting for you. It might be a memory, the way it shifts and grows like paint on a page, but you don’t remember. You never remember any of the things that you want to. 

“Hey Sif?” Isa says, because you’re sitting together on a bench in another city, far before you had all the orbs to unlock the first door, before you’d lost your eye. The stars are twice as bright but you don’t think about them, that hasn’t happened yet.

Adventure was fresh on your lips, then, wasn’t it? It still felt like a page being written. This thing that existed in the in betweens of Isa’s words wasn’t so thick and cloistering, you hadn’t seen it at all yet. 

You tilt your head towards him, kicking your feet. You don’t remember where Mira and Odile had taken Bonnie— maybe some supplies shop, or for ingredients. Maybe they’d forgotten you entirely, you wouldn’t know. 

He rubs the back of his neck, looking down at the grooves in the cobblestone road below you. “I was just thinking. Not to be morbid, but… what if. What if we don’t win?” 

You’d smiled at him before. You’re not sure if you’re smiling here, if the mask is already part of you before you walked into the play. “We will,” you say, because that’s what the wish wants, or thinks it wants, and you wouldn’t leave where you were without it. 

He gives you a tiny lopsided smile back. “Right, love the confidence, really. I shouldn’t be talking about this, I just. Do you think he’d—” He swallows, glances around. “We’re really the last hope, is all, huh.” 

The last hope, the only one. The combined fueled up image of hope at all, and it’s all stuck in the fading crumpled up photograph that is you, faking a grin. Sorry, everyone. Show’s lost its sparkle. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here. 

You pretend to contemplate this. “I think that means something,” you say, not knowing that it’s because of the Universe yet, because you’re following and it’s leading, yet. Because you don’t remember who told you the bedtime stories or your own language, or all the words that don’t stick because you learned them differently. 

Isa looks at you, absorbing every word like it’s scripture. You shrug. “Doesn’t it? If it’s just us here, then. That means it’s supposed to be us.”

“Huh,” Isa says. You forget the next part. The dream fades between two planes of glass, Isa’s voice melting and pulling itself across dimensions in front of you. 

“I guess it has to be you then, too.” 

Spotlight. On. 

You… wake up, in the field. You think you wake up. It’s hard to believe there’s differences between when you sleep and when you’re on stage. It’s all motions, even your dreams are repeating. 

There’s the static in your hands again, tiny electric jumping stars trying to burst straight out through your skin, making them shake and tremble. It itches. You can barely think about anything else— enter Mira, say the method, find the book for Odile, check the blinding change god statue, talk to Isa and waitwaitwait. You let Bonnie hug you and try to hug them back as tightly as you can.

They’ll hug you when you’re seemingly fine, they’re the only one that will. Is that enough?

Of course it isn’t. You’re made of greed and gnawing hungry things, nothing is ever enough.

It should hurt, you think. And: It will.

The giddy feeling is back, distant and layered but it’s enough to make your grins come easier and spread wider. Some of your usual monotone affect is missing, you’re not sure if that’s the version they’d remember anymore. Did you talk more often? Were you happy? You think you’re happy now, knowing that you can bend everything again to your needs. That you can play the part right, that you can only follow and make them join you the ways that make you warm.

Sick, disgusting. Manipulative. You’re too full of thick lightning bolts and storm clouds to mean it the usual way. 

You get past the trap easily, forgetting to seem surprised at all with this constant thrum of go, move, next, pushing at your outlines, but no one questions you at least. Not that you’d have the ability to play it off, really. Maybe you’d just stab yourself the moment they asked, rewrite the whole scene mid word, wouldn’t that be funny. 

Odile gives you a strange long look as you navigate around a corner easily. Your hand hovers over the hilt of your dagger, is it now? 

Should it be now?

The moment passes, no one speaks. You don’t look at yourself in the mirror. You close your eyes and smile as big as you can and look everywhere except for yourself when Odile hands it to you. You ignore the way she stares at the photo slightly too long, also. 

Whatever she’s seeing, you already know.

And then: there’s wishes, made by everyone at the Favor Tree. Involving you somehow, you’re sure of it. And you need to— logic says you need to ask them, to figure out what the wishes were specifically, how it’s keeping you here. Logic says: this is the next step. 

You have to go back to the start, walking to a tear would take too long. Isn’t that annoying?

“Oh, I should have asked everyone in Dormont,” you say out loud, not for your family because they’re just characters on a page, they’re the Il Dottore and the Franceschina and Il Capitano and you’re erasing them even as you speak, but for Loop. To keep up appearances on a thing they shouldn’t be watching anyways. Here, Loop, an offering. A reason for what I’m doing, isn’t that nice? You can look away, now. We don’t have to talk about it, you don’t have to watch. There’s a purpose to it, it’s efficiency, isn’t it? Scissors type means efficient. 

“Ask them what?” Mirabelle says, with a head tilt. You’re in the secret side library and it’s cramped in here with old paper smells and mildew and the not-real sense of should-be warmth. Her voice echoes off the stone walls, wrapped in the candlelight Odile had kindly set. 

“What they wished for,” you say. “Maybe if enough people wished it, even though the steps were wrong, it could do something.” Even though there was nothing to hold it, maybe you would have. You’re a blank canvas, and you could fold right around anyone's wishes just to steal the warmth, you’d eat straight through the stars themselves.

Bonnie perks up. “Like beating the King?” 

Isa glances between the kid and you, a small divot forming on his face. “I guess so, but we can just find out when we beat him, no?”

You smile. You smile and you smile. “Sure, yeah. Let’s go then.” And you make your way towards the door. 

Isa doesn’t move, hands on his hips and staring at you funny. 

“Sif? You look weird.” 

Do you? Your face is somewhere far below the swimming static, you wouldn’t know what you’re doing with it. You’re just. Moving. Fingers dancing across the hilt in your pockets, feeling cramped even though there’s a perfect bubble of distance around you and everyone. Oil and water, they’d kill themselves to get away from you. The thought makes a bubble of laughter crack at your teeth. 

“Tired,” you say. Think you say. Isa nods, slowly, crossing his arms warily. 

“Well. You didn’t get a nap today.” 

Bonnie gasps. “Cranky Frin!” 

“Perhaps we can make it to the next floor quickly, then. Stop for a breather?” Odile suggests. 

Bonnie throws a hand up. “I’ll get him snacks!” 

You hate when they talk around you like this, more distance, more separation. Talking behind your back, making eyes, side conversations they can’t have with you. Their roles are to deceive, are they not? To doublespeak to be the Pantalone and Dottore and all the other masks. It’s all just space and space and cold empty nothing. Your hand is on the hilt now. 

“Right,” you say. “Let’s leave then.” 

Isa stares at you for another long second. Do it, you think viciously. Cold, calculating. Manipulative. You’re a coward. You won’t push it, you won’t touch me. You won’t say it. Do it. 

He breathes out, he lets you pass. 

You step out into the hallway first, they can’t see the way your palms bite into the grooves of your dagger’s hilt, or the way your eyes close. They can’t see the hitch to your breath as you think. This will hurt. Then: it should hurt. 

You hold the blade out, dark and smooth like a stone in the river before you. This is thy sheath.

It’s surprisingly not hard at all to push, like butter really. You try to give them time to notice, because you’re a sick wanting thing. You treat your blood like an offering. See? See, it’s dark inside, it’s nothing. Does that scare you? Do you want it?

“Siffrin, what are you— shit! Stop that, Isa, grab him!” 

“What— oh, fuck, Sif, why—” 

It does hurt, worse than almost anything, but you’ve died slower. Isa knocks your dagger out of your hand, you hear Mira’s ragged gunshot of a gasp as she pulls Bonnie close and tucks their face into her side as they fight to know what’s happening. Isa’s grip on your wrist is hard, it hurts, too; the good hurt, the kind that sinks all the way into your bone, swims farther and worms into your heart like a confirmation.

“Sif, why would you—” Isa chokes, face crumbling blearily above you and— oh, you’re on your back again. He’s holding you upright with an arm behind you, you can feel the heat of him through your shirt because— your cloak is in a pile across from you. Dark, dark stains like ink blots across the front.

Fire burning like dry kindling runs through you. Your eye crosses, fades out and back in. Odile is pressing her shirt against your side and speaking quickly to Mirabelle in a tone you haven’t heard from her before. She could heal you, you realize with some amount of dread. Then you’d have to— you’d have to explain. 

That can’t happen, they wouldn’t want you at all. You bite your tongue, waiting for the taste of sugar. 

It’s funny, really. You want to drag out the seconds long enough to know, not enough to be known. Greedy, selfish. You can’t have it all. 

You trip over into the sweet empty warmth anyways before you can be dragged farther back into the night, and feel relieved. 

Avoiding Loop is normal, it’s fine. You’re fine. You crave warmth and dream of rivers of nothing at all, cascading ink spills of night sky, of eating a star whole and burning through the paper of your skin. But you’re fine. You feel nothing, so that’s fine. 

They said it should hurt, and it did. You did it right. You can do it again, if you need to. 

Want and need are funny words aren’t they. Words that crawl up into each other and rust and break apart into nothing when you pull at the seams. Your needs are like that: a hangnail that bleeds and bleeds, a word that’s lost all its meaning and can’t be spoken. 

(You try to speak it anyways, once. Twice, alone in the field. The tinge of copper in your mouth that rips you open isn’t even anything special anyways, like you’ve grabbed hold of the singularity and pulled the gravity back outwards. Just means the blackhole is you.) 

Acting doesn’t require feeling, at least. It requires knowing lines. No one asks, no one says anything. No one touches you. 

You wake up in the middle of the night holding your dagger, the tip pressed against your chin, and you think: this, too, is a play. These are my lines: the next scene beyond the intermission. Maybe that’s what this is all for. 

But then you’d be sitting here, all the blood in you lined up against your spine and the backs of your legs, pooling and still. And you’d still be cold. 

You put the dagger down, it stabs your finger and for a moment it barely feels like anything. 

There’s something to what Loop said. The broken doll will never see the end, you’re not sure if you’re the mask or the actor. You pour and you pour everything out that lives in you and it goes nowhere. Just you and the space and no sound reaching through. 

Stabbing yourself isn’t even hard the second time. You mess it up and do it too fast though, so all you can see is the rounding of Isa’s scared eyes before you’re yanked to the stage. The third time, there’s not even anyone around to see. 

A long time ago, someone told you a story.

Look up at the night sky, all the way up to the moon, they said. Do you see how brightly it shines? That is made of love, you know. The sun is long past its time for rest, and the world went dark, and she rose to give us light to walk by. 

You’re walking on a rock hewn path, you’re jumping from stone to stone carefully. Someone waits patiently, holding your hand as you contemplate how to jump and how to land. You don’t know where this is, but it doesn’t matter because a hand is in yours and the moon shines bright because it is love. 

The sun's light made her vanish, so they could never meet. The moon asked for love as a messenger, just for her, so the sun could hear her in the day. The messenger went up to the clouds and pressed them together, and made time slow. You see the sun, just there?

The sky is something, another shade. Not light or dark. A vibrant thing that pours out of the inbetweens of night, the way your eyes have forgotten how to see. 

That’s for them. The dawn, so they could meet. So they can say ‘I love you’, and know they are loved too. Them, reaching across time to hold each other for a moment every new day. When you meet, you can see the love, because it looks like yours in the shape of their eyes and their lips and their smile pouring the sun right back into you. Do you know this, Siffrin? 

When you think of this, you imagine a smile and creased eyes and dimples and the sun, pouring love into you, too. You don’t think of it. The world has never let you think of it. 

You carry touch and love in you like an illness. Yours is not a love that looks like anyones. It pins down everything in its path like butterfly wings under glass, and keeps the dawn stretching out and out forever. And you are made wrong for it. 

“Hi Frin,” Bonnie waves their hand at you, making a show of slowly inching towards you until they poke you lightly in the stomach. “You saw that, right? You didn’t even flinch that time! Good kid, good kid!” 

You didn’t flinch because you didn’t feel it. All of this for a touch you don’t feel anyways. Your arm is just an arm attached to the messy strings that make up your center; it’s not yours anyways. You don’t exist there. 

Bonnie squints at you and tilts their head, hands on their hips with a pout. “You didn’t eat your food, you know. Did you not like it? I have other food.” 

The samosa is in your hands, or— no. It’s not a samosa. It’s plantain chips. You think of rocks and bleeding to death and cracking your head open so hard all of you runs out onto the grass like egg yolks. You think of Bonnie, skipping along and finding the empty shell of you and saying silly stupid Frin, napping out here all day long, and propping you up and taking you along inside the castle anyways. It would be the same, wouldn’t it? They’d made it to the King without you. 

Dead weight, and sinking ships. 

Bonnie pokes you again. “Frin? Are you even listening? Are you doing something stupid like sleeping with your eye open? Your back will get all crunched up like that, you know, Dile said so.” 

Are you sleeping? The maschere would know. Your palm is splitting itself open and sewing itself up over and over again and never leaving a mark. Do you know this, Siffrin? It should hurt. 

The maschere blinks at you. “Um. Frin? I know we— I mean. I was angry at you, and I didn’t talk to you and stuff, but you know I… I was just worried, right? Za said I should say it to you when I asked so, in case you didn’t know somehow. I didn’t mean it, Frin, and— and this is pretty serious in here and we’re gonna get Nille back, but. I don’t want you to go away, not really.” 

The actor playing you isn’t moving. Puppet strings cut, limp and still on the stage floor. There’s an exit line they should say, it’s the same one for every show because it’s repeatable and inoffensive. He should say it now, you think, if he’s done. He can’t leave the stage without saying it. 

“Frin? …. Is it a quiet day? You— normally you nod or something, I— are you ignoring me?” 

Maybe he can pull the strings from inside himself right out, through their fingertips or their mouth. String themselves back up the right way, the kind that has a smile. 

“Frin, you’re scaring me. It’s not. It’s not funny, stupid! Your face is scary!” 

Say goodnight, leave the stage. If you’re tired of shining, let the moon burn instead, come on. Say the line. Leave the stage. 

“Dile! I think… I think something’s wrong with Frin! Belle? Za!! Can anyone—” 

“It’s fine,” the actor says. “It should hurt.” 

“It should– what?” 

There’s no dawn here. No weights to hold you inside yourself. The actor flourishes his blade with gusto, and the crowd ooh’s and ahh’s with the quick flash of steel. He can find the strings, if he looks. Look, maschere, love will win out in the end, we just have to keep the play moving! You could help string them up, too, you know. Il Dottore would know how to make it neat.

I can show you my strings, you think, and this maschere’s mask is changing right before your eyes. You wait for it to match yours, but you’re already pouring your love out all over the stage floor and it’s not light at all, is it? Lightless, as black as the night; taking all the stars and spitting them up, used and dark, too. 

You think you see other masks, rounded eyes and stiff mouths, and theirs aren’t like yours either. Maybe if you. Dig in. Deeper. 

Visceral— something bright but not darkless. A great big splash of it. There we go, the actor laughs. There is something inside after all.

“Siffrin!” 

Well, that one had been an accident, you think. Your brain had tripped and fallen outside the lines, and you hadn’t caught it in time, easy mistake really. You don’t even know if anyone had held you, if you bled out too quickly onto the stone. Why Bonnie had been left alone with you at all, it’s just blurs and noise.

You’re glad Bonnie won’t remember your last burden at least.

(Some maggot filled corpse in your mind wonders if they’d get the joke of it, the slapstick at the center. If they’d look in and see you laughing. Didn’t get hurt for you, Bonbon! That was for me! Selfish selfish Siffrin, good kid good kid.)

It’s almost funny, really, how little of your sanity you have left. Do you even know what loop it is, anymore? Do you remember all the times you killed yourself? Maybe you forgot. You don’t remember anything anymore beyond this field and the dagger and this hunger in you gnawing at every thought. 

You look at your palm being smooth and whole and want to tear it wide open. You do, with the sharp points and your nails to dig in wider, and you reset because no one would find you here in the grass because you sent Mira away and your skin is smooth again. Over and over again, smooth glassy palms like nothing ever happened. 

Giant gaping messy holes digging down into the center of everything. Perfect, smooth black leather and pale skin. Someone once said you had a long love line. You slice right down along it just to be sure your love can’t hurt anyone else. 

Maybe it hasn’t, right? If you find a way out and through, you’ll be the only one left to hold all these shredded versions of yourself. You’ll have bit and chewed your way through a hellish cocoon and emerged as some fucked up mirrored version of everything you hate, and they’ll all say you’re the same. 

Loop won’t though. Loop will know, Loop always knows. 

You don’t know how long you sit there. 

“Siffrin! Are you napp–” 

Oh. 

You tilt your head back. You’re sitting in the middle of the field, trees swaying with blank audience faces around. Cheering and clapping in the breeze. 

Act Five

Scene Nine

Harlequin is sat in the open field, tossing about their favorite dagger. The field is empty as it always is. Harlequin has been having some fun to himself. The grass is dewy and dark beneath him.

Franceschina enters. Stage left. 

Franceschina: [Siffrin] what— (immediately, stunned into silence)

She is coming to fetch the Harlequin from a nap in the fields. They are gathering all the maschere for a feast! Their big day begins tomorrow, and she freezes mid stride, taking in the scene before her.

Franceschina: Is that. (faltering) Oh my— 

Her hands come to cover her mouth. Her mask remains beautiful and pristine, her skirts sway. 

Harlequin: (loud laughter) My nap went too long again.

Franceschina: (struggling to speak, hand over mouth) I’ll… I’ll get someone, or. No, I— you’re bleeding, [Siffrin], what— What happened! 

She shuffles forward, pausing. Hands outstretched as if to assist, but too afraid to dare to come close to the Harlequin. They must never touch of course.  

Harlequin: (through laughter) I’m just napping. Just a nap, silly. I might nap some more. 

The Harlequin flourishes his blade, smiling wide.

Franceschina: (lurching forward) W–wait! I– what if we just talk? Can we talk, please?

Harlequin pauses. 

Harlequin: (perplexed) What is there to say?

Franceschina: You— (visibly gathering herself) you’re hurt.

Harlequin: It doesn’t hurt.

Franceschina pales.

Franceschina: It— 

Harlequin: (tilting their head, thoughtful) It should though, shouldn’t it? Maybe there’s nothing left to hurt.

Harlequin flips the blade, grips it hard by the handle. Pointed in at themselves, smiling.

Franceschina: (lunging forward) Wait! 

And pushes it. Directly into. 

His heart. 

Scene end.

The pages are blank, they’re blank they’re blank and you grab at your handle but it won’t stick. You wake up and your hand slips right through the back of it, right through into the dirt itself and nothing at all can keep you here. 

I need it, you think, maybe you say. Mirabelle might stare, the Franceschina can never touch the Zinna here, she might leave instead with the knowing of it. Doesn’t matter, the script restarts. But it can’t restart because you can’t find your props. 

You practically run to the tree, blurting out some rote shit to Il Capitano Isa that won’t blindingly matter just to make him leave. If he says anything, if he looks at you with that concerned mask, you have teeth and you can tear, what does it matter. Isn’t that funny, Loop? You said they wouldn’t be mine anymore, and you were right! Stage props, a puppet you were given to play your part better. Any part is reattachable! 

Loop can find your props, the benefactor knows. They’ll set your strings right. 

“I thought I might just stay out of it, far be it from me to judge how you handle being trapped after all, but this is getting too pathetic even for me,” Loop is saying. Loop isn’t a mask, they have no expression at all and the mask is the maschere. It’s what the play demands, Loop isn’t playing the right part. 

“No, Stardust,” Loop frowns. It’s funny that they don’t have a nose or lips— maybe they are a mask, just a blank one. A nothing emotion, not laughing or crying. The thought makes some forgotten panic shift around in your throat. 

“Siffrin. Stay here, listen to me. Just— feel the bark under your hands? The wind? That’s all real, you know it is. You’re real. Don’t go down that road.” 

Your mouth moves, you don’t hear any of your own words. Puppets can’t speak. You think about wanting to stay, that it’s what you’ve always wanted, but now you’ve lost everything else but the staying and it’s leaving you too. Time is fluttering right past you without you being part of it at all, that doesn’t seem fair. 

“It’s not. It’s not fair, you’re right, and you can be mad all you want, Stardust. Be mad at me, if you must. Or— or the stars, or the Universe for leading you here. But feel something, at least, it’s better that way. It is.” 

It should hurt, you remember. But it didn’t, it didn’t even hurt that first time. You can’t remember the last time it hurt at all. 

“Your friends! You did this for them, didn’t you? That matters. Are they even people to you anymore? Stars, you spent all that blindingly useless time running through their problems because of what. Because the only thing you think you’re worth is keeping them safe. It’ll hurt if you stop seeing them! It’ll hurt more than anything.” 

That’s. Specific. You think that might be true, you miss them. The masks taking up their face and their names aren't the same, and they don’t touch you and you don’t feel it anyways. Pierrot, the sad clown; somewhere an audience is laughing as your misfortune catches you sideways over and over because you’re meant for this. 

“For stars sake, it is adorable really, how completely inept to anything in The Universe—” 

Leads. You can only— 

“ — Follow? My voice, at least? I know, Stardust. You can’t— this isn’t what I came back here to witness either, you know!” 

You bite your tongue, it pulls the focus back in. Planets, stars. You’re here in these hands and this skin, for now. For now. 

“How blindingly stupid can you– oh! You’re back. Well, that was painful. Let’s never make me watch that again, hm? Have your existential meltdowns somewhere else, yes?” 

You… blink, feel around the backs of your teeth. Stretch your claws hands and relax. Okay. Okay. 

“... sorry,” you manage, it scratches at your throat. 

Loop stares at you, brows pressed tight and firm together, like a current on a blank sea. 

You breathe in. And out. “I’m back. I think.”

“You think?” 

“It’s not like I meant to–” 

“No,” Loop stands up abruptly. You realize that they’re as tall as you, it seems funny. You’d thought they’d stretch up taller, like their shooting star parts would brush against the bottom of the leaves, but they stay at your eye height instead. “You didn’t mean to, but you did. You took the dagger, and you used it more times than you should have, and you’ve gone all… desperately pathetic and charmingly stupid with the remainder. Like I said you would.” 

“It would have happened anyways.” 

“I guess we won’t know that now, will we! So desperate to throw yourself into a gorey tragedy, hm?”

Not a tragedy. There’s too much laughing. 

“Oh no, I know you know your play structures, Stardust. We call this pile of dead bodies a tragic waste, don’t we? Can’t have the catharsis without the death of the villain, and you seem awfully primed to just let him win up there.” 

Him? Oh, the King. You’d forgotten he existed, isn’t that funny? He’d be furious to know. You’ve forgotten your land and where you were born and you’ve forgotten the only other person who has the shape of it somewhere in them. Maybe that’s what you need. They’d held you when you’d tried to say it, hadn’t they? Like biting clean through your own tongue. 

Loop glares. “Now, Stardust, I know you’re not thinking about that directly in front of me. I know you wouldn’t do that to me.” 

You would, you are. You shouldn’t, but you are. 

There’s a flicker of something in their face, an unreadable other. You think about when they went blank, the strained monotone like the palest shade of grey to their voice. There’s no sugar though. 

“I’m here to help, remember that. Regardless of what you believe, I asked for that much. You make it rather hard, you know.” 

It’s fine, you think. It’s me. It’s how I was made. 

“I should go,” you say. You want to remember the name, bleed out through your eyes and nose but having known that you held it for a second at all. Maybe it would be warm then, too. To remember anyone at all like that, maybe it would matter. 

“And do what?” Loop sounds angry.

You shrug. “There’s… I have to ask everyone about what they wished.” 

“You did that already, did you forget?”

You. Did?

Loop stares at you, hands balled on their knees. “Yes. You asked everyone, and then you went through the House and you found the list in the Head Housemaiden’s quarters, and honestly Stardust, do you think this act is fooling anyone?”

What act, what at all. The mask is the character, they are the same. If there’s no curtain call the play never ends. 

“The act where you pretend you care about any of this.” 

You blink. “I…” 

Loop crosses their arms impatiently. “You’re not trying to get out, to follow the clues. That desperate thread of hope you adorably keep clinging to is just hanging there all sad in the middle of nothing while you prance around in the background trying to control how everyone cares for you.” 

“I’m not controlling them,” you frown. You are, and you aren’t. You’re following the lines, you didn’t make the masks. 

“Pfft.” Loop giggles that sharp pointed way. “Sure, you’re only controlling how you hurt yourself in front of them to make them react how you need.” 

Selfish. Disgusting, you know this, you’ve heard all of this before from yourself. 

You’re not angry, you’re nothing at all. But your palms itch and Loop won’t let you tear them open here. “I don’t have to sit here,” you remind them. You avoided them for however many loops, if they want that again. 

“You don’t,” Loop agrees. “But you’re the most yourself right now than you have been. And I’m tired of watching this stupid exercise.” 

“Then don’t watch!” You think, but your mouth moves and with it, the whole cage you bar the worst parts of yourself with. It bursts out of you, the worms, the maggots, all of it. Dead on the floor. 

Your chest heaves. “Just. Look away, then. I’m fucked up, manipulative; you think I can’t see the blinding shitty reality of me? I know, alright? It doesn’t— I don’t feel it! Nothing. Not this, right now. Not you. It’s just. A big black hole, right there.” Your hand is on your chest, the pit that yawns. “Pulling every fucking thing with it. Doesn’t matter.” When it’s on the outside, it’s warm. It exists. Loop can’t take that from you, they can’t. 

You won’t let them. 

They stare. It’s not shock on their face. “I said I wouldn’t tell you how to deal with your prison, but I am here to help you. You wouldn’t believe how annoying it is to know those aren’t the same.” 

You feel… something shift. A small rewind, like sugar cubes melting in a cup of tea. No. You reach inside your cloak, hand on your dagger. Everything in your mind says ‘it’s not the time for that’, like it’s locked up tight in its sheath somehow, no matter how hard you pull. Your hand slips right through. Your prop is— 

Your hands scrabble at the hilt, clawing at it, the belt, the leather. Nothing shifts. You stare up at Loop, sitting impassively. That small furrow in their brows. 

“You can’t— what did you do?” 

Loop has the audacity to shrug, inspecting their nails instead of you. Legs crossed and poised as ever, like the missing control over anything going on with you means so little. Maybe you are angry, maybe the gravity well will let you keep this. 

“I’ll just bite myself apart then,” you snarl, leaping to your feet. The world sways around you, spinning in orbit around the star in front of you. “I’ll leave and I’ll find the. The glass shard and, my teeth.” Fangs, they’re fangs and claws on the outside, you’ll make it all outside. Loop wants to see a tragic waste? Okay. Fine. Gauntlet set. “I did it before. I’ll just do it again. I’ll loop right now.” 

“Do it,” Loop meets them, evenly. “I’ll keep pulling it from you any time you try. If you so desperately need the child safety lock, I’ll give you it.” 

You stalk away, and back. Caged in a bigger prison. A stage within a stage. “What’s the point? You said it was faster. Anything to make a loop faster, you said.” 

“I said I might make the same choice, not that I wanted you to,” Loop matches. That strange expression is still annoyingly floating in front of you. You hate it, you hate seeing it. 

“So let me make my choice!” 

Loop stands, slow and slinking as always. “I did, Stardust. You were stupid with it. Contrary to your charming and adorably stupid self destructive desires, this is for your best interest.”

You— their face is the only thing in focus, that unaffected heavy stare. You’re pinned under it, a bug under a magnifying glass. Slowly being heated by the sun, burning apart from the inside. You’re neither the moon nor the sun at all, are you, just some insignificant creature trying to pretend to be big enough to be part of it. But— 

It matches, you realize. Their eyes, their frowning steady brows. Standing there across from you, they’re matching everything that you’re pouring out, just like you were told. 

You can’t look at them. 

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you bite out, and force yourself to move as fast as possible out of the clearing before anything else reflects back at you, too. 

You find the open field. You dig right into the heavy meat of your hand and wait for the pain to hit.

Breathe in, breathe out. Copper on your tongue and on your teeth. Metallic and sharp. Dark greys shifting on the lighter grass below, seeping right into the ground like it’s drinking you down all the same. 

It’s not. Helping. 

The field is empty, the birds in the trees across the stage don’t care to join you. There’s no audience. There’s just you. 

“I don’t want this,” you confess. Your palms still itch underneath, all the way down to the bone. 

Nothing speaks. The Universe shifts on without you. 

After a while, you shove your gloves back on the wounded gaping holes of you. Black and fingerless, leather and thick enough to hide all of it away. Your nail beds are cracked through with dark, dark nothing.  

Somehow, you make it to the third floor again, just by walking. No loops, no bleeding out. Just the shakey, weary, empty husk of you. You know Odile is whispering to Isa when you charge out ahead, you know Mira is keeping Bonnie close and away from the amalgamating horror behind your eyes. You know none of them know, but they feel it anyways, and you can’t bring yourself to try any harder. 

Your friends, Loop had said, you did this for them. Did you? Did you do this somehow? Did you look at yourself and see the infestation of rot and the dead star burning out and decide you had to be quarantined from everything else?

There’s a thought buried inside you haven’t let yourself have before. You hate the taste of it, you stop digging. 

The King is on the next floor. And then more of the same. Maybe you’ll let him kill you again, it feels deserved. Loop’s only ever tried to help you and you yelled at them, and you scared Bonnie, and you did something unforgivable over and over again because you could. And now you’re mad that you can’t. 

And your palms itch. 

“Well, time for one more snack break?” Odile says, surveying the last safe room. Mirabelle is quiet— did you talk to her before you set out? You don’t remember. It’s fine anyways, you always say the CARROT method by autopilot, you don’t have to think. 

The itch on your hands grows, now on your wrist. You pull at your gloves distractedly, under your cape. 

“I have some snacks! Not a lot left, though,” Bonnie bites their cheek, rustling over to their bag and fussing with it. Burnt samosas, you think. “The leftover samosas! These are the burnt ones, though.” 

“Hold on just a second, Bonbon,” Isa interrupts. You— you blink. That’s. Not the script. 

He’s looking at you with a twist to his mouth. “Siffrin and I are gunna take a walk, okay? We won’t go far. We’ll eat when we get back.” 

Odile raises a brow, but nods and holds back Bonnie as they pout. Mira looks surprised, then curious but nods cheerfully enough. So, not something they’d talked about then. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing. 

“Sif?” Isa asks, gesturing with their chin towards the empty corridor you’d come from. You follow wordlessly. 

He never says what his secret is, he never will you’re sure. You know what it is anyways, but it isn’t real if it’s not spoken, and you don’t have to worry about why it shouldn’t be real so long as he doesn’t say it. He’s never done this before, though. You don’t know what this means, you’re not sure you have anything in you to care what it means at all. 

The hallway is dark, flickering candles still pin pricking the walls in a long winding stretch. When you dream about being here you’re always alone and it’s always longer than it should be. 

“So, you wanna tell me what’s going on?” Isa’s voice startles you. You look up at him, mouth opening. Closing. 

What?

Isa snorts, more a sharp exhale than anything. And gestures at your side. “I covered for you by taking you out of there, but. Buddy, I— you gotta know that doesn’t look good.” 

You glance down. There’s the rug, it’s dark grey plump like the fruits outside, and— oh. A small spattering like ink right there, and another.

“You’re bleeding, Sif.” 

You pull your hand free from your cape. There’s dark, trailing out the top of your glove, it feels sticky and peels on your skin, the leather has gone stiff in patches with blood. 

Isa kneels down, gesturing for you to hold your hand out. Cradling it carefully in his big palms. See, you think, tired and as weighted as the thing in your chest. He’ll touch you now. You’re bleeding again.

He peels the glove off, it pulls and makes more rivulets of dark spill out and you see him wincing. You see him glancing up at you, too, but you don’t bother making your face move. What’s the point to this at all, really. Let me bleed out in this room and be done with it. 

You forget that the marks won’t look like an ill dodged attack or accident until Isa’s choking off his own breath. You haven’t looked at it, just felt the itch and wanted to widen it more than you’d be allowed to without resetting. Some part of you had wanted it to stay, the wound and the warm all on the outside for as long as you were allowed to, just once. Look where that got you.

“Sif, this is—” He glances up at you again, eyes shining in the candlelight. Back at your hand, and sets his jaw firmly before squeezing your fingers. “They were right, weren’t they.” 

“Who was,” you manage, almost a whisper. 

“Your… friend. They came running out of the woods so fast I wasn’t sure if they were just… I don’t know, telling me a tall tale to scare me but—” Isa closes his eyes, brings your hand to his forehead. Your knuckles press against his skin. He runs warm, he told you so but you feel. 

Nothing. 

Hah, you think. Lost its sparkle already, too. 

“Sif, did you. Did you do this to yourself?” 

His voice shakes, warbles completely. A fat tear rolls down his cheek and you think: rotting, something’s wrong, it’s rotting, you’ll be going back. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, one day I hope you’ll forgive—

You pull your hand back. Hold it close to your chest. Your breaths are heaving, are they heaving? “Why would I do that,” you think you say. There’s an edge to it, a hysterical note that cracks through the air embarrassingly. “That would be—”

Isa stands, you don’t know the look in his eyes. You don’t know it, because it looks like pity and you can’t possibly— 

“You did, didn’t you.”

“No. No! I—”

“Siffrin, those are teeth marks.” 

You know, you know because you find yourself licking your gums like you can bite again harder and keep the taste of it longer. Keep the warmth longer. Because there’s something rotten in you, but it was supposed to be yours and not his. Never any of theirs. 

“They’re not,” you try. “It’s— I cut my hand on a rock, I didn’t notice.”

Your voice is too loud, Odile’s going to hear and then. And then you don’t know, you don’t know any of this. You don’t feel warm at all, even though his hand was on yours. Isa’s face twists in front of you, smoothing out with the blank nothing of a mask in its place. 

Loop was right, this was never a comedy. You were never the leading role. You’re the ghost haunting a story that should have moved on without you, and you’re making this a tragedy. 

Sugar. A pull in your stomach. 

You’re running for the Favor Tree before you can think. 

“You told him!” You’re yelling, that’s your voice. Your thoughts won’t connect, there’s metal in your teeth and copper on your tongue, and dying rotting citrus fruits you’ve never tasted. Loop dangles in your grasp, hands held up palm side, because your hands are fisted in the strange give of their center. 

“Stardust—” 

“No!” You shake harder. “You told. You said— you took it from me! Why are you taking them, too?” 

You didn’t even feel anything, you were bleeding and it didn’t do anything. Loop did something, didn’t they? They pulled that right out, too. They were never here to help, only to trap you more, judge you for the thing under your skin. Give and take away. 

“I’m not.” They spit back. “You’re doing that just fine on your own.” 

“I need this,” your voice sounds like broken glass. It’s not yours, it’s across the field and mirrored backwards. Some other Siffrin with sharp, frightening edges and bags so deep under their eye they can’t even see. 

“No, you don’t. You and I both know that’s an excuse.” 

You shake your head wildly, a laugh punching through your chest like a cannonball. Exploding behind your lips and into your brain with just, sound. Noise. 

“Fine! It’s not real, none of this is real. It’s an excuse, or it’s a need. A want, whatever you’re trying to get at. Fine. You wanted this, didn’t you? Maybe— maybe you’re the audience, not the benefactor at all. Right? Watching me— How’s your little show? Having fun yet?” 

Loop watches you. “...no,” they say, quietly. “No, I don’t think this is fun at all.” They place one hand carefully on your fisted ones without blinking. “I guess I was simply. Waiting for the dawn, too.” 

You. Blink. “No,” you hiss. “No, that’s not...” Rage spinning out and away and cresting with some other feral wild thing. You’re floating right out into the thick nothing of space and the Universe isn’t leading anywhere you can see, at all here, you don’t know— you need— 

Another hand lands on your shoulder. “Siffrin? Who— who’s this?” 

Isa. Right, you’d. You ran past him, you hadn’t asked him to leave. He saw the whole thing. Stars, how stupid can you possibly be.

“It’s okay, buddy. Easy,” Isa says, squeezing lightly. Your hands go limp immediately, call and response. You always end up shaping yourself in the ways that make Isa the happiest, don’t you?

Isa’s voice continues on, over your shoulder. It’s not at you, you don’t have to listen, you can think about the fact your nothing is pushing all the way out to your skin and your nails and he can probably see it already. You can try with every failing thing in you to lock it back up under your strings and your mask and be what he likes, the way you always want to. 

You’re. Fine. You need your dagger, the hilt, the bite in your palm, anything at all.

Your hand is— your holding his hand. Isa nods at you, his smile a watery and timid thing and squeezes back. “Good, hey, that’s good. Breathe in and out, like you always do, right?” 

You… try. Your lungs feel far away, your breaths escaping faster than you can find them. He demonstrates nice and slow, and his hand is on your shoulder. You’re not— you’re whole, now, and his hand is on your shoulder, your hand is in his. It’s enough to push you back to the ground and into your skin. 

Isa’s smile widens, eyes on yours and earnest, even as they flicker over your shoulder and back. His other hand pushes against yours, uncurling your nails and sliding your fingers together. You bend. 

“I don’t. Know what’s happening, but. Can you look at me? You were saying something, just now. Can you say it again? I couldn’t hear it.”

Your lips are forming soundless words. You can’t give them air, you can’t speak them.

“Okay, that’s okay, um,” He blows out a long shaky breath, hand still in yours. “Can you, um. Can we drop the dagger?” The– oh. You’re not supposed to have that. Loop made it so you couldn’t have that, but. You let go and there it is. Blade shining up at you in the sway of the longer grass.

Isa smiles, that’s what you want, isn’t it. You’d do anything to keep that. “Good, that’s good,” he says. He kicks it further with his foot and keeps your eyes on his. “Sif? What… was…” He stops, licks his lips. 

He looks pale and shaky, behind the smile. He glances over behind you again. “Um, who’s this?” 

You can’t possibly speak, there’s no air in you anywhere at all. Soundless, shapeless, nothing. There’s a rustle behind you.

“I’m a friend,” Loop says. “We were. Having a disagreement.” 

Isa frowns, glancing back at you. You don’t react. “Okay. It looked like Sif was pretty mad at you though, mind explaining that super quick for me?” 

Loop hums. It’s not as twinkly as you’re used to. “I could try, but I think he’d be more mad if I did.” 

Isa’s face twists further. “Normally, I’d be all for keeping my friends' secrets their own and not prying, but.” He pauses, looks at you apologetically. There’s nothing here, yet. Your palms still itch, but there’s nothing— “I just had to pry a dagger out of his skin. I think we’re passed that.” 

Silence. You think very quietly about shooting stars, burning up on entry. The air displacement at the front that makes them glow. You think once you had another name for that, the glow. You think it used to be more than just white. 

There’s a laugh, a tragic sort of thing. “We may just be. It’s true, Stardust here was less than thrilled that I caught them, I suppose.” 

Your words return, shaky and weak. “That’s not—” 

Isa’s face is hard, blank. The light in his eyes is luminous, though. He grits his teeth, the bolt of his jaw harsh and steady for a long pause of nothing, not looking at you but at Loop. Harsher and more serious than you’ve ever seen him. The moment passes, and you know he’s understood. 

You freeze. That wasn’t— you don’t— 

Isa’s eyes are on yours, he’s leaning down again. His hand slips out of yours, but he’s right there, radiating sun out at you from all directions. The harshness falls entirely away leaving only soft, worried, tender edges the way you know him. 

“Is that. Is that true, Sif?” 

You can’t. There’s nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.

His expression falls. A horrific crest of heartbreak washing over him that makes you panic, makes your hands reach up to— to what. To nothing! You can’t stop this, he knows. He knows. And Loop is, what? Just going to keep ruining this? Keep telling him? 

But this is you, it was all you here. You forgot again, like the trap and the tears and the shields. You’re the one ruining this last thing, this time.

Isa looks down at his hands, they’re trembling. “If… if your friend here is concerned, I… maybe that means I missed something, and I’m sorry, is all. I’m really, really sorry.” 

No, no, it’s never been Isa’s fault. You didn’t want him to know. He wasn’t supposed to ever know, you don’t know what to do with him knowing.

“You wouldn’t—” he tries, helplessly and lost. 

“I think it’s less a matter of if they would,” Loop adds in, sourly. “And rather more if they should continue.” 

Isa looks punched clean through, off kilter. Your heart is snapping in half and plunging into the cold dark center of yourself and freezing over all at once. Loop back, you think. Loop back. 

Loop gives you a sideways look, like they know. Stars, but they’ll just tell him again, won’t they. There’s nowhere to run.

Isa sighs again, shaky and wet. “If you um. If you felt you couldn’t talk to me about it, that’s on me. I will do whatever I need to do, to make sure you trust me next time.” His eyes shoot up to yours, pinning you all the way through and then some with the weight. “But I’m here, okay? And I don’t want you to be upset or hurting and not tell me. I want you here with us, the way M’dame and Bonbon and Mira all do, too. There’s no one I’d trust more at the end of the world, you got that? There’s no world to save without you in it.”

There’s no possible way this is happening, you think you must be dreaming but all of your dreams have gone sour, too. 

“Isa,” you try. 

You’re not spinning off, you’re heavy and layered and stuck tight right under all the hurt but it’s surrounding you all at once with noise. You feel weak under it all. Impossibly pressed by gravity beyond yourself, like the black hole has left you and moved right into the open air between you both. 

Touch me, you think. Because his hand has left yours and he’s keeping his distance, and you’ve never actually thought to ask before, but your words keep getting pulled right along with the stars into the pit beside you. 

You shake your head helplessly. You’ll be lost again, pulled right back under with the waves, if he doesn’t— 

A hand circles your wrist gingerly. Your lungs expand, contract.

Oh, you breathe. 

Loop stands beside you, looking away angrily. Hand perfectly looped around your wrist. This is real, then, because. Someone is here with you. Someone’s always been here with you. 

“Yeah, it’s real, Sif. Okay? It’s real. You’re with me, and your friend here. And we’ve got you, right? You don’t have to hurt on your own, I promise. We can take it from you, bud.” 

It should hurt, you think. But then— Isa isn’t touching you. And you still feel so warm. And the warm is loud, and it’s heavy and overwhelming and it does hurt, but it’s. Yours. Your palms don’t itch, the masks fade. 

Loop isn’t looking at you, their hand doesn’t move. A perfect circle, right there, around the rapid thrum of your heart beat. Nowhere to run at all, only to go forward through it. 

It hurts, but you think you might be tired of it hurting for once. 

“I think.” You swallow. Roughly. “I think I need some help.” 

EPILOGUE

You stare at your hand. Curling your fingers in until you make a fist, until the light of your bones shows through your pale skin, and: release. Faint imprints like dark moons, a neat row of dark where your nails pressed in. 

Long lifeline, someone once told you. You no longer remember their face. 

There’s a scar, just there. A faint sliver of something across the thick of your thumb. You’d gotten that somewhere lost in the House apparently, although you’re not sure when. Things had gotten a little… fuzzy, for a while. You think you must have grabbed for the glass again, more instinct than anything, when you stopped being able to tell where your hands and teeth were. 

It’s been a while since everything happened. You’re managed to furl your edges back inside yourself at least, after laying everything out in the most painful and agonizing series of conversations you’ve ever been forced to sit through. There’d been a lot of crying, hugging, reassuring careful touches, but— you made it through. Defeated the King, broke the loops, came out of it with more instead of less. 

Mira had been especially helpful at the end. Her hands gently in yours and her lips pressed flat and nervous across from you, just as stressed about the concept of being honest as you were. “Feelings are. Hard to say, or. Know? I don’t know mine very well. We can practice together, okay?” 

In the face of everyone else’s gungho forward words heavy approach, maybe it was good to know you weren’t the only one with a clawing wild need to be seen and not known. Maybe it’s helpful to find out that someone as kind and lovely as Mira doesn’t see the stars in her own words either. 

Isa had also been a rock in ways you always knew he was. Picking up on all the meaning between your words, carefully assessing and listening. Sometimes when he looks at you, you feel the names and places of forgotten homes springing up out of the dark in your heart like they’re waiting to be shared. You’re not sure what it means yet, but he tells you that you have time. 

“Sif!” 

You look up. Sunlight bounces off the water in front of you, a dark roll of ripples and fluttering light that makes you squint. You lift a hand to cover your eyes, the other one still buried in the dirt beneath you.

Isa bounds over, grinning wildly and hair in disarray, holding a squirming Bonnie under one arm. “Sif, Bonnie has something to say to you.”

Bonnie stops squirming, falls limp and flat in Isa’s hold. “Sorry I filled your hat with beans because I was mad at your pun.” 

“And?”

Bonnie scrunches up their face. “And. I’ll make you fritters as much as you want for a week.” 

Isa looks at you hopefully. You hum for a second playfully, hovering your hand in the air before tilting it into a thumbs up. Isa plops Bonnie upright on the ground between you both and pats their head. “See! Nice words, good job BonBon.” 

They cross their arms, kicking at a tuft of grass. You lean over conspiratorially, stage whispering. “It was pretty un-bean-lievable.” 

“No!” Bonnie yells, outraged, lurching forward and stopping. Even in the pits of rage, they’re the sweetest, always checking. You give them a slow nod. 

Bonnie tackles you, all rocket no finesse. “No, no no! No more words from you! You use them for evil!” 

Your vision is entirely flailing limbs for a moment until you can scoop your hands under Bonnie’s armpits and tickle them back. Which involves more flailing and screaming. 

“Jeeze, you guys,” Isa laughs. 

“Is siblicide being considered?” You hear Odile ask dryly. 

“On my watch, M’dame? You wound me!” 

“You are quite literally just standing here, watching, Isabeau.” 

“Got me there.”

Neither of them move in to save Bonnie at all, and Bonbon shrieks with rage at the betrayal. Or would, if you were not poking them repeatedly in the sides and turning their outrage into a round of giggling. 

“No!” Bonnie squeaks, slapping at you ineffectively. You decide to let them up, purely out of the kindness of your heart rather than because they’ve earned their freedom. You pat them on the head. Bonnie scrambles up to their feet instantly, leaning down with their hands on their feet and a pout on their face. Something in their eyes still looks vaguely worried, though, which isn’t allowed. 

You wink at them. “Fritters sound great, Bonbon.” 

They huff, and poke you once in the chest. “Good! I’ll make so much you’ll barf!” 

“Okay!” Mira calls, “The picnic is ready everyone!” 

Isa reaches his hand out towards you, smiling widely. The sun streams across the side of his face, making his eyes twinkle at you— stars, it’s all stars. For once, thinking of them doesn’t make you yearn for anything more than being right here. 

You take his hand, and let him pull you to your feet.

“Do you think they got those cheeses again?” Isa asks.

You shrug. Odile pauses the book she’s reading to hum thoughtfully. “Well, our dear Mirabelle did say she was ‘pulling out all the stops’ for the venue, whatever that entails. Something about giving Petronile and our new friends a full welcome to the party celebration?” 

“Not without me!” Bonnie gasps. “I’m the snack leader, no snacks without me!” 

Isa pats them on the shoulder, looping his other arm lightly around your shoulders. “I’m sure they only bought the ingredients expecting you to make something super cool, Bonbon.” 

Bonnie huffs, and breaks off into a run ahead. “I’ll just make sure!” 

You laugh, and lean ever so slightly into Isa’s warmth at your side. It’s. Nice, really. To be full of enough warmth on your own, that this can just be that: nice. 

“Should I warn them?” You ponder, looking up at Isa. He’s blushing slightly, surprisingly, and takes a second to register your question. 

“Oh, that Loop’s got that thing about cheese?” He hums dramatically, looking up at the clear sky. “Nah. It’s not like they’ll actually tell them.” 

It’s true. If there’s one thing you know about this strange new dynamic you’re stumbling into, is that Bonbon has Loop wrapped entirely around their finger. You’re not sure how that happened— it was a long, difficult few months of convincing and arguing, and one memorable ‘fight to the death turned crying session’ to even convince Loop to talk to any of them. The moment Bonnie had grabbed Loop’s hand though and very loudly shouted ‘thank you for making sure Frin was okay’, you saw it shift. The flicker of their light, the re-orbit. 

They’d always understood you, after all. You wish you could have told them that they were always warm on their own, too. 

Silly, really. That Loop had ever thought they wouldn’t fit in right here with everyone as easy as anything else. 

Your palm itches— you pull at Isa’s arm until he drops it to his side, and slide your hand into his. Locking your fingers together, you breathe. In and out. 

You’re out, the stage is gone. It’s just you and the people that loved you loud enough to pull you through with them. A home to make somewhere new, and somewhere you bring with you.

“Here’s to tomorrow, hm?” You say. You think you mean it. Isn’t that a funny thought?

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Prompt: The Devildom had been your home for the last two years. As such, you were confident in your ability to carry out a few errands on your own every once in a while. So when you were told that none of the brothers could accompany you in your little shopping trip for project supplies, you were fine with it. You could handle getting those supplies on your own, you had reassured them. So how did a simple outing turn into such a disaster? Pairing: OM!Brothers with GN!MC (can be read as platonic or romantic) Genre: Slight angst, Hurt/Comfort TW: Mc gets hurt, mentions of injuries, mention of blood in Satan and Asmo's part, Satan and Asmo's part is a bit darker than the others, I ran out of ideas by the time I got to the twins

You leaned against a stone wall, panting heavily. Your eyes darted this way and that way, and a lump formed in your throat.

How did a simple outing turn into this?

You sucked in a breath, gingerly lifting the edge of your shirt to inspect your side. A big bruise decorated your lower torso, its redness a garish and painful reminder of the very dangerous situation you had barely made out of.

The Devildom had been your home for the last two years. As such, you were confident in your ability to carry out a few errands on your own every once in a while. After all, you couldn't always rely on your friends to follow you along everywhere, even if they said they didn't mind. So when you were told that none of the brothers could accompany you in your little shopping trip for project supplies, you were fine with it. You could handle getting those supplies on your own, you had reassured them.

And now you were here, hiding in one of the Devildom's many alleyways from the demons that were clearly after your life.

"How could you let them get away like that?!"

A whimper left your lips as you tried to make sense of where exactly you were in Devildom, and how to get back to the HOL without getting caught by your bloodthirsty pursuers.

"... Did you hear that?"

"Yes."

You cursed the naturally superior senses of demons, breaking out into a run in the opposite direction of the voices. You could see streetlights and hear the hustle and bustle associated with Devildom's marketplace. Maybe you would be able to lose them in the midst of the crowd there?

You could hear footsteps behind you, internally thanking that you had taken up on Beel's offers to work out together. Your stamina couldn't fail you, not when those demons had cast a spell that locked your magic and your influence over your pacts. In other words, everything you knew and had was practically useless.

Just a little more, please!

Please!

The universe seemed to take pity on you finally as you saw a familiar figure in the crowd. You could almost cry from the relief, calling out his name as loud as you could.

Lucifer

"LUCIFER!"

Lucifer did not know what to think when he heard you yell his name, followed by you almost barreling into him. If not for his instincts being as quick and precise as they are, you both would have fallen to the ground. And he intended to let you know just how reckless and dangerous that was, at least until he saw you clutching your side with pain on your face. The concern that he'd pushed to the back of his mind in favour of scolding you came back in full force, and he cupped your face, using his magic to soothe you and check what was wrong.

"MC? What is the matter, hm?"

The absolute concern and care in his voice caused the dam to burst, and all of the panicked and scared feelings that you had set aside in favour of finding your way back home appeared in the form of tears. Lucifer pulled you into his arms, the way you were crying, hiccupping and stuttering over your words as you told him everything making him tense up slightly.

Once you were calm enough, he took you to a nearby restaurant, paying for a private area. He ordered a few dishes, and while you waited, he asked you to describe the demons' appearance. He kept you next to him, tracing circles on the back of your hand closest to him as you did, carefully listening (and recording everything on his DDD). When the food finally came, he asked you to start eating, claiming he wasn't hungry yet.

Lucifer hummed reading Mammon's message. Out of all of his brothers, he knew he could count on Mammon to show some restraint and bring the lowly things that dared to harm his human in front of Lucifer, without immediately killing them on sight. He would prefer to not tell his brothers of this incident, but one look at you and they would figure out something was wrong.

Lucifer: Mammon.

Lucifer: Some demons tried to harm MC. This is a description of them. Find them.

att. recording

Mammon: On it.

"Lucifer?" Garnet eyes flew upwards to meet yours, instincts still on high alert for the first sign of discomfort. "Yes, MC?"

You lightly raised your fork to his lips, a wordless request to feed him. Peculiar, that even when you were the one shaken in spirit and hurt physically, you thought about his well-being. It was nowhere near the time he had his lunch. He knew it, and he knew that you did as well. But, he decided to indulge you, letting you feed him and yourself, while he used his magic to counter the spell cast on you and speed up your healing process.

Lucifer escorted you back to the HOL, his hand on the small of your back as he assured you that Levi would get you your supplies from Akuzon. As you neared the house, you could make out Satan standing at the door, a serious look on his face that melted into a gentle smile the moment your eyes met. Lucifer handed you over to Satan after pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Rest, my dear. I have some business to attend to, but I should be home before dinner." He looked as Satan ushered you inside, Asmo's fussing over you audible through the closed doors. Lucifer turned and walked away, eager to see who were foolish enough to try to harm his human, his master.

Mammon

"MAMMON!"

"Who- MC?!?!"

Mammon nearly had a heart attack when you yelled his name. When he turned and saw you sprinting toward him with no sign of slowing down? He was scared out of his mind. Before he knew it, he had rushed forward to meet you halfway, causing the two of you to collide fairly painfully. You didn't fall over like most would think. Unfortunately, in his well meaning attempt to stabilize you, Mammon accidently squeezed right on your bruise, causing you to jolt away from him with a pained yelp. "Woah- Are ya okay?!" he asked, face concerned as his eyes jumped from looking you up and down to scanning the crowd for any possible dangers.

You desperately tried to stop yourself from crying as you quickly gave him a brief summary of what had happened to you. His eyes darkened at the mention of the bruise, muttering apologies and incoherent swears as he pulled you into his embrace.

Mammon let out a low whistle, and the next thing you knew, there was a crow sitting on his shoulder. You could swear it looked sad as it saw you clutching onto Mammon, who spoke to you in a calming manner. "Look, I know ya probably don't want to talk about this, and I really don't blame ya... but do you remember anything about those... vermin that dared to hurt you?" he asked you, one hand rubbing your back ad he glared at any demon that stared at the two of you. His cheeks were darkened slightly, though whether that was from anger or holding you so close, you didn't know. Still, you answered his question to the best of your ability, while Mammon and his familiar listened attentively. After you were done, Mammon decided it was time to go back home, giving his familiar some instructions before letting it go.

Mammon refused to let go of you the entire walk back to the HOL. Once you reached home, he walked past all of his brothers, ignoring them till they two of you reached his room. Opening the door, he murmured for you to go in and rest while he talked to his brothers.

It took him a while before he came back to you. You were sitting on the couch staring off into nothing. Mammon sighed as he walked over to you, sitting beside you. His arm came around your shoulders, pulling you in close. "Whatcha thinking 'bout, Treasure?"

You let out a shaky sigh, pushing yourself back into Mammon like he was the only thing keeping you from completely coming undone. Mammon worried at the lack of response from you as he brought his other hand to hold you properly. "You're safe now, MC. Lucifer'll take care of everything once the kids find them," he said, smiling when you chuckled at him referring to his crows as his kids. That's how the two of you stayed, till Levi came to inform him that the demons to tried to hurt you were caught.

You had fallen asleep a while back, so Mammon picked you up, careful not to wake you, and placed you on his bed. After tucking you in properly and making sure you were as comfortable as possible, he followed Levi out of his room. It was time to teach a lesson to the ones who dared to take his human from him.

Leviathan

"LEVI!"

Levi had not anticipated leaving the house would result in you barreling into him in one of Devildom's busiest streets. In his surprise at your shout, he transformed into his demon form, his tail wrapping around you securely as you both fell onto the ground.

"Ouch... M-Mc? Are you okay?" Levi asked, his voice slightly shaky as his heart raced inside his chest. You laid on top of him, unmoving, which concerned him more than anything else. He lightly shook you, hoping to get a reaction out of you, "Mc?"

His heart calmed a bit when he felt you tightening your hold on his clothes, but immediately started racing at twice the previous speed when he saw you shaking in his arms. Gently, he pried your face away from its hiding spot on his chest, hands shaking as he tilted your face up to look at you.

Levi stopped breathing when he saw your eyes filled with tears, his mind blanking out on everything else as his gaze narrowed in on your face; more specifically, the little cut you had gotten on your bottom lip.

"Who... who dared to put their filthy hands on you?" he asked, in a low and dangerous voice. He wasn't the otaku Levi you knew and loved anymore. Right now, he was Leviathan, the third of the Seven Deadly Sins, and the General of Hell's Navy. But he made you feel incredibly safe as he tenderly cupped your face in his hands, as if he was handling one of his beloved figurines.

As you narrated the entire incident, Levi began to grow more and more agitated. In between hissing that this is why he prefers to shop online and fretting over your well-being, he somehow managed to flood the market square and summon Lotan.

Lotan, ever in tune with his master's wishes and emotions, sensed the demonic trails left on you by the spell, and went off to hunt the demons down, while Levi stayed behind with you.

Once Levi calmed down a little, he insisted on taking you back to the House of Lamentation. He knew Lotan would find the demons for him, toying with them to keep itself occupied while waiting for further instructions from its master. As he walked you home, he was quiet. In his mind, he was thinking of the ways he could inflict the most gruesome of pain on those that sought to harm his Henry.

Maybe he could convince you to move into his room with him. That way, he would be able to keep an eye on you better...

For now, though, he would stick to taking you home, and buying you whatever you needed off of Akuzon.

Satan and Asmodeus

"ASMO!"

Asmo turned at the sound of your voice, an excited smile on his face that dropped the second he saw the panic on yours as you rushed into his open arms. He let out an oof, the force from your throwing yourself at him making him lose his footing and stumble, only to be saved by Satan standing behind him.

"Mc, darling!" "Mc, are you alright?" Both the demons spoke at once, two pairs of eyes trained on your figure as they both sensed the panic lingering in you. Asmo lightly trailed his hand over your back, pressing you close to his chest as he asked, "What happened, darling?"

Through stuttered breaths and coughs you told them that you were being pursued by some demons, mentioning the bruise and the fact that they cast a spell on you to leave you helpless. You watched as something dark and lethal flashed in Asmodeus' eyes before your attention was captured by Satan abruptly leaving your side.

Before you could go after him, Asmo placed a hand on your shoulder. "Let him take care of this, darling. Why don't I take you back home and help you relax? You've had a very difficult day, after all." When you hesitated, he gave you a small pout, his eyes shining brightly in a way that reminded you of a puppy. "Please~ Let me pamper you, help you forget all of this? Satan will be fine..." he said, voice slightly whiny as he clung to your arm, careful not to aggravate any of your injuries.

When you finally relented and let him walk you back to the House of Lamentation, you missed the way Asmo looked off into the direction Satan had left for a brief moment, a cruel fascination in his eyes.

Once home, he quickly ushered you into his private bathroom, running a warm bath for you and adding the scents he knew you preferred. He left you alone in the bathroom after ensuring you had everything you needed, and telling you to call for him if you wanted his company as he shut the door behind him.

Asmo thoroughly pampered you when you walked out of the bathroom, refreshed and somewhat relaxed after your bath. He smothered you with his affection, but you didn't mind. You never did.

It was quite late when Satan returned, walking into Asmo's room to find you sleeping peacefully, your head on Asmo's lap as the demon ran his fingers through your soft hair. Satan smiled, his hand almost resting on your cheek, when Asmo smacked his hand away. "Don't get that filthy blood on them," he said, his usual bubbly nature nowhere to be found as he glared at the blood decorating Satan's hands. Satan nodded in understanding, before leaving the room to get cleaned up.

When he returned, he saw Asmo gently setting a pillow under your head and tucking you in his bed. The Avatar of Lust stood straight after ensuring you were still sleeping, before turning to his brother. "I hope you left some for me?~"

Satan smirked. "I did. I even went ahead and strapped them into those machines you like to use." Asmo giggled, the sound tainted with a sadistic sort of glee.

"This will be fun~"

Beelzebub and Belphegor

"BEEL!"

Beel let out a confused hum as he turned. His eyes widened, protective instincts rampant as he saw you running towards him, and the bag of chips in his hand fell to the ground as he moved to get to you first.

You crashed into him, his arms winding around your back to keep you from falling. "Mc?" came Belphie's voice, as he looked over to where you and Beel were standing. The youngest demon's eyes narrowed in on the slight trembling of your body as you caught your breath in Beel's arms.

Beel looked down at you with a concerned look, then back at his twin. Belphie approached the two of you, gently touching your back and providing the comfort that you so desperately needed. He observed you carefully, trying to pry out what had happened, while Beel scanned the surroundings for any threats.

Soon enough, you told them everything. Belphie's eyes hardened, causing you to flinch at the murderous glint in his eyes. Unbeknownst to you, Beel shared similar feelings with his twin.

"Let's get you home," Belphie said, his voice gentle when he addressed you, with his words making it clear it was not a suggestion he would let you talk him out of. Beel nodded, and the three of you started the journey home.

The entire walk home, Beel did most of the talking, telling you of the doughnuts he and Belphie had gotten from Uncle Demon's. Belphie was content with mostly listening, adding his two cents whenever Beel asked him something.

As soon as you guys reached the House of Lamentation, you were pulled into the attic for a nap by the Avatar of Sloth, while his twin went and informed Lucifer of everything.

When Beel came up to the attic, he found you peacefully sleeping, your head on Belphie's arm and your legs tangled with the youngest. Belphie lay awake, his vibrant eyes watching over your sleeping figure vigilantly.

Beel got into the bed as well, protectively curling around your back as his hand rested on your hip. No words needed to be exchanged between the two of them; they knew that they would soon have the people who tried to harm their human in their grasp.

And once they did, they would not hesitate to show exactly why they were lauded as two of the seven rulers of the devildom.

[calypso707]

Winter Soldier x OC Fanfiction - The Tale of Two Wolves.

Hey everyone ! Lately, I've been diving back into the Marvel niverse and my love for Bucky Barnes has returned. Recently, I read the novel about him and it made me want to write a little fanfiction about him. This story will be inspired by the comics, the novel and the Marvel movies. I hope you enjoy it.

Summary : She has been trained to become the best spy, an asset capable of overthrowing regimes. He, on the other hand, has been reconditioned to become a ruthless assassin, a ghost, both loyal to the USSR. Aspiring for freedom, they will both try to escape those who control them, but the only question is whether they will succeed or not.

TW : details of injury, wounds, anxiety, blood, probably some death, PTSD. For the romantic part, fluff moments, kisses.

Also available on Ao3 : The Tale of Two Wolves.

Chapter 1 - The Red Room.

Widows start and end wars. They can make or break kings.

Somewhere in Russia, during the Cold War - 1953.

When she was just five years old, she and twenty-seven other girls were taken to the Red Room, a training center created under the Soviet regime. Its primary objective was to create highly skilled and specialized agents for espionage and other covert operations. The training imposed within these walls went beyond physical training, using biochemical enhancements and few years later memory implants. She still remembered the pain she felt when she receive her first injection of a bluish substance. Her ordeal had lasted several days.

“Your wounds will heal four, even five times faster than normal, you'll never get sick, you won't age, your hair won't fall out, your skin can withstand the wind and sun…”

These words still echoed in her mind, like all the battles she'd fought so far, sending her comrades to the mat, one by one. Every day, she saw her humanity crumble a little more. Every sunrise heralded a new challenge, a test designed to shatter those who dared to hope. The training she'd undergone since childhood wasn't simply a question of physical strength or precision; it was a war against herself and the silence that echoed around her in this facility was like a warning.

She'd been training for several hours now, most of the time set apart from the others, attending training sessions for hours on end, perfecting her skills over and over again. She knocked down her opponent, tackling him to the ground, but had badly anticipated the action of the second, who managed to punch her. Her vision blurred with the impact and a whistling sound persisted in her ears. She stepped back, pressing the back of her hand against her bloodied lips, raising her other hand in surrender.

“Clumsy. You are failing on purpose.” said a female voice from across the room.

She looked up at the woman who was dressed in a cobalt-blue suit, her blond hair impeccably styled on her head in a bun. Her hands were clasped in front of her and she took a few steps: “Again.”

She was constantly on the edge. At any moment, she could sink into darkness or find a glimmer of hope. But one thing was certain: when she looked in the mirror, she saw a transformation. Not yet complete, but inescapable. She was becoming what they wanted her to be.

One question haunted her, however: could she aspire to freedom?

She shook her head slightly to regain her composure and resume training. Lately, memories had been coming back to her in flashes, in her dreams or in the middle of a training session, causing her to falter during certain lessons. She couldn't sort them out, couldn't tell the true from the false, interspersed with ballet lessons at the Bolshoi Theater and fights, faces she knew and others that seemed totally unfamiliar. She could no longer afford to be distracted like this, or they would soon label her dysfunctional despite her being one of their best asset.

“Irina.”

She straightened up, trying to hide the fact that she was tense. Here, her real name was only used when she made mistakes, which was quite rare, or when her instructors gave her orders. As the old man rose from his chair behind his imposing solid wood desk, she twitched slightly as he approached her. He seemed to be scrutinizing her, as if trying to determine if she was hiding more from him. This man, Grigor Pchelintsov, she'd known him for as long as she could remember.

“Mrs. B thinks you fail your tests on purpose. I have trouble believing her,” he said to her in Russian. “Is something bothering you?”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“Some… Strange memories are coming back to me.”

For a while, she considered keeping this to herself, but she knew it would only be a matter of time before she betrayed herself. And she could use it to mask her desire for freedom. For some reason, she felt obliged to tell the truth, for that was how she had been trained. Honesty to instructors, lies to the public.

“Hm… What kind of memories?”

She remained silent for a few seconds, seeming to search for her words.

“You can trust me, tell me,” the scientist insisted.

She remained silent for a few seconds, seemingly searching for words.

“It's hard to say. But I see a girl, long black hair and green eyes. I…”

She could be her sister, a camrade she knew, someone she killed. She could be anybody.

Grigor examined her for a long moment, raising his glasses to wedge them in his graying hair, thrusting one of his hands into the pocket of his blouse.

“Do you know who she is?”

“No.”

“What else?”

“That's it, I only see her face.”

He seemed to tickle something in his blouse pocket for a few seconds before finally nodding. He put his glasses back on his nose, looking more reassured.

“All right. Follow me, i will fix you.”

It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the clarity of the place. A woman was already present, impeccably dressed, her graying hair combed into a quilt at the back of her head, she was a pale copy of Mrs B. Her face was familiar. Grigor went inside a nearby booth, through which he could see what was going on. He nodded to her before she finally made her way to the seat in the middle of the room, surrounded by various machines. She settled comfortably on it, straps held down her wrists and ankles as the woman came to stand beside her, placing various electrodes on her forehead and temples. She opened her mouth so she could place the gag, which she bite down hard.

“Turning on the machines.”, said the woman.

A hiss echoed through the room as she switched the buttons on, one by one.

“Launch in 3, 2, 1…”

A pain suddenly irradiated her head and she closed her eyes, biting down as hard as she could on the cloth between her teeth. Her nails dug into the leather of the armrests. It didn't help her, it was worse than anything, more flashes were coming to her, more and more violently. Shocks were sent through her repeatedly, always stronger and stronger. The throbbing pain that pierced her skull became unbearable, and she endured the onslaught until she finally lost consciousness.

When she came to her senses, she slowly opened her eyes, she didn't recognise the room where she was and how she ended here. Grigor stood beside her with a small flashlight, moving back and forth over her eyes to examine the reaction of her pupils. He snapped his fingers next to her ears, to make her react to the sound; the buzzing she'd heard just a few seconds ago was only beginning to fade. He stepped back to let her straighten up, which she did carefully. She felt as if her skull would crack from the pain, but she must never fail, never. She sat on the edge of the bunk for a few seconds, assessing her physical and mental state.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She took a few seconds before answering. How was she feeling ?

“Good.”

“Name?” asked the man.

She blinked several times before automatically answering : “Irina Milana Vasilkova.”

“Code name?”

“Lana Vasilkoff.”

“Section?”

“Black Widow.”

*

Pain was omnipresent, had become a part of her. It lived in her aching muscles, in her joints that screamed at every movement, in the bruises that covered her body like a second skin. But that was nothing compared to what she felt inside. Every successful task was a victory tinged with guilt, for she knew that behind every bullet fired, every blow struck, lay the shadow of innocence she was leaving behind. The cold gaze of Mrs. B and the instructors showed no mercy, no sign that she had the right to flinch. There was no room for error, and every failure meant punishment, humiliation or worse, obliteration. By not crying, she had learned to bury her emotions deep inside. But sometimes, when she closed her eyes to sleep, she still saw her old face: that of a girl who still believed in her freedom. And yet, there was also this strange satisfaction she felt in spite of herself. Every time she mastered a move, every time she defeated an enemy, she felt the power surge through her. Her senses had become sharper, her thinking faster. She was stronger, quicker, smarter than ever. But this power came at a price. She knew that by becoming a weapon, she might forget her humanity.

They had all been grouped together in the training room, the remaining nineteen of them. Camaraderie was rare, but precious. Among the recruits, the furtive glances they exchanged were a mixture of fear and solidarity. Sometimes a discreet smile, other times an outstretched hand in moments when exhaustion threatened to make her falter, these gestures were enough to remind her that she was not alone. But she also knew that this bond could be broken at any moment.

Here, everyone was both ally and enemy.

The instructor took a step forward, his hands clasped behind his back. He was the most terrifying of them all, the most violent. With each lesson, a certain apprehension crept over her, but she never wavered. She never would.

“Today, I would like to introduce you to your new trainer. One of our finest assets,” he announced, moving away from the door which slid open automatically.

The man who entered the room to stand beside the instructor seemed to be a perfect blend of brute strength and deadly precision. Every movement betrayed a restrained power, ready to explode. He stood around 1.80 meters tall, his silhouette shrouded in a black tactical jumpsuit. His left arm, a terrifying work of engineering, glinted metallic under the artificial light of the room. Engraved with geometric lines and adorned with the emblematic red star of the Soviet Union, it was an extension of his will.

Part of his face was concealed by a matte black metal mask that covered his features perfectly, smoothing every curve of his face with mechanical rigor. Only his eyes were visible, frozen like a Siberian winter, at once captivating and disturbing, capable of piercing to the very soul of anyone who dared to meet his gaze, scrutinizing every weakness, every intention. There was in those eyes a restrained pain, a muted melancholy, like a constant reminder of memories he would have preferred to forget. Around this mask, the soldier's skin was pale, marked by the icy wind and deprivation, with faint scars testifying to past hardships. Beneath this mask, there was no smile, no anger, just a profound emptiness.

His dark, slightly wavy hair fell in unruly locks around his face. It gave him a wild, almost untamable air. But this unkempt appearance was not to be mistaken for weakness. Every detail of his being seemed calculated, optimized for battle. His gait was fluid and silent. Despite his muscular build, he moved with an unsettling grace, as if the ground itself obeyed him. His reinforced boots hardly seemed to touch the ground, and every gesture, even the most insignificant, exuded mastery and control.

His aura was that of a predator. He carried not only strength on his shoulders, but also a magnetic presence that commanded respect, mingled with awe. He was no ordinary man; he was a living weapon, forged in pain and discipline, and honed by years of obedience to orders he hadn't chosen.

“Agent Keranin, the Winter Soldier will be your new combat instructor.”

Irina flexed slightly at the name. Her comrades tensed, and some of them took a slight step backwards. She'd heard of the Winter Soldier, but thought at first it was just a legend.

[cultofdixon]

Small but mighty

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • It’s adorable watching this short and mighty woman take on 6’ foot men that mess with her. It’s a little less adorable when the archer is being carried on her shoulders • ANSGT/SFW • TW: Injuries

Requested by: Anon

After the war, a lot needed to be done to bring every community back to its former glory without the wrath of Negan coming down on them.

Alexandria had more structural rebuilding needing to be done so that was the priority.

“Ready to pull?”

“Like you need my help, sunshine” Daryl scoffs playfully, ignoring the smirk on Y/N’s face as they were helping a few bring up the new wall.

Once they were in a position holding the wall up and letting those taking care of wielding get the job done. Eugene walked over in hopes to find Rick helping out so he could ask him something but he noticed Y/N holding onto the rope with Daryl behind her as his mind instantly went to—

“Yea sure she’s strong enough to help steady the wall in place for a while?” Eugene’s voice directed toward the archer as he gave him a you’re kidding? look before letting go of the rope. “Wait!—-…wait”

Y/N noticed the rope drop from behind her as she gave Daryl a confused look before fixing her stance to have her more cemented. Daryl crossed his arms giving Eugene an annoyed look.

“She can handle herself. Just didn’t want her to strain so much”

“If she holds this ability, mind if she helps me with somethin’ later?”

“As long as it’s before nightfall or imma have to—-“

“I’m not property Daryl, but yeah I’m not working on shit past nightfall” Y/N interrupted as Eugene respected such before getting one last word in to inform him when she’s done.

After helping with the wall it was onto carrying the tech scraps that Eugene collected that were being unused at the Sanctuary in hopes he could make something useful out of it for all of them. Daryl even helped to make the job faster so he could spend some alone time with his partner.

“You can make a radio with these parts. Have stations at each community but you’re definitely missing a few things that could connect them all” Y/N went on while rummaging through the scraps as Eugene took inventory of everything useful.

“We can also improve the solar system we have here in Alexandria by having a sole source. Then bring one to the Hilltop”

“That’s a lot of heavy lifting you’re going to have to do”

“Thank the higher power we got you” Eugene smiles at her before returning to his work. Y/N laughs to herself with an eye roll to his words.

Daryl watches the two work from the door way which gave his position. Leading for Michonne to quickly get his attention for help in regard to watching Judith for the night. He could never say no to the small grimes even if he wanted a peaceful night with his partner.

“Of course it’s okay! How could you say no to this face?” Y/N smiles in the comforts of their basement living holding Judith in her arms.

“She’s gonna want those crackers you stash away for later”

“Don’t bring those up!” She laughs which lead Judith to start laughing. “She can have some but after I try and get her to eat whatever a-n-i-m-a-l you caught”

“She loves r-a-b-b-i-t. And Carol sent over some veggies that have started growin’ since the war ended about a month ago. Jude loves that stew yea make”

“Everybody does or at least I hope” Y/N smiles bringing Judith on her shoulders as she instantly reached for Daryl who closed the distance to let Judith grab at him.

A bit of domesticity was nice after a long day and while Judith currently lays passed out in Daryl and Y/N’s bed. The two were enjoying the other’s company in the mini living room not far from the bedroom, the door being open just in case Jude needed either of them.

“Michonne said they’d be back in the mornin’ to grab her. Then we’ll head to the Kingdom”

“M’kay…guess this is our bed for the night” Y/N laughs softly laying against his chest on the couch feeling his hand gently go up and down her arm.

The two fell asleep fast and woke rather early, the usual habit of feeling unsteady after sleeping. Y/N lifted herself up and off Daryl even with his short lived protests on the matter. She went to check on Judith only to be met with a note that Rick came through during the night to pick her up.

“Guess we have an early start with no baby” Y/N smiles kissing Daryl’s forehead on her way to their small kitchenette. “There’s leftover stew from last night if you’re hungry. But I’m gonna pack my bag for the trip to the kingdom”

“Just toss a couple clothes in my pack and then we’re good” Daryl pulled himself up and off the couch heading toward the fridge to grab the jar of jelly Ezekiel gave him. The archer went to open it only for a struggle that Y/N witnessed when she came back into the main room.

“You want—-“

“Nah fuck off” Daryl continued to struggle, turning away from Y/N’s gaze as she rolls her eyes setting her clothes on the couch before getting his pack.

The second she heard the jar hit the counter, Y/N knew that was her cue for her turn at opening it. Once she did, she left it on the counter for Daryl to approach it later to get a spoon full of what he wanted.

“Okay I did what you said but I also included my first aid. Not like we’ll need it but better safe than sorry” Y/N smiles slipping her jacket on and pulling her pony tail out. She relaxed when Daryl brought himself up behind her kissing the spot where her neck meets her shoulder.

“Let’s get going, sunshine” Daryl playfully pats her butt on the way out of their living quarters.

Then two always stop to hunt for a moment before completing the trip to the Kingdom, but the second the gates opened Carol couldn’t help the laugh to erupt from her watching her friend carry in two bucks on her back while Daryl brought his bike to a stop with only rabbits over his shoulder.

“How do you manage to carry those things from wherever the two of you hunted?”

“Don’t ask questions I’ve brought dinner” Y/N laughs walking past Carol to Jerry who helped her take the hunt to their kitchen to prep it. Leaving Daryl alone with his best friend.

“Why didn’t you carry them in? Why make your partner?”

“Funny you think I didn’t ask” Daryl scoffs. “Besides you know—-“

“She’d argue with you. I do know that” She smiles bringing him in for a hug before pulling away to lead to where they’ll be staying for the night. “You would think someone of her stature wouldn’t be able to carry things four times her weight. But look at her go. Freak of nature…respectfully” she clarified when Daryl gave her a glare to that comment.

“It’s adorable.” Daryl states opening the door for Carol. “Sometimes”

“She opened the jar for you again huh?” She smirks getting a groan out of the man. “Ha!”

“Shut the fuck up” He groans once more as he walked through the mess hall to head into the kitchen watching Y/N prepare one of the bucks. “Need a hand?”

A few hours went by and the two got a lot done in the Kingdom, all they had to do left for their agenda was to set up snares and a few trigger points in case herds passed through. Daryl took care of the trigger points while Y/N set up traps but neither of them accounted for old traps that were still placed just that the environment grown over them making it difficult to spot.

So when the sound of a bear trap went off followed by a thud, Y/N thought it was one and hers and retraced her steps. But the obvious scream coming from the archer, made it clear to Y/N it wasn’t one of hers.

“Fucking—-SON OF A BITCH” Daryl shouted staring at the bear trap latched to his left calf. “Stupid fucking shit didn’t warn—-“ Trying to blame someone else for your misstep isn’t going to make this not happen—after it already did.

The quick steps triggered Daryl to grab his crossbow and aim it, forgetting Y/N was out there with him.

“Woah!” Y/N held her hands up alerting her presences as Daryl drops his crossbow with a huff. “What the fuck did you do?!”

“Oh me?! Look at what yea—-“

“I ONLY HAD ONE BEAR TRAP AND ITS OVER ON THE EAST SIDE OF THE KINGDOM——DONT BE YOU AND BLAME SOMEONE ELSE”

“I THINK I CAN WHEN IM IN PAIN. CAROL SAID THERE WERENT ANY TRAPS OUT HERE”

“STOP YELLING” Y/N was last to shout as she quickly ran in a direction that Daryl had to make his head fall back to see what she was doing which was take out the walker coming toward them after their screaming match. But her sense of heat of the moment action, was to kick the walker down and stomp on its head instead of using her knife. Effective but the whole “you bit?” conversation—-

“You gotta stop doing that!”

“It didn’t bite me!”

“The one you fucking threw the other day almost did!”

“I didn’t have my gun or my knife. I had to think fast! Besides—-Can we just agree it was impressive of me to throw a body like it was nothing?!”

“Can yea PLEASE just help me??”

“Right!” Y/N drops her backpack by her side when she knelt down to Daryl’s leg. “Was it just…under a lot of shit? Maybe we need to start be gardeners and check how many are actually under this grass”

Daryl scoffs, wincing immediately when Y/N held his leg to straighten it a bit so she could get the shirt she pulled out around it to use it as a tourniquet.

“Not too tight! Ain’t losing—-“

“Shut up I know what I’m doing” Y/N ignored Daryl because she does indeed know what she’s doing and his anxiety will only stress her into doing something wrong.

After the tourniquet was on just enough to stop the bleeding but not to kill the foot, she took out her first aid kit taking out the gauze and wrap getting it ready for when she unclenched the trap. Daryl braced himself but when he watched his partner take out her journal, his mind went to its intended use before—-

“Seriously?”

“You want to scream a herd over? Bite down, Dar” Y/N held up the journal as he immediately took it in his mouth before gripping the earth when she didn’t even give him a countdown and quickly opened it. Y/N ignored the muffled scream as she felt her anxiety crawl up her shoulders but she focused on what’s in front of her.

Daryl spit out the journal once Y/N finished getting the gauze and wrap onto his wound. Taking a deep breath even when every part of him is screaming internally.

“Okay. I have to carry you”

“FUCK that. I ain’t about to be carried by yea”

“Well you can’t walk on the leg and you shouldn’t put more pressure on it. It needs stitches. This is only a temporary fix”

“I can walk” He scoffs trying to rise to his feet only to fall on his ass. Daryl groans a bit looking up at Y/N who rose to her feet when he tried to stand. The annoyance grew in her face. “FINE!”

Y/N didn’t even wait another second and grabbed Daryl’s arms before pulling him over her shoulders. Adjusting him enough for his weight to be evenly distributed on her shoulders before starting to walk back to the main gate of the Kingdom.

It didn’t take long for word to travel fast as Carol busted into the infirmary they have.

“The fuck happen to you?!”

“Bear trap” Y/N states sitting in the chair beside Daryl’s bed as he’s already been stitched up and now stuck in the bed until he can get back on his bike. Or someone from Alexandria travels with a car.

“Wow. Well you better stay in the fucking bed, Dixon” Carol sighs. “I’ll go get your room set up and I’ll help you move him later” she stated before leaving as Y/N turned to Daryl who’s annoyed look never left him.

“Not like I need the he—“

“Shut up”

[randomreadingtimewithtsuki]

Imagine being ASL Childhood friend and Falling in love with Ace

Tsuki's note: This is a Ace x reader thing. Also leaning on the angst side. Bear with me here. Reader is a shirwright but is especialized in ship treatment ( Kinda like Rayleigh).

Tsuki's note 2: I used a popular phrase from Brazil translated to english -"Uma vez no inferno, abraça o capeta" - "Once in hell, must as well hug the devil"

Tsuki's note 3: In case you are reading this like a female reader, please consider you would be wearing a tanktop or something. If you are reader as male or GN reader, just keep going as you see.

Tsuki's note 4: I can write more about this if anyone gets interested. But this piece is just a summary.

Not Proff read. This too long to proof read sorry! Also my eye sight is still blurry, so bear with me here.

PART 2 Can be found here. Its more about the childhood itself. No ships, just kids. + Uta.

TW: mentions of blood, injury and death.

Imagine you were friends with the ASL trio since kids.

You were the same age as Ace and Sabo, but you befriended Luffy first at the Windmill village.

The last time you saw Ace and Luffy was when you and Ace were 13. It was a rough time especially for you and Luffy, since he was very much attached to you. After that you only exchanged letters. In of them you wrote the following line:

"I will collect all of your wanted posters. I would like to have a big collection, so please, stay alive ok? I am looking forward how big you guys make!"

Reading this tiny phrase made Ace and Luffy very happy! You didn't exaclty love pirates ( despite liking Shanks quite a bit), but you did support those two. At first it was to antagonize Garp, but later on, you just wanted them to be happy and do whatever the wanted.

They knew you loved building things and were pretty good at drawings. So they were cheering you on as well, to persue your skills.

You met Ace again, a littlr bit after he joined the whitebeard crew. You happened to be working on a project for the governament, when... well, you noticed it wasn't just a simple project, a simple bridge and ship. It was meant to carry slaves.

So you decided to slowly dismantle the thing, removing some small parts to make the whole construction crumble " on this own". No one noticed what you were doing. You planned to leave this island when a supply ship would dock. You could just write a letter and sneak leave.

You came across some people stranded on the island, they were badly hurt with a broken boat. You decided to help them, bringing them food, water and trying to fix the small boat.

Those group of men were very fidgety for a while. You never asked anything about them. Eventually they blurted out they were pirates. Oh great. you thought to yourself.

They were expecting you to just drop everything, but you didn't. Once in hell must as well hug the devil, right? They were super grateful to you. Alas they never told you which pirate group they were from.

They just said they were pirates running away from the marines and that the Marines had stolen their treasure. You just nodded along.

The managed to leave, the boat was safe for a short travel - you warned them about it.

The day that you were planning to leave was close by. But before you could, a Marine ship docked. Weird, could they be the ones those pirates talked about? You were very wary about this ship. Something wasn't right.

The managers from plants called of you who were working on this project and there were the Marines. Guns in hands. A wicked grin in the captain's face appeared. Oh not good. You immediately looked for escape routes.

A colleague was oddly nervous. Another one was grinning too. You soon came to find out that the Marines were there because you all knew too much. Appearently your nervous colleague questioned the management and now you were all doomed.

You managed to escape - badly hurt, but you did it! You were barely conscious when a man talked to you:

??: Hey, are you Y/N? Hey!

When you opened your eyes all you could see was a wooden celling. You felt your body gently swaying - you were in a ship. Looking to your side you saw no one, just a few empty beds.

You carefuly sat up feeling pain everywhere. You noticed your foot was wrapped in bandages. Did you break it?

You sighed. There was no windows on this room. But you noticed it seemed like an infirmary. Your head was spinning, where were you? Could you or better, should you get up and walk around?

While you debated if you should walk or not, the door opened. You jumped a bit, heart beating fast.

You saw a blond man enter and stare at you before smiling:

??: Look who is awake, Yoi!

You hesitated a bit. You recognized that guy. you saw his posters a dozen of times.

??: I am Marco. And you are Y/N, right?

You blinked.

Y/N: Yes... how do you know my name?

Marco smiled.

Marco: You are popular here, Yoi.

He then proceeded to explain what happened. You helped some new members of the Whitebeard pirates. They came back to the main fleet and told everyone what happened.

Upon hearing your name and description, Ace became anxious. It was too much of a coincidence. He decided he would go to island to check it out and well, others tagged along - After all the Marines picked a fight with them too.

So two birds with one stone. Check on you and the treasure. When they arrived there, they saw the Marine ship and could hear the chaos happening.

Ace went looking for you on his own, while Marco and others went to find the Marines. Turns out, Marco and pirates you helped found you first. bleeding from the head and a nasty injuried foot.

Upon hearing the whole story, you had one question and one comment:

Y/N: I am glad the guys are ok! But... By Ace, you mean Portgas D Ace?

Marco nodded.

Marco: He said he knew you from a long time ago.

You confirm it. You just couldn't believe what just happened. You helped some random people that were pirates. Whitebeard pirates. And for some reason Ace is now on the Whitebeard crew?

After checking on your wounds Marco left to tell Whitebeard and Ace you were awake. You felt your blood go cold. Why tell the captain? i mean, this was HIS ship, but... oh boy.

Soon you heard a knock on a door. At the same time you answered, it bursted open. This time you saw a very familiar freckled face.

Ace: Y/N! Are you ok?

You couldn't help but smile:

Y/N: I have seen better days! - You laughed.

Ace sat down next to you. He was smiling:

Ace: Can't believe It's actually you!

Y/N: Yeah, i can't believe none of this either...

You told him everything that has happened until Marco found you. Ace listened to you in silence.

Ace: So, they found out you were breaking that thing?

Y/N: Of course not. It should collapse soon. But they aren't smart enough for that.

He laughed.

Ace: How long has it been, huh? You didn't change a bit!

Y/N: Neither have you!

You wished to talk more with Ace, but you came to know it was nightime and quite late, when Marco shooed Ace out of the room so you could rest more.

In the next few days, you have talked to Whitebeard with Marco, Ace and those pirates together. He allowed you to stay around until your leg recovered - as a token of appreciation for your help and your boldness.

Whenever you needed to go around, Ace volunteered to carry you on his back - you tried to walk on your own with a crutch, but escaping Ace was hard sometimes. Why? You realized he grew taller than you. He was always stronger than you, but now he could easily swipe you off of your feet.

You guys caught up with life. How he ended up in the Whitebeard Pirates and all the places he had been before. And you told him about your studies and projects.

Marco has told you your leg would take weeks to heal, so you couldn't make much effort. Alas, it was pretty boring to just sit around. So whenever you could, you would pester the shipwright for some activities.

You did little things here and there and he actually loved your help. When Marco found out he scolded you, but! you claimed to be resting - you were seated, leg elevated, all good right?

Well, no. The man sighed and scolded you some more. You pouted. Ace laughed.

After two weeks, the newspaper was delivered. On the cover page there was the attack of the Whitebeard's pirate on an island... wait. That was an awfully familiar place.

As you read that article you became nervous, catching Ace's attention. He rested his head on top of yours to read the article:

Ace: Isn't this what you were working on?

Y/N: Yeah....

Ace laughed.

Ace: You were right! It did fall apart.

Y/N: But.. you guys took the blame.

You were feeling very guilty. It wasn't fair. You wanted to apologize to Whitebeard, but you heard his booming laughter from behind you.

Whitebeard: Pipsqueak, do you think this is a big deal?

You shifted a bit, head low and ready to apologize.

Whitebeard: For you, it may be. But for me? This is nothing.

Right. It made sense. The man was one of the biggest pirates ever. Ace laughed at the captain's statement. You felt your face heat up, you were both embarassed and happy. He was taking the blame on your stead.

As more time passed by the Shipwright gave you more activities, of course, things that wouldn't set make you get scolded by Marco. Your leg was almost fully healed. Some crew members were very upset about letting you go - you were handy, lovely person. It was absolutely funny to see you and Ace bickering.

One example, of said bickering, was when you were adding layers to protect the wood on the railing. It was a hot day, sun very strong on your head for a while. Marco wasn't around to nag you, so you helped a lot this day.

Alas, because of the heat, you were shirtless. You didn't mind at all, everyone was doing their stuff. So were you. But when Ace saw you he marched towards you, saying you should wear something.

You frowned.

Y/N: Ace, it's hot today.

Ace: Yeah, you are going to et sunburn.

Y/N: No, i won't. I take care of my skin ok?

Ace: Sure, but you aren't healed yet.

Y/N: I am fine!

Ace: There are bunch of people you don't know here.

Y/N: Aren't they your family?

Ace: Y-yes, but you should something.

You dropped the brushed.

Y/N: Says the guy half naked.

Ace flinched.

Ace: This is different.

Y/N: Oh really?

Ace: I Am made of fire. And this is my home.

Y/N: You are ridiculous.

Ace: Y/N!

Y/N: You know what? If you find a shirt, i will wear it.

Ace: You better!

Ace stormed off and you rolled your eyes. Neither of you noticed the crew members grinning and laughing.

Ace came back with one his shirts and tossed it on you.

Ace: Here.

Y/N: !! Is ... is this yours?

Ace: You told me to find some. I did.

Y/N: Oh... so you do own clothes.

Ace ruffled your hair, you laughed. His cheeks were red on frustration making his freckles more apparent. You did put on his shirt and rolled up the sleeves.

Y/N: There. Happy now?

Ace: Very much, yes. But what are you doing?

Y/N: Your shirt is too big, Sleeves get in the way.

Ace lowered his hat. His face was burning. No scratch that. His back was burning. This kind of interaction was a gem to see. The oh so fearsome Firefist Ace, being shy around a civilian like you.

Another task that was given to you was to fix Ace's boat. He manage to burn part of it. Here were you using a special treatment resistant to fire. Hopefully he wouldn't burn and fall into the water.

This time Marco was around to make sure you were in the shadow and not overworking yourself.

Y/N: Ace, you can test it out. Be careful to not to fall ok?

You glanced around to see if there was anyone who could swim.

Ace: Really? Can we test it?

Y/N: Sure.

Suddenly, Ace was in front of you. You blinked and before you could ask, he had throw on you on his shoulder.

Y/N: W-what are you doing?

Ace: Testing!

Y/N: with me??

Ace: Yeah, C'mon Y/n!

You looked up to see Marco grinning. You raised your arms towards him in hopes he would help you. He should right? He always nags you about over working.

Marco walked towards you two. You sighed in relief, but he did not reach for you. He took the tool you were still holding out of your hand:

Marco: Be careful! Y/N is not fully healed!

Ace looked back and smiled and Marco. Off you went on a test drive of that boat.

Ace was really good at piloting that thing, but you were scared. He went way too fast and the space was too small for two people. You were furious.

Ace: Y/N, If you keep hugging me like that you will make it difficult to turn!

Y/N: Y-you do know this is cramped right?

Ace just laughed.

Slowly but surely you ended falling for Ace. And Ace for you. Before you two knew it, you were already a thing. Not a secret to anyone in the crew.

Whitebeard ended up allowing you to stay, because you were very handy, but also you felt like family already. His son's partner, was his kid too. Alas, He did made an agreement with Marco, Ace and you, that if worse comes to worse, you were forced to be there. You didn't like this idea, but you did get where he was coming from.

Ace wasn't particularly found of it either, but he figured it was the safest route for you. Marco supported this full on.

Almost two years went by, when you got the newspaper. Scanning through the articles you reached the Pirate's bounty. There you found a lovely face you could never forget:

Y/N: Ace! Look!

Ace got his arms around you, head on top of yours.

Y/N: It's Luffy!

Ace snatched the poster out of your hand for a moment. He laughed and so did you.

Ace: Haha! He did it! Look at our little brother!

Y/N: Yup! He did it!

It was then you noticed something. "our little brother" You questioned Ace about it. He grinned at you, face burning red:

Ace: Well, yeah! If he is my little brother, we are a thing and he loves you, that makes him your brother too, right?

Your face burned. You did love Luffy like a brother. But you never called each other as such. You smiled. Yeah, it made perfect sense.

Ace went on to tell the others about Luffy. His cute little brother. It was very adorable how proud he was of Luffy, of course you were too. And now you had a new poster to your collection!

Soon after this, Thatch was murdered. You and Whitebeard insisted that Ace should let it go. Something about blackbeard wasn't right.

He didn't listen. No matter how much you pleaded and argue, his mind was set on going. And off he went. You sighed in frustration.

When Ace met Luffy at Alabasta, it was a very sweet encounter. They talked things out a bit. Ace told Luffy he met you. He actually told his brother everything - very shyly, but he did.

Luffy was beyond happy. You were alive and ok. And you were with Ace too! That means you were safe and his two favorite people were together, whatever this means! Great!

Ace was beyond happy to see Luffy reactions. Alas, their encounter didn't last long. But before Ace left Alabasta, he found a gift for you. A beautiful bracelet.

A few days went by and you crossed paths with Ace, very briefly. You just so happened to stop at the same island to gather food. As soon as he saw you, he ran up to you, hugging you so very tightly.

You couldn't help but giggle. You loved when he did that. It felt so warm! Ace told you about meeting Luffy in Alabasta. You were very happy to hear about his crew, his adventure and everything.

You tried to persuate Ace to give up on going after blackbeard. He refused once more. But before he left, he gave you the bracelet:

Ace: Listen, Y/N. I have to do this, ok? I promise when i get back we can have a huge a party!

He smiled.

Y/N: No, you don't! Your captain said so! Ace, something if off -.

Ace: Here, I got this for you. Take it as a... promise!

You took the bracelet. It was very beautiful.

Y/N: Promise of what?

Ace: That i Love you!

He grinned. Your face burned. You could see fire on his back. A clear sign he was beyond embarassed.

Before you could say anything else, he kissed you and left. Your heart began to sink. A dreadful feeling took over your heart. You screamed, hoping he could hear you:

Y/N: You are an idiot! You better find me a ring after this!

Ace's back had more fire now. Yeah, he heard you.

Ace: You got it! - screamed back at you.

Guess you were engaged now? You sighed. Still worried about him.

A few weeks passes by when you heard the news: Fire fist Ace, was caught. Your heart ached so badly. Whitebeard was furious. The crew was in disbelief.

You begged Whitebeard to allow you to help. He deny it. You couldn't fight. He couldn't put you in danger. You offered to help as you could - perhaps enhance the ships?

This suggestion got the gears in his head running. You could help like that, yes. After shooting you down many times, he finally caved in. You and Rayleigh worked on the ships to make them more resistent and to make be able to stay underwater.

You didn't had much time. You did your best, as you were in a hurry your hands had deep cuts. You didn't stop until all the preparations were done.

Marco patched up your hand before they left. He told you the plan was to leave you in Saboady, where you would be safe. You pouted. tears falling from your eyes.

Marco: Y/N, it will be ok. Will bring Ace back.

You sniffled.

Y/N: With everyone, right?

He didn't answer you. You knew this was an impossible request. Marco patted your head and left you in the care of Rayleigh and Shakky.

You watched the whole ordeal from a corner of the plaza. Your heart did flips seeing Luffy there with a bunch of people - some you heard of like Crocodile, others, no clue. Like the person with a purple hair.

You were anxious, hands gripping whatever they could find. Shakky called you out, your hands were bleeding again. You felt relieved when you saw Ace and Luffy side by side. Just a little bit more and they both could be home.

It still ached your heart, knowing so many comrades died. Seeing Whitebeard so beaten. But you were happy. Just a little bit more and you hug your idiots.

Then, Ace slipped out of your reach, forever. You cried and soon began scream - You knew Luffy was in danger now. You were begging for something, someone, to help him.

Shakky moved you from the plaza. You didn't want to leave. You knew the image of Ace's body would haunt you, but you needed to see him. Somehow it had to be lie.

Shakky and Rayleigh took you away from the plaza. You were in shambles. Crying and shaking. You could hear the cheers when Whitebeard fell. It was all too painful. Too much.

A day went by, Marco came to fetch you to go to Ace's and Whitebeard's grave. At the same time, Rayleigh was about to leave to meet Luffy.

You begged the old mand to allow to tag along. You had to see Luffy. He must be hurting so bad. You were turned down. The man explained it was best for Luffy for you to stay out of the picture for now.

It took a bit more to convince you go with Marco. But you asked Rayleigh to at least, deliver a letter to Luffy. To which he agreed.

When you arrived at the island, you had no more tears to cry. You were watching it all from a far. It all still seemed like a dream. None of it was real. You could swear your Ace would pop up anytime.

As you were lost on your thoughts, You didn't notice someone approach you.

??: Y/N?

You looked up to see Shanks. He had a sad expression.

Shanks: You grew a lot since i last saw you, huh?

Last time you saw Shanks in Windmill village, he had just lost an arm. Your eyes pooled with tears. The man patted your head, all you could do was cletch to him his cloack.

In a lower voice, almost like a whisper, you thanked him. For the funeral and for not meeting Luffy, just yet. You couldn't see it, but he smiled at you. Patted your head again:

Shanks: Sure.

A simple word that weirdly enough, gave you comfort. It was genuine. He left soon after, his crew mates waving at you.

In the mean time, Luffy opened your letter. He began to cry as he read it, It was simple and very wet, since, well, Rayleigh had to swim.

" Luffy, None of this is your fault. You did all that you could. I am so proud of you! Stay strong ok? When we meet again, tell me about your crew, your ship, your adventures! I will be waiting for you.

Y/N."

Luffy verbally answered to your letter, between sobs. That he would tell you about it all.

Hancock got very curious/ jealous about you. Who the hell is this Y/N? How can they talk to him like that? She marched over to Rayleigh, to demand an answer.

Jimbey sighed.

But Luffy himself answered:

Luffy: Y/N... is my big sibling.

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

Thank you for reading this long ass fic! I am so sorry i won't be proof reading.

Also, forgive for OOC ness or non canon time line.

I ended it there because i have watches until ep 504.

I hope you guys have liked it!

[prettypynklemonade]

Torn: A Reacher Story

by PrettyPynkLemonade

Author's Note:

Hi friends! This is a Reacher fic feat. a black original character. It's an AU, but definitely fits into that world. There will be at least 5 parts. This is my first story that I've posted since 2016ish, so please be nice.

We only accept compliments and CONSTRUCTIVE criticisms.

Proofread by @trippinsorrows

cw/tw: dark humor/sarcasm, violence, blood and injury, child abuse, emotional abuse/trauma, strong language, threats of violence, abandonment themes, and romantic tension. (If I've missed anything, please let me know and I'll edit to add)

Word count: 1.1k

October 13th, 2024

Reacher was a man of few words. If he wanted something handled, he didn’t make assumptions; he’d assess the situation, come to a quick determination, and acted with efficiency to protect those around him without regard for his own well-being.

Everyone who knew him, and there were few that really did, knew he operated by a strict code of conduct. There was no one in the world that was an exception to his rules. And his penchant for freedom was unmatched. If it wasn’t a toothbrush and money for the bus, it wasn’t a necessity. He travelled from city to city, slept where he could, ate when he could and kept it pushing.

Of course, there were a few unsavory moments here and there that couldn’t be avoided. How could he know he’d see a kid assaulted by her own father on his way to the bus stop? Of course he couldn’t just walk away. Not without kicking the little girl’s father in the jaw, throwing the weak man up a tree, and calling the cops to handle the rest. He was a man with values, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be involved. He handed the kid a Clark Bar, patted her on the back, and continued his way. Knowing that he was now covered in that hillbilly bitch of a man’s blood he needed a new wardrobe. Anything that drew attention to him was an immediate no-go.

All Reacher expected when he walked into the quaint thrift store in the middle of the town was to buy a new pair of clothes and donate his current one. He didn’t have a way to get rid of the unsavory bloodstains, but that was for the store to deal with. He walked in, kept his head down, picked up the first pair of clothes that could fit and went into the dressing room. After he tried on the new clothes and was walking to the register, he already had a plan in his head, and it was the same plan he always had when he was ready to leave a place that had worn out its welcome: He’d move onto the next city, wherever that may be, and continue his wandering lifestyle.

But fate, or perhaps the devil, had other plans for him.

Behind the counter, wearing a scowl to rival a lioness’s, stood one of the most beautiful women he’d ever known. Although, the last time he’d seen her, she wished that he would crawl into a hole and die. She hadn’t been given the opportunity to say anything to him yet, as she’d been too preoccupied with two other customers in the store, but he knew she’d noticed him. Adora James was someone who noticed the smallest of details and she probably saw him as soon as he walked into the tiny, but beautifully decorated store.

He was kind of hard to miss after all. Standing at 6’5, weighing 250 pounds, and with the build of a GI Joe action figure he was typically noticed whether he actually wanted to be. With their torrid history, he was sure that his presence was the opposite of a present to the woman who couldn’t hide the way she wished death upon her enemies, and he was number one on that list.

He knew that this discomfort they felt wouldn’t be rectified until they talked so he did what he did best; he assessed the situation, waited until her customers left the register, established his next steps, and acted.

Reacher placed his old clothes on the counter, waiting until she was restocking the loose clothing. "Good to see you, Adora." "Not good enough." she shot back, quick-witted as ever. Without pausing in her work, she kept hanging the clothes behind her, deliberately avoiding his gaze. "What are you doing here, Reacher?" she sighed, the exasperation clear in her voice. "I thought I made it crystal clear—the last time I saw you was supposed to be the last time I ever saw you."

He couldn’t lie and say that Adora avoiding his gaze wasn’t hurtful, but he’d heard worse from her. Reacher knew that backing down would mean defeat, and he wasn’t ready to give up on this again. “Fate,” he suggested with a small smile. “Or destiny.” “Or maybe it was Maybelline,” she supplied bluntly, finally turning around to meet his gaze. “Be fucking forreal. You’ve never once in your life believed in destiny. What about seeing me in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere makes you think this could possibly be fated?”

Reacher rubbed his hand over his face while thinking how could he possibly answer her question without upsetting her even more. He knew she had every reason to be frustrated with him, he left her with bullshit answers and reasons for abandoning her, and fixing this situation wasn’t something he was going to accomplish in a thrift store.

“Look, how about I buy what I’m wearing, give you these to sell, and we can meet at the diner on Main Street to talk about what happened?” He hoped this offer would buy himself time to figure out his next moves. Reacher knew all too well why he made the excruciatingly difficult decision to walk away from the best woman he ever met, but the excuse seemed irrelevant in her presence. He saw the wrinkle in her forehead while she was deep in thought and observed the cute dimple in her cheek as she bit the inside of it.

To be honest Adora wasn’t certain she wanted to sit down with Reacher, it was risky. He was almost too beautiful for words and while he didn’t speak many of them, the ones he said carried weight. If he was willing to give her closure, she’d take that chance. With a resigned look in her eyes, she replied “Okay. I’ll entertain you. You’ve got 30 minutes of my extremely valuable time starting at 8pm. If it’s not satisfactory, I’ll make sure you won’t be giving anyone answers ever again.” She gave him his few pieces of change while ignoring the blood on the clothes, knowing that whoever pissed him off probably deserved it.

With the change in his hands Reacher nodded and turned to walk out of the store. He knew that she meant what she said, she could kill a man with her bare hands, and she had. As he looked back at the Thrift Store, all he could think was You don’t mess with the Special Investigators! and he’d already broken that promise once.

Taglist: @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @trippinsorrows @proceduralpassion @wwecrazed2010 @beas-mind @hotsauceeater @reacherfan @reignsboy19 @shitt-imfinished @jayjayem1999 @yana3sworld @dumbasswhorebug @prettyvampofsorrows

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! Part 39 (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Don't be mad at me, ok!

TW- talks of R*pe, SA, Violence, talks of assault, (please let me know if I missed any).

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, not hate to anyone involved.

Tag list: @imusicaddict, @b00ks1ut , @mstiemountainhop, @awaterfalls, @lovememadly92 @lucyfromtheoldhouse @blueberry-ovaries, @next-autopsy anyone else please let me know.

It felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room. My body shook with each second that ticked by in silence. The room had frozen, I looked from face to face, each with its own horrified grimace or rage filled stare. I glanced over my shoulder, Bull and Martin still held me steady but their faces had paled in colour, Bull appeared as if he was going to be sick as Martin’s had turned from grey to crimson.  

No one uttered a word, the decision of what we were going to do hung on the Captain's shoulders. Speirs still hovered over the man, his glare set firm. He looked like a man ready to kill, and I was ready to see it happen. 

Speirs cocked his gun, the only sound that filled the room. I stilled. Waiting with anticipation, yes kill him! 

Speirs raised the gun to the man’s head, finger on the trigger. The men stepped back, turning away from the scene. But I watched never taking my gaze off the replacement, I wanted to watch the light leave his eyes. If Emily was really dead like he said, I needed to watch him die just like he had her. 

The thought alone almost broke me, he was the last face she saw. So many questions flooded my brain, did he drag it out? Did he make her suffer? What was she thinking of when she had died? The questions alone filled me with so much fury I clenched my teeth together so hard they felt as if they were going to crack. 

How was I going to survive if Emily wasn’t here? Speirs’ actions hushed my racing mind.  

Speirs stood still, raising the gun at the man, a slight tremor to his hand. I could see him fighting with his morals. But this was Speirs, the ruthless killer. Or were those just tales. The Speirs we had heard about wouldn’t have hesitated, he would’ve pulled the trigger without a blink of an eye. But I watched the Captain, as he stared down the man. The man that had killed multiple other people, had shot Grant, had raped my Emily and murdered her in cold blood. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t shoot the man who had done the most awful things to innocent people. So maybe they were just tales then.   

He pulled the gun back, the soldiers in the room letting out the breath they were holding. Speirs glanced down at his hand covered in the replacement's blood, he wiped it on the man’s shirt. Looking disgusted. He took off his hat, straightening himself. 

I couldn’t hold back anymore, I ripped free from my fellow soldier’s grip. Striding forward I took a hold of the Captain’s collar, I was foaming at the mouth with rage. 

“What are you doing?! Shoot him! Kill him!” Ron’s face remained neutral as if I wasn’t screaming in his face. 

“Malarkey, two wrongs don’t make a right.” Speirs slipped free from my grasp. 

“He killed people! He deserves to die! I thought you cared about Grant and Em?” I threw insult to injury, I wanted a reaction from him, he was too calm. 

Ron’s head whipped around as he stalked back to me. 

“I do care.” His finger prodded at my chest. “He’s a drunk piece of shit that should be held accountable for his crimes, killing him would be putting him out of his misery. I care for my soldiers, Emily included, and that is why I will not kill that man.” Ron’s voice echoed around the room. 

“But they're dead, he took them from us, so now we get to take what is owed.” I challenged him.  

“Have the MP’s take care of this piece of shit.” He ordered the other men standing around us, not giving me an answer. 

“Grant’s not dead Malarkey. His shot wasn’t fatal. I didn’t kill him, because I have every hope that Emily is still alive.” Ron didn’t let me utter another word, he turned on his heel marching from the room. 

“Grant’s alive?” Tab asked the Captain as he left. 

“Kraut surgeon says he’s gonna make it.” The Captain reported. 

“We have to go find her.” I tried to dart from the room but hands held me still. “We’re running out of time! Let me go!” But the man's hand never let me free. 

“LET GO OF ME!” I yelled, but Bull shook his head. 

“No, Don, we need to make a plan. You can’t go running off trying to find her by yourself.” Johnny said as the rest of the men nodded. 

“We don’t have time!” I argued. “She’s hurt, she’s alone.” 

“We know, but Don if we don’t think about this we are increasing her chances of not making it back.” 

“Don, we will find her, she’s tough!” Babe said from over Johnny’s shoulder. The rest of the men agreed. 

They started making plans of teams of people and where they would search for her. I sat staring at the door. Everyone’e voices fading into the background, why didn’t the two men who witnessed it say anything about her being with them. Why didn’t I check on her before we left? I should’ve had her with me in the first place. I was frustrated, and angry. 

How hurt was she? Was she still alive? What if she isn’t alive?

I felt like I was being suffocated. My breathing was shallow and fast. I was panicking. I couldn’t hear anything over my own pounding heart. 

“Ok so Lieb, Babe and Malark are going to go to the road.” I heard Johnny say, I didn’t even wait for him to finish, I was up and out of the room. I heard footsteps behind me as Lieb and Babe fell into step with me.

Emily POV:

“Captain Speirs! Captain Speirs!” I called running up to the man who had left the main building. 

It had taken me quite some time to walk back to the base after the replacement had driven away. I didn’t make it my mission to get back as fast as I could though. I used the silence of walking to process. 

I couldn’t really, it was too hard. It hurt too much. So I grounded myself as I walked, what could I see, hear, touch and smell. Every time I fell back into the event I would ground myself. For now it was something I would push to the back of my mind. The man looked shocked to see me, shit.

“Emily?” The man stopped in his tracks as I approached him. 

“Sir, is Grant alright?” I asked puffing from my run. 

“He’s alive.” He stated, his eyes scanning over me.

“Good! I’m glad! Th-the man?” I asked hesitantly. 

“MPs are sorting him.” I nodded, sighing. 

“Emily, he admitted he hurt you too.” He uttered softly. I nodded again, unsure of what to say. My left hand was clamped over my right shoulder, but I knew that wasn’t the injury he meant. 

“Right.” I hadn’t really thought of what I was going to say, I didn’t really think I was going to make it back. The last thing in my brain had been how I was going to deal with the consequences of his actions. I truly believed that this was my last night here on this earth.  

But here I was standing back at the base, in somewhat of one piece. 

“The replacement hurt me, yes.” I uttered. Ron looked weary, his eyes sunken into his face as lines of worry formed on his brow. 

“I’m ok though, I think.” I couldn’t see the one man who had been so steadfast in all my times of need, looking so distraught.    

Concern marred his face as I lied through my teeth. I wasn’t ok, but I was still breathing, that had to count for something. 

“Em, you don’t have to be brave.” Ron stepped forward, his hand coming to cup my cheek. I stared at the ground unable to look him in the eyes. I knew if I would I wouldn’t be able to hold it together. 

I took a deep breath trying to steady the swell of emotions that tightened my chest.

“I know.” I uttered, my voice not sounding as solid as I needed it to be. 

“Where are you injured?” Ron’s had still held my face, his fingers gingerly titling my chin up so that my gaze met his. 

“Shoulder, throat, cheek, I think that’s everything.” I stated my injuries like they were items on a grocery list. 

“He shot me in the shoulder, strangled me, and hit me over the head with his gun.” As well as violated my body and soul, but I didn’t add that to the conversation. I wanted to keep some semblance of dignity. 

“You need to be treated.” Ron replied in a monotone voice. 

I studied his features, his cold mask had slipped back and was set firmly into place, looking down at me as if I had only scraped my knee. But a flicker in his eyes told me all I needed to know, he was holding it together for me, but only by a thread. 

His stare looked ready to kill, the slight clench in his fist at his side before he flexed his fingers trying to shake loose the rage that rippled through his body. With each breath he took his nostrils flared, like an angry bull. Ron wanted to hurt someone, but he didn’t, for me.  

“The men are planning to look for you, I’ll tell them you’re back.” He turned quickly, going to head back into the main building. 

“Ron.” I called after him. 

At his name he froze, his back still facing away from me. 

“Let me tell them.” My voice was weak, I felt small again, I had been through war literally but in this moment I had never felt more vulnerable. 

Ron turned his eyes scanning me up and down taking in my demeanour. I stood straighter trying to show I was fine, but my face seemed to give me away. 

“I can tell them.” I tried again, putting some strength behind the words. 

Speirs hesitated before nodding. He marched off to where he was going in the first place before I interrupted.    

I took a deep breath before heading to the building I had been only hours before, happy and unaware of my horrific future. Funny how things could change so quickly.  

I made my way into the building, the foyer was empty, but I could hear voices murmuring. Following the sound of the voice I find the men huddled in the main lounge, before I can announce myself I am hit by a solid wall. 

My eyes travel up the figure I barged straight into, trying my best to hide the wince of pain that shoots through my shoulder from the impact. 

Wide-eyed and shocked Don stares down at me, looking at me like he’s seen a ghost. Babe and Lieb peer out from behind the man curious as to why he had stopped so abruptly. Their faces also pale at the sight of me. 

A tight smile finds its way onto my lips, trying to pretend that I am fine for the sake of the men who all look as if they are going to hurl. 

“Em.” Don says softly, moving forward slowly. 

“Hi.” My voice sounds hoarse, I swallow the sharp pain in my throat. 

“EM!” Web calls from behind Don, as he sees me, he surges forward with open arms. 

The sudden movement sent panic rising in my chest, I knew it was only Web but the alarm bells had already been raised. 

I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, as I gasped for air. My brain was only shouting one thing, survive! Survive! Survive!

I stumbled back, raising my hands to fend away his attack. 

“No!” I yelled hysterically. I pitched backwards, my back harshly colliding with the table behind me. The table tipped as the contents that were scattered over it clattered to the floor.  

My breathing was ragged, outstretched hands shook violently, the only sound I could hear was the erratic pounding of my heart. 

Web stopped in his tracks, watching me with concern on his face. As did the rest of the men, they looked at me like a wounded deer. 

I gagged, my stomach churning as it did so. I clutched my hand over my mouth and sprinted back out the front door. I desperately searched for somewhere to hide, I scrambled over to the hedges that framed the front of the property. Keeling over I emptied the contents of my stomach into the bushes. My hands clung to my pants as I reached, dry heaving until there was nothing left. 

A soft hand landed in the middle of my back causing me to turn around in fright. Don held his hands up showing me he was no harm. 

“Sorry, you startled me.” I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. He stepped forward again but I raised my arm out keeping him at a distance. 

“Just let my panic attack finish and then you can touch me.” I begged, I hated that I had to push him away but I feared if anyone was to touch me at that moment it would trigger another episode. 

I knelt to the ground gracelessly, my jelly-like limbs not leaving much support. My shook with such vigour it chattered my teeth, my breaths were shallow and fast, as the waves of nausea made my head spin. 

Panic attacks weren’t uncommon for me, but I hadn’t had one this bad since my mum died. After she passed I had at least one a day for years. With some anti-anxiety meds and some therapy they finally died down. 

I practised my grounding techniques, focusing on slowing my breathing and distracting myself with my surroundings.    

“What can I do?” Don asked cautiously as he sat at my side. 

“Talk to me, tell me a story.” I said in between my breaths. 

“I will tell you about this girl I met-”

I peeked out of the corner of my eye and a confused look pinched my brow. Don chuckled. 

“Just listen before you get upset.” Don looked over at me, his charming smile shining through the darkness that clouded my mind, a simple gesture eased the pain slightly in my chest. I nodded confirming for him to go on. 

“I met this girl on a tank. She sat up front looking nervous and a bit shell shocked, and for some reason I just wanted to make her feel better. So I asked her where she was from, just to distract her, but I also wanted to see her face clearly in the daylight.” 

New tears welled in my eyes, but it wasn’t from the horrific events prior. He was telling me about the day we met. Right from the start he had only wanted to care for me, he didn’t even know me. 

“We talked for a bit before all hell broke loose, I was kind of in a daze after I had spoken to her. The way she smiled and laughed at my jokes, that’s all I wanted to make her do, smile.” 

I was so focused on his soft voice I forgot completely about the panic that had been strangling me from the inside. I felt my muscles relax and my heartbeat steady. 

“Then we were tossed into battle, she had been ordered to hang back and pick up the strays, but then all of a sudden she was in front of me tending to my best friend. She wasn’t the nervous girl I had met on the tank, she was a force to be reckoned with.” 

“Don.” I whispered. 

“Yeah?” He paused his story, turning to look at me. 

“Thank you.” Reaching out I took his hand that rested on the gravel we sat on. We sat silently, our hands intertwined looking up at the stars in the sky, his fingers brushing over the back of my hand in a soothing manner. 

“Em.” He breathed, I glanced over to him, his brown eyes glazed over as tears brimmed. 

I shifted forward, kneeling beside him as I took him into my embrace. His arms wrapped around my back as he held me tightly, burying his face into the crook of my neck. Don’s body shuddered as he wept, my fingers tangled into his hair as I pressed kisses to the side of his head. 

“I’m ok, Don. I’m ok.” I soothed him. 

“I could’ve lost you.” He pulled back, his wet tears stained his soft checks. Don’s eyes held so much sadness it broke my heart. 

“What would I do without you?” The comment made me think of my decision that loomed over my head. Was I staying or was I going if the time came. 

“I’m here, I’m safe. You have me.” I squeezed him tighter as he sniffed, his hand stroking down my back.   

“I’ll let the guys know you’re safe and then let’s get you to Doc.” He pulled away, letting me dry his tears with my fingers. I bent down pressing the softest kiss to his lips. 

Don’s POV:

I stopped in my tracks, trying not to run into the person who appeared in front of me. My heart almost burst from relief as I took in her face. She wore a blank expression, her cheek cut open and bruised, blood had stained the side of her face, but there were tear streaks that ran through the crimson. 

She gave me her tight lipped I’m-ok smile, which almost always meant she was not ok. I could tell she wasn’t ok just from her eyes. They looked haunted and lifeless. Em’s eyes usually sparkled with joy and light, now that light had been put out, and it killed me. 

“Em.” Her name fell from my lips with ease. I stepped forward slowly, like she was a scared kitten so skittish one false move would send her under the table. 

“Hi.” Her voice was hoarse. Her eyes searched mine, even from here I could see the horror of what they had endured. Web startled all of us, when he yelled her name, running towards her. 

The look of pure panic etched into her features. That moronic idiot didn't even notice until it was too late. She clung to the table, her body shaking as she gagged. Em’s face paled, her pupils  were so big you would think her eyes were black. 

The “no” that wretched itself free from her lips was haunting on its own. But paired with the way she had shaken her head so furiously trying to get her point across, crushed my heart right there in my chest. 

She didn’t feel safe. 

Web stopped, finally taking in her demeanour. But it was too late, she was already out the door quicker than anyone could yell for her to stop. 

Eyes fell on me, but I was already marching out the door, sending a glare over my shoulder in Web’s direction. 

I came outside to find her kneeling on the ground, her body heaved as she vomited. 

Em asked me to distract her, the only thing that came into my head is the first day we properly met. She had sat right on the front of the tank, nervously taking away to Bull, who had been distracted. I watched her realise that he wasn’t listening and let her conversation die on her tongue. 

She nervously shook her leg, even from behind I could see her shoulders were tense as she tried to find anything to distract her. So I had, it was more for selfish reasons really. I wanted to be the one she nervously rambled too, not Bull. 

The whole tank ride we had spoken to each other, she talked so animatedly, her bright blue eyes shining in the warm sun and her rosy cheeks that flushed when I told her jokes. Em was the most beautiful person I had ever seen, inside and out. I think I had fallen in love with her then. 

But then I got closer to her, she made friends with my friends and I found she was the only thing that I could think of, day and night, it was only ever her.  

But I hadn’t told her all of that. I couldn't form the words. 

I sat beside her until she had declared it was over. Pain still haunted her eyes. I was losing her again. I had just gotten her back. I couldn’t lose her. I needed her. I don’t think she even knew the impact she had on me. 

I remembered one night when she woke screaming from her nightmares, she said she had felt selfish. I dismissed her idea immediately. Never had she ever been selfish, she gave everything to me, she leaned on me when she needed and I did the same with her. 

I’m sure she didn’t even notice when she was doing it. Her small jokes, the way she touched me gently, her look of concern and care, the way her eyes found mine in every room she walked into. We looked after each other from the very start.

Em was a light in the darkness. But even sunshine could be covered by clouds. 

I told her I would inform the men she was safe and then take her to get treated for her injuries. I’m sure they had questions, we all did. But she would tell us with time. We wouldn’t push her.

**************************************

Chapter 40

[tristayranambrosio]

In Archstone's Shadow

(TW: DO NOT IGNORE THIS PLEASE. There are Illusions to abuse and Graphic injury, Drug abuse, assault, kidnapping, abduction, all the terrible evil things. Given the nature of a city run by bruisers cartels and Gambling debts that put lives at risk, This is the sort of place that attracts Scumbags. And Trist's old "boss" is very much here and thriving.) The discordant twangs and plunks that filled the office Jerrico had commandeered for his stay in Undermine were grating and wearing on his last thinning nerve. He leveled an icy glare at the goblin ‘Mickels’ and his more stoic cousin or brother or… some variation or combination of the two. They looked pale and uneasy despite playing with the instrument that they’d been sent to retrieve. Racko hung back taking his payment as he always did, and luxuriating in the high before the blood had even been cleaned from under his grotesque nails.

Sly. Lazy, and baritone Jerrico spoke, “What exactly is this about gentlemen.”

“L-look Jack, we didn’t sign up for this level of rough-“

Jerrico held up his hand silencing the protest, “I'm sorry, I thought I hired professionals.”

“You did! We’re the best there is! But you didn’t pay for the brutalizing, what Racko did was-“

“What I asked him to do. If you take issue with how I do business you are welcome to no longer be a part of it, I am certain other cartels would have use for you would then -not-?” This was already irritating and he did not have the time to argue with these whiney little goons. “T-the guy you sent us for, he was loaded… he knew you- He’s not some old whore like you said… He might have- connections-” Mickle protested. “Oh- I’m -counting- on it.” Jerrico chuckled. After all that was the idea. He hardly had any interest in ‘reconnecting’ with his long estranged product. Trist was significantly harder to control the older he got, the more known he had become, that damned Nestor and his Crimson Curtain peddled everything but Jerrico’s drugs and whores and the old man had sunk his manicured claws into the talent along with the ideas of standing up to -the- Jerrico Archstone. But now… Little Rat had married up- and done rather well for himself… The lute would fetch a price when he ran sobbing to his meal ticket that it’d been taken, surely the Noble would be inbound to meet - “It represents a -RISK- Jack.” The first goblin argued, Mickles nodding along, a twin pair of uneasy faces rolling eyes up to him, “And risk begets -reward- Jacky.” Jerrico sneered, and snatched the neck of the instrument bitterly, gloves still on. He wasn’t about to forget this patchworked thing had burned a man before. “You got what he had on him- AND the payment he forwarded for the escort on top of your fee. Risks are -inherent- in this business gentlemen. Now if you are quite through begging for scraps… I have another meeting. Five minutes ago.” “That’s -bullshit- Jacky! You had Racko pulp the guy’s LEG, and worse! That ain’t business its-” “Sending a message. That I am awaiting the answer for- get. Out.” His patience was thin as it was, and he -felt- Her there. Waiting. A silence so thick it was… suffocating. “What if he’s got PEOPLE!?” “That Isn’t my problem. Out-” He brandished his revolver then, another thing He’d stolen off the kid… it was lovely actually, and personalized. Jerrico thumbed the hammer and squeezed the trigger pointedly but not all the way. The pair scrambled out swearing abandoning Racko to his glazed eyed High in the back of the room. Once the door swung closed Jerrico holstered his new toy and eased off the trigger staring after the two idiots. He tossed the lute onto his desk chair with an angry twang of protest from the instrument and perched against the edge of his desk taking a breath and rubbing his temple. “They have a point… What’s so special about this kid’s husband?” Jerrico asked the back of the room, he didn’t look up as he started disassembling and polishing Trist’s revolver. Hands the deepest violet it was pitch and seemed to drink the already dim light of the room stroked Racko’s dazed features, and he moaned a soft pleasurable sound as a voice answered from seemingly nowhere… Velvet and soothing, “What dull creatures… they do not consider life or pain unless there is monetary profit.” The melodic caress of the Mistress’ voice was like being fed glazed sunberries from the vine it made Jerrico rigid and unsettled, but he never showed it, “Not much point of anything if there isn’t profit, Tits.”

The shadow stepped away from the addict as he basked in his high, eyes inking over into black-blood crimson as he pushed the last of his doses into his bloodstream. “Small minded as they are in stature then…” She laid a tender hand on the Hob as he hissed then luxuriated back into peace, the sort of peace that only came when the voices came so loudly… they ceased to be understood and only obeyed all while pumping his body full of power to conquer the worlds beyond worlds. She cooed a soft encouragement, “You though have had the ambition to refine our interests into something mutual profit… and power.” “Look, Tits, I asked a question, you can tell me you don’t want to answer. You aren’t here for small talk, and business is good. What’s the deal?” Jerrico huffed as he reassembled the firearm, having cleaned and inspected it out of reflex. “Did you receive a response to your note?” She asked. “Not yet. Maybe the Little Rat’s not as important to him as you think.” “You speak so ill of him… and yet in all likelihood you are his sire… I thought mortals loved their offspring.” Jerrico snorted, “If that little waste of my spunk is actually mine? Daddy’s in for a pay day when my ‘son in law’ comes to pay ransom now aren’t I. I love -that- to be sure.” The shadows did not seem to understand, they tilted their head and mused, “Curious. The motivations are so… vast… it is was makes you all so fascinating and easy to manipulate.” He thought she was going to vanish then, the conversation seemed over which suited Jerrico just fine. The bitch was cagey to say the least. Abruptly however, her voice came again, “We are assessing him. And we will not be far…” “That’s not creepy. Whatever. Am I getting my gold for this risk? The prick had a point; that little Rat is not worth the headache they seemed to think had been caused, and that tracks.” “Ah… yes… How much would you say this risk is worth.” “Considering bodily potentially to my person? I’d say the Prince Kale’Thas’ vault- and his crown even if its got a sin-stone attachment now.” Jerrico snorted. “Hmm… Very well…” “Excuse me?” Jerrico paused half lifting the rolled fel-weed cigar to his lips. “Gold is no object to us.” “Like hell it’s not, you’re the one who has us booming… You’re making me a fortune…” “We are done with this conversation. Your earned reward will arrive shortly…” The Dim parlor brightened and the oppressive weight of silence and darkness peeled away as the shadows did. Jerrico gasped for breath having… not realized what a chokehold it’d been to endure and swore. He wiped his face catching his breath just to find his nose bleeding “Fucking creepy ass bitch…” He lit his cigar and busied himself using Hypernia’s rose-holes as an ashtray, seeing as no one could seem to make it play, but she made a hell of a weapon, and the little Rat’s blood was still drying in the wood grain.

[themadlu]

I absolutely love Zelie!

Could you write something set right after the game ends? She is tired as hell and overstressed and Astarion tries to make her feel better?

Thanks for the ask @spacebarbarianweird! I'm so happy you like her, as I love Tiriel! Wonder if they'd get along, uh.

Premise, I have never done asks (unless it's for a writing exercise) nor I am good (capable?) of writing fluff. So beware, there's as much fluff I can muster here, with a smidge of angst.

TW: none.

Tags: end-of-game spoilers (I haven't finished it yet, so if something is incorrect sorry!), fluff (kinda?), these two love in quality time and acts of service.

Hope you like it!

The charred edges of a frayed shirt stare at Astarion from the floor. He glares at them, at what they represent, in contempt: his return to the shadows. All that unprecedented (and mostly unwilling) heroism he displayed in fighting the Netherbrain served him nothing. Nothing. Not even saving Baldur’s Gate makes him worthy of a life in the sun, it seems, because, as soon as that jiggly monstrosity fell to its death, Astarion began to burn and the hunger tore at his insides.  

On the run, again, nothing more than a ravenous monster lurking in the shadows. 

(Somewhere, his conscience reminds him that real monsters don’t have impossible little heroes shielding them from the harming light with their own broken bodies.)

The elf laughs bitterly at that, hissing when his grimace irritates the still-healing skin around his mouth. 

And yet…

Steps resonate further down the hallway with a familiarity that makes his ears twitch in recognition and his body tense in eagerness. 

…she’s here. 

Zélie opens the door of their shared bedroom (Only theirs, finally.), closing it promptly behind her to block the stray sun rays from the corridor’s windows. A funereal darkness, one that Astarion is all too well-acquainted with, shrouds the room in a still embrace. 

Astarion is almost glad that his Zélie is human when surrounded by shadows. Back then, before the blooming trust, the tense friendship, the impossible devotion, he despised the maddening woman (He was terrified of her, so inconceivably real.) The darkness was the only time he had the advantage when her pale eyes would squint in temporary blindness and not witness the violence her stern kindness did to him. How it undid the tenets of the world, one by one. 

You ruined me, darling. Look at me, a fool in a doomed love. What a ridiculous joke of a vampire you made me!

He should be prowling for blood and cursing the sun, yet here he is, smiling, trying his damn hardest not to rush into his woman’s embrace. You will return to me begging when she’s gone, what’s left of his spite whispers. He ignores it, because that part of him has never known what it means to be cherished simply for existing (It knows all about being wanted, although comparing that with whatever stolen miracle he and Zélie have makes Astarion gag.)

“Finally, darling! Here I thought I’d seen the last of you, lost among all that dreadful politicking—” his snarky quips (They are part of him and Zélie loves them, so he’s decided he’ll greet her with one every single day.) die in his throat when he properly looks at her. 

Hells, he had gotten into the habit of scanning her for possible injuries during their travels, but now the fight is over, without visible wounds or bruises, Astarion can fully see the toll their adventure has taken on her. Her eyes are tired and bruised from lack of sleep (Of course, she’s been foregoing sleep to spend time with him at night.), her face tauter than ever, skin so sallow she looks sick. Astarion presses himself against her and bristles when he feels her ribs poking his body through their clothes. 

Worry, guilt, anger grip him. His brave, little saviour looks so unlike herself. So fragile and exhausted that he fears she’ll crumble to dust should he touch her. He forgets she’s human and not a divine being sometimes, with all that practicality and stony attitude of hers. Never complaining, never relenting (He knows it well.)

You moronic creature! How dare you reduce yourself in this state.

“Darling, what—”

“Oh, hello, Astarion,” Zélie seems to take notice of him only when he’s practically caging her against the door. She’s making an effort not to slide to the floor, he can tell. 

Fucking idiot. 

“Are you well? I hope the room is comfortable enough?” she nearly slurs.  

“Am I well?” Oh, now he’s angry, “Love, what the fuck—”

“Language! No need to be rude,” Astarion feels some relief when Zélie’s irises spark with that annoyed light he coaxes out of her oh-so-well. She inhales deeply, continuing “I came to tell you that I will be late tonight, so you could come and meet me near the main city gate? There’s barely any Fists left, and lots of properties have been robbed or vandalised since there are no guards so Wyll asked me—what’s with that look now?”

The pale elf stares at her perplexed face down his nose, nostrils flaring. “Do you hear yourself, you wretch?!” Her eyes are reduced to judging slits and she’s about to chastise him, but Astarion is undeterred. “No, rather, have you looked at yourself recently? Literal corpses have a healthier…flair than you do now, darling. Myself included.” 

Zélie scoffs (Scoffs!), “Oh Astarion, I admire how far you’ve come with showing concern, really, but,” she tries to push past him, but even her martial art is worthless against his full vampiric strength, “there are things, oh you vexing elf! Things that need tending to even if I’d much rather spend the foreseeable future here with you–hey!”

Astarion feels somewhat proud of the shout she lets out when he picks her up with ease (Not so puny, after all.) She is so light something lodges in his throat (Frustration at his inability to keep her safe.) and he hopes that his renewed strength is what makes his gesture so effortless. 

No one should be this light.

She used to weigh almost the same as him, all muscle and sinew from her training and a life of comfortable abundance; now, her shirt hangs loosely around her frame. 

 Fuck. Why in the nine hells haven’t I noticed before?!

He realises he voiced his thoughts when the woman in his arms replies, “Because critical stab wounds take precedence over hunger, Astarion."

"No need to blame anyone,” Zélie says as he unceremoniously throws her on the bed. She fights not to melt into the mattress. “Astarion,” his infuriating lover speaks slower, as if he were a child, “I need to go. We didn’t save this city only to let it implode in chaos. It needs me; Wyll needs me.” 

Jealousy (Unfounded but very much present.) soars in Astarion’s chest. “Well, darling, our selfless Wyll can kindly go fuck himself and find his own lover and stop pestering mine. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of offers now he’s back in line at the next Archduke. Those horns also add a certain ragged flair that many sheltered young nobles will find irresistible.” 

Zélie rolls her eyes so much only her sclera is visible. She makes to stand up, but Astarion holds her by the shoulders with one hand, pointing an accusing finger at her with the other, “Hush, you. Is that how it’ll be for the rest of time? I am tired of seeing you hurt.” That makes her expression twitch with guilt. 

Good.

He glares at her, “Now, you stay here as the good girl I know you can be and I’ll go to the kitchens to see if anything edible is left. Hopefully, it’ll be better than whatever the wizard cooked.” Astarion forces himself to tear away from Zélie’s inviting body (He did miss her all day.), but she catches his wrist before he can step away. 

“What now?!” he snarls. “You’ve driven mad for days with your ‘Respect others’ and ‘We are a group, Astarion!’ and ‘You can’t be that selfish’, and you won’t let me—”

“The sun,” she simply says, defeated. 

Oh.

How quickly Astarion has forgotten his pathetic limitations. On a quest for tavern food, defeated by the light of day. He can’t even venture outside their room. Zélie is the only person he wants to protect and can’t even feed her when she’s fed him countless times before. He snarls loudly, balling his fists, “Fuck!”

“It’s all right,” Zélie pulls him to her, unfazed by his temperamental mood, and he lets himself fall on top of her on the bed, his mortification soothed by her closeness. 

“Tell you what,” she says, breath tickling his face. Astarion holds her cheeks, sharpened by tiredness and hunger, in his hands. He rubs his thumbs over them in small circles, as if he could make them meatier, healthier, by force of will alone. “I will go downstairs, where a Fist captain is waiting for me. I will tell her to ask Wyll if the issue can wait until tomorrow or if Jaheira or Minsc,” she grimaces in worry at the idea, “can take over for the evening. Then, I’ll see if the cook has something prepared. If not, I’ll make do with some cheese and bread.”

Astarion feels a soft dizziness spreading through him. She is talking with that calm and collected voice of hers as if nothing could ever shake or hurt them when she knows what it does to him. He tangles his fingers in her curls, messing them up (An arduous task when they already look like a harpy’s.), before cradling her face into the base of his neck.  

“Then,” his little hero wraps her arms around him, under his shirt and on his scarred back. Astarion is still unused to how careful her hands are on him, like a gentle breeze. She looks at him in search of discomfort, but she finds none. The elf hopes Zélie knows that nothing she does will be the cause of any uneasiness he may show in the future (Even she can’t shield him from all his memories.)  

“I will come back here, to this bed. We’ll eat and rest and when the sun sets, we’ll go to the rooftop to see the stars and enjoy the summer air. How does that sound?” She boops his nose with hers. 

Astarion swallows loudly, “It sounds perfect, love,” he concedes. That’s as close as anyone has ever come to convincing Zélie to drop her duties and rest. Small victories. He is sure he’ll persuade her to live a life of rest and luxury, one day. If everything goes as he desperately hopes.

He is rewarded with a content smile he does not deserve, so he kisses her soundly instead. 

____________________________________________

The night is warm, comforting even. How strange; Astarion can’t remember darkness in Baldur’s Gate ever being so welcoming. A loud munching resonates on his left, and the pale elf has to keep himself from grinning too overtly at his precious woman digging into a simple beef stew as if it were the nectar of the gods. Her cheeks puff out as she takes another mouthful, her usual composure nowhere to be seen in what Astarion hopes is another first. 

(He wishes he could have been her first at everything, just as she was his.)

Midnight strikes. He would have been in some dirty tavern or dingy brothel by now if the mind flayers hadn’t mercifully kidnapped him. He would have been truly dead if the impossible creature next to him hadn’t insisted he was worth saving.

Zélie looks at him as if he performed a miracle, “This, munch, is, chomp, utterly amazing. The best thing I’ve eaten in a long, long while.” 

“Tut, love, I resent that. And here I thought I was special,” he purrs it in offended seduction just to witness his lover’s cheeks and forehead flush in embarrassment. She looks healthier already. 

Good. 

“Oh, you, sassy, snarky…ugh,” Zélie narrows her eyes at him, then immediately composes herself. “Let me specify, the best thing I’ve eaten of any nutritional value in a long, long time.” 

Astarion laughs so loud that a few pigeons fly away in fear. “Touché, love. Well played.”

“Where did you even find this? When I checked the kitchen—”

When she checked the kitchen, the useless cook was not meant to start his shift for another couple of hours, which left her with two slices of bread and a portion of cheese so small even a rat would have ignored it. So Astarion, spurred on by his newly-uncovered protectiveness, waited for his Zélie to be busy with the Fists captain before putting his daggers to good use. It was convenient that the cook had no will to test out the elf’s gutting technique. 

“Oh, darling, I am extremely resourceful. You should know this by now,” he says with a telling smirk. 

“Right. That means I don’t want to know. Though I wouldn’t be against getting more of this,” she points at the bowl of stew in admiration, “from time to time. It reminds me of my grandfather’s cooking.” 

Astarion tenses a bit at the mention of the family she left behind for him; he waits for (No, expects.) Zélie to eventually consider the whole thing as the massive mistake it is and…leave him. Hate him. Become another person he cheated not of her life (At the very least.) but of her future. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, dear?” She asks, head tilted. She can see him even without the tadpoles, and it unsettles him in a good way. 

It feels right, to be known by her. To know her in return. 

He doesn’t want to lie to her now (She’s rubbing her annoying righteousness all over him.), so he opens his arms and she scoots against him, full belly and satisfied gaze. 

Lovely. 

Astarion gently guides them to the mattress he brought up from the bedroom and curls up around Zélie. He could laugh. He despised heroes for so long and here he was, lulling one to sleep. But she was his hero, which makes all the difference; he still doesn’t believe in the natural goodness of others, but he believes in hers, and that’s all he needs. 

And she fits against him, around his jagged edges so perfectly, Astarion would believe she was made for him if he were a religious man. 

“Sleep darling,” he coos into her ear. 

She’s already halfway to the dream realm after, but she’s ever the stubborn woman. “But the sun—”

“I don’t need sleep, love; I’ll move us downstairs when dawn comes. I’ve wasted the day in bed already,” he plants little kisses on her hair, her face, her hands. Worships her as much as he can without waking her up. 

“But that’s the issue…want to…spend time with you,” why must she make it so impossible for him not to fall for her?

Every time the elf is sure he hit the bottom of the devotion he is capable of, she pushes him further down. And she doesn’t try that hard, his pesky love. 

“Hush,” he murmurs, wrapping them in a thick blanket to keep his undead chill at bay. “Rest, idiot. I’m here. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Astarion tightens his grip on her sleeping form. “We’ll take all the time we need, love. I promise.”

[astolfofo]

deja vu, Jamis vu

BSD beast au x reader. Based on the end of the beast movie.  AUTHORS NOTE: SO. ITS FINALLY DONE. ITS 4AM I AM ON IPAD TUMBLR AND UHHHH… I tried to edit this. but. TUMBLR WAS BEING AN ASS. and the two hours I spent editing this went down the drain. Mere words could not describe the grief I felt at 3:37 in the morning. I would have screamed if I weren’t so zombieified. Then, I tried to be paitent and edit it another time, but tumblr was like: haha no. so it didn’t save. I swear it’s not my fault if you have a stroke while reading this. I sacrificed my sleep for an entire week to do write this. Please give me some credit for my suffering. /lh

Also keep in mind. I have watched the DA movie and the beast movie a whopping total of 1 time. It’s probably very off from what I was trying to communicate, cause I legit have no clue what goes on in the light novels... spare me the slander. 

Last thing, I tried something new with this one, so there’s weird ahh switches between first person and 2nd person in this. Idk how good it is, lmk if i should never do it again.

Tw: head injury, murder, blood, suicide, yeah I think that’s about it.

word count: 6.8k  

To all the Chuuya enjoyers out there, I’m sorry for being a disappointment.

Tags: @redeemingmygloryintopurgatory

I’m wet.

Im standing outside his door, knocking as it rains outside, without an umbrella, cold, and of course, drenched.

Helplessly, I knock on his door, hoping for a response from him. I know it’s pointless, by now. I should cut him out of my life by now, I should… leave him. He’s not a good person, he’s part of the Port Mafia, for the love of god… I’m scared of him. He could crush me at any moment. Hell, he breaks into my house so frequently, and even though he’s done no harm… he could kill me at any moment. So why am I here? Shouldn’t I be relieved that he hasn’t shown up at my apartment for over a month now? I… just can’t…

Lightening splits the sky in half and the sound of thunder cracks in the air.

Your fist slides down the window pane of the door. It makes a terrible sound, and you wince in pain from the sting of the friction. You should just go home. It was obvious Chuuya wasn’t even home, he never was. And if he wasn’t even home, how would he even answer the door? You regret coming here in the first place, you didn’t even know why you chose to. Was it out of worry? Was it because you had to say something to him? You couldn’t remember by now, it was all on impulse. 

Chuuya had broken into your apartment countless times. Still, no matter how many times you’d snap at him, how many times you’d emptily threaten him, or try to push him off the balcony, he still came back the next day, unphased. You couldn’t get rid of him, no matter how hard you tried. And after many days, you had learned to accept that someone could break into your home at any given moment.

And you had no knowledge of how he knew you, let alone knowledge of how he even got your house key. Or maybe he picked your lock. You couldn’t be sure and you really did not want to know. 

Every day, you’d come back home from work, and Chuuya would be sitting on your couch, drinking your wine (much to your own distaste). You’d usually give him a dirty look, and he’d glare in return but you’d say nothing. You preferred not to talk to him, and Chuuya wouldn’t raise conversations by himself. He always sat in the corner of the room, observing… scrutinizing every move you made. On the rare occasions when you had managed to start a conversation with him, it was always painfully awkward.

You once remember asking him why he was here, what he wanted from you, and his true intentions. Chuuya looked at you in an amused manner and stared out the window. 

“Why I’m doing this? You’ll find out yourself when the time is right.”

By the time you had woken up, he was always gone. As if he was never there in the first place. The only thing he’d leave was the wine glass he’d drink out of, and your clothes you had hauled back from the laundromat messily folded, in your drawer. Occasionally, when it warm out, he’d leave the window open. They were small actions. Meant to be noticed, but not returned.

The splashing of rain intensifies, as you stand on Chuuya’s porch. He’s not home. You can’t stand here forever. You have to get back home before it’s too late.

What a great way to spend my time off work.

But you wanted to try one last thing before you left. Maybe his door was unlocked the entire time. Although you would doubt it, it was worth a try. It was so stupid to do this, all of it was. But your curiosity is getting the best of you, and you desperately wanted answers. Answers only Chuuya could give.

So, you grip the door handle and twist the doorknob. Much to your shock, the mechanics of the door click, and the door opens.

Chuuya had left the door unlocked. He forgot to lock his own door. You take a step up, and stand in the doorway. The rain is still hitting your back, and you groan realizing that you’re dripping water onto the floor. Quickly, you step in and shut the door. You twist the lock, ensuring that no one else would come in.

You sure hope Chuuya wasn’t going to come home tonight. The thought of it made the hair on your neck stand slightly. 

You take off your shoes which are drenched in water and stare in the mirror. You’re soaked to the bone. Your clothes are completely see-through. You’d need to change them. That could wait, though. If the rain stopped, you’d go home as soon as possible.

Okay. Quick in and out it is. I need to find my spare key, and I need to find what happened to him after the explosion in the sky that day. The one that happened on the top of the… port mafia building. You shudder. I wonder what happened. It was so bright that it looked as if the sky exploded for a second. The next thing you know, everything is back to normal… except it isn’t. A dead body is found at the bottom of the building.

Followed by that, I never saw Chuuya again, but many people that were close to me have been avoiding me. When asked why, they avoided my question. There isn’t a strong connection there, but I think… that all of these events are connected somehow. Chuuya never appears again, and the fact he works for the Port Mafia, definetly does not help. 

Additionally, the Armed Dective Agency sent me a letter to be wary of Chuuya. With no additional information. There’s something going on here. Something is wrong. Something terribily wrong.

And I’m scared.

Apprehensively, you take several steps inside the house. You keep getting the feeling that you may get caught. But you don’t hear anything at the door. It’s a painful paranoia.

You inhale and exhale.

I’ll start looking for hints first. I don’t need an answer right away. One hint will be able to give me lots. I’ll start from his room, that’s where people are most likely to hide things.

You walk as quickly as possible across the empty corridor in the house. His house is eerily empty. There isn’t much in it, just a lot of furniture, a shelf of wine, messy papers and a few books placed sparsely across the rooms.

You walk up the stairs, which slightly creaks under your weight. You try your best to ignore any noises and try to stay focused. As you reach the top of the stairs, you see his bedroom, which is the first room at the end of the staircase.

You walk towards the room, you open the door and look around. Chuuya’s room is surprisingly fuller than the rest of the house. There is a dresser, with several items stacked on top of it. It has drawers, which you assume were full. His closet was also filled with clothes, with various hats on the shelf above in his closet.

Chuuya’s bed was neatly made, giving the impression that he had not been home in weeks. Unoccupied, cold, and abandoned. Yet you felt a temptation to lie in it either way. Your eyes dart to the dresser again, and you look at the various items spread out on it. None of these are of much use to you. Besides the gun that seemed unused.

Your hands move to the drawers and you begin to search them. In the first one, there was nothing. Just a bunch of stationery, and papers, some of which had blood on them. You shudder in disgust and move on.

You struggled to pull the second drawer. After a moment, it slides open and you look at the inside contents. You stare at it, wondering if you open it. There is no address on it, and it isn’t sealed. 

You have a bad feeling about this, but your hands move faster than your brain. You pull out the piece of paper and read its contents.

The letter is addressed to you. It doesn’t include much. Just A single sentence that holds an address. 

And then it hits you.

Chuuya had been planning this for a long time. He had purposely left the door unlocked, left his house empty, and left you because he knew you would try to find him one day.

It infuriates you more than you expect. But you can’t stop here. You’ll go to a specific location. 

Just to be sure, you look in the third drawer, you see your spare key, as well as a lock cutter. 

Its dark now. It’s still pouring. You have no choice to stay here for tonight. Begrudgingly, you curse yourself for dragging yourself into this. Still, you were in too deep to back out now. Whatever happens, will happen.

-

You wake up. 

You're lying on Chuuya's bed, in his clothes, begrudgingly. Your own clothes are discarded onto the floor, dried during the time you had been asleep. Still, you don't exactly feel like changing into them. It felt too gross to wear them. 

You shake your head. Now's not the time to be thinking about that. You sit up, and stretch your arms. Then, you walk towards the desk again, and look at the address. You take note of the address, and take your spare key. Before you go, you flip over the paper, ensuring that you didn't miss anything. There's another sentence scribbled on the top of the paper.

I know you're reading this. You want to know why I'm gone, and why I did this. The address that is provided will help you, but it will not give you the answer, nor will I be there. 

…What? 

You read the sentence over and over again. The words sink in, making you feel conflicted. You knew you were getting yourself into a certain kind of danger by doing this, but you didn't expect it to be this risky. Hell, you didn't even know where the man was now, and not to mention… the location…

You look at the location again.

It's on the street where the explosion happened. And you're no fool. If it was on that street, it meant it was that building. There were no other possibilities. You doubt it would be any other one of those tall skyscrapers, anyways. The one where the explosion happened was the only building Chuuya had any affiliations with.

Which was going to be incredibly difficult to get into. Let alone, to the top floor. You'd be dead even trying to set foot into the door. It wasn't worth your life for this. You should forget about it and go back home.

You look through the paper again, hoping there might be something more to help you. Sighing, you came back with nothing. I suppose I really have to go through with this, don't I? There's no turning back. 

-

The walk to the Port Mafia's building was rather short, if you were being completely honest. It was located in the heart of Yokohama, and was one of the tallest buildings there, if that told you anything. 

You stand outside the building, as the apprehension and fear build up inside you. You had never felt as much of a need to run from anything, as much as you did now. The doors, despite their grandeur size, and large glass design, looked uninviting. Almost like doors to a bank vault; the kind of doors that told you, you wouldn't be able to get out, as soon as you stepped in. And from various things people has told you throughout the years, the Port Mafia keeps people it's had come into contact with. It's more powerful beyond belief. 

It doesn't need to control you. You'll be forced into being pliant for them, simply by fear. No one can betray them. Death is almost a guarantee if you do.

And recently, they had also become violent as well. You might as well be walking yourself into a death wish.

But your feet remained rooted into the ground, and part of you remains determined to see this through. So you take a deep breath and walk into the building. 

You try to remain calm as you push through the doors, into the lobby. You pray Hou won't be swatted with bullets as soon as you enter, but much to your own surprise, there's no one in the lobby. It's completely empty.

It doesn't feel right. You wonder if what happened. Well, it's not your business anyways. You couldn't care less. You just needed to find whoever Chuuya's office is and-

"Who are you?"

shit. you curse under your breath. "I-I'm," you turn around to face the person talking g to you. As soon as you do this, the man's eyes widen, and you acknowledge away slightly. "Sorry… um… do you know where Chuuya is?"

You had never felt so idiotic and out of place in your life. You can physically feel your heart pounding inside your chest, as you pray you don't look too suspicious. You can't mess up here. Though the man you are currently talking to isn't holding any firearm. That may just as well mean he has even worse methods to kill you off.

"He's not here."

of course, he isn't. You think to yourself. He wrote that in his own letter, or whatever you call it. 

"He's been arrested." The man looks you directly into your eyes, and as on instinct, you look down, too scared to actually look at him. A few moments pass in silence.

"Can you… perhaps tell me why?"

"After the previous Port Mafia executive committed suicide, Chuuya was forced to lead the Port Mafia. He hated the job greatly, and he eventually…" He stops himself.

"Go on." You mutter.

The man tilts his head and looks at you again. "Are you sure? If you want to see him… it's better just to see for yourself." He stops for a second. 

"No… please tell me. Tell me everything that you possibly can."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Fine then. If you insist."

"Chuuya lost his control over himself. He slowly became more, deranged, if you will, as time went on. After the old executive killed himself, Chuuya had no one left. Or at least, that's what we saw. His orders became more and more irrational, often just resorting to killing everything, and slowly, he eventually broke. He went on a rampage, as you've probably seen, Yokohama is not safe with him around. He almost destroyed Yokohama in its entirety, and it took serveral organizations to stop him. I don't know the exact details after that. He remains locked up underground."

You feel as if you had been doused under cold water. You didn't only have your question answered, but that also explained several other things as well. You try to recollect your thoughts while figuring out what to do next.

"By the way, you look familiar."

"How so?"

"I don't know, to he honest. You look like someone who used to work here. Maybe my mind js tricking me, though. You look too weak to be here."

"Yeah," you force out an awkward laugh, "I could never work here for the life of me."

"Figures."

another awkward pause, as you stare at the man.

"I assume you need Chuuya's location, don't you?"

You nod.

"Here." He hands you a piece of paper, with an address messily scrawled onto it. "Although, I don't recommend going to see him, tell the guards you are a relative of his. Hopefully, it will convince them enough to let you in. Though, if you want, I'm sure you can attempt to knock the guards out. Chuuya's well… very restrained so he won't hurt you."

"Ah… thank you."

"Don't mention it."

You bow and leave.

"Hey wait-" the man calls out, his voice echoing through the empty lobby. He seems hesitant to ask something. You stop and turn around. "Yeah?"

He looks down, and awkwardly avoids eye contact for a second. It's at this moment you realize he's a man with short, white, hair, as well thick bangs that were cut into a slant. He’s rather short, and he’s wearing a long jacket.

He looks… familiar. I wonder why.

“What’s your name?” 

You stare at him for another moment before answering. “It’s Y/N.”

You could have sworn you had seen a face of surprise from him for a second, but it could have been your imagination because the next instant you blink, it’s gone. “I see,” he says slowly. “Be careful then. He’s not the same as what you may remember.”

As… I remember? What….

“Nevermind. Forget I said anything. Just go to the address, and everything will make sense.”

“Hey wait-”

He’s already turned his back and left on you. You’re left with so many more questions than you started off with, and dread creeps up you again. There was a warning tone in his voice, almost as if telling you to do this was a terrible idea. That you were going to be landing yourself in scalding hot water, and you wouldn’t be able to get out. You knew the risks from the start, but…

You quickly unfold the paper, and look for the address. Once again, the address is written in the center of the paper. You carefully look around for any other writing on the paper.

It’s completely white. Blank. Except for one sentence on the bottom: It’s never too late to back out. 

And you stare at it, and think about the several cryptic warnings you received from this man. So… you’re telling me, that after that explosion happened in the sky… a dead body, the previous executive was found. Then shortly after that, Chuuya became the executive of the Mafia. He hated it. But he had no choice and was left alone to do it. Eventually, he lost his sanity and mind and the Mafia… I guess? Because very corrupt, violent, and unsafe. It took many people to stop him, and how he was arrested in an underground cell. At this address.

It’s clear he’s cutting something out. He said to be careful. Of course, if Chuuya has lost his mind, I need to do that. But he empathized that I should be wary of him. Also, he said I looked familiar, and he also looks familiar to me. He mentioned something about… me remembering? Have I known Chuuya for longer? 

But he also said that only Chuuya has the answers to all my questions. So that means in other words, he knows what happened during the explosion, he knows that Chuuya has been breaking into my apartment and he knows more about my entire predicament now, than I do.

Just… who exactly is he? How and why?

You cut yourself off from those thoughts. 

Ugh. this is ending up being so much more complicated than it was supposed to be. You thought in bitterness. So basically, I’ll go to the address, and get the answers to my questions. Sounds simple enough. There’s no need to overthink this. Maybe i’m just being paranoid. What’s the worst that could happen?

Well, a lot. But I’ll just ignore that for now.

You turn around and walk towards the door again. To be honest, you don’t want to know what might happen once you see him. You were already nervous from the implications the man had told you moments ago, and you were coming to realize there were some things that you noticed when you were in Chuuya’s house. Things that you maybe weren’t supposed to know about or see.

In the bottom of the drawer… there were documents. Documentation of everything that happened on the day of the explosion. A bright light illumined the sky, followed by the dead body found; the previous port mafia’s executive; Dazai Osamu. The two closest people to the explosion were a member of the port mafia, Atsushi Nakajima, and a member in the training of the Armed Detective Agency, Ryounouske Akuwatagawa. They are believed to be the cause of the explosion.

No one knows the exact events inside the Port Mafia on that day, except for the individuals involved in the actions that happened. According to the Armed Detective Agency, Akuwtagawa had barged into the Port Mafia to challenge the Port Mafia Executive. He accordingly, fought many individuals in the Port Mafia, a body count is yet to be determined. Data from thereon forth is unknown until the individuals reach the top of the building, where the most notorious event stated above occurred.

Additionally, after thorough examination of the body of the previous Port Mafia Excuetive, it can be concluded that he had committed suicide by jumping off the building. 

The document ends there, and the paper is ripped in half.

-

It felt like every meter you travelled towards that location was walking towards a terrible, yet inevitable fate. The drive there, dragged on and on as if mocking you for your choices. You find yourself counting down the seconds until you can arrive at the location given.

Oh, how you wished you had stayed at home instead of seeking him out. If only your morbid curiosity hadn’t gotten the best of you.

You’ve lost track of the time you’ve spent on the train, only waiting for the loudspeaker to announce your stop. The location you figure you were given led you to a rather remote area, likely in the outskirts of Yokohama. If not further. The man had told you he was locked underground, completely isolated from everything.

You found that part the most unsettling. If they needed that many security measures to keep him in place, it was likely he was completely gone. Gone beyond saving. If he had succumbed that much to his own grief and madness, it would be a question of whether he would still remember you or not. 

You look out the window again, enjoying your last moments of peace.

This is the eerie calm before the storm, isn’t it?

Moments after you think that, the train halts to a stop at the last station in Yokohama, and you get off. Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, and you’re not sure if you can stop it.

You try your best to remain calm. Force yourself to keep going. He’s special to you. You can’t lose him, even if you hate him. You need him. He’s the only one who still cares. 

And above all, he’s the only one who remembers you at all.

And so, you go. You take all the correct turns. You try to walk as quickly as you could, to arrive at the destination. You keep going, and going and going until…

You’re here.

It’s one of the better buildings on the outskirts of the city, yet… it looks incredibly unsettling. It’s a mundane building, one made from standard concrete, and glass. Yet. As you stand so close, you see cracks in the building. The door is partially cracked as well. 

Well, I’m here already. Whatever happens, happens. I may die in there, still, before I die, I have to know the answer. The answer… why can’t I remember? Chuuya. I want him to tell me, what he did to me. Why he came to my apartment every day. Why he’s… he’s…..

Oh. My hands are shaking. Surely I cannot be this terrified can I? I will do this even if it kills me.

You pull the door open and enter the building. The piece of paper told you that it was on the lowest floor. Your footsteps echo in the empty building, and it feels creepy no one is here.

Huh. Gives some Deja Vu, doesn’t it?

You proceed towards the elevator at the end of the hall, and press the down button. Almost instantly, the elevator makes a “ding” noise, and the doors open. You quickly step in and look for the lowest button. With a deep breath, you push the button, and the door closes.

You stare at your face in the mirror. You look terrible. Pale and your hair is completely dishevelled and a mess. If you didn’t know any better, you’d look like you were sick. You had been extremely anxious about this for an entire day, after all.

The elevator doors once again slide open. 

Here goes nothing. You sigh. I’d better hear you talking today, Chuuya. You have a lot to tell me. And you’d better tell me it all.

You step outside the elevator. There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing, and no one here. The halls are empty, and the strong scent of stale air, combined with dust fills your nostrils. You feel like coughing for a second, but you hold yourself back. You didn’t want to make any noise to give away your presence. You take another step.

Despite what the man said, it was clear that there was no one else there. No prison guards, no other cells inside. It was clearly a floor made, simply to detain one individual in particular. Isolated, and secure enough that they’d never be able to escape. Deep enough underground that they’d never even know where they were.

Your footsteps tap loudly against the concrete and echo everywhere around. As you walk down the hall, the lightbulbs behind you light up. The man had told you it was in the deepest part of the prison. However, what he didn’t account for, was that you had no idea how this floor was organized. 

Not to mention it was starting to get creepy really quickly. Although there should be nothing else in here, you were starting to get the sense that there was something dangerous that might lurk in the air. You tell yourself it’s probably just the dark and your own fatigue and you were imagining things.

The emptiness of the entire building creeps you out. It’s eerie. It feels like you were lead into the wrong location, and you were walking into a dead end. It almost felt almost like a trap that you had been lured into. And every second, the floor grew significantly more eerie. The lack of any presence and the darkness despite the very few lightbulbs attached to the ceiling enhanced that. 

I should be getting close now… right?

You were. You could see a light at the end of this hallway, which was illuminated with an orange light. It must have been where Chuuya’s cell was. There was no other place as illuminated as this, and there was no reason for it to be.

You had gotten this far. There was no reason you should be stopping now. Should you? The answer… you had always looked for, you could get it now.

Chuuya always hid something from me. He has never answered once, one of my questions. He’s never told me why he comes to my house every day, he never told me once why he was gone. For as long as I remember, I’ve been coming back from my job, and seeing him there. But one day, he disappeared. No reason why, no reason of how. He just did.

But apart from my job, there’s another piece missing to this puzzle. There’s something else that I’ve always wanted to ask him besides why he’s gone missing, and the explosion which I already had the answer to. He knows me, better than I know myself.

What was I before all of this happened?

I know there’s something before all of this. It just doesn’t add up. The man I saw in the mafia looked familiar. The building itself was in a place that I had felt I had been in at some time before. There’s deja vu there.

But when I first walked into the apartment, the first day before I saw Chuuya, I had jamais vu. A familiar place, that I didn’t know. And consequently, I couldn’t remember much before that. So what-

“I know you’re there, (Y/N). You’ve been standing there for quite some time.”

Shit.

Your thoughts are cut off by that voice you instantly knew. Chuuya was indeed, there. But his voice didn’t sound the same as you remember. There wasn’t any of the snarkiness, or egotistical attitude in his voice anymore. Instead, his voice was laced with aggression, and a malice that made you hesitant to even come forward.

You open your jaw to speak, but almost if Chuuya knew, he spoke before you. “I know what you’re thinking. You want to know why I left you, don’t you? I assume that someone has already told you about what happened on the day I stopped seeing you, and I’m sure you know all about the aftermath of that.”

You feel like you are doused in cold water. How did he know? Did he plan all of this. You want to open your mouth and tell him to slow down, but he continues, anyways.

“And you’ve been having deja vu for several days, too. You feel like you know the Port Mafia building, you feel like you recognize everything you saw, including my home.” Silence, as he pauses for a second. “So why don’t you… come and face me, and I’ll tell you what actually happened?”

“Chuuya-”

You hear no response. You sigh and walk towards his cell. You’re not ready to hear this, and you’re not sure you can face him.

He’s different. He’s not the same anymore. He sounds more violent, his composture is much less controlled than it was before. What…what happened to him?

And then you approach his cell. He’s got cuts everywhere, specifically the gash on his face. You instantly feel the need to run away, to get this image out of your mind. He was thin, his face was significantly more gaunt than it had been the last time you had seen him. And the most unsettling thing was how he was kept. Both arms were harshly chained to the ceiling and the wall. The chains were wrapped around his arms several times (you would assume most likely to stop him from breaking free), and they cut deeply into his arm. Then his body was also tightly bound to a chair, and his legs were bound to the chair’s legs. His body you noticed, was bound so tightly to the chair, you wonder how he still managed to breathe. Still, nothing would be as unnerving as to look at as his eyes. They were not dull per say, but they were empty. Not in the hopeless kind of way, but in the tormented sense that he had been tortured so badly that it would be unlikely he ever saw the light of day again.

Truly, he was a lost cause. You could only describe him as tortured and traumatized, as you couldn’t glance at him a second time.

“Hey. You done oogling yet?” His voice came out as almost an aggressive snarl, and you instantly look away. “Look at me.” You do your best to look at him, while trying to avoid looking at any part of his face in particular. You didn’t want to see it. Truly, you don’t want to look at him in any way whatsoever. So you settle on looking at a corner of his hair. The only thing that was still familiar to you.

“I said look at me. In the eyes.”

You don’t want to.

Chuuya sighs. “I know I probably look terrible right now, but please. Just do it. For the sake of me. Just look me in the eyes. It’ll probably be the last time I see someone for a long time.” He draws that last sentence out for longer than you expect, and you start to feel uneasy again, but you try to ignore that and ask him the question. The question you had been dying to ask for an undefined amount of time.

It’s a second before you can really bring yourself to ask it. “Chuuya. Where are my memories?” your mouth tightens… “Who am I? Why did you… do this?” You take a deep breath, to stop yourself. “Just tell me. Please.”

There’s another stretched-out pause before Chuuya responds again. “I knocked you out.”

“You… you what? N-no… you’re kidding right?” Your voice wavers slightly, before seeing Chuuya’s face again. He’s dead serious. “Why would you do this?”

“You were in danger. I couldn’t help it, alright?” He yelled, and you flinch. He takes a deep breath in again, slightly more calm, and continues. “Let me explain.”

“You were part of the Port Mafia, (Y/N). In fact, you, me, and Dazai used to be assigned to the same team all the time. Of course, it was always despicable working with Dazai. He never told us about anything, instead only telling us what to do, while he schemed about whatever he damn chose.”

“You can’t be serious…”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Do you think I’m joking right now? That I’m making a story and pulling it out of thin air for fun? You wanted answers. I’m giving them to you right now.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Chuuya ignores you and goes on. “Out of the three of us, you were always the weakest one, without a strong ability, nor any supportive abilities, however, we always had to drag you along anyways. To every mission gaven to us. Dazai would always make a plan, and we’d have to follow through. And if any of us ever messed up, we’d always get into trouble.”

“I bet you wanted to know how you got that bruise on your arm, that’s never healed, huh? Well, it’s cause you messed up one of the missions, and one of the higher-ups broke your arm. It never completely healed, and it was a warning that you should never mess up again.”

You look at your arm, where the ugly purple bruise marred your skin. It had never healed, and you couldn’t do anything heavy with it. Although it made a lot more sense than the reasoning you were told, you found this all too unreal. There was no way you were a mafia member. You were always weak. There would have been no reason for you to join. But even past the static buzzing in your brain, you could make out everything he said feeling familiar. As if your memories were just behind a wall you couldn’t break through.

“Still, I wasn’t able to do anything at the time, and Dazai didn’t care too much for you. The damned bastard treated everything and everyone like a chess piece, and played them as he wished. You were constantly treated as the runt of the three of us, and often used as the punching bag when missions weren’t successful. But, over time, you managed to become more ‘competent’ and not ‘drag us back’.”

“Of course, that all was, until the Dragon Head incident. All you need to know was that it was a bloody fight, and most of us were sent to deal with it.”

“As always, we were sent to deal with the mess. Dazai and I were obviously vanguards during the entire ordeal, and you were backup. When we had found the person behind it all, I used my own ability to kill him. We had won, but just barely.”

“You had managed to find the location of the man first, but you didn’t notify us. This person later told us that you actually refused to tell us. Ultimately, you botched Dazai’s plan, and almost destroyed an entire city, because you didn’t follow his instructions. Of course, Dazai was disappointed, even if he didn’t say anything. He essentially dismissed you, and planned to go back, and remove you from the Port Mafia. But, I didn’t want that.”

“So after a very long fight with Dazai, I managed to make a compromise with him. You would not be killed for betraying the Port Mafia, however, you wouldn’t be allowed to go back. But if I told you this, you would have rather accepted death, since the Port Mafia is the only thing you have ever known. You couldn’t go into the real world since you have no identity there.”

“So later that night, while you had looked like you were at least, partially asleep. I had no choice… but to give you severe head trauma, which would make you lose all your memories.”

There’s an unspoken silence between the two of you. You had always been told that your head was fragile. When you tried to think about your childhood or teenage years, your head would fill with static and it would hurt. Never had you ever expected it to be… this…

“You must be shocked. You probably think I’m not being serious, or that I’m joking. Well, I’m not done yet.”

“You were in a coma for years after that. For about two or three years, if I remember correctly. I had to make sure that you wouldn’t remember anything, so I bashed your head, pretty hard against the concrete. I brought you to the hospital after that, and told them that you had been injured badly, because you had attempted suicide. A balatant lie, but I couldn’t tell the doctors any more than that, otherwise I would have been detained.”

“For several years, you stayed in the hospital, completely unconscious. I’d visit you everyday, and see if you would wake up. At one point I had considered just giving up. But eventually, you did wake up. But, you didn’t have an identity in the real world, let alone education, or anything that would let you survive. When you were discharged, I paid a company to forge you a fake identity, which is what you live by now.”

“I’ve watched over you for so long, (Y/N). You once asked me what you needed to be protected from. I didn’t answer that question because I didn’t think it was the right time to let you know the truth. Alas, you’ve come searching for the truth yourself. The Port Mafia was after you for a long time. I had to constantly monitor you, you were constantly on my mind every day. And even when you were discharged from the hospital, I still had to watch over you while you slept. They wanted to kill you. I didn’t want you dead, in fact how could I?” Chuuya laughs in bitterness. “I loved you for a long time. I did all of this to make sure I’d be able to see you happy, for once. And you were. You moved into society rather nicely. You were simply not meant to be part of the Mafia, despite the potential in your ability.”

“You have the gun I left on my desk, didn’t you? You knew you had to take it because you might have been in danger.”

“Chuuya… stop.” You’re still in shock, but you know you’ll never properly remember any of your memories now. You can only trust him. Whatever he says, you have to believe. He’s not lying. He never was lying.

“That was Dazai’s gun. The gun he left before he killed himself.”

“No… please. Stop. Chuuya. Don’t do this please…”

He chuckles. “I have no merit in my future, I am simply left to rot and die here. You wouldn’t understand, (Y/N). I spent so much time in my life for you, that it would have been simpler to just kill you. But I can’t do that.”

“But in a life where you don’t return any of that to me isn’t worth living either…”

“CHUUYA,” you scream. “Stop this. Don’t…”

“So shoot me please. I know you’re dying to do it. You brought the gun with you, you wanted to kill me. I know you do. Why? You’ve reached into your pockets serveral times while I was telling your past. My life is hopeless, completely doomed. I’ve lost everything I once had, except for you. And I can’t even see you now.”

“So kill me. Put me out of my own misery.”

He smiles, in a twisted sort of way, expecting you to shoot.

“You won’t regret it.”

And it’s true. You were planning on killing him, but you don’t want to now. But if what he said was true, you were also ruthless as he was. You had to make a choice, quickly.

Your hands move faster than your mind, and you can’t stop yourself.

You shoot once. Once at his chest.

You can’t bear to see what you did.

But you also can’t see control what you were going to do next. You hear another gunshot being fired, and you weren’t if it was from yourself, or maybe someone else in the floor.

Your vision stops and you feel yourself falling to the ground.

[blackrobotfox]

TW: blood, wounds, mentions of death, crippled character

the story about defeating neferpitou I forgot to post. tried to translate this (sorry for mistakes)

"I'll answer simply: we were lucky. Neferpitou, apparently, was born quite recently, and therefore his habits resembled more an animal than a human, and he didn't have time to fully understand his strength. And if we had met him a little later - given the speed of development of chimeras - God knows how it would have ended. But it so happened that on this very day it spotted Kite and, full of determination, headed towards us, towards Kite and his wards. But then it happened that Pitou felt something else, something that alerted him more and somewhat killed his usually playful mood.

Do I consider Neferpitou evil? No, I don't. The duty of a guard is to protect the queen mother and the future, not yet born, king. We turned out to be a serious threat to his kind. Therefore, our meeting, no matter how it ended, was inevitable.

But I also had someone to protect. Each of us was doing our duty that day, and only one side had to come out of this fight alive. It often happens in nature that even a powerful predator miscalculates its strength and is rebuffed. Perhaps he sensed this danger with his animal instinct, but, as befits a guard, he came to destroy us anyway.

He who chases two hares catches neither, so he had to make a quick choice between Kite and me: obviously so weak and slow, so vulnerable, but somehow oozing danger. Having made a jump, he slightly caught Kite, instantly breaking his right arm. Everyone present was taken aback: Kite's agility and experience allowed him to come out of any fight without a single bruise, while here he was seriously injured in the first second. I think the fact that there were four of us and two potential dangerous targets distracted him, and Kite avoided a much more serious injury or even instant death.

As he straightened his deceptively frail body to its full height, I felt panic creeping up on me. However, there was no need to panic. The Guardian clearly had no intention of killing us quickly, since in those seconds, which seemed like an eternity to me, he had the opportunity to do this dozens of times. But no. It was as if he was assessing us, those with whom he would have to deal, and as if he was allowing us to assess the appearance of the death that had come to take us. And this, again, was for the best. Without thinking, I threw off my glove and let out a loud whistle, and then was thrown back by a powerful and very painful blow. But not his.

And so he met the one he should have sensed from kilometers away. Of course, Pitou's confusion did not last long. The intention to protect the queen was stronger than the shock he had experienced, and he resolutely rushed at the tulpa, and a moment later tried to reach us. However, Garmr's size and unnatural speed allowed her to successfully protect us from his attack. But despite all this, any attempts by the huge creature to damage his strong body were unsuccessful.

Pitou quickly realized that each of his attacks on Garmr had no effect on her, but at the same time caused me severe pain. Well... That's true, and he skillfully used this until he finally realized that any suffering on my part made her stronger. In any case, all this would not have lasted long: I risked losing consciousness and losing control over the only protector in the person of my tulpa. This would have meant our instant death. But, fortunately, these few unbearable hours ended with the fact that the tired guardian was wounded, and then finally held in place. The decision on what to do next had to be made as quickly as possible.

Like me, Kite was tired of pain and worry. The fact that Neferpitou was captured and seemingly immobilized lulled his vigilance somewhat. Watching the chimera convulse and then subside under the monster's hand, he decided to come a little closer. It seemed that Garmr had cut off his oxygen supply, and the battle was finally over. But this turned out to be a mistake. A split second - and Kaito's stomach was ripped open. If it weren't for the excellent reaction speed, the claws would have pierced him through and through, and it would have been impossible to save my teacher.

I will remember this moment forever. Almost ignoring the phantom pain from the attacks on the tulpa, from which my body was still shaking, I tore off the cloak and tried to bandage the teacher's wound, feeling how life was leaving his body along with rivers of blood. Without exaggeration, I was on the verge of madness. The way we dealt with the enemy, and at the very last moment mortally wounded the person I loved, made me scream and lose my voice. I was ready to do what Garmr could not: disassemble Neferpitou into atoms in the most brutal way. But Kite grabbed me by the shoulder and saved me from a fatal mistake: approaching the creature, now truly immobilized by Garmr, was very dangerous.

The battle came to an end. In any case, Neferpitou no longer had the strength to tear apart the giant hand holding him, or to think of other ways to save himself. Although, if he had held on a little longer, he would have had every chance of emerging victorious from this fight. After all, despite all the strength of Garmr, she is too dependent on her owner.

Just to deprive him of an eye, we had to fire a lot of rifle shots at point-blank range. Then, finally, the chimera's body gave in, and the creature sank into a coma. We were unable to destroy it, and it is still a mystery to me whether this is possible in principle. The enemy was temporarily neutralized, and we had no idea what would happen next."

[starbluud]

— 𝙒𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝘿 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙎𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙀 𝙂𝙊? (𝙄 𝙆𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙄’𝙑𝙀 𝙂𝙊𝙏 𝙉𝙊𝙉𝙀)

—.🌿. PAIRING. hwang hyunjin x f!reader

—.🌿. TW. cursing. violence. murder. death. blood and injury. gore. severe ptsd. heavy trauma. mental health issues. animal death. use of guns and knives. hint of suicide (hardly there tbh.) slight mentions of an afterlife? reader being a bit of a bitch but she���s just stressed tf out. arguing. just another heavy one.

—.🌿. GENRE. tlou!au. angst. slight fluff.

—.🌿. NOTES. this is the first one i’m rewriting from the works i made previously. i apologize for it not being the best, especially since the ending felt way too rushed but it is what it is. there's also a lot of going for the neck in this. idk why its just an easy part to strike ig. anyway, like i mentioned in my last fic, chan and minho are still roughly 10 years older than the rest for plot purposes. other than that, i hope you enjoy!! :))

—THE SOUND OF waves echoed off concrete. the water violent as its tune bounced around the empty parking garage, leaving a faint twang of salt in the air. it masked the scent of rain. the familiar musk of wet dirt and stone was nowhere to be found.

y/n’s hands shook slightly, gun weighing a thousand times more than normal. her grasp was tight and left little imprinted diamonds on her skin. it matched the grip of her weapon, fingers growing antsy and nervous for the trigger.

she stared off into the distance. she noted how the rough tides and the murky grey of the overhead storm blended together, the occasional flash of lightning brightening the bleak clouds. she swallowed thickly.

“our best bet is to be sneaky.” she heard han state from behind her, her back facing the group as they planned for their next course of action. “we don’t know who could be in there. we don’t know how many there are and we don’t know where they could be hiding. we can’t go in there looking for a fight we aren’t ready for.”

y/n felt several pairs of eyes burn her back. it was obvious who han was talking about, making her grit her teeth.

“as of right now, chan’s our main priority. we know he knows abby is held up here," he pointed towards the red 'x' crossing over the birdseye image of the seattle seafront aquarium. "so it’s safe to assume he’s headed that way if he’s not there already.” he motioned to the markers of interstate numbers, flattening the paper out slightly over the hood of an abandoned car. “going along highway 80, if we stick to that route, it’s a straight shot there. we could make it in a few hours max. at least by sundown.”

“what about boat?”

the voice of y/n caused the group to peer up, surprised by her voice after being silent for so long. she turned around and crossed her arms over her damp raincoat.

changbin’s brows furrowed. “what do you mean?”

“the water.” she gestured out. “it's the quickest between the two. if we find one by the coastline, we could make it there and back by dusk.” she shrugged. “besides if we’re trying to be sneaky, it’s a lot better this way. we can come from behind. they won’t expect that. and with the highway, we’re out in the open and completely vulnerable. it’ll blow our cover."

han frowned and looked out past her, eyeing the angry sea. he glanced back and solemnly shook his head. “i’m sorry, y/n. it’s too risky, especially with this storm coming in. we could be thrown overboard and we’d be fucked then. besides, i.n. and felix can’t swim. it’s too dangerous.”

“then i can go.” she stepped forward. “it’s better than gambling all our lives.”

“absolutely not.” felix cut in.

“i’ll be fine. come on, hyunjin,” she peered over at her boyfriend. he looked at her and gnawed on the skin of his lip. his face was twisted in a mix of disapproval and unease. “you agree with me, right?”

he sucked in a breath and swallowed. “i’m sorry, but han’s right. it’d be reckless.”

a humorless laugh sent shivers down the group’s spine. “you fucking serious?” the bitter smile she had flipped into a scowl, hues aflame with a sense of betrayal. “abby could be over there as we fucking speak!”

“and i understand that, but chan—“ han was instantly shut down.

a look sharper than any blade was pointed at him, to all of them. “don’t you fucking dare.” she growled, tone dripping with venom. “don't you dare say you understand because you don’t. none of you do.” their backs stiffened when they met her gaze. “you weren't there! you didn’t see what she did to him! what they all did! you didn’t see the way they beat him until he couldn’t get up, or move, or to EVEN FUCKING SPEAK! his knee was literally blown out and they just kept beating him over and over and over until the only thing left of his head was goddamn brain matter!” her chest heaved with staggered breaths. cheeks flushed red and eyes wild, she continued ripping into these boys. “and you didn’t see him die. you weren’t pinned down. you weren’t kicking, or screaming, or crying, or fighting as they beat his head in with a fucking golf club! you didn’t see the way it broke through his fucking skull and you didn’t see the way he just laid there and accepted what was going to happen! so don't say you understand because you fucking don’t!”

a beat passed by, no one willing to make a sound.

y/n exhaled after a moment. “i’m not trying to play the ‘my trauma’s worse than yours’ game. i know you all lost someone important to you as well, but this is the best chance we got.”

silence.

“so, i’m going after abby.” she said, meeting each of their eyes. “whether or not you do, that’s your choice. but don’t you forbid me of mine.”

"y/n-" she heard felix start, but turned, not giving him time to voice his concerns. she hurried for the exit, ignoring the quick flash of lightning illuminating the wet streets and the roll of thunder that followed.

she refused to acknowledge the distant shouts of her name when she met the chill of icy rain against her skin.

yet, just as she was starting toward the coast, a soft hand caught her shoulder. she was turned and met the eyes of hyunjin. they flooded with a sense of panic and heartbreak, making the anger she still held onto extinguish instantly.

"y/n," he shook his head. "love, please don't do this." he begged.

y/n sighed, licking her chapped lips. "i can't." her voice was soft, carrying a faint twist of desperation that nearly got lost in a passing wind. "i can't, hyunjin. you know this. i need to find her."

"and we will. we will and we'll make sure abby pays for what she and the rest of her friends did." he reassured. "but you can't go this alone. it'd be careless."

"i don't care." she was quick with her words and the tone she spoke it with made his chest tighten.

his brows furrowed. "but, i do." he watched her jaw clench. "please. we- we can find a boat or another way or just something-"

"and have the possibility of letting her get away?" y/n exasperated. "fat fucking chance."

he let out a shaky exhale. "then i'm coming with you." he spoke.

he watched her eyes harden, pretty e/c hues he's grown to love so much fall a few shades darker.

"no you're not." she frowned, feeling the stray droplets of rain trail down her damp skin. "you're not. you're staying here where it's safe."

"i'm not letting you go alone. i can't and i won't-"

"i'm not gonna risk you getting killed, especially since we don't know what we're walking into." y/n jumped in, watching the pain in hyunjin's face morph into desperation. "don't fight me on this."

"and you expect me to just let you walk straight into your grave?" he exasperated, brows pulled up in bewilderment. "you said it yourself, we don't know what's waiting for us and that includes you." he points towards her. "and you think you basically sacrificing yourself is gonna do anything except just cause more bloodshed? you bursting in there ready to kill anything on impulse will not only get you killed but could get the rest of us, too. it's selfish and careless and would lead to minho's death to be for nothing. so stop acting like you're the only one dealing with problems and think about how your selfishness will affect us, especially since you can't seem to get your goddamn emotions under control."

with each word slipping past hyunjin's lips, the more y/n's face would fall. a frown was painted on her features, cheeks flushed from the cold rain and the embarrassment of being called out by the person she loves most in the world. what he said stung and bled and made the ache that was always present in her chest grow until it nearly hurt to breathe.

her eyes fluttered at him, lashes forcing her tears in place. no, she will not cry. not now. not until her job is done.

her jaw clenched and dug her nails into the palm of her hand. "then go back to jackson." she growled, using a tone that made hyunjin's face drop. "if you're so worried about you or the rest of the guys dying, then go back home. i've said it before and i'll say it again: i'm going after abby whether you like it or not, whether you join me or not. i don't care what happens or if i die because i'm not letting that bitch get by with what she's done. i'll do whatever it takes. so since i'm selfish, go back home."

he shook his head, feeling a surge of regret pool in his stomach. "no, y/n, i-i di-"

"i said to go back home, hyunjin. take the guys and go home. i'm not fucking asking." she snapped.

"b-but-"

"go hyunjin!" she barked, watching him wince from the anger he saw boiling in her voice. "fucking leave!"

she saw him take a half step back, ignoring the pain that flashed in his eyes from the strike of nearby lightning. she bit the inside of her cheek, the familiar twinge of metal seeping to her tongue that gave her a sick sense of comfort, but held her ground.

she smothered the guilt boiling in her gut from the sight of hyunjin's eyes glistening with tears with the rage pumping in her veins. so, she turned, not giving the man who held her heart in his hands a spare glance as she headed deeper into the abandoned city.

hyunjin swallowed thickly and blinked, feeling a stray tear fall to blend with the rain soaking his skin. he stayed still with his feet made of lead and unable to move. he was left there, standing in the pouring rain in a wasteland of skyscrapers and ghosts as he watched the very woman he'd die for leave, not knowing if this was her last day.

he prayed to god it wasn't.

the ground shook under her boots. a roll of thunder roared overhead that was soon followed by a flash of light. it illuminated the maze of seattle. tall buildings were left bare and forgotten. ivy and moss clung to their walls, the planet slowly taking back what was once hers until it would crumble.

the rain continued on. it was heavy and cold, soaking y/n's clothes and chilling her to the core. she let out a breath. a small cloud slipped past her lips.

the way to the coastline wasn't eventful and y/n hoped it would stay that way. she avoided the open, sticking to the outskirts and backroads to the shore until she could feel the burn of salt in her nose.

angry waves lapped upon the sand, foaming at the teeth before pulling out only to do it once again. it was as if nature itself was begging for slaughter.

however, y/n wasn't focused on the anger the earth portrayed but was instead fixated on the pier standing strong against the brutal swings the water had to offer. the sight of a lonely motorboat was left tied to a pillar, rocking in solitude.

a surge of excitement made y/n's chest leap. it should be fairly simple from here on out: get the boat running, head to the aquarium, kill anything that gets between her and abby, and then abby herself. it was easy and an opening so perfect was placed right in front of her.

however, just as her boot sunk into the grit of sand, a mix of several voices approached. her breath hitched and cursed quietly to herself before darting behind a nearby bush.

their words were quiet at first, yet gained more clarity the closer they came. by their tones, y/n could deduce they were all men. the realization made another swear fall softly from her lips. she peeked around, making sure to keep her figure masked by leaves.

"i'm so fucking done with this job, man. next time issac wants someone to do his dirty work, imma tell him to shove it up his ass." she heard one say. he was blonde, y/n noted, rather average height and lean under the jacket he was wearing, one that matched the other two. they must be from the same community.

"can you stop fucking bitching for five goddamn minutes, rick? i'm tired of hearing you whine, makes me wanna shoot myself." the tallest of the group, brown hair and a scruffy beard, pressed. he used a hand to pinch his nose.

"piss off. like you weren't doing the same thing on the way here." the shortest detested, following the other two up the dock.

y/n could feel her jaw clench. they couldn't have that boat, not under her watch. she swallowed thickly before sneaking forward, remaining low to the ground and gun cocked.

the trio was too busy preparing for the trip back and bickering over how they weren't getting paid enough for such shitty jobs. this gave y/n an outlet to strike. before any of the men knew it, the tallest was forced down, taking a blow to the back of his right knee.

y/n's arm wrapped tight around his neck with the barrel of her glock pressed harshly to his temple. the man in her grasp shouted obscenities, causing the others to pull their own weapons.

"the boat," she said, nodding towards it. "i want the boat."

"drop it, kid." the blonde ordered. he had his own revolver pointed toward her. "don't be stupid."

"i want the boat." she ignored him. "i'm not fucking asking. give it to me and you'll live."

the other snickered, a smile reeking of smugness painted across his face. he dropped his gun. "bullshit." he sneered. the look in his eyes made y/n's jaw clench. "a fucking kid like you doesn't have the balls to-"

BANG!

his body fell back, a hole the size of a golf ball replacing the space of a left blue eye. y/n didn't blink when she pulled the trigger nor when the back spray of his death hit her skin.

"josh!" the man in her grasp screamed, watching his friend's body slide limply into the violent waters. a pool of red crept up and swallowed the fresh corpse.

the sight of their friend being gunned down sent the other two into overdrive. the man who struggled in y/n's hold was able to throw an elbow backward, having it meet her nose with a sickening crack. the force caused her to fall and land on her back, her bag barely doing much to cushion her.

she wheezed, feeling the wind knock out of her lungs and nose surely broken. "fuck," she forced out. blood seeped from her nostrils. crimson painted the skin of her lips and dyed the whites of her teeth, tastebuds filled with iron.

a cough racked her body just as her foot was caught. y/n's hues blew wide in panic, the guy who bashed her face pulled her towards him.

"you fucking bitch!" he cursed, yanking her up in a position much like the one he was in.

y/n kicked and swung and tried to wiggle her way out of his limbs. yet, it was bound to fail. compared to him, she was nothing more than the size of a child. the curve of his elbow came around and locked tight around her throat before squeezing.

y/n gasped. her airway was being cut off.

"imma fucking gut you! watch you bleed out!" the man growled in her ear.

black spots were beginning to cloud her vision. they faded in and out and picked up the faster she panted in fear. however, just as the darkness was going to take her completely, the sight of the man's other hand came into view.

she didn't think and instead bit down. she caught his thumb between her teeth and pulled, snapping through bone and pulling the meat until his finger separated from his body.

a cry of agony filled the air as she spat out the removed digit. she could feel the heat of his blood dribble down her chin. she hit the floor, palm coming around to soothe the pain in her neck with violent coughs racking her body.

"holy shit!" the blonde exclaimed, dumbfounded from watching his friend's hand get ripped into. she took his shock and used it against him, climbing to her feet and charging his way. she slammed into him and dug her shoulder into his gut, causing them both to fall and the revolver to fly from his hands.

she was quick when she pulled a switchblade from her pocket. she drove it down, slamming the knife deep into the flesh of his throat. she watched him gasp. his hands came up to wrap around hers, staring at her in a sense of fright.

he coughed, vermillion splattering across y/n's already stained face. "rot in hell." y/n spat and yanked out her weapon, only to drive it back down into his chest.

the blonde tried to cry out but had his voice lost in a gurgle. it was only seconds until y/n watched his eyes roll back before falling limp.

she stood and hurriedly grasped his forgotten gun. she walked towards the only other person left alive, watching him shake as he tried to stop the bleeding of his missing thumb.

she had it pointed at him, ready to pull the trigger until something caught her eye. she paused, feeling her heart skip at the sight of an all too familiar jacket.

the windbreaker he wore was dark. it wasn't anything fancy, yet sported a patch on the upper part of the right sleeve. an upside-down triangle was stitched into the material, a biting wolf staring back at her with the letters w.l.f sitting above it.

"wlf," y/n muttered. "you're a fucking wlf!"

the guy didn't respond.

"abby anderson." she stated. "where is she?"

“i-i don’t know,” he muttered

y/n snarled and drilled her switchblade into the meat of his thigh, causing him to scream out.

“where is she?” she repeated.

the man shook his head. his chest rose up and down at a rapid pace. "i-i don't know! we work in separate units! the-the last i heard about her was that she ran off! only a few people know where she went!”

y/n grit her teeth. “who?”

he shook his head, tears swelling in his eyes from the deep ache in his leg.

a twist of the knife ripped a cry of anguish from his throat. y/n’s grip tightened on the blade, turning it some more until he caved in.

“owen!” he shouted. “o-owen moore! that’s who she ran off after! m-maybe manny alvarez knows where she is, too!”

y/n’s darkened hues narrowed at the male whimpering by her hand. she made a mental note of the two names and stood, ripping her weapon from his skin.

another yelp as he reached for his wound, hand barely grazing the puncture before a shot rang out.

he fell back with wide eyes and unmoving limbs. a bullet hole was blown into his skull, splattering grey and red brain matter all over the sandy beach. y/n dropped her hand, revolver heavy in her grasp as she tucked it into her thigh holster.

“fucking cunts.” she hissed with a wince, a strike of pain shooting up her broken nose.

she left the fresh corpses to rot and lay forgotten. she grabbed the rope that had the boat tied in place and pulled out the knot and jumped into it.

it took a few tries for the motor to start, spurting before roaring to life. a small smile crept its way up to y/n’s lips, happy to note she was one step closer to her end goal. now situated and ready, she kept the same phrase echoing over and over in her mind.

i'm coming for you, abby.

as much as she hated to say it, han was right about one thing: the waters were deadly. the tides were vicious and craved death, nearly sending y/n over more times than she could count. the fact she was able to make it to her destination was due to pure determination, and if not determination, then by dumb luck.

she couldn't care either way honestly as she was finally here. she stood out in the open lobby. the walls were painted a brilliant blue, matching the colors of a nice spring day. abandoned stands were left forgotten. a snack bar, souvenirs, and an information desk remained a distant memory to those who lived before the outbreak decades ago.

little cartoon pictures of sea animals smiled at y/n the deeper she walked in. she recognized several of them from learning in school though much of her education was used to prepare the new generation for survival. the small fraction of science class she had helped her with identifying such creatures. she noted a mother otter, her baby much smaller laying on her belly. there was a dolphin, eyes unnaturally bright for an animal painted on dry wall. there were clams, jellyfish, and octopi hanging around. there was even a bronze statue of a sea lion balancing a ball on the tip of its nose.

what caught her eye the most was the giant blue whale sculpture that hung overhead. it was massive and hung by wires drilled into the tall ceiling. the sight made her frown.

everything left behind was covered in thick layers of dust. plants made it home, crawling up the walls and swung from the lonely creature strung high. the windows were foggy from dirt and the air held a staleness that could make a throat go dry in seconds.

once a vibrant place, loved by many and cherished deeply, turned into a graveyard of past memories. y/n grew up years after the outbreak began. this new wave of teens and kids much like her would never have the luxury of experiencing such excitement, not with the lurking shadow of death standing behind them.

she felt pity. pity for those like her and pity for those who weren't. the ones who never got too experience and the ones who had that were then forced to let it go. it was unfair to everyone.

y/n shook her head and wielded such a sad thought away. there's no point in grieving what wasn't hers to grieve. instead she headed for the stairs that lead to the upper floor. there was a tunnel when she reached the top. it was dim in the darkened building, yet had enough light provided by the empty tanks running along the sides.

she trekked through, eyes and ears open for threats that could be hidden. she noted how similar it was to a maze, hallways opening to offer another route of entertainment and ones that closed off, pushing an audience of excited children and cheerful parents to the next attraction.

she peered around in curiosity. she wondered what happened to the animals that were left when the staff disappeared. were they dead? probably. it was a disheartening answer, but one that rang true. it was much better than living during a time when the earth slowly began to kill off what was poisoning it and remained neglected and alone. that way whatever afterlife they go to, they'd be cared for the way they should've been.

the sudden sound of clicking pulled y/n out of mind. it was tapping against linoleum, like claws against the floor.

a blink of an eye and y/n felt herself be knocked back, a set of baring teeth snapping towards her. a large german shepard stood over her. it was large in size, sporting a black vest with the same patch as the men from the dock.

the dog must've picked up on her scent, deeming her an intruder. the ears were pinned back flat against its head and hues blown wide with anger from its territory being threatened. its nails dug into the material of y/n coat, piercing small holes into the sleeve of the arm she used to hold the canine off.

"fuck!" she cried, dodging the fangs that hungered for her blood. she panted for breath, anxiety filling her core as she tried to kick the dog back. no use, it'd jump back once again.

it barked and growled and echoed off the walls. she prayed no one around could her the commotion. it'd just blow her cover.

she was able to pull her blade from her pocket, sticking it there when she left for the aquarium back on the shore. she flipped it open before jamming the blade into the side of the snapping animal's neck. a yelp was heard before the force that was fighting back lightened. the dog slumped to the ground, a small pool of blood darkening it's caramel fur.

y/n gasped and sprung to her feet. she held her knife out fearful it would reanimate just to eat her alive once more.

her shaky palm lowered once she deemed it not a threat anymore. it laid lifeless, tongue flopping out the side of its jowl, and stared into the dark pool of nothing.

a pang of guilt twisted in her stomach only to squash it just as fast as it came. survival is all it boils down to, no matter the circumstance, and she hoped the dog's barking didn't challenge that.

thankfully, it seemed as if it didn't as the sound of muffled and distant voices became known. they sounded hushed and she couldn't make out what was said. so, she followed it. whether or not they knew she was there, it didn't stop her of what she came to do.

she followed the sound to two metal double doors. staff only, it said. y/n ignored it and slowly popped it open. she was sure to keep it quiet and softly shut it behind her. she could see two others in the room. they stood off in the middle and didn't seem to notice the girl who ducked down behind a nearby desk.

"people don't come back from that island." a woman spoke. she had short hair and tired eyes, staring at the dirty blonde man across from her with plea. her voice shook.

"how many times has abby risked her life for you?" he spit back.

a familiar name caught y/n's attention. she swallowed and reached to her thigh holster, pulling out her glock.

"she chose this. i'm not fucking going there."

"then don't!" the man barked. "go back."

a beat went by. y/n watched the female take a step back, a sense of betrayal written heavy on her tired features. then, she spoke. "fuck you, owen."

owen. owen moore. this must be the guy the wlf mentioned on the beach. the person abby went after.

the woman turned to leave, but stopped when she was met with a gun to the face. y/n stood, finger resting on the trigger.

"hands up." y/n ordered, tone strong. the two followed, showing her their palms. "where's abby?" she asked.

she noticed a small twitch in owen's hues. it screamed familiarity. "you're that girl from jackson." he remembered her. he remembered her screams and her cries. he burned her threats to memory as he watched, letting the anderson girl beat and kill one of the only people y/n considered family. the man who took her in and traveled across state lines to the fireflies. the man who was once cold but turned warm. the man who saved her life more time than she could count. the man she considered her brother, and owen let that happen.

y/n ignored his comment. "tell me where she went." she pressed.

"how do we know you won't kill us?" the woman questioned.

"give her what she wants and we're dead."

y/n shook her head at their claims. "you guys can survive this. i just need her."

"bullshit." owen snapped, face hardening.

y/n didn't answer but pulled out a folded paper from her back pocket, flipping it open. it was a map. "you." she pointed at the woman with her weapon. "come here."

she remained still.

"fucking get over here!" y/n snapped, feeling a sense of rage fill her bones from her instructions being ignored.

the stranger obeyed and took timid steps over. she kept her eye on the gun.

"point to where she is. and then you." she gestured towards the man. "it better fucking match up."

"okay," the lady breathed. her voice shook violently. her response made owen call out.

"what're you doing?!"

"she's probably dead anyway." she bit back.

owen shook his head and took steps over. "it isn't worth it-"

"stop." y/n stated. owen continued on.

"we can talk about--"

"back the fuck up!" y/n growled, nearly pulling the trigger. he froze in his tracks, having the barrel mere inches away from his face. she glanced back at the woman. "point to where she is." she ordered again.

no move. no sound. nothing. "i said fucking point!" y/n snapped, now aiming towards the woman.

as soon as she moved, owen dashed forward. he took her hand and tried to wiggle the weapon from her grasp. her grip was like iron from his prying fingers. y/n pulled back a fist and swung. she could feel her knuckles meet his nose with a force that cracked it. it was surely broken much like the state hers is in now.

as soon as he let go, y/n shot. a bang echoed off the bare walls and rang violently in her ears. she watched him fall to the floor with a bullet running though his stomach.

"owen!" the other cried. y/n turned just in time to catch a dagger coming her way. the two wrestled, y/n having her gun kicked away and now fighting against the blade inching towards her neck.

y/n could feel the woman twist her. her shoulder blades were slammed against a nearby desk, allowing the woman to use both hands for strength. y/n pressed back, keeping the sharp edge from slitting her throat.

y/n decided to swing her leg out and slam her knee into the stranger's side. the impact sent the woman falling, dropping her knife on the way down. now free, y/n was able to spring forward, stealing the blade from the lady's reach and slamming it deep into the side of her neck.

y/n jumped up and reached for her gun. her hands shook with the adrenaline pumping through her system, ready to shoot in case she moved once more.

a cough pulled her away. she peered over and noticed owen's injured frame on the floor. his grey shirt now stained a deep red. gore pooled down the sides of his mouth and dripped on the ground beneath them. he was gasping, yet each breath he took was harder than the next. it was as if he was choking on his own blood and y/n hoped he was.

she walked over to him and watched as he reached out, trying to speak through gurgles.

"tell me where abby is." she demanded, aiming down at him.

he choked, unable to form coherent words. "s-she..."

y/n's brows knit together in anger. she was getting nowhere. she kneeled down and jabbed the barrel of her pistol against his throat. "where the fuck is she?" she hissed through gritted teeth.

owen's voice struggled. through his attempt to talk, only one word managed to slip past his lips. a word that took the fire burning in her and turned it to ice.

her face fell instantly and stood, making her way over toward the dead woman's body. y/n flipped her over on her back before pulling at the buttons of the thick winter jacket she had on. her breath caught.

the hoodie she had on hid a baby bump.

the sight of it made her stop. her feet were weak under her and felt her legs slowly start to give in. a familiar sensation of tightness contracted in her chest. panic flooded over her, shaking hands aiding when he fell to her knees.

"fuck..." she whispered, staring at the corpse. "oh, fuck..."

the ache in her lungs only grew. it was as if she couldn't fill them up enough to breathe, much like a heavyweight sitting on top of her. she brought her palm up and pressed against her breastbone. the only sound she could hear was a shrill ring, masking the echo of her hyperventilation. oxygen felt limited as she tugged harshly at the neckline of her jacket, hoping it would help in some way. it didn't.

however, as soon as the burn of tears met her eyes, a call of her name pulled her back to the present.

she jumped up and aimed, ready for a fight. she paused slightly, meeting the faces of her friends. soaked and shaken, they were all there: changbin, felix, han, i.n., seungmin, hyunjin, and chan. changbin and han stepped forward, scouting the room for any hidden threats.

chan was the closest to her, hands held up to show no harm. his eyes were wide with shock. he looked the same way he did when he ran off, yet now sported a gnarly gash above his left brow. otherwise, he looked relatively fine.

"hey, hey..." chan eased, watching her drop her arm. she could see them sparing glances at the scene behind her, all caused by her hand.

the sight of hyunjin's face twisted when he noticed the pregnant lady. y/n saw him take a quick breath in. she noticed them all do that, han and changbin stopping in their tracks, and sharing glances with each other.

her hues fluttered and shook her head. " i..." she whispered, "i didn't know." she broke.

she felt his hand crawl up her arm and gave it a small squeeze. "it's alright." he reassured. "come on. we need to go."

he ushered her forward, noting how hyunjin jumped to her side. his hand fell to her lower back and helped guide her out. she struggled slightly against him. "i'm sorry."

"it's okay. you're okay." she could hear felix pipe in. she saw both him and i.n. take place behind her, shielding her view of the massacre she left behind.

she felt hyunjin's touch travel up to wrap around her shoulders and pulling her close. she kept muttering the same things over and over. i didn't know. i'm sorry.

hyunjin tilted his head down and spoke softly in her ear.

"it's okay, my love. we're here now."

her leg continued to bounce, the heel of her sneaker barely grazing the floor. she was bent over with her bloodied and bruised face in her equally damaged hands, careful of her broken nose. she kept her eyes screwed shut. she was hoping the darkness flooding her vision would mask the sight that never seemed to go away.

the bodies of owen and the pregnant woman were burnt into her mind. the realization she killed not only two, but three people earlier today.

she sucked a shaky breath in and held it for a moment before exhaling. it was the same exercises felix taught her and the ones hyunjin enforced when he noticed her begin to spiral. it wasn't working this time.

the picture of her boyfriend's face flickered through her thoughts. the shock falling over his pretty features, the heartbreak pooling in his irises, and the way he froze seeing the carnage y/n committed. they were all like that.

on the way back, no one spoke a word. it was silent between them and it felt too suffocating. no one had to say anything though. nothing said could've soothed the unease surrounding them. she could sense what they felt: uncertainty, pity, nervousness, and fear. perhaps because of what they now know what she's truly capable of. wreckage. slaughter. revenge. desperation.

whatever the cause, it still felt like fire on her skin. it crawled down her spine and burned. she prayed to whatever was out there that they weren't what she thought. that her friends, her family basically, weren't scared of her.

the sound of a door caused her to jump. she peered up from her spot on the chair and saw hyunjin enter the room; a bucket, cloth, and first aid kit in grasp.

he walked over to her and crouched down, placing his things on the floor. y/n swallowed. through the dim lights of the vanity next to her, she could see the wear and tear of hyunjin's form. his shoulders were slumped, palms scarred, and lip raw.

she waited for him to speak. he didn't. he only reached out and took her dirty hand in his, using the rag dipped in water to wipe away at the red staining her flesh.

he worked slowly. his touch was soft and gentle, hardly applying any pressure to her sore knuckles. he didn't make a move to look up at her and focused on his actions instead.

that was worse than being screamed at.

a pause went by.

"i know you're mad." she stated, tone frail. "just say what you want to say."

it took a moment for him to respond. "i'm not mad, y/n." he muttered.

her brows furrowed in confusion. "you should be."

he nodded. "i should be, but i'm not." he glanced up and met her gaze. his brown hues that were once bright now dulled and decorated with dark circles. he gave her a weak smile. "i'm just disappointed."

y/n frowned. that wasn't any better either.

"what you did was dangerous, you know that right?" he paused his movements. "it was careless and dumb, and i was terrified." his face twisted in an emotion y/n couldn't pinpoint. "i was so scared of what could've happened to you. when you left, i made the guys follow your tracks and came across bodies and i was so, so scared of one of them being you."

"i know." y/n whispered with guilt eating her soul.

"my heart bleeds for you constantly," he said. "every minute of every day and to see you be so..." he tried to find his words. "so stupid with your life breaks me. if you died, i don't know what i'd do or how i'd function. you mean way too much to me to let something like that happen." he breathed before a look of regret fell on his face.

y/n watched his tongue dart out to wet his chapped lips, blistered and scarred with teeth marks. "but i did."

y/n blinked at him. "what?" she asked in disbelief.

"i..." he struggled. "i drove you away." he swallowed. "when you wanted to go across the water... you were so fixated on doing it that way, so determined, and i was scared. i-i didn't want you to go. i didn't want you to get hurt... but you weren't listening to me, to any of us."

he sniffled slightly, feeling the tears burn in his waterline. he glanced down and willed them away with a shake of the head. "and i know how you are. as much as i love how stubborn you are, it can be so challenging to get you to see the other side sometimes. i knew there was no way around it and that you were gonna do what you wanted, so i wanted to follow. all it ended in was an argument with things i never should've said." he peered up at her. "minho meant everything to you. you were with him for so long traveling across the country. he saved you and you saved him on so many occasions. he was practically your brother. he was your entire world... until your fight. i-i don't know what was said or what really happened, but you weren't the same since then, since you started to ignore him. i saw the light in you basically disappear overnight and i haven't seen it again. and- and then abby... what she did, what you saw, i cannot fathom the things you feel. the pain, the guilt, the hatred, the rage..."

y/n sat still, jaw clenching with every word her boyfriend spoke.

"you say we lost someone important too which we have, but you..." he gave her hand a squeeze. "you lost everything that day." she squeezed back. "and for me to call you selfish and to say you don't have control over your emotions, it was a fucking dick move. all you wanted was to avenge minho and I used it against you and i am so, so sorry, y/n."

y/n didn't notice the dampness on her cheeks until she felt hyunjin's thumb wipe some away. she gulped. "i-i'm sorry, too. i was completely out of line and blinded with ignorance to see that you guys were just trying to help. that you were just trying to find a plan that was the safest and i threw a bitch fit about it. i can't apologize enough about how stupid i was being."

hyunjin let out a weak chuckle. "guess we're both just assholes then, yeah?"

y/n snickered softly, nose stuffy. "yeah. guess so."

she felt his hand come up to push her damp hair from her face, raking it back with calloused fingers. "i love you, you know that right?" he muttered gently.

"i love you, too." her voice was just as low.

he leaned in and placed a kiss on her lips. the taste of forgiveness was sweet on their tongues, pushing down the bitterness of anger. they both held onto it and drank it in. it soaked into their chest and wedged itself through their bones, making a perfect place home right next to their heart. through it, a silent promise was made.

where you go, i go. no matter where.

[qiangweirosa]

Thank you for taking my request! I loved it. The girls are just so amazing and I love them a lot 🩷🩷 p4 is also my favourite, the vibe there is just so nice😌🌸

Could I request some specific x reader thing? Like, I saw your latest post and ik you didn’t write headcanons before so just pick whatever form you find the easiest (and drop one character if you don’t want to do both)

This might be very specific but like, can I get something about a reader who used to be very sporty and graceful but has had a bad injury that kind of affects the way they walk and their balance. They don’t say it but they are secretly self conscious over it. They still do sports and stuff but they worry about never being enough again (and also ppl making comments about their limp). For characters that would be paired with the reader, I was thinking Mishima (love him sm🩷) and, unsurprisingly,, Ryuji (it’s a bit silly but this character helped me a bit to feel better about my situation)

Once again, thank you for doing my previous request and taking the time to read this one. I hope it’s not too heavy or self indulgent in my part, its a bit embarrassing to be fair haha

-★🐶

Mishima + Ryuji x Reader (separate)

relationships: mishima/reader, ryuji/reader tws: none wc: 462 extra: reader is gender neutral // I LOVE MISHIMA??? hes one of my favorite characters in p5 hes so silly... i actually had a lot of trouble writing this so i hope its good enough for you... dont ever apologize for being self indulgent with me i am literally the most self indulgent reader ever. ty for the request and i'm glad you liked the last one!

Mishima :

You stood in front of the diner in Shibuya, looking around with your bag on your shoulder and your phone in hand. Yuuki had texted you he’d be here in 5 minutes, exactly 5 minutes ago. You kept glancing at your screen, checking to see if he had texted you again. 

You usually tried to keep an eye on your surroundings, but you must’ve been too focused on your phone to see the crowd of people rushing into you. You tried keeping yourself up, but it was no use - you felt yourself falling over, almost resigning yourself to your fate before a pair of arms clumsily held you up. 

You looked to your side to see Yuuki, looking frantic and panicked as he slowly made sure you were back up on your feet. Just as you were about to thank him, he held you by the shoulders and yelled. 

“Are you alright?!”

After taking a second to recover, you chuckled and held onto his arms. 

“I am, no need to worry.”

He looked you over worriedly, and finally let out a sigh of relief as he saw that you were indeed alright. Yuuki brought you closer to him in a hug, which you returned. 

“Should we go inside? I don’t want you to get hurt if someone bumps into you again.”

He offered as he pulled back, taking one of your hands in his bashfully. 

“I’m not that fragile, you know… But sure, let’s go.”

He pulled you up the stairs behind him for your date. Yuuki could be a little too protective when it came to your injury, but he ultimately just didn’t want it to get worse for you. 

Ryuji :

Dating Ryuji naturally meant accompanying him on his runs, when he felt like practicing. 

Today was one of those days. You both sat down on a bench as you handed him a water bottle, which he thanked you for before drinking practically half of it. 

Your chest heaved with your breaths, trying to calm down the ache in your body as you took a break. Ryuji was sitting next to you, massaging his leg. 

“You okay?”

He glanced at you upon hearing your question. He flashed you a grin and a thumbs up, reassuring you with a nod. 

“Yeah, no worries! I can keep going. What about you?”

You nodded too. 

“Same here. Just need a short break.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, offering you the water bottle back. You drank a bit, and not long after, you two were back up and running for another lap. 

Really, you probably could’ve gone longer before your injury, and the same was true for him. Still, you two enjoyed doing this together, going at a rhythm that you were both comfortable with. 

[unidentified-ending]

"Out of the Shadows"

Part 4

Guys, this might be the last one, if not then part 5 definitely wil be so, stick around for the next one :D

Tw: violence, injuries and (harsh?) transphobia. Not for the easily upset

Aizawa and Class 1a x ftm!bullied!reader

Before we start, I just wanted to say thank you all for the likes and follows, it may not seem like much but I really appreciate it. Thank you for supporting my work

And with that being said, let's do this

"I think you'll want to see this" It was strange for Katsuki to be quiet so something serious must of happened Aizawa thought so he walked outside and closed the door behind him.

He widened his eyes in shock.

"What...What happened?" He said, looking at your limping form on Izuku's shoulder.

"We're not sure. According to the nerd (Deku) one of Minato's friends, Kyou, called for him and me to go to the locker rooms and we found Y/n lying on the floor, nearly unconscious" Bakugo explained.

"It wasn't even that bad, it was just a little miscommunication that led into a fight. Im literally fine.-" You said but Bakugo shouted

"Well what the hell was all your lunch, stationary and other stuff doing all over the ground huh!!"

"Alright Bakugo and Midoriya, thank you. I would like to talk to him alone. Midoriya could you please hand out the worksheets to everyone? Do what you want just dont cause much trouble. Y/n can you walk?" Aizawa concluded.

"Yes, but I think my foot is injured" You said while Bakugo and Midoriya walked back into class, all your classmates asking them questions before they walked filly into the class.

"Alright, let's go to recovery girls office, she'll heal you." He said as he walked by your slightly limping figure.

Once you guys got to recovery girls office you sat down at one of the beds.

"Alright, please tell me what's going on. I need no lies at this moment forward" He said seriously, looking at your nervous eyes, waiting for some answers.

You sighed shakily but finally gave him the truth

"Well, these kids have been bullying me, since the day I saw them. They've been picking on me and hurting me. I know I've been keeping this a secret. I'm sorry" You say, tears starting to well in your eyes.

"It's ok, let it out I'm here" he said as he stands up to hug you, you grip onto his hero costume like its the last thing on earth and sob in his shirt until you calm down, sniffling and red-eyed.

"It's alright, I've got you. Recovery Girl will heal your foot, get some rest kid. You need it" He said after you calmed down,

"Y/n, we will get these kids expelled. For you. For all the victims"

You nodded and climed into one of the beds, you couldn't resist the cozy comfort of the bed and quickly fell asleep, in a matter of minutes.

You woke up and it was evening, you could see it through the big class windows which were shining through a yellowish orange glow inside.

"Good evening dear, your teacher left a note for you. Its just by your side" recovery Girl said as she noticed your were awake.

Your foot had been healed though you felt very tired, she handed you the note that read

"Hey kid, come to the dorms as soon as you can. Your classmates have something for you"

You sighed and got ready to leave, your bag and your belongings beside the bed you were in. You said your goodbyes to recovery girl and left the room, wondering hat your friends and classmates had done for you.

You were so drifted out of your thoughts that you never noticed Kyou who accidentally pushed passed you. "Sorry dud......" when you saw who it was you froze.

"I'm not gonna do anything to you, I need to go" he said rushing away in a hurry, you had so many questions for him that were unexplained but he just ran off so you saved it for the next time you saw him.

You were so lost in your thoughts, again that you didn't realise you ran into someone else, two people. When you tried to apologise, the only word your mind could conjure up was

"shit"

Minato and Haruki.

As soon as they saw it was you, Minato slammed you right into the wall. You really couldn't catch a break..

"What the fuck did I tell you, you fucking freak" Minato said as he opened the door to an empty classroom and threw you in there.

"You stand guard and get Riku to come with weapons. Im finishing this now" He said, eyes glinting with rage and malice, his true intent was to get rid of you.

Forever.

"Please man, I haven't done anything to you."

"Your existence alone is enough reason to make your life miserable." Minato said and Haruki added on from the side

"Pathetic. Trying to fit in won't change what you really are. A girl, A female. A woman"

Your heart shattered into a million broken pieces as the reality of what they said sank in. It was true, that's all you were. After years and years of trying to fit on and be a real man, just shattered over a few words.

He threw you at a table and desk and you slammed right into it, your body aching with pain. He lifted you up and slammed you back down on the ground, the nerves in your back shooting all the way to your brain.

He then towered over you.

You felt the cracking of bones and the gush of blood as the punches rained down upon you, your face becoming a grotesque battlefield of pain and blood.

The ringing in your ears just wouldn't stop.

Just then Riku, Asahi and Kyou walked in.

Riku's eyes glinted with mischief as he reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a collection of bats, one for each person. With a sly grin at you, he started handing them out, creating an unwatchable atmosphere in the room.

"I want him gone"

Ahhhh, cliff hanger. This is the 4th part.

I kind of got lazy with this one considering it's 3:18 in the morning so forgive me if any silly mistakes were made.

The final part is coming tomorrow, or today so stick around for that

And remember:

Always drink water and eat something, You deserve it :DD