#-clenches fists- t h e m

[dcwnrisen-aa]

¥ // Arvid & Sasha

Put ¥ in my ask and my muse will rate your muse on: @thecircusfreaks

Looks: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Personality: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Attraction: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Would they date them: yes | no

Favorite thing about them:  ❝ ━ How comforting he is, or maybe how passionate he is about his job. The subtle way he flirts and makes me smile. It's all so cute and attractive. ❞

Least favorite thing about them: ❝ ━ Mm, I think that he could afford himself some grace when he feels like things aren't going well. It's okay to give yourself a day before tackling something again. ❞

[chenziee]

Okay but I gotta say the antis are onto something. Lawlu should be illegal.

I mean, the way my heart clenches and I cry whenever I see them or think about them cannot be healthy and is therefore a criminal offence.

I have a reputation to uphold and it doesn't involve visibly overflowing with love for an imaginary relationship between two imaginary people, okay?

[mononijikayu]

marutsuke — gojo satoru.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know." Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?" "I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

WARNING/S: post-hidden inventory (2006-onwards), domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 5.3k words.

NOTE: i wrote this a long long while ago and to celebrate jjk ending, i would like to give this as a humble offering. i've been a fan of jjk since 2019, when my friend introduced it to me. jjk means the world to me. it was there for me as much as bts was in my harsh and painful years. i am most grateful to share and continue to share the joy of it here in my little corner of the world. thank you guys for sharing the love of jjk with me. you guys are amazing. i love you guys so much. let's continue to be fans together for a long time!!! also the song is from given. its a lovely song <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU HATED THIS FEELING, YOU HATED REPETITION LIKE THIS. You stood in the dimly lit hallway, fists clenched, your eyes burning with fury as you learned what had happened to the first years. The mission had gone horribly wrong, and Haibara—kind, hopeful Haibara—was dead. Nanami barely made it back. You trembled with rage, unable to process the incompetence that had led to this.

It was just like this when it was Namie.

Your mind flashed back to the past, to the same helplessness, the same sickening weight that had crushed your chest when Namie, your dear friend, had been sent out on a mission with faulty intelligence. They hadn’t even gotten her body back. You remembered the emptiness, the cold fury that took root inside you ever since.

And then there was Amanai Riko. Another loss, another innocent life extinguished because of their arrogance, their reckless disregard for the lives they swore to protect. Your nails bit into your palms as you fought back the wave of grief and anger.

And now... now Haibara.

Another young life, snuffed out before it could even truly begin. Your breath came in short, ragged bursts as the memories collided with the present, your fury building to a boiling point. You had warned them. You had fought, had demanded better, and yet nothing had changed.

"How many more?" you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling with fury. "How many more have to die before they open their eyes?"

"They had faulty intelligence," you spat, your voice laced with venom. "Faulty intelligence, and they sent them in blind. Blind!"

Your words echoed down the empty corridor, but it wasn’t enough to release the fury simmering inside you. You stormed forward, your footsteps heavy with the weight of your anger, the hallway dim and suffocating as you advanced. The rage that coursed through your veins was more than just anger—it was righteous fury, the kind that demanded answers, demanded justice for those who had fallen.

You didn’t care about decorum or procedure. Not now. Not when another life had been so carelessly thrown away.

The sight of the mission manager at the end of the hall, sitting casually at his desk, only fueled the fire inside you. He looked up, his expression one of mild surprise as you approached—indifferent, as if the death of a student was nothing more than an inconvenience, a casualty of duty.

Indifference. That look—the one that dismissed Haibara as just another statistic, another name on a growing list of losses. It ignited something in you that was barely contained.

"You!" you hissed, your voice trembling with the intensity of your rage. The air around you seemed to crackle with tension as you marched up to the manager’s desk, eyes blazing. "You sent them in blind! Faulty intelligence, and you signed off on it like it didn’t matter! Haibara is dead because of you!"

The manager blinked, clearly taken aback by your outburst, but his calm exterior didn’t waver. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded calmly in his lap, as if he was used to this—used to the accusations, used to the aftermath. He probably expected you to eventually calm down, to accept that this was just the way things were.

But you weren’t going to calm down. Not this time.

“You think this is acceptable?" you seethed, leaning over his desk. "You think sending kids in with faulty information is just part of the job? You didn’t care about what would happen to them—you cared about following protocol, making sure you checked off the boxes so you could wipe your hands clean when it went wrong."

The manager gave a slight sigh, adjusting his glasses as if the whole situation was an inconvenience. "These missions come with risks, you know that. It’s unfortunate, but we—"

"Unfortunate?" your voice rose, fury spilling over. "You think this is just 'unfortunate'? Haibara’s dead because of your incompetence, and all you can say is that it’s unfortunate?"

The manager’s lips thinned, his calm demeanor wavering for just a moment. "We did the best we could with the information we had. It’s not always perfect—"

You slammed your hands down on the desk, silencing him immediately. Your face was inches from his now, your voice low and lethal. "No. You didn’t do the best you could. You cut corners, and you sent them in knowing it wasn’t safe. You sat behind this desk while they went out there, while they—" Your voice caught for a moment, thinking of Haibara, of Namie, of Riko. "You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone because of your arrogance."

The manager didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His silence was answer enough.

Your fists clenched again, your whole body trembling with the effort to contain your rage. You wanted to scream, to tear this entire building apart, but all you could do was stare at the man who had signed Haibara’s death warrant with his negligence. The worst part was you knew it would happen again. As long as people like him kept making decisions, more lives would be lost.

“That’s enough.” That familiar voice. You stopped.

“You piece of shit!” you snarled, your energy crackling dangerously. You lunged, but before you could strike, Yaga intervened, gripping your arms to hold you back.

You whipped around, your rage now directed at Yaga. “You! I warned you. I fucking warned you! But you listened to those old farts, didn’t you? You think it’s okay to send them in, even blindly.” Your voice cracked with fury, your eyes burning into Yaga’s. “And now, you’re stuck having to explain to Haibara’s parents why their son isn’t alive! That blood is on your hands!”

Yaga’s grip remained firm, but his expression darkened as you pressed on.

“My father would be ashamed of you,” you said, your voice low, bitter. “You’ve become exactly what he stood against.”

Yaga’s eyes hardened at your words, but he didn’t let go. He knew your anger wasn’t just at him—it was at the system, at the higher-ups, at the entire broken system that cost Haibara his life. But your words cut deep. Mentioning your father, a man Yaga once respected, felt like a blade twisted into his gut.

"Genmei," Yaga said, his voice steady but tense, "I didn't want this. You think I don’t care? You think I don’t feel the weight of it? I never wanted to send them in like that."

"Then why did you?" you snapped, stepping closer, your face inches from his, rage seething in every word. "You could’ve stopped it. You had the authority! Instead, you caved to those senile cowards who sit behind desks, making decisions they’ll never face the consequences of."

Yaga's jaw clenched, his voice growing colder. "You think I had a choice? You think I didn’t fight back? The orders came from the top, Genmei! From people I can’t defy."

You shook your head, trembling with disbelief. "So that’s it? You just roll over and let it happen? You tell them it’s fine to send kids like Haibara to their deaths? You and those spineless managers let them go out there—for nothing."

Yaga's grip on your arms tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "I know you’re angry. I know this isn’t fair. But it wasn’t blind. They were prepared."

“Prepared?!” Your laughter was bitter and sharp. “You call this prepared? Haibara is dead! Nanami is broken. And now you have to look those parents in the eye and tell them their son is never coming home."

Yaga’s silence spoke louder than anything. The weight of what you said settled in, his posture stiffening with the responsibility he bore. He hadn’t spoken to Haibara’s parents yet, but he would have to. And the thought of it, the unbearable weight of it, gnawed at him.

"Every single student is my responsibility, you know that." Yaga finally said, his voice quieter now, though no less strained. "I carry that burden every day. You think I don’t feel it? That it doesn’t tear me apart? But I don’t have the luxury of rage. I have to keep moving, keep fighting—for the ones who are still here."

Your hands fell to your sides, anger simmering down to a bitter ache. You looked at Yaga, your voice softer but no less furious. "They trusted you. We trusted you. And now we’re left with nothing but grief. Don’t you dare try to justify this."

Yaga looked away, his jaw clenched. "I’m not trying to justify it. There’s no justification for it. But you think I haven’t warned them, too? We both know how they operate. But my hands—"

"Don’t tell me about your hands being tied." you interrupted, your voice sharp. "You had more than just orders. You had a choice. And Haibara Yu’s blood is on all of us for not stopping it. And I'm sure....too sure. That there will be many more. All because you can't fight against those old farts."

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. Yaga’s grip on your arms loosened, his expression still hardened by guilt and responsibility. He knew it too well, he knew that it was also his fault. And perhaps, in truth, you didn't blame him that much. You knew there was nothing a teacher can do against the whole of Jujutsu society. But you can't help but be angry. Just like at your father's funeral. And that too, Yaga blames himself.

“I’m going to make them pay for this.” you said in a low, deadly voice, your anger no longer explosive but cold and resolute. “The ones responsible, the ones who allowed this to happen—they’ll know exactly what they’ve one.”

Yaga met your eyes, his voice quiet but firm. "Don’t let your anger consume you. Your father would say the same thing. This world is already full of enough darkness."

Your expression didn’t change, unfazed. "Maybe it needs a little more darkness before it can see the light. My father also knew about that."

YOU WANTED TO HAVE A SMOKE. But you were sure that the sprinklers would alert people. So you went against it. You stormed out of the manager’s office, your fury barely contained as you made your way down the empty corridor.

The cold, sterile walls felt suffocating, your mind clouded with the weight of it all—Haibara’s death, Nanami’s devastation, the recklessness of the higher-ups. You needed to see him, to confront the harsh reality of what their negligence had wrought.

The morgue was dimly lit, its stillness heavy with the presence of death. You moved quietly, but your footsteps faltered as you approached. Standing just outside, you heard voices—low, tense. You stopped.

"Why not let Gojo take care of everything?" a bitter voice sneered. It was Nanami Kento.

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized that tone. Nanami’s words were sharp, laced with exhaustion and frustration, and just as the retort began to form on your lips, another voice cut through—calm, but strained.

"Nanami, that’s enough," Geto Suguru’s voice was tired, a weariness that weighed down each syllable. "This isn’t about Satoru. Don’t take your anger out on him just because you feel helpless. We all do."

Helpless.

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. Your body froze as Nanami’s bitter words echoed in your ears, triggering a flood of memories you had buried deep. You could still see the way Kaiko had looked at you after Namie’s death, the sharp, accusatory words that came spilling out, venomous and cruel.

"Why not let Genmei take care of everything, huh? She’s always so sure of herself, isn’t she?" Kamo Kaiko had sneered, the pain of loss warping into something uglier, something that wanted to hurt others. The same helplessness Nanami was drowning in now.

You had seen the look in Kaiko’s eyes—the same bitterness, the same exhaustion, the same desperation to place the blame somewhere, anywhere, other than the black void of grief you were all struggling to survive. And you had tried to calm Kaiko down, tried to reason with her, but the pain had been too raw, too fresh. It had escalated. Words had become fists, and by the time it was over, you were both broken in different ways. You never spoke again after that fight.

Now, hearing Nanami’s voice, the echoes of Kaiko’s bitterness in every word, your heart clenched. You couldn’t let this spiral the same way.

You stepped forward, your presence quiet but commanding. The shadows shifted as you moved, your eyes falling on Nanami, who stood rigid, his face a mask of exhaustion and grief. Geto Suguru leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his own weariness mirrored in his posture. He looked over Haibara’s body, as though he was in a trance. He was shell–shocked, you think.

"That’s enough." you said, your voice calm but firm, the weight of your past mixing with the present. You couldn’t watch this play out the same way it had before. "This isn’t about blame. None of this is about whose responsibility it is to fix things."

Nanami flinched slightly at the sound of your voice, his jaw tightening as he avoided your gaze. But you knew what he was feeling because you had been there. You had stood in his shoes, grappling with the same rage, the same helplessness, when you lost Namie.

"It’s not Gojo–kun’s fault, you know that." you continued, stepping closer, your voice softer now. "And it’s not yours. Haibara’s death wasn’t something you could have prevented. Not under these circumstances."

Nanami's fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his body radiating outwards. "I could have, senpai." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should have."

"No." you said firmly, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "This wasn’t on you. Don’t let the guilt consume you, Nanami. I’ve seen it before, and I know where it leads."

The memories of Kaiko haunted you, the way grief had hollowed her out, leaving her with nothing but resentment and bitterness. You couldn’t let that happen to Nanami. Not again. This doesn’t have to continue. No one else has to suffer.

"Listen to Geto–kun, okay?" you added, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "We all feel helpless. But turning against each other won’t bring Haibara back."

Nanami’s shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his body giving way to something closer to defeat. He didn’t respond, but you knew your words had reached him. Turning away from them, you took a breath and steel yourself. You still had one last thing to do, no matter how much it hurt.

You had to say goodbye to Haibara.

You walked out of the room, the heaviness of the conversation weighing on your shoulders. You pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, your emotions a turbulent storm beneath the surface. Your eyes immediately caught sight of Satoru, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed.

You knew, just by the way he stood, that he had heard everything. There was no need for words. His expression wasn’t the usual carefree mask he wore—it was more serious, though his eyes were still bright behind his dark shades, silently watching you.

You sighed, your frustration and exhaustion bubbling up. Without a word, you stepped closer to him and gently placed your hands over his ears, your palms lightly cupping the sides of his head. The sudden movement caught him off guard, and his eyes widened, blinking in surprise. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to understand what you were doing.

Don’t listen, you mouthed, your lips forming the words slowly and deliberately, knowing he would understand.

For a moment, Satoru just stared at you, his gaze flickering between confusion and something softer, almost curious. His lips pressed into a flat line, and after a heartbeat of silence, he nodded, an unspoken agreement passing between you.

He wasn’t going to argue. Not this time.

You let your hands fall from his ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead of you, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

You let your hands fall from Satoru's ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

The two of you wandered outside in silence, the weight of recent events hanging heavily between you. The cold night air bit at your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the emotions you both carried. You led the way toward the vending machines just outside the building, the quiet hum of them the only sound in the stillness.

You didn’t need to look at Satoru to know he was thinking about everything that had happened. It was rare for him to be this quiet, this subdued. You pressed the buttons on the machine without a word, watching the drinks tumble down with a soft thud. You handed one to him, the cold condensation clinging to your fingers as you took your own.

Satoru cracked open the can, the fizz breaking the silence between you. You took a slow sip of your drink before finally speaking.

“It’s not your fault, you know.” you said quietly, your voice steady but carrying the weight of someone who had seen this all before. "You can’t blame yourself for what happened."

Satoru didn’t respond right away. He took a long drink, his gaze fixed on the horizon, the usual brightness in his eyes dimmed by something heavier, more complex. He leaned against the vending machine, one hand loosely holding the can, the other shoved in his pocket. His shades were off now, dangling from his collar.

“I think it is, Genmei–senpai.” he finally said, his voice low, almost resigned. His gaze drifted down to the ground. “If I were just a little stronger, a little faster... if I had trained them better, maybe… maybe they wouldn’t be dead.”

Your chest tightened. You had heard these words before, a thousand times in different voices. From yourself, from others who had lost people they cared about. It was the familiar cycle of grief and guilt. Gojo Satoru doesn’t easily fuss over his feelings. This was the first time truly, you think, that he’d willingly told you what he felt. Without you having to ask. In a way, you think that has reminded you of yourself, even for a little bit.

"You can't control everything, Gojo–kun." you replied softly, stepping beside him. "Not even you. It wasn’t your decision to send them on that mission. You weren’t the one who messed up the intel. And you’re not the one who could have stopped it from going wrong."

He clenched his jaw, clearly wrestling with the weight of his own thoughts. Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer alive, the one who always acted like nothing could touch him—was grappling with the very human feeling of failure. It was a rare sight, one that he kept hidden behind his usual bravado. But here, in the quiet, there was no mask to hide behind.

"Being strong doesn’t mean being able to protect everyone. That’s impossible." you added, your voice quiet but firm. "Trust me, I know. We all do."

Satoru stared at his drink, the carbonation slowly rising to the surface. He let out a long breath, his fingers tightening around the can as if holding on to something he couldn’t quite grasp.

"I don’t know if I can ever believe that, you know?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I’m not strong enough to protect them, then what’s the point of being the strongest?"

You didn’t answer right away. You let his words hang in the air, knowing that there was no simple reply that could ease his burden. The truth was, you understood. You had felt the same way when your precious Namie died, when Amanai Riko  was killed. The strength to protect felt meaningless when it failed you.

But you also knew that blaming yourself for every loss would only eat away at you, piece by piece. And you knew better than to wallow in it all. You wouldn’t be able to get up from your bed if it's all that consumes you. You didn’t want your dreams. You wanted to be awake. In your dreams, it was regret. In your reality, it was moving forward. And you’d choose a thousand cigarettes then see Namie’s eyes look at you like that again. You’d choose days awake rather than seeing Kaiko take her last breaths right in front of you again.

"The point, Gojo–kun," you finally said, your voice softer now, "is that you’re human. No matter how strong you are, no matter what kind of power you have, you’re still human, Gojo–kun. And that means sometimes... you’ll fail. It doesn’t make you any less strong. It just makes you... you."

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his bright cerulean eyes—an acknowledgment, maybe. He didn’t argue, didn’t dismiss your words like he normally would. Instead, he just took another sip of his drink and nodded slightly.

“Maybe……” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

You stood there in the quiet, the weight of your conversation lingering in the cold night air. For once, there were no easy answers, no quick fixes. Just two people, sharing a drink, carrying the same burden of loss.

You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at the night sky. The stars were faint tonight, dimmed by the city lights, much like how everything felt dulled in the aftermath of grief. You took another sip from your drink, letting the cool liquid ground you in the present, away from the spiraling thoughts of what could have been.

After a long silence, you spoke again, your tone quieter, almost contemplative. "You know, you don’t always have to carry everything by yourself, Gojo–kun."

He glanced at you, but didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still clouded with that familiar weight.

"I know you feel like it’s all on you, Gojo–kun." you continued, turning your gaze to him. "Like you're responsible for every life, every outcome. But you're not. And it’s okay to feel... this way. To feel like you’ve failed. But that doesn’t mean you have."

Satoru stared at the ground, the quiet stretching on for a few heartbeats. Then, without looking at you, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You say that like you don’t carry it, too.”

Your grip on the can tightened slightly. You felt the truth of his words settle uncomfortably in your chest. You did carry it—always had. The weight of those you couldn’t save, the memories of missions gone wrong, the faces of the dead. You carried them all, and sometimes it felt like too much. But that wasn’t something you would admit to easily.

"You’re right. Your senpai’s a hypocrite." you said after a pause, your voice barely above a whisper. A weary smile on your lips. "I do, don’t I? But I’m learning how to let some of it go. To not let it destroy me…..I have to learn, as you do.”

Satoru finally looked at you, his gaze searching, as if he was trying to understand something he couldn’t quite grasp. There was a vulnerability in his expression, one that he rarely let show. You know that you knew the answer. And so does he. But it was easy to ignore, when you’re given the world to carry.

"How?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

You looked away, your eyes drifting back up to the sky. "By realizing that it’s not all on me. That I’m not the only one who’s hurting. And by letting people in, even when I don’t want to. It’s not easy, and I’m still figuring it out... but I’m trying."

Satoru was silent, processing your words. You knew how hard it was for him to let people in, to show any weakness. He had built walls so high that even those closest to him struggled to see through them. But here, in this quiet moment, you could feel those walls cracking, if only just a little.

“I guess I’ll have to try that sometime.” he muttered, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know."

Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?"

"I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

The silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before. It was the kind of quiet that settled between people who understood each other, who didn’t need to fill the space with empty words.

After a while, Gojo Satoru straightened up, his usual mask of nonchalance slipping back into place. But something had changed, even if just a little. He glanced at you, a glimmer of his old self returning to his eyes.

"Alright." he said, pushing off from the vending machine. "I’ll try not to carry everything on my back... but don’t expect me to go soft, okay? Can’t have everyone thinking I’m losing my touch."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at your lips. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Gojo–kun."

He chuckled, tossing his empty can into the recycling bin with a casual flick of his wrist. “Good. Now, how about we get out of here? There’s only so much doom and gloom a guy can take. I wanna go and eat some burgers! Oh, oh and have a milkshake. Come on Gen-senpai! Don't be such a slow poke!”

You watched as he started walking away, his usual swagger returning to his step. Despite everything, despite the grief and the guilt, he was still Satoru Gojo. And that, in its own way, was comforting. You lingered for a moment, finishing off your drink before following him. The weight of the night hadn’t disappeared, but somehow, it felt a little easier to bear now.

epilogue

The afternoon sun bathed the park in a warm, golden glow, casting everything in a soft light that made the moment feel almost timeless. It was a day without expectations or duties—a rare occasion for you and Satoru, a time when neither of you needed to be the strongest sorcerers alive. Instead, you were just yourselves, surrounded by the warmth of your little family.

You sat on a bench under the shade of a sprawling tree, the leaves swaying gently in the breeze. From your seat, you watched Tsumiki and Megumi, their carefree laughter ringing out as they chased each other across the grass.

Fushiguro Megumi’s small smile hinted at how much he enjoyed these quiet moments with his sister, even though he pretended to let her win. His protectiveness over Tsumiki was subtle but undeniable, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched their innocent game unfold.

Beside you, Satoru was sprawled out lazily on the bench, his sunglasses resting atop his head, soaking in the warmth of the sun. Satoshi, your energetic bundle of joy, was clinging to his father’s arm, trying to climb him like he was a human jungle gym. The sight of Satoru—so relaxed and utterly at ease—was a rare one, a moment where he let down his guard completely.

“Baby!” Satoru said, glancing over at you with a mischievous grin. “I think our son’s trying to take me down. Think he’s got the makings of a future jujutsu sorcerer?”

You chuckled, brushing a few strands of Satoshi’s hair out of his eyes. “Maybe he’s just training to be strong like you, don’t you think?” you teased, giving Satoru a playful look. “You’ll have to watch out—he might surpass you one day.”

Satoru sat up dramatically, hoisting Satoshi into his lap. “Surpass me? Oh no, not on my watch!” He declared, tickling your son until Satoshi was giggling uncontrollably. “Satoshi, my little dawn, promise me you won’t steal my title as the strongest!”

Gojo Satoshi, between fits of laughter, batted at his father’s chest. “Papa! No tickle!”

The sound of your son’s pure joy, Satoru’s playful antics, and the peace of this moment filled your heart. For once, there was no looming threat, no mission pulling you away. It was just the simple beauty of a family enjoying a sunny day.

Megumi, a little winded from chasing his sister, wandered over with his usual stoic expression, though you could see the faintest trace of a smile. You couldn’t resist teasing him. “Are you done showing off?”

Megumi shrugged, his tone as nonchalant as ever. “I wasn’t showing off. Tsumiki just needed to win.”

Satoru reached out and ruffled Megumi’s hair affectionately. “Such a gentleman. You’re really going soft on your sister, huh?”

Though Megumi swatted Satoru’s hand away, his eyes softened. “......She deserves it” he mumbled, trying to keep his fondness for Tsumiki hidden.

Tsumiki, noticing the conversation, ran over, her cheeks flushed from the chase. She flopped down onto the grass beside Megumi, leaning against him with a contented sigh. The two siblings sat close together, exchanging quiet smiles. You could see how much they meant to each other—the bond that had formed between them was one of the most precious things in your life.

Satoru stretched out his legs, balancing Satoshi on his knee. “You know, I think this is nice.” he said, his tone suddenly thoughtful. “We should do this more often.”

You turned to look at him, curious. “Do what? Actually relax?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. I like this better—just us. Just our little family, you know? No titles, no missions. Just being.”

There was something so genuine in the way he said it. You leaned into him slightly, reaching for his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours. “I like this too, you know?” you said softly, squeezing his hand.

He smiles back at you with the most beautiful, warm gaze. He squeezes your hand back. “I know.”

Megumi and Tsumiki sat quietly, watching your interaction with curiosity but not interrupting. You could tell they were starting to understand the unspoken bond you and Satoru shared—the love that transcended the roles you played in the world.

Satoru let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the bench, tugging you closer. Satoshi, who had grown tired from all the excitement, settled comfortably in his father’s lap, his small hands gripping Satoru’s shirt. The park, bathed in the soft afternoon light, seemed to wrap you all in a blanket of calm.

“If you weren’t around to keep me sane…..” Satoru mused, glancing over at you. “I might’ve forgotten what a day off even feels like.”

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure you’d figure it out. You’ve always been good at pretending the world’s problems don’t exist.”

Satoru grinned, though there was a softness to his voice. “Maybe. But this…” He looked down at Satoshi, then over at Megumi and Tsumiki, who were now engrossed in their own conversation. “This is real. This is what matters.”

His words struck a chord in you. For so long, your lives had revolved around the constant threat of danger, the weight of responsibility. But here, at this moment, it was just the four of you—your makeshift family—enjoying a quiet afternoon in the park.

Leaning into Satoru’s warmth, you whispered, “Yeah, this is what it’s all about.”

The park’s hum continued around you: the distant laughter of children, the rustling leaves, and the occasional chirp of birds. But in your little bubble, time seemed to slow down. For a moment, there was no past, no future—just the present, where everything felt exactly as it should.

You rested your head on Satoru’s shoulder, Satoshi nestled between you both, and Megumi and Tsumiki chatting softly beside you. In this quiet, peaceful moment, you realized that despite the chaos of your lives, these simple, precious moments made all the struggles worth it.

And for now, that was more than enough.

[spacecasette]

Bolt the Horse — c h a p t e r o n e

@madsmilfelsen for u my angel ♡

In the summer of 2011, she wore her hair in two braids down her back, and spent a not insignificant amount of time on barstools. The air was humid as a clenched fist and humming, so the most she could do to alleviate it was with a Miller High Life in hand, shorts admittedly a touch too short for lookin', and nothing better than trouble to get done. It was in this way she found herself in a bar without a ride home in the pouring September rain.

She was not, in her 25th year, looking for any kind of trouble she could not feasibly get into on her own. She felt as if she could do enough of the fucking up by herself, thank you kindly, and did not take well to anyone who didn't seem like they could handle that.

Rust Cohle, as it turns out, could kind of handle it. At least, she notices, he can handle most things– the exceptions being exceptional humidity and obvious displays of misplaced hubris. They watch each other often; her slyly from atop her barstool, and him openly from wherever he stood behind the bar. It seemed like a lot of the time he could hardly stomach her sitting close to him at all, even when they were across the room. Once, when she was admittedly a little too drunk for a girl who was meant to be in charge of herself, she dropped a shot glass and nearly fell from her perch trying to retrieve the shattered pieces. She looked up to find his stare already fixed on her, whites showing in his eyes like a frightened dog. He was by her side in an instant, batting her hands away and calling her a "messy little thing", which she would have found insulting, if it weren't a little too accurate. But then he checked her palms for cuts and held his hand between the bar and her head when she got up, so she couldn't be too sure he didn't just feel bad for her. She would take it though, either way it was offered. She would never tell him to his face, but she was getting lonely out at her grandparents' house with only the coyotes for company. She liked too much being around to ever tell him to quit barking at her or rolling his eyes when she asked for a pen to do her crosswords with.

It's a Saturday night the first time she loses her grip. Condensed down to one or fifteen seconds, when she laughs loud at something another regular has said. At the sound of air pressed forcefully through Rust's nose in a poor imitation of a laugh, she looks up at him. Her glassy, liquor-slicked eyes, pupils big as the fuckin' moon, begging and begging with no end in sight. Her gaze darting over his face like she can't quite decide where best to fix it– and goddammit if that doesn't just tear him all up inside.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, girl?" He asks, and another of those half-not-laughs falls out.

"Dunno, Rust, wanna find out over dinner sometime?" she fires it back so quick it leaves him a little stunned, a fish whacked out of water. In lieu of a reply, he slides her beer away from her and sets a glass of water down in its place, though she pouts prolifically when he does.

"Prob'ly better if you get on home, little doggy, " he says, soft and condescending even with a corner of his mouth turned up the way it is.

"'M not little anymore, Rust, fuck's sake," she mumbles, taciturn and petulant even this deep in her drink.

"Go get some air, girl, I'll be out quick to drive you home," he tells her, casual like he didn't already know she'd been hoping and wishing for it all night, "and don't go pitching a fit about it. 'S fuckin' pourin' out there and you'd drown yourself in a thimble of rain if I don't."

The screen door in front slams quickly, and will catch you in the back of the head if you're not quick about getting in before it. Dani doesn't tell him this because she is very busy with falling over the threshold in a fit of giggles, bride to her own amusement at Rust having to shuffle her in like someone's feeble old grandma. He is rather short of patience at this hour, and she can feel herself dancing over top his last nerve, but she finds it honestly pretty funny so she makes a lot of stupid faces and asks twice if he'll tuck her in. She's not been sleeping in a bed in the house because they all make her feel a little too sad lately, so she makes a bee line for the couch in the center of the front room, like a rock face she's dead set to crashing on. Rust lets her fall into it– helps her, even, letting loose his grip on her arms to let her splay onto the cushions and roll her ruddy cheek down deep in the throw pillow. Her hair stuck to her face and her breathing slightly shallow, his fingers itch with the desire to check her pulse, to fret over her. Instead he keeps his hands to himself and watches, impassive, as she makes a valiant attempt at rucking her shorts down over her knees to kick them off, making no effort to help. His watching feels like something else, she thinks sluggishly, like a hot lick of fever climbing down her spine and sticking there as a burr would. When she notices him staring, she offers up her dopiest, softest smile, and slurs

"Rust. If you're gonna stand there all night, I won't stop you but first could you go grab me some sleep shorts out of the chester draws? First door on the left at the top of the stairs," she swallows, thick as honeyed night, "please."

The wiry automaton of his body clicks into action: mouth softly closing, limbs lurching into their movement, all economy and surprise.

He returns with her gray shorts, ratty things with the elastic long gone to dust, and sets them down on the coffee table. He turns around, all precious and respectful now that they're alone, and lets her put them on.

When he hears her settle and finally turns around, it's to find her already asleep, her cheeks flushed and limbs spread across the sofa like a child exhausted from the heat.

Sunday morning, she awoke neatly tucked under an afghan with a glass jar of water and two ibuprofen on the coffee table in front of her. Looking at the clock above the door, cogs clicking in the dim apartment of her skull, she realized with quite a start that if she wasn't dressed and ready in exactly 7 minutes, she was going to be rather unfashionably late for Sunday service.

Imagining the looks of misplaced pity from the faces of grandmothers and their daughters and their daughters' daughters was enough to light a decent fire under her ass. She dressed quickly, brushed her sticky teeth to rid them of the scent of stale beer and Black Velvet and was out the door toward the truck with 30 seconds to spare. Her hair, regrettably, was a mouse nest when she checked it in the rearview.

On the drive in, she remembered vaguely that Rust had brought her home late last night but had not, thankfully, stuck around quite long enough for her to embarrass herself any further than she had expected to. She had come to know herself when drinking anything harder than a Shirley temple to be rather childish, with an attitude and a neediness about her to rival some mothers' babies. She could be a sore loser when Robert would walk her like a dog in Rummy, and would play too many Mel Carter songs in a row on the jukebox. This last behavior never failed to put a very unreadable look on Rust's face, like she was leading herself to the gallows & he knew it. There was nothing to be done about her nature now, she supposed, except to apologize to whomever had to suffer it. Used to be her grandparents would correct her, sometimes sternly, but she could always weasel her way out of trouble if she put on the right pair of puppy eyes– now there was no one to set her straight over their knee and make her see sense.

Service was a fine, if a little lengthy, affair with a lot of the old biddies fanning themselves in the heat and cooing over her bruised up knees. She explained (falsely) that she had been moving some of Papa's things back in from the shed, and, arms full, had tripped up the porch steps. Feeling a little poorly about lying in church, she reasoned that telling them she'd come home drunk and tripped over her own threshold would have been inappropriate pew chatter, so it was okay for her to bend the truth into a sweeter shape once in a while.

Leaving church, she decided to stop by Hank's for groceries– mostly because she wanted something to make her feel productive, though she knew she was bound to spend her afternoon (and likely evening) walking around in the creek and reading on the porch. She was clear out of bread, and running dangerously low on the honey cereal she'd taken a liking to. Eggs, she knew, she could trade a neighbor for, so she treated herself to an orange dreamsicle in their place. When she was younger, and Mammy would take her here, she never said no to books or puzzles, but could always deny her granddaughter candy or toys. Now, it seemed, Dani had more books than she could reasonably read in years, and was of the mind that denying herself pleasure of this kind was a punishment she had not earned.

In the breakfast aisle, a feeling not dissimilar to a flight response catches her by the tail of her hair and will not let her go. She moseys slow like, taking her time to draw him out, entertaining herself with all the little barbs she might stick him with. Things like "you followin' me, mister?" or "funny meetin' you here, I thought you lived off coffee, cigarettes, and switch grass." But she didn't really have anything too smart to say when he finally sidled up next to her while she was fretting over cereal.

Her eyes darted to his hands, slung under the weight of the blue basket in his grip– sinewy, calloused– and then up to his shirt collar, chin, face, then eyes. She had to take it in little leaps else she'd get shy and find a way to leave before she'd said her piece.

"'M sorry you had to see me home last night. Didn't mean to get ornery, so. It won't happen again." It's soft, coming out her mouth, like they were the only people in the room.

"'S alright, just seems like someone oughta look after you once in a while," he says, just as quiet, as if talking to himself. The hum of the lights gets a little too loud and she can't quite think all the way, so her words come out rushed,

"How come you don't go to church?"

"I don't really fuss about with god." This surprises her, for some reason. She felt she knew his way, a little, how he looked at everything through the lens of dutiful futility. It stands to reason he wouldn't really bother with something so nebulous and unfixed, but for all she knows he's a thing flung straight down from outer space so she doesn't follow the thought too far.

"Well, me neither, except I like the singing, and Mammy always made me go. Just seems like the thing to do, I guess. Don't you got a thing you do? Just 'cause you feel like you're supposed to?"

"Unfortunately, sweetheart, everything I do is 'cause I'm supposed to."

Then they don't talk, for what feels like a whole winter but is really only a minute. She finds her prize on the shelf and quickly puts it in her basket, looking at her shoes until she finds the nerve to speak again,

"I'm trying to be your friend, Rust. Are you gonna let me, or are you gonna keep up this whole 'mysterious old man with a vendetta against fun' thing?"

He chuckles at that, but doesn't exactly answer.

"Look, I'm gonna be gone a while. Not long, should be back towards the middle of the week, but I want you to stay home. I mean that. Don't come by the bar, don't go anywhere I wouldn't know to find you, okay? You stay outta trouble and we'll talk about being friends when I get back."

She rolls her eyes at the implication that she couldn't handle life and its spinning without him herding her about.

"Fine. But when you get back, you owe me a beer and a game of rummy. And you can't pawn me off on Bob, either, I'm starting to think it's personal."

"Deal." They shake hands, and he's gone. When she finally quits looking down at her hand where he held it, she grabs her milk and butter, pays the kid at the till, and heads home.

Dani knows, for the most part, how to behave. She spent so long having so little reason to lash out that the muscle memory of trouble making had practically atrophied by the time she turned 19. She spends her first day at home reorganizing the bookshelves in the living room by genre, which eats up a good 3 hours after breakfast and fills her with a terribly pleased feeling to boot. By then, she's ready for a simple lunch of a ham and cheese sandwich with an entire sleeve of tollhouse crackers, which she eats on the porch with a can of pepsi beside her. The cicadas do their screeching song all day, and when she wanders out into the yard, she finds one of their molts clung to the trunk of a live oak. Papa's voice floats into her head, and she is thrown face-first into a memory of them gathered in the kitchen one early morning, heads bowed in little prayer to examine the bugs and moths he'd pinned to a paper towel on the counter. He'd told her about the dog day cicadas, how they sleep for 7 years and come alive to feed, breed, scream, and die. He'd pointed out the luna moth, its wings frayed and flaked where he'd handled it with a little carelessness. It had looked so graceful and serene, laying with its wings fanned and pinned apart with mammy's pearl-headed sewing pins. She remembers the sadness she'd felt when he had told her they lacked mouths, and existed only by the grace of whatever nutrients they'd ingested as caterpillars. She felt a bit like that now, catapulted into life without them in the span of a year, and with no way to cherish them except in reverse. Reduced to a thing that wanted, with no way of asking.

Dani spent the rest of the first day ambling through the trees looking for bugs and leaves and interesting bits she might save to keep the memory of summer alive when the rain came and the sun stayed away longer. At night, she ate buttered noodles and pinned her findings in a shadowbox she'd gutted, hunched over the kitchen table tweezing antennae and legs into place. When she felt herself growing sleepy, she walked the few paces to the sofa, and fell onto it with all the grace of a foal in its first hours. She dreamt that night that she'd forgotten her name, and was standing in the middle of her empty high school.

The second day passed much differently– the hours stretched their long fingers out toward the sun and took their dandy time to pass. She was restless, and it was hot, and she felt a searching inside her that could not be sated by any of the near dozen books she tried out. By 1pm she was packing a small lunch (ham and cheese again, with the last sleeve of crackers) and walking back through the trees behind the house to the creek. Toeing off her shoes and slipping off her dress, she slipped down into that cool, murky wet. She floated on her back in the middle a while, watching the canopy shiver apart to let the sunlight through in lacelike patterns on the surface of the water. Eventually, she uprighted herself and walked along the bank looking for a salamander or a frog, something alive she might find companionship with. It ended up being fruitless, which ratcheted up that irritable itch and culminated in a single misstep over an algae-slicked stone and sent her straight down backward onto her ass. Her eyes welling with frustrated tears, she laid there stunned with her tailbone throbbing something fierce for a good ten minutes. When her self pity ran dry and she remembered she was the only one around who could kiss it better, she gathered up the lunch she'd neglected to eat and went straight back to the house for a hot shower, or perhaps a nap on the sofa.

She woke around 6pm with all her bones feeling fused together at the joints, and a small puddle of drool on the throw pillow beneath her cheek. It was with a sense of delirious urgency that she climbed from her makeshift bed and upstairs to the bathroom, and upon flicking the light, noticed her hair had dried down in such a horrendous tangle she sat down on the floor and started to cry. She cried because she missed her Mammy and her Papa, because her body hurt, and because she was struck with the painfully sudden and obvious realization that she really was on her own now. She cried because she felt stupid, and small, and rather lonely here in this house she loved but felt guilty being in for some reason.

Eventually, the tide of her sobbing had slowed and she crawled over to the drawer to fish out her hairbrush, and set about making sense of the nest that had settled on her head. When it was done, and with great effort at that, she turned on the shower as boiling hot as it would go, and sat herself down to spend the better part of half an hour feeling put out and morose before she even picked up the shampoo. It was a quick affair after that, as she didn't really love having pruny fingers.

The boredom reaches a fever pitch around 10:30, untempered by two failed attempts at knitting and one batch of lemon muffins. Everything Dani has done in the last fourteen hours to restore a sense of normalcy has come spitting furiously back into her face, and she really truly feels like something in her is fixing to hatch. It's beginning to feel like an undoing, and she's uncomfortable, so she laces up her stupid shoes and walks the stupid half-mile to Doumain's. She curses Rust the whole way, scrunches up her nose and spits at his voice in her head telling her to stay put, like a dog that don't know any better than to leap out the door. She feels hot and itchy again, and she made up promises– one she did try hard to keep, but again her nature won out– and he said he'd be back by mid week. It's coming on 11 on a Tuesday, so she reckons she's close enough to compliance for fulfilling her end of a crummy deal. And anyway, she's fighting mad for nothing and wants a beer and a furious game of cards with Bob to soften up all the little hard upset parts of her.

When she arrives, it's unnaturally rowdy for a weeknight. The pool tables are full, and there isn't a spot for her at the bar until she catches Bob's eye and he makes another regular– Mason, her useless brain supplies– move out of the way to let her claim her usual spot. No crosswords tonight, she sets a deck of cards and a wad of folded ones on the bar-top between them. The other bartender is here tonight in Rust's place– she's only ever seen him once, and he wasn't all that nice, but neither is Rust, so her demeanor doesn't have to change all that much after all. She orders a tallboy of Lonestar and a shot of Black Velvet because no one will stop her, and she can't help herself, especially now. Bob gives her a sidelong look she's seen before, one that says she's skating on thin fuckin' ice, but she knocks back her shot like it owes her rent without meeting his eye. Her evening irons back out and starts to feel normal, if a little lackluster since Rust isn't around for her to pester and push. She really did think she might get away with coming here despite her instructions until one of those stupid dishwater-blond fucks– Amos or Andrew, the one with too-green eyes– comes over and starts inching in on her, thinking she won't notice. She tried out doing the right thing, angling her body away from him hoping he'd get the message and go find his luck somewhere else. He doesn't. Instead, he uses a knee to turn the seat of her seat of her barstool around to face him and says,

"What're you doin' over here all by your lonesome, baby? Come play with us, I'll buy you a fruity little drink if you want, somethin' to wet that," he looks down at her mouth, leans close and lecherous and rancid, "whistle."

"No, thank you. Bob and I are gonna play some cards, you're gonna go circle jerk with your friends, and we'll steer nice and clear of each other." Her brows and fingers knit together, holding herself in by the edges because she's honestly a little afraid she might bite him or scream or throw something. His answering smile comes, satisfied and too close for comfort that it makes something in her burn scalding and bright.

"Oh, come on, don't be such a sourpuss. Go a round with us and we'll see where the night takes us, hmm?"

Her fist connects with his left orbital socket before she even decides it should. His whole body ripples away at the impact– the desired effect– and while on his back foot she watches his eyes widen with the realization. Then he's on her, screaming and aiming for her neck. Dani feels, in this moment, a far off panic. Fights never really found her too easily, since she had a habit of keeping to herself (except, obviously, on this occasion). It's all she can do to flail about with closed fists until something lands or someone steps in to free her. And intervene, someone does: Mason, who despite having his seat stolen not twenty minutes ago comes to her rescue by pulling the kid off her by his collar like a rowdy kitten. She lies there, staring at the water stains on the ceiling, until Mason's face floats into her periphery and she's pulled to sitting. Her face feels sticky and hot all over, and her lashes are clumped together making it hard to blink up at the few faces looking down at her. She finds Bob's eyes, and the first words out of her mouth are,

"Please don't tell Rust."

He laughs, shakes his head, and offers her a hand which she takes to stand on her wobbly legs. Assuming she's being shown the door, she heads that direction only to be stopped by a hand on the crook of her elbow. She turns to face Bob, and his face is caught between a look of wonder and pity. He nods toward the back door, and she follows, head turned down towards her shoes. The soundtrack to Tuesday night clicks back to life and everyone goes back to their business as they exit the building. He fumbles with the spigot on the wall, and his hankie is removed, wetted, then used to roughly dab the drying blood off her lips and nose. Even in the bare moonlight, she sees it come away dark. She's heard Bob speak on so few occasions, she nearly misses it when he mumbles,

"Don't you go pickin' fights you don't know goddamn well how to win, missy. You're lucky Rust ain't here, he'd have probably hauled off and killed that kid." Her face burns at that, and not from the cut.

"I-I'm sorry, Bob, really. I just-he was being gross and it kinda happened before I knew any different what my hands were up to. Won't happen again, you know I'm not that type of girl."

He doesn't reply, but the "maybe you oughta think about that first next time" hangs in the air, limp and useless now.

He lets her into an apartment attached to the bar near the back door, which she sort of knew about but assumed was where he lived. There was hardly anything in it– no dishes on the sink or mess on the counters– until they got to the bedroom. The only evidence she could see that would lead her to believe it was occupied was a full-sized mattress on the floor, covered in a white flat sheet, and a pile of Louisiana history text books in the corner beneath the window.

"Sleep it off in here for tonight. There's a quilt in the hall closet if you need it, and the washroom's just next door."

He's gone out the door before she can thank him. She looks at the bed, and the moonlight coming through the blinds onto it. She could sleep, she thinks. She should. Grabbing the quilt from the hall closet– hard to miss, it was the only thing in there– she wraps it around herself, toes off her shoes, and lays down on the bed. Curled on her side, stray tears dripping across the still-bloody bridge of her nose onto the sheet, she falls asleep.

Rust gets home at 3:27AM, and Bob is waiting up for him, smoking a cigarette at the bar. It's not exactly uncommon, but he's usually back a little closer to sunrise and the time Bob usually gets up for the day, so he cocks his head to a 45° and asks,

"What're you doin up so late?"

"Just don't say I never told you nothin'."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Robert. Goodnight."

"Suit yourself," he mutters, "shitheel."

Rust rolls his eyes but goes to unlock the door to his apartment without further comment. His keys clatter on the breakfast nook, and when he pads into the bedroom he finds her there, face crusted up with snot and dried blood. He finds her there, asleep on his mattress on the floor with her hands tucked up under her chin like a pair of swans. Close together, too, as if they were in quiet conversation about the day they'd had. He sighs, deeply, and heads back out to the sofa.

[helpimstuckposting]

Advice

Song: Advice by Cavetown

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Playlist

A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z

—

Eddie wasn’t unfamiliar with bad days. In fact, he’d say he was intimately familiar with them. Biblically, even, since they’d fucked him so often. And usually he was able to adjust, to improvise, to calm down and save any serious outbursts for the privacy of his own bedroom. Or van, depending on how truly awful the day was.

Today, he didn’t make it to his room, or to the van. Instead, he walked right out of his last class of the day and trudged straight to the picnic table in the woods behind the school. He figured he had around twenty minutes to get his anger out before someone tramped along looking to buy weed. He was too wired to sit, so he set his little black lunchbox on the table, and started pacing back and forth to try and relieve some pent up energy.

He was off to a rough start from the second his alarm went off. Or didn’t go off, in the case of that morning. Somehow, the stupid electricity in the trailer had gone out at some point in the middle of the night and reset the clocks, making Eddie an hour late to the start of his day. He’d skipped breakfast, and forgot his smokes in the process which meant that all of his teachers were more unbearable than usual.

Then, he skipped lunch to run across the street and buy a pack from the convenience store to take the edge off, but apparently his dad was in town because the man behind the counter had called him Junior with that face people made when they treated him like shit splattered across their shoes. If Al was in town that meant either he hadn’t bothered to check in on his son, or Wayne was keeping it from him and both options pissed Eddie off.

On top of that, Mrs. Click had lost his essay and then claimed he’d never turned it in which was bullshit because Eddie knew for a fact he’d turned it in on time, he’d stayed up all night writing it. In between classes, someone had graffitied “Satanist Freak” on his locker, which normally wouldn’t bother Eddie at all but then he’d gotten yelled at to clean it up, like anyone would think he wrote it himself. The authority figures in this batshit town were driving him insane.

As if that weren’t fucking enough Tommy goddamn Hagan (who Eddie was pretty sure had written the little love letter on his locker) had deliberately poured his entire water bottle on Eddie’s lap in the middle of class, and then played it off as an accident to the teacher. He’ll probably get detention for ditching after that, but Eddie was fucking exhausted. Why him? Why did everything have to hit the fan all at once? Couldn’t he just have one bad thing happen per day? He’d take one bad thing a day for the rest of his life over all the shit piled on top of him in the last seven hours.

And! Eddie was sure the fact that his father was in town would bite him even harder in the ass until the son a bitch left again. He couldn’t stand the thought of going home to see his smarmy fucking face after the last time he was in town and conned Eddie out of his savings and the contents of his lunchbox. It was fucking ludicrous that the town hated him for his father when Eddie got the worst end of the stick his whole life. At least the other people could avoid him, could walk away or, hell, even call the cops on the bastard if they wanted. Eddie couldn’t ever get away from him. Every time Eddie even looked at a mirror, Al Munson looked back.

He could feel the buzzing adrenaline bubbling up behind his eyes, stabbing its claws into his sinuses. His hands shook as he tugged them through his hair and he could not let this shitty day make him cry. He wasn’t going to let the town win, let his teacher and Tommy win, let Al Munson win. He clenched his stupid shaking hands into fists and dug his nails in as hard as he could, trying to steady his breathing, but it didn’t work. He could feel the build up behind his eyes and all the shitty events of the day clogging his throat like it was strangling him from the inside.

He let out a frustrated yell, grabbing his lunchbox from the table and using all of his energy to chuck it across the little clearing, across the lunch table, and straight into a tree. It smashed against the bark with a rattle, hitting the ground without even breaking the latch. Eddie knew the thing wouldn’t break, though it might have been sporting a few new scratches and a dent. It made him feel a little better, though. Maybe he could understand why someone would do sports. Maybe. Sometimes.

“Damn, you ever try shot put?” a voice called out through the clearing.

Eddie whipped his head around to find the king himself, Steve Harrington sauntering towards the picnic table. Schools out then, he thought, grumbling in his mind like a child. Of course The King would need to stock up, it was a Friday after all.

“With an arm like that, you’d do pretty well,” he added when Eddie didn’t respond.

“I don’t know what the fuck shop put is, but I’m not in the mood, Harrington,” Eddie called back, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping a boot onto the wooden bench next to him. The second he did, he felt like an idiot, like some kind of alpha-male posturing to seem tougher. He put his foot back on the ground.

“It’s shot put, it’s… never mind,” Steve cut himself off. “Anyway… uh.” He looked nervous, rubbing his hands awkwardly before shoving them into the pockets of his pristine blue jeans. It eased some of the tension in Eddie’s shoulders. He wanted to laugh. He made the king nervous, made him look a bit scared, even. It was comical. Wayne would think it was downright hilarious.

“What do you want, Harrington?” Eddie called. The King was still standing by the treeline, a good few yards of space between them.

“Do you have any joints left? Maybe a baggie of flower or something?” he responded. Eddie rolled his eyes. The royal court was predictable, as always.

“Like I said, I’m really not in the mood.”

“I’ll pay extra,” Steve added, shrugging his shoulders. Eddie paused, contemplating the offer. He did need the money, he always needed the money, and he knew Harrington was good for it. Eddie could probably double the price and The King wouldn’t even bat an eye.

He sighed, glancing at his toppled lunch box on the ground. Eddie rolled his eyes, deciding the money was worth more than his peace and quiet. He cracked his neck before trudging over to the black metal box, noticing Steve’s flinch as he did. The boy tried to cover it, Eddie could tell, but he wasn’t quick enough and Eddie couldn’t quite hide his smirk as he snatched the lunchbox up and walked back to the table.

He sat down, placed the container on the rough wooden surface, and gestured to the bench opposite him. The King paused briefly before joining him, sitting down quietly and pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

“How many joints?” Eddie asked.

“How many you got?”

He glanced into the lunchbox, stomach aching as he shoved the actual lunch aside to open the little metal Altoids tin. He had four joints left, a few less than Harrington’s usual haul, but enough. He gathered them all up, pulling out an empty baggie and wrapping the joins up tight. Eddie held up the baggie for Harrington to take before grabbing another, prepacked with an eighth of flower.

“Eighth or a quarter?” Eddie asked, grabbing a second baggie.

“You got a half?” Harrington asked, squinting a little like he was sheepish to ask the question. Eddie would have found it cute if he wasn’t so annoyed at that moment. He rolled his eyes instead.

“If I had a half, I would have asked, Princess,” he snapped. If Harrington had looked sheepish before, he looked downright contrite now. It made Eddie feel a little bad, but he held his glare without backing down. The world had been shit to him today, he didn’t have to care about hurting The Kings feelings.

“An eighth or a quarter ounce, Harrington?” he asked again.

“Quarter,” he mumbled. Eddie pulled both baggies out, holding them toward Harrington to take. He didn’t. Instead he looked from the baggies to Eddie’s face, eyes contemplating something and Eddie hoped like hell that Steve wouldn’t ask, but like everything else today, the world didn’t listen.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and Eddie’s anger reared its ugly head again.

“I don’t want to talk, Harrington.”

“Are you sure? Because you kind of look like you need it. Are you okay?” he asked again.

“You want a hint?” Eddie snarked, snatching the baggies back. If His Highness wasn’t taking his gold then Eddie could keep it for himself for all he cared. “Are you hungry?” Eddie asked him.

Steve looked confused, his brows scrunching together like he was trying to connect the pieces of conversation that was running away from him.

“I… why?” he asked.

“Because you can eat my fucking shorts, Harrington. I said I don’t want to talk, so take the weed, leave the cash, and leave me the fuck alone,” Eddie spat, tossing the baggies between them on the table.

“I just mean, maybe I can help! Give you some advice or-“

“I know you’re trying to help, it’s very nice of you to pay your loyal subjects some attention but you don’t know anything about me, okay? I don’t need your advice, and I don’t need to explain myself to you.” Eddie gave up, decided this was a failed transaction and he should pack his shit and leave. He made a move to stand, reaching for the baggies on the picnic table, but he was beaten to the punch. Harrington grabbed the baggies out from under his hand, quickly tossing way too many bills on the wooden table. Forget double, Eddie’s pretty sure it was enough for a whole ounce. He stared, dumbfounded, at the cash in front of him and looked back up at Harrington. He was standing now, just a step away from the bench he’d been sitting on a second ago.

Eddie snatched the cash and tried to reign in his expression. He wasn’t really sure what his face was doing, couldn’t tell if he’d schooled it or not, but Harrington wasn’t giving anything away.

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, I swear.” He held a hand up, like Eddie was some kind of rabid animal Steve was trying to placate. “I just… I know what it feels like to not have anyone to talk to. So, like… if you need an ear-“

“I don’t ’need an ear’, Harrington, I need you to get out of my face, I need your court jester Tommy to leave me the fuck alone, and clean my locker while he’s at it! I need Mrs. Click to find my fucking essay because I’m already failing her class, and I need people in this godawful town to stop treating me like I’m just a clone of my father!” Eddie yelled. He huffed out a large breath, startled at his own outburst. By the glint in Steve’s eye, it was exactly what he’d been trying to pry out of Eddie. He looked pleased that he’d just been screamed at, and it just pushed all of Eddie’s buttons.

How the fuck did he even do that? They didn’t talk. Steve bought weed from him before his parties, and ignored him in the hallway. That was it. That’s all they ever were. So how the hell did he just get Eddie to tell him what was bothering him? Maybe the town was wrong, and they got the wrong witch when they put Eddie up on a pyre. He felt the sudden urge to yell ‘I saw Goody Harrington with the Devil!’. Somehow, he didn’t think that would make this conversation any better.

Eddie crossed his arms like a petulant child, and he couldn’t help but notice Steve slot his hands onto his hips like some kind of scolding housewife. Everything Harrington was doing made Eddie feel smaller and smaller.

“Just… leave me alone,” Eddie sighed, feeling deflated. “I don’t owe you anything, okay? You’re not my friend, you’re not my mom,” Eddie rolled his eyes and stared pointedly at Steve’s soccer mom stance. A blush bloomed across his cheeks, and Eddie watched as he took the hands off his hips and shoved them back into his pockets. Eddie couldn’t decide if Steve’s jeans were more dad jean or mom jean but he shook the thought from his head before he figured it out.

“Right… well,” Steve sighed, pulling a hand out of his pocket and patting it lightly on his thigh. Eddie had a sudden flash of Steve wearing horn rimmed glasses, saying ‘Welp, I better hit the road’, and Eddie couldn’t figure out when Steve had gone from King to Single Father during the span of their conversation. “Thanks for the… stuff,” Steve said awkwardly. Jesus Christ, Eddie needed to get a hold of himself and quickly. It was ridiculous how endearing he was finding this, and being weirdly attracted to a father figure act was not something he needed to be unpacking right now.

“Thanks for the cash,” Eddie said back, just as awkwardly tossing a salute in and immediately wanting to jump off a cliff. He needed to get out of here. Quickly, he packed up his lunchbox, tossing the cash inside before latching it shut. He turned back toward the direction of the school parking lot and prayed that Steve would let him go without another word. He tried not to dwell on the fact that it felt a lot like tucking his tail between his legs.

“See you next Friday!” Steve called out behind him.

Eddie was halfway back to the trailer before he realized the weight in his chest was significantly lighter than it had been all day. He tallied it up to Steve being in league with the devil. They’d go back to not speaking in the hallways, and he’d forget all about their conversation today, and that was it. Eddie just hoped he’d forget it too, and tried not to think about exactly how many witch’s marks Steve might have that Eddie couldn’t see.

—

This was inspired by me being unhinged and thinking of Steddie literally every single time a song came on from my playlist so I wanted to challenge myself and see if I could write 26 of them. If anyone wants to try this challenge, go for it! I just thought it would be fun. I linked the playlist above, and I might add or subtract songs to it depending on how I'm feeling

Tagging some people who might be interested or helped me out with picking songs! Thank you for the suggestions (let me know if you want to be added or removed):

@estrellami-1 @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @devondespresso @captncalamity @sluttysteddie @blahblah-hilariousname-blah @cringevalue @thereallifecath

[thecameronchronicles]

Snow Day Scrabble

TW: Semi-public Teasing. Smut. Language. 

SUMMARY: Your secret relationship with Pope is at risk of exposure during a game of Scrabble that turns smutty. 

WORD COUNT: 1300

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

Snow Day Scrabble

Nobody knew and nobody had to. It kept things simplistic and without the consistent tasing you’d come to expect from JJ, the skepticism from Kie, and the parental and unsolicited advice from John B. But you couldn’t help yourself from flirting with Pope in every possible way you could. Usually this consisted of a few locked gazes from across the room or popsicles taken to remind him of a gag reflex he trained well. But now you found yourselves among the pogues, having collectively ditched a day in the middle of winter for the sake of needing a break from the expectancy of academic and social perfection, and all your focus had been on the game of Scrabble to which you were currently losing. 

So you decided to make things interesting. 

Looking at the set of seven tiles set before you, you found a multitude of words you could use for those already applied on the board. And yet, only one would warrant the reaction you wanted from him. His eyes followed you as you drew the ‘S’, double ‘E’s, and T along the word “Windowsill” having been set at his earlier turn, until you eventually meant to spell out ‘sweet. And yet, you would move each tile slowly until all he read was ‘Wet’. His brow cocked as his lips spread into a smirk before he looked over his shoulder at your shared friends. 

Unable to mimic the same tease, he would clench his jaw as you would do it again. Only now, with the word flower. Using the ‘F’, you would begin to spell out ‘firetruck’, but watched his eyes widen as you set only the other three letters to spell out the vulgar act you wanted from him. The second the ‘U’, ‘C’, and ‘K’ were finalized on the board, his jaw clenched and his focus remained on you. It no longer mattered about the points for what would usually be bragging rights between the two of you. There was more on the line in this instance as you used an ‘M’ and an ‘E’ while he now pulled a ‘N’, ‘O’, and finally a ‘W’, before you rose to your feet. 

Lingering in the corridor between the back bedroom and bathroom of The Chateau, you lingered in the doorway, pulling your shirt from over your head, before setting it behind you as he fumbled with the chair before following at your silent invitation. 

“Do I need to spell it out for you, Pope?” You teased, sitting on the edge of the bed as he moved to you, hands on your hips, before he taunted your lips before pulling back at the final moment that would have allowed them the collision you both desired all day. 

“You won’t be able to spell anything by the time I’m done with you…”

“Oh really?”

“Not even your own name.” You were lifted onto the bed by a single hand under your thigh to pull you around him before you were taken to the bed, his weight pinning you flat as you smirked. 

“Your little game almost got me caught, baby…”

“Oh?”

He nodded, “So now you’re gonna know the struggle…” He was at the floor, fingers yanking your pants in a single swipe, before your legs were pulled over each of his shoulders. He would not waste even a second before he made those familiar stripes of your sex, a sacred pair of lips only he knew this well, as he had you pulling your back into an arch as you fisted the sheets at your back for some semblance of an outlet for the need to moan. 

“Not so easy is it baby? Think you can still spell now?”

“F-U.” You teased as he scoffed. 

“Not yet.” He winked before moving back to your sex, drawing you further to the edge of the bed. 

“I’ll give you an easy one…Spell how you want me to make you come.”

“I don’t care-”

“I want you to spell it for me.” You rolled your eyes. 

“B-E-H-I-N-D.” His brow raised as he took your ankles, turning you as you requested, but not removing his clothes just yet. Instead, he took his tongue against you this way as well, ensuring you were thoroughly lubricated, before he finally teased you with his cock’s head. 

“Please-”

“Spell, baby.”

“P-L-E-Oh!” You gasped at the sudden insertion of his cock. 

“Not how I remember it being spelled-” He chuckled at his own taunt against you. 

“Still cocky enough to spell through THIS?” He grunted, bottoming out as you cried out into the sheet beneath you. 

“No-”

“Surely you can spell THAT still.”

“Please, Pope…I need to feel you-”

“Faster?”

“Yes!”

“Harder?”

“Oh God, yes…” He smirked behind you. 

“Just spell one…one more and I’ll make you come so hard you won’t even be able to speak if you tried…”

“Please…”

“Spell your own name for me…My good girl taking me so fucking deep…spell that name for me…come on…” He made a mix of patronizing and praising as you struggled to remember your first letter as his fingers came to your clit. 

“Come on baby…I’ll help you…” He offered the first letter as you struggled to offer the others, your head spinning as he scoffed into your shoulder. 

“I think I’ve made my point, baby-”

“Yes…”

“Now you’re gonna come quietly for me and then we’re gonna go finish that game…”

“I can’t be quiet, Pope-you’re too…it’s too good.” He wrapped his hand around your mouth. 

“Then scream into my hand, babe…I can’t stop now…and you deserve to struggle a little bit for everyone, almost seeing the dirty things you were spelling for me.”

Meanwhile out in the Chateau, JJ lifted his eyes to the table now absent from the two of you. “Do you guys ever find it weird that they disappear like that?” JJ asked as Kiara and John B both nodded, while the curious blonde made his way to the direction of the hallway. 

“Fuck…Don’t stop…” Your choice failed to be covered as Pope’s hand ate into the sheets beside you. 

“Couldn’t if I wanted to.” He teased back. “You feel too fucking good for me,” And the sound of your name sent JJ’s mouth to part. And yet, it would be a revelation he wouldn’t let anyone else to know he held as he returned to his seat as you Pope climbed to an ungodly pace at your back. 

“So much better than scrabble…” He breathed as you chuckled. 

“I hope so…”

“But I’m still gonna beat your ass…” You turned over your shoulder, a slap making you gasp as you looked to the door as if offering a silent reminder as he would only smirk. 

“I DID mean at the game, but if you want more-”

“Pope, please…please baby…I’m so close…” You whimpered as he nodded. 

“Spell it out for me.”

“Pope…” You whined. 

“Just three letters…what you want from me.”

“C-” He thrusted and grunted at your letter announced. 

“U!” You gasped as you felt your edge summoning you closer to its spillover. 

“M!” He nodded, pounding into you from behind, making your eyes roll once feeling you both hold that effect on one another. 

“Wanna try to spell your name, now?” He teased as you hit his chest. 

“You REALLY want to finish the game? Or finish ME?” You asked while straddling him, his eyes widened. 

“You’re not done?” You shook your head. 

“I have a few words I want you to spell…” You explained, leading his fingers to your clit. 

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @drews1love @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916

[jujitto]

. . . . . . . . . 너에 대한 무언가  ★  s o m e t h i n g  a b o u t  u

wc ! 𝟣.𝟦𝗄

contents warning ! 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾!

synopsis ! 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝗀𝗈𝗌𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗀𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅. 𝗀𝗈𝗌𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗅, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

It was something about him. Something about the way his dark brown eyes light up anytime he sees you, the way he seems to drop everything he's doing just to make sure you are ok or just to simply spend time with you. The way his face seems to brighten any time he hears your laugh, the way he lights up at any mention of your name. It's something about him that makes you want to spend the rest of your life with him.

And that scared you how willingly you were willing to spend the rest of your life with him. But even with all the little things he does, it was the big things about him that attracted you to him. It was the fact he'd do anything and everything in his power to make you happy. God how you wanted to hate him for it but you just couldn't. ‘Kim Taerae, what are you doing to me?’ You thought as you lay in bed in your dorm.

Your thoughts were loud in the silence surrounding you. Turning over you saw that the clock read 2:34 AM. The room was still, illuminated only by the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. You closed your eyes, trying to calm the racing thoughts and find some semblance of peace. But as you lay there, you couldn't help but wonder what he was doing.

You hadn't seen him all this week, which didn't bother you as much as thought it would. Then again you guys weren’t together but why did you care so much? Because you liked him way more than you let on?! Was that it?! You rolled over, burying your face into the pillow in a vain attempt to smother the thoughts. It didn't help, your mind was still racing with thoughts of the fair-skinned boy you liked. The boy that could never be yours.

Sighing, you pulled the blanket over your head and closed your eyes. If you were going to have these thoughts you may as well go to sleep and deal with them in the morning. But you couldn’t. The image of him would continue to plague your dreams. You groaned. You hated him. Why did he have to be so...so...infuriatingly cute!

Your heart pounded in your chest as you thought of him. It was at that moment you realized how much you cared for him. It wasn't just a crush you had on him. No. You cared for him and he did things for you that no other person had done. But why? You were nothing special. You were just a nobody in this world. You didn't matter in any way, shape, or form. Yet he cared.

You clenched your fist, angry at him. Angry at yourself. Angry at everything. Angry at him and all his little stupid charm that got you so mad you couldn't stand it but you were so gone on him that you couldn't get enough of him. You loved him. And you were sure he felt the same way. You could see the adoration and affection he had for you in his eyes. It was the way he looked at you, the way he smiled at you, and the way his eyes lit up when you were around him. It was clear that he liked you, but you were too much of a coward to tell him how you felt. You knew he probably didn't care for you the way you did him but you hoped, prayed, to any god that existed that he did.

You were tired of pretending that it didn't bother you and you were tired of him never telling you how he felt. So you decided to take matters into your own hands.

You needed to talk to him. You got out of bed, grabbing an oversized hoodie that belonged to him. You left your room and made your way down the sidewalk of the campus to his dorm. It was 3 in the morning.

What were you doing? You shook your head. You didn't know and you didn't care. You just needed to talk to him. It took you 20 minutes to reach his dorm. You stood in front of his door, taking a deep breath before knocking on it. You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for him to answer. When he finally answered you could see his tired eyes and the surprise was written on his face.

“I think I've been an idiot the entire time. Maybe my emotions are too all over the place right now but I need to get this off my chest. Kim Taerae......I think I’m in love with you.”

As you blurted out your feelings, the air in the room seemed to shift. Taerae's tired eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, there was silence as he processed your confession. His expression softened, and he stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in.

"Come in," he said softly, "let's talk."

You entered his dorm, feeling a mix of nervousness and relief that you finally dared to share your feelings with him. The room was dimly lit, and the soft glow of a desk lamp illuminated some scattered notes and books. Taerae closed the door behind you and led you to sit on the small couch, taking a seat next to you.

He let out a deep sigh, still trying to absorb the unexpected confession. "I didn't see this coming," he admitted, "but I'm glad you told me. It takes a lot of courage to open up like that."

You nervously played with the hem of the hoodie you were wearing, which belonged to him. The scent of his cologne mixed with the fabric brought a sense of comfort even amid your anxiety.

"I couldn't keep it to myself anymore," you murmured. "I tried to deny my feelings, but every time I see you or think about you, it's like my heart is on overdrive."

Taerae smiled gently, his dark eyes softening. "I can't say I'm not flattered," he said, "but I also need to be honest with you. I care about you a lot, and you mean so much to me. But I'm not sure if I'm ready for a relationship right now. I've been trying to figure things out in my life, and I don't want to hurt you if things get complicated."

His words stung, but you appreciated his honesty. Taking a deep breath, you nodded, trying to maintain composure. "I understand," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "I didn't expect you to reciprocate my feelings immediately. I just needed you to know."

"I'm glad you told me, truly," he replied, his hand reaching out to gently rest on yours. "And I don't want this to change anything between us. We can still be close friends, right?"

You mustered a smile, though it felt bittersweet. "Of course, Taerae. I value our friendship too much to let this come between us."

For a moment, the room fell silent again, but this time it was a comfortable silence. It was as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and you felt relieved that you had finally expressed your feelings.

Taerae leaned back against the couch, looking at you thoughtfully. "You know," he said, "I can't predict the future, and I don't want to close any doors either. Let's take things one step at a time. Maybe one day, when the timing is right for both of us, we can explore these feelings further."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and a glimmer of hope flickered within you. It wasn't a rejection, and he didn't completely shut down the possibility of something more in the future. It was a small comfort, but it was enough for now.

"Okay," you replied softly, trying to hide the hope in your voice. "One step at a time."

Taerae smiled warmly, squeezing your hand gently. "And for tonight, it's late, and we both should get some rest. I promise we'll talk more about this when the sun is up." With that, you nodded, feeling a mix of emotions but also a sense of resolution. You stood up, and he walked you to the door.

"Thank you for coming to see me," he said, "and thank you for being honest with me."

"Thank you for listening," you replied, mustering a genuine smile. "Goodnight, Taerae."

"Goodnight," he said softly, and as you walked back to your dorm, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, the future held something special for the two of you. Whatever it may be, you were grateful for the bond you shared and the possibility of something more in the future.

[warystares]

FULL NAME orson montgomery lloyd GENDER / PRONOUNS cis man / he + him AGE / BIRTHDAY thirty-five / september 17th OCCUPATION funeral director at lloyd family funeral home AFFILIATION / ROLE hanging man / capo ORIENTATION / STATUS demisexual / single STRENGTHS meticulous + analytical + controlled WEAKNESSES cold + judgmental + remorseless

HISTORY.

tw: gore, death, mildly graphic depictions of autopsy

here's the thing about orson lloyd : HE'S AN OPPORTUNIST . he always has been. and the q u i e t ones ? well, they always get the MOST opportunities, don't they ? he might have been raised modest, raised humble — a fact that manifests still now in mild manners and a softer, slower cadence of speech ( he likes to take his t i m e, speak with precision and clarity ) — but orson has always craved more. he's always longed for MORE. as a child, orson roams the crowded pews of his family's chapel, spindly legs weaving between weeping widows and wailing parents. watching. observing. NEVER INTERACTING ! he learns at a young age that his parents are in the business of DEATH and that to be in such a business is a very careful thing indeed. their clients are wrought with very real, very VOLATILE and very DISTRACTING emotions, and so orson treads with care and caution. he uses delicate CARE in making sure his hands go unnoticed as they slip into the pockets and the purses of the mourning middle class ; and when he leaves ? he practices only extreme CAUTION as he exits, unnoticed, to the safe haven of a locked office door. these TRINKETS he collects, they're not what he truly desires, but they provide a DISTRACTION. from what ?

orson discovers the answer to that question at the age of twelve. it's the first time his father allows him to sit in the PREPARATION ROOM while he performs the embalming process on a body. he clutches his chair in a w h i t e - k n u c k l e d grasp and watches with eager curiosity as the scalpel makes its first neat, steady incision. ( over the years, the elder lloyd's hands will grow SHAKIER and orson will have to clench his fists at his sides until knuckles are once again DRAINED of blood as he watches his father FUMBLE not only a blade but a very delicate procedure. ) he can still vividly remember his reaction to the sight. VISCERAL — like every fibre of his being suddenly ELECTRIFIED. in a singular moment, a boy has realized his calling. and he quickly becomes OBSESSED ; sitting in on every body preparation he can, poring over the labels for various chemicals and preservatives and scribbling notes onto any scrap of paper he can. by fourteen, he's memorized the details of every procedure so that on his next birthday, his father might offer him the greatest gift : the opportunity to PRACTICE. to perform. he just knows he can do it. and, more than that, he can do it WELL.

and to his credit, orson lloyd is NOT wrong. in fact, if anything, he's p r o d i g i o u s. surgical precision would appear an inherent skill, and a PATIENT and METHODICAL technique promises consistent perfection. the clients are pleased. business is BOOMING, insofar as their business can, anyway. ( is his father pleased ? would he care for the answer either way ? it's no longer VALIDATION the young lloyd seeks out. ) he grows into the role upon graduating from university, taking up full - time residence at the lloyd family funeral home alongside his parents. it's only then that he discovers the business's FAULTS. and to their credit, it's truly through none of their own ; after all, not everyone has so keen an eye for OPPORTUNITY as orson, and he cannot fault them for lacking the wisdom to MOURN that of which they're unaware. but orson ? oh, he is acutely aware of all of the possibilities ; he might be ELBOW-DEEP in the thoracic cavity of a cadaver, but he's kept his ear close to the DARK UNDERBELLY of the city. he's not ignorant to what goes on behind closed doors, under cover of night. there's profit to be gained for ALL parties involved.

there is an unsettling air of MYSTERY surrounding orson lloyd's inheritance of his family's funeral home and crematorium. the general consensus is that both of his parents DIED, but the cause behind their passing is a source of significant speculation — was it old age ? illness ? a tragic accident ? whatever the cause, orson handles it as he does most things : QUIETLY. no obituaries are published and, perhaps more strangely, no public funeral service is offered. at twenty-five years old, he is the sole owner and operator of the funeral home. oddly enough, he almost seems PREPARED for the role. but there is no p r a c t i c i n g before he approaches hanging man with a PROPOSITION. there's no need. ( he's been thinking about this for years. ) by day, he provides mortuary and funeral services to the community of queens ; by NIGHT, he's dissecting cadavers piled at his doorstep by ASSASSINS like gifts from eager street cats before effectively DESTROYING their remains.

and it is DISSECTING, isn't it ? because orson never just BURNS the bodies. one might say he has an affinity for playing with them, but that's just NOT TRUE, is it ? it's not PLAYING if it has PURPOSE. and it does. there's a market for all these spare parts he's meant to dispose of, and orson is an e n t r e p r e n e u r ! more than that, he isn't WASTEFUL. ( if he derives his own personal enjoyment from the deconstruction of cadavers, well, you know what they say ! love your job and you'll never work a day in your life. and his souvenirs, well, he'll kindly remind you they're HIS OWN FUCKING BUSINESS, thank you. ) these days, it's rare to catch orson outside the walls of the funeral home, far too often busy with his work to leave unless his presence is REQUIRED elsewhere. he seldom sleeps, fueled instead by a near constant supply of CAFFEINE & NICOTINE. ( it's a wonder his hands are still so steady ! ) and should you happen to turn up at his doorstep and you're NOT dead, surely an unusual encounter awaits you.

CONNECTIONS.

to be updated soon !

OFFICIAL FILE.

*     ◟    :    〔   robert pattinson  ,      cis man    +   he + him    〕      orson montgomery lloyd , some say you’re a thirty-five year old lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both meticulous and aloof, one can’t help but think of  tesselate by alt - j  when you walk by. are you still a capo / funeral director  at  hanging man / lloyd funeral home  even with your reputation as the the anomic ?   i think we’ll be seeing more of you and several days' worth of half-empty paper coffee cups hanging haphazardly along the edge of a crowded desk, painstakingly pinned insects on display in sleek, simple shadow boxes, and the glow of a flame as it licks the interior window of an industrial cremator. although we can’t help but think of graverobber ( repo! the genetic opera ), jack hodgins ( bones ), and martin whitly ( prodigal son ) whenever we see you down these rainy streets. 

[angst-king]

I'm here, now pt 2

(here's part 2, CW description of injuries)

“So doctor, what’s the damage?” Asked Deku quietly, Katsuki sat up and looked too the doctor. The doctor shifted on their feet as they went over everything.

“Well they’ve got a fracture in their left hand, of few hairline breaks from their jaw like to the temple on the right side, a few bruises and lacerations, thankfully no internal bleeding. Things should heal relatively quickly. Though I will say (Y/n) is suffering from a mild concussion.“ Katsuki left out a small huff and lightly brushed the tips of his fingers through the kid’s hair.

When a small sound was made, all eyes shifted to the child who began to stir. Eyes fluttering open, bandaged limbs moving about slowly. They asked where they were and Katsuki said.

“Hey munchkin, you’re in the hospital.” Their eyes shifted to Katsuki then widened, without warning Katsuki was pulled back down to them as they sobbed. Katsuki wrapped his arms around them soothingly rubbing their back. Through broken cries, the child went on about what happened inside.

“Th-they br-broke down the doors and e-everything happened so fast! I-I tried hiding, i-I thought i was safe then s-some m-men came i-in while i was trying t-to text back and…and…” “Sshhh I know kid, I know…I’m-I’m sorry i didn’t answer in time, I’m so sorry” Katsuki had never felt so awful, so regretful, so torn. He couldn’t even expect his child to forgive him for this.

“I-its okay daddy” But they did, that was something Katsuki couldn’t understand. How he could be forgiven so easily by his kid. He put them in danger, they could have died! How….How could they forgive him for such a thing….he’s a pro hero, its his job to keep people out of danger and to be of help when it arrives! All he did was swoop in at the last second and get them out!

“Daddy, wh-what’s wrong?” Katsuki made a soft ‘tch’ and replied.

“N-nothing’s wrong munchkin, Daddy’s fine” Though his attempts to come across as reassuring was trampled by (Y/n) pointing out that he’d started to cry…again.

“B-but you’re crying” Trying to quickly wipe the tears that couldn’t seem to stop. Katsuki continued to say that he was fine, but with all that denial the further he spiraled. Deku could see this and quietly excused himself and Katsuki out of there, telling the child they’d be back momentarily.

Deku walked Katsuki out of the small room and down the hall to the waiting area. Sat the blond down in a chair beside him rubbing his back gently. He reminded Katsuki he didn’t have to speak until he was ready and that he was right there. It was a few more minutes of soft cries before Katsuki could get his words out.

“h-how…How are they not upset with me?” Izuku raised a confused brow for a moment and asked for clarification.

“How can (Y/n) just say that ‘its okay’? How can they say that, they could have died and-and it would’ve been my fault!” Tears threatened to fall once more as his fist clenched and unclenched in a negative stim-like fashion. Izuku could understand the pro’s distress. It was probably eating him alive that he was forgiven so easily by someone who deeply depended on him to keep them safe. But Izuku could also see the other side of this coin…

“They’re a child, Katsuki…Your child nonetheless.” Katsuki’s eyes darted to the green-haired man with teary perplexedness. He remained quiet as the other explained his thinking.

“Your child understands your job, you had made it very clear to them that sometimes things happen and you won't always be there exactly when they need you. Yet you always made sure to show up when you could. Sure it would’ve been a lot better if you did get there sooner, but its better than you not showing at all. I wish that break-in didn’t happen in the first place, but you still showed up even when the other pros said they were on their way…..Your child understands that, and is just glad to see you. All that matters to them is that you are there for them in the end. You didn’t freeze like a coward, you didn’t stay in the waiting room and refuse to see them. You came and stayed, and i know you, you’re going to stay the night here so they’re not alone. Because that’s the type of man you are, and that’s the type of father (Y/n) knows you to be. A father who still shows up no matter what.”

Letting out a long sigh, Katsuki managed to dry his face and sat up in his seat. He knew Deku wasn’t wrong in the slightest. Besides blaming himself wouldn’t reverse what happened, and wouldn’t make the pain go away. Like Deku said, he was here now, and he needed to continue to be here for his kid.

It took a minute for Katsuki to get up and go back to the room with Izuku in toe. The child smiled seeing their father return and they asked again.

“You okay, Daddy?” Katsuki nodded genuinely this time and pulled the child to his chest.

“I am now, that I know you’re safe.” A small grin appeared on their face as they nuzzled into him.

“I’m here, now kiddo”

[kyzveryown]

K I N G D O M H E A R T S | R E : W O R K S E R I E S DIVERGE: CHI + BACK COVER — The Foretellers, Ira

After Luxu left, the Master individually met with the other apprentices – the Foretellers. Ira was the first among them. As the eldest and de facto leader of the Foretellers, much to Aced’s disappointment, he was trusted and respected. They all looked to him for guidance. This didn’t escape the Master’s eye. In fact, he found his status among them intriguing – so much that he officially appointed Ira to lead the Foretellers in a long letter. Despite how massive of an undertaking that was, but he didn’t seem to mind.

The end of the letter, which was full of details and notes about his role, had a request for him to meet with the Master at Daybreak’s Peak during the next morning. When he arrived, he found the Master standing at the edge of the peak. It overlooked all seven of the districts in Daybreak which surrounded the city’s massive Clock Tower. Although the air was misty, the morning sun shone vibrantly over the horizon. Without turning to face him the Master asked, “So, did you look through the letter I sent you?”

“Yes. It was rather lengthy. But I’m still analyzing it.” Ira replied.

The Master finally turned to face him. “Wow. No quick skim for you, huh?”

“I just prefer to be thorough.” Ira clenched his fists. “Master, is what you said in that letter – you know, about you leaving – is that true?”

“Oh, yeah that. Bummer, huh?” the Master replied, turning back to the sunrise. “By the way, whenever I do suddenly disappear, I’m counting on you to keep the others calm. Okay?”

“Huh? Disappear?” Ira replied, watching as the Master walked to the cliff’s edge and sat.

“Vanish? Dim? Fade? I don’t know how to explain it. Don’t worry about it.”

The Master took a deep breath. “This universe is full of light. It’s comprised of many smaller worlds, all connected, stretching out further than one could imagine. At the core of this universe is the one great light that protects all of existence. Its ethereal light is spread across the universe like streams in an astral river. But in sharing that light, we also share its fate.”

“I take it you’re talking about the Great Heart, the Heart of Kingdoms.”

“Yep. You’re right on the money. People believe that the Great Heart’s light will last forever. But if its light were to disappear, the universe would be enveloped in darkness.”

Ira nodded. “I understand. That’s why you’ve granted us the keyblades. With them, we can spread the teachings of light and protect the Great Heart from the –”

The Master cut him off. “No. They’re not for protecting the Great Heart.”

He stood up, dusting off his back, then looked over his shoulder. “They exist for another purpose.”

“But isn’t it our duty to protect the Great Heart from the darkness?”

“Nah, not possible” the Master said then stretched his arms above his head. “Do you really think that thing can be protected by just seven people? Listen, what’s important is that we focus on what comes after – you know, assuming the worst-case scenario comes to pass.”

“But we have to at least try! With enough Guardians we could –”

The Master cut him off again. “Well, if you wanna give it a shot…”

“Yes.” Ira valiantly nodded.

The Master turned from the cliff’s viewpoint and walked toward Ira. As he passed by, he tapped Ira on his shoulder and chuckled.

“All right. Good luck.”

[ukulele-mixtape]

Maple Scraps: The Siren's Call Chapters 12 + 13 (i don't feel like posting them separately lol)

context: angst scenes. tune got outed as the siren when eggman attacks restoration hq and basically destroys all of tune's hard work by making metal sonic install a vocal distortion collar on her, forcing the voices she's taken to retreat back to their owners and her own going to metal sonic, rendering her completely mute. silver and sonic confront her.

this was the last set of chapters i worked on bc then i realized i actually had to finish the fic properly, and even then the chapter's unfinished and ends completely abruptly (i have no desire to actually finish it) LMAO

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

CHAPTER 12:

“Twili…o quis,

..shu ento…vi.

Abed…so…on,

Qwe…olda..e...” 

A song. A voice, no, multiple voices chimed in like a prayer floating in the wind, faint and pure.

It was beautiful. It was quiet. It was eerie. It was haunting.

…Where…was this…?

The voices continued, but they were no longer beautiful. They were destructive. They were blinding. They were painful. It was agony. Static rang, filling the fabric of reality and mercilessly breaking it at the seams. The broken choir sounded as if they were being signaled off from a dying record player. There was nothing left in their wake. Nothing could stop them. Nothing at all. He felt the world shake around him, every corner of this endless void of nothingness was out to get him.

It was just pure noise! Noise filled the air! It wouldn’t shut up, it wouldn't stop no matter how hard he tried to scream, to yell anything! He wanted to scream, please, let him scream! Let him do anything!!

 “Mu…as on…se,

Aln…ov…luuv...

tWli vO eqUiS,

aln nIv wO OLDANCE–”

STATIC FILLED EVERYTHING. EVERY THOUGHT, EVERY BREATH. MORE AND MORE, UNTIL HE COULD NO LONGER HEAR THE CHOIRS HAUNTING MELODY. UNTIL THE STATIC WAS ALL THAT WAS LEFT. 

 IT WAS TORTURE! OVERSTIMULATING!! HE COULDN’T TAKE IT!!!

WHY WAS IT SO LOUD?!

W H A T  W A S  T H A T  M E L O D Y–?!

Sonic woke up with a heaving gasp. He struggled for oxygen. For anything he could grab onto as he jolted forward from his bed, head beaded with sweat. His breath was shallow, harsh, like if he had just gotten out of the deepest, darkest trenches of the ocean after struggling to surface for weeks. But just like he’d been dealing with for the past month and a half, his mouth uttered no sound. The echoes of his dream rang in his ears, clinging to his brain and bashing itself into his psyche. His head was pounding, the worst migraine he’d ever experienced in his life mangled his skull, and he couldn't think clearly at all. The warm light of the room was too much for him to bear, piercing into his eyes and causing him to squint harshly. He could see specks of color from the corners of his vision, floating around as if to mock his current suffering.

What the hell was this?

He couldn’t hear a thing. The ringing in his head became louder. And this time, he’d finally understand that he couldn’t ignore it, he couldn’t just think it’d eventually go away. Not this time.

Everything seemed to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes and plugged his ears, trying to get any sensory input to be as muffled as possible. But no matter what, it’d still hurt; the pain dreadfully persisted. He wouldn’t notice the periodic yelling of his name was getting more frantic, but he did feel every vibration it had to offer even from far away. He was sensitive to everything around him, and he hated it. He was completely, totally, debilitated. Just like in that void of endless harmony.

Finally, for what felt like an eternity, he felt firm grips on both his wrists that he clung close to his face as he clenched his hands into tight fists, and he had to forcefully pry his eyes open to take in Silver's overly distressed expression staring back widely at him.

“I’m right here,” Silver repeated over and over breathlessly. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise, I’m right here.”

But as soon as Sonic took notice, suddenly, like if it never happened, the noise just…completely stopped. The pain evaporated, the ringing silenced and he was finally able to take in his surroundings clearly, his body relaxing after a good long while of unconsciously being tense, a deep inaudible sigh exiting his mouth before he even had the ability to even process it.

“Hey, are you okay?” Silver brought Sonic back to reality, releasing the blue hedgehog’s wrists and cupping his face gently with his hands. Sonic felt Silver’s warmth even under his gloves, a soothing feeling washed over him. He closed his eyes, sleepily smiling and gave a small nod in response. He placed one of his hands atop one of Silver’s at his face, taking another deep breath and sighing, feeling the way Silver would rub his thumb against his soft muzzle.

“Y-you sure?” Silver questioned again, his tone quivering a bit. “You…you looked like you were in a lot of pain.”

Sonic took his hand off Silver’s, signaled for him to look down and began signing.

“I’m fine. It’s gone now.” his nimble hands spoke for him.

Silver, ever the worrier, shook his head with an elongated breathy sigh. “You really scared me. If I hadn’t come, I feel like you would have been like that for a lot longer.”

“I’m sorry, I promise, it’s over. I’m good.”

“Promise?”

Sonic warmly looked back at his partner, leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. Once Silver had that predictable blush festering on his cheeks, that soft grin he’d love to watch for eternity, he signed once more pointing one finger to his lips, before setting it down on his opposite hand balled into a fist.

“I promise.”

Reluctant, but deciding to trust him, Silver tightly embraced Sonic quietly, feeling the way Sonic’s body reflected his once frantically beating heart now starting to slow down into a soft, comfortable rhythm.

“It happened again, didn’t it?” Silver softly uttered. “That weird dream.”

Sonic gave him a small nod in return.

“That’s the first I've seen you get this bad before. I got up earlier than you did, so I just wanted to take a walk and get some air.” Silver rambled off, shuttering. “And when I came back you were holding your chest like you were having a heart attack! I tried nudging you at least a million times to wake you up, but nothing was working. You weren’t responding this time. And when you did wake up, you started convulsing and I didn’t know what to do, Sonic. I didn’t know, and you…” He trailed off. 

Sonic rubbed against Silver’s back quietly, patting him gently to urge him to finish his thought.

“...You looked like hell. You didn’t register anything. We’ve been here at least a few minutes now.”

Had it really been that long this time? Sonic grimaced at the thought, choosing to tighten his grip on Silver and feeling the edges of his tuft tickle his nose, sinking deeper. Years ago, he’d probably never be this touchy feely with anyone. But now, he’d make any excuse to cling onto Silver like he was the last man on earth when they were alone. Silver reciprocated in kind. 

“You shouldn’t have to go through this.” he mourned. “And I know you’re tough, I get it. We’ll get through this like we do everything else. But…I still can’t help but feel like I'm failing you right now because I don’t know what to do to help you. I should have been there with you the day you got your voice taken. I should have been there to protect you both.”

Sonic shook his head, rubbing soothing circles on Silver’s back, causing him to pull Sonic closer.

“I know…” Silver muttered affectionately. “What’s done is done. And I know we’ve got this. We’ve got this, and will fix this and we’ll do it together. Just like we always do.”

Sonic nodded once more, a smile gracing his features that Silver couldn’t see just yet. Silver could feel Sonic’s breathing become slower, more relaxed. But…he still couldn’t hear it. It made Silver’s heart ache. Sonic’s voice was truly gone. Silver couldn’t help but at least try to imagine what he remembered of it, goofy and cocky and full of life. His laughter was chirpy and quick, his tone lower in recent years yet still full of that same energy Silver knew and loved. Even if it had only been a short time, Silver felt like not hearing Sonic’s precious way of speaking was crushing him. Like he lost a part of what made him him. 

And every time he’d turn the corner, Silver could see Sonic reflexively try to sound anything he could while he mingled with his friends. And when Silver noticed how inevitably disappointed he’d be when nothing came out, taking out his phone and tapping away his desires to show whomever it was, when he had to start reteaching himself and reusing sign language, something he hadn’t wanted to use since he was little, it bore into Silver’s chest, reminding him of how much he’d scorn the person who had robbed Sonic of that freedom he so desperately wanted back.

Eventually, Silver was shifting forward for Sonic to lay back on the bed, resting his ear against Sonic’s chest and taking in the way his heartbeat thumped against his ribs, the closest he was ever going to get to any noise coming from his partner. He sighed, Sonic swiping a hand against Silver’s quills. And they just laid there for a while, just basking in each other's warmth. Sonic patted Silver’s head gently to get his attention soon, and slowly the psychic obliged, raising his head and placing his chin comfortably on Sonic’s chest, their noses just barely touching, sharing a loving gaze with each other, their minds confident and resolute.

They’d been through the worst of the worst in the past, fighting off time manipulating monsters and killer robots, doppelgangers and zombie hordes alike. There was nothing these two couldn’t handle; not just together, but with every ally they'd ever known, every friend they’d ever made. Regardless of the circumstances, Sonic knew they were in good hands and with a toothy grin and his playful tongue out, he would remind Silver of the same. Sonic may have lost his voice, but that alone wasn’t what made him who he was. He was everything, he was the world that Silver was desperate to protect.

The two leaned in for another good morning kiss, routine as usual…

And that’s when they heard the firing of something loud from above them, so loud the sound echoed for a few seconds into the atmosphere. Then, a deep booming crash, and the sound of yelling coming from just outside their room, the vibrations causing small pebbles from the ceiling to fall, startling the two out of their shared bed. 

“What the heck was that?!” Silver’s beading golden eyes flared, head jolting in every direction.

Sonic wasted no time, rising to his feet and throwing on his sneakers, snatching the door open and taking off, a powerful gust of wind trailing behind him as he sped past the hallways. Silver was right on his tail, flying to follow Sonic down to the main hall. People were scrambling to gather their bearings, yelling and running towards the closest emergency exits they could find, some of which were blocked off by heavy metal panels torn from the roof. There was a gaping circular hole in the center of the upper wall in the main hall, smashed and crawling with badniks making their way inside. Small fires were erupting, stone and metal paneled debris littered the floor, causing a few people to stumble.

Sonic waved in Silver’s face from above, signing quickly at him.

“Get that debris cleared from the exits, I'll help take out those badniks!”

“On it!” And with that, Silver was off, charging up a boost of energy to send him skyrocketing across the clamor, starting with the most crowded area of the headquarters, the main entrance. A large, looming boulder stood in the way, glass shards everywhere, most likely it was chucked at the window and landed square at the door. With a strong clench of his fingers, Silver took a deep breath and clawed his hands, performing a raising motion of his arms, a blue aura forming around the boulder. Slowly but surely, it was moving upward, rising from the sky almost like magic. The scrambling civilians would take off, some thanking Silver in scattered chirps as he held onto the boulder as best he could. Once a good amount of people were out of the way, Silver lowered the boulder to face right next to the entrance, unable to do anything more than that for the time being: there were still blockages to free up.

–

The robots may have not been all that tough, but they came in droves and were quick as can be, circling around the blue hedgehog in waves. Sonic blazed into the hordes of the badniks littering the floors. Flying Spina’s came from above, slicing into the air, but Sonic quickly dodged and attacked, utilizing an already destroyed Motobug as a weapon, sending at least a few Spinas into the nearest wall with a hard metallic SLAM! Then came the Buzzbomers and Egg Pawns. A cocky smile etched into his muzzle as Sonic quickly disposed of the trash, revving up a spin dash into the crowd of Egg Pawns, the robots barely having a moment to even swing at him with their pointed swords. 

Once they were taken care of, he’d homing attack into the Buzzbomers charging straight for him, bashing in their heads, small explosions raging behind him. And just as Sonic thought it was over, giving a flick to his nose in satisfaction and wiping his hands clean as he landed swiftly on the ground, a swing from a very familiar hammer came just beyond his peripheral vision, taking out a leftover Egg Pawn he’d neglected, leaving a large, heavy imprinted dent on the robot’s head. He watched as it fell motionless, and Amy casually swept in to meet his gaze, his posture showcasing how taken aback he was as she casually leaned her body against the weight of her Piko Piko Hammer. Nevertheless, he was thrilled to see her, giving her a big thumbs up.

“You missed one,” she mocked teasingly. Sonic sucked in his teeth playfully, crossing his arms mouthing a quick “Thanks, Ames”.

“The Diamond Cutters are with Silver; they’re helping out with the hordes invading just outside the main entrance, but there’s apparently still commotion coming from the shopping center. Let’s get down there!”

Sonic nodded in understanding, scooping up Amy in his arms bridal style, speeding towards the shopping center's direction. From the distance, they could see more badniks, larger and covered in tough armor, but strangely enough, entering the fray of the nearby shopping center were three mechanical Mobian-like beings, haunting distorted noises echoing from their caged mouths. They had smooth paneled heads with embedded over-ear headphones on the side and a faceplate with a colorful equalizer where their eyes should have been. They sported arms with mechanical drum hands, and their torsos were devoid of legs, a large disco ball-like base in place of them spinning around and allowing them to float.

The two didn’t hesitate, Amy taking a direct assault at any robot dumb enough to get close, effortlessly slamming her hammer against their hard metal frames. Sonic confidently allowed her to work her magic, zipping past and making sure to keep her protected, dodging all obstacles. The badniks were taken care of swiftly, but now it was time for the Robo-Mobian creatures. Determined, Amy called out to Sonic:

“Sonic! Croquette Bomber!” Oh yeah, this was so happening.

Sonic gently placed Amy down, excitedly getting into a ready position before revving up another spin dash, this time much faster, the speed taking off tiny bits of the floor as he rolled. Amy steadied her aim with a focused tongue to the side of her mouth, widening her stance and bending her knees, before swinging her hammer with the force of a thousand suns. Sonic went flying, but before he was able to even make a connection, the Robo-Mobians screeched a loud, high pitched noise, a sonar-like wavelength warping the area causing Sonic and Amy to groan out in pain. Sonic lost his balance, tumbling forward and reflexively covered his ears to muffle out the noise, but as soon as he did, he was viciously tackled by the neck to the wall of the clothing boutique by another one of the Robo-Mobians. Amy ran towards the blue hedgehog, readying another swing, but another screech from the other two Robo-Mobians decidedly ended her attempt to save Sonic, making her collapse in distress, her hammer falling close behind as she covered her ears.

“Amy!” Sonic mouthed out in alarm. Squirming in place, he managed to get a harsh kick to the chest on the Robo-Mobian in front of him, forcing it to crash into the other robot, freeing himself. He was on his feet in a flash, rushing towards Amy’s trembling side, placing a hand on her shoulder. Amy gave a quivering nod of assurance, looking shakily at the enemies before them.

“W-what are those things?” she whimpered. “They don’t look anything like the usual Eggman robots.”

Sonic shook his head in response. The Robo-Mobians quickly recovered, speeding towards their opponents and readying their drum hands, flying into the air preparing to go in for a smash. Sonic acted fast, snatching Amy away and hopping to the top of the boutiques shop, the latter grabbing her hammer as quickly as she could, before the robots broke through the tile, the floor violently crumbling away.

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” Amy called out. “We can’t take these things alone, they’ll just keep using that awful noise to down us again.”

She was interrupted by the Robo-Mobians charging their flight once more, ready to take off against the hedgehog duo, when suddenly…

“...You better step off!” A ear piercing roar followed by a massive energy blast came from just beyond, knocking the Robo-Mobians into the glass of the clothing store. Tune clumsily stepped into the limelight, heaving breaths as her eyes glowed a vicious yellow hue, her fashion glasses placed firmly on her head. Her demeanor said everything: she was overwhelmingly pissed. 

“Yo, any day today y’all!” She annoyingly called out. “Get your butts in gear and help me take care of these goons!”

It took a second, but Sonic recovered leaping into action, Amy following close behind and running up to a rising Robo-Mobian, giving a hearty punch in its direction, finishing the job Tune started. The robot was sent packing, exploding from out far, bits of its body scattering. As they did, colorful red, blue and green auras emanated from their cores, Tune’s eyes widened in horror as they scattered into the distance. 

Amy lept in for the other robot ready to ambush Tune from behind, slamming its head into the tile with her hammer hard, the mechanical pieces dripping when she lifted up the mallet, another purple aura materializing and floating away. The three were breathing hard, Tune much more so than the others, having a moment to finally recuperate. Once they were able to catch their breaths fully, Amy and Sonic both gave bright smiles to Tune, walking towards her carefully. But Tune was solely focused on the machine just in front of her, its body twitching weakly as a teal colored vapor seeped out of the wires of its chest cavity.

It couldn’t have been…

“Tune!” Amy cried, raising her arms in an attempt to give Tune a hug. “We didn’t know you could do something like that! Thanks for the save–”

“...This is...a Melodian.” Tune whimpered, halting them in their tracks, the duo taking note of her clawed hands balling into tight fists, so tight in fact they swore they could see her piercing herself. “I thought...what's with the robots? It's only supposed to be Alto's influence stretched out...”

The teal colored vapor circled around the robot's carcass weakly, Tune collapsing onto the floor in an attempt to cup it in her hands. A tiny voice was heard from its light, a song echoing into the wind faintly, as if it was slowly dying in Tune’s trembling hands.

“No! P-please don’t go!” the girl pleaded. “I just need more time! Please just give me more time to fix things!”

Despite her wishes, the materialized voice was fading, and fast. Tune cried out in horror, trying anything in her power to keep the tiny voice to herself, protecting it like a tortured mother. “I’m begging you! l can't fail you too!”

The hedgehog duo could only watch as the magical vapor slowly but surely drifted away into the atmosphere, and the world around them became morbidly quiet. Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t good, emphasized by Tune’s wailing exclamation, reaching into the air for nothing.

“Tune?” Amy worriedly stepped forward, reaching out her hand, but before she could she was stopped by Tune’s strikingly widened glare, her eyes still glowing that dangerous purple aura.

“Get away from me.” she spat, her body shuddering in her hysteria. “Do yourself a favor and leave me out of…whatever this is.”

“W-what?” Amy said exasperated. “But we could really use your help! Restoration HQ still has areas that need clearing out of Eggman’s robots. People need us to get them out–”

“Y’all should be thinking of a way to get yourselves out of here, not wasting your time helping people perfectly capable of handling themselves! Your friends already got most of the people evacuated anyway.” Tune gestured to the twitching robots on the ground with a sneer. “What, you think more of those things ain’t coming? They’re based on Melodist tech. There has to be at least hundreds, maybe even thousands of them wrecking havoc all over the place! That crazy doctor must’ve had a hand on this. He's obviously working with Alto to sabotage everything. They’ll destroy your ears before you even have the chance to look the other way.” The hedgehog duo tilted their heads in confusion.

“Wait, ‘Melodist’ tech? 'Alto'?” Amy chirped. “What are you talking about?”

“T-that’s–” Tune’s heart stopped in her chest, her big mouth opening against her better judgment. “...Not important. Look, just get the rest of your posse and get out of here, unless you want to end up like her.” She pointed towards the now still, lifeless carcass of the robot in front of her. “This place is done for. So much for that security you promised. ” Her last words seeped out like venom.

“Tune wait, we’re not leaving you like this after all that!” Amy pleaded, reaching out her hand.

“...Goodbye, Amy.” Tune muttered out, activating her skates and readying herself to take off. Her view of the exit was suddenly blocked off by Sonic’s body, who had been silently watching the whole conversation take place, taking the initiative to speed in front of her with his hands stretched out. He glared at her with those same knowing eyes she couldn’t stand to face. It was disapproving, he was staring right through her once again, almost as if to say “I thought you were better than this”. It was well deserved, and Tune soon found that pit in her stomach growing once more. Turning her head, she quietly uttered a tiny sound. “I promise to fix this…but I need to do it alone. I’m not allowing you to get involved in my mistakes anymore than you already are.”

Tune pushed Sonic aside roughly, causing him to stumble back a little. But before she could even take a step to skate off, there was a blue blur. Tune was tackled from the side right as she went to take her leave, familiar metal claws grabbed at her shoulders and sent her speeding off into the air with a scream, causing her to drop the blaster and her glasses falling off her head.

“W-what the hell?!” Tune cried out angrily, frantic eyes darting. “Get off me, you creep!”

Amy gasped as she pointed towards the two flying figures. “Sonic, that’s…!”

They recognized it immediately: Metal Sonic, exiting the gaping hole in the window and heading outside, Tune frantically thrashing against him, kicking and screaming the whole way. Eggman had to be there. They needed to catch up fast. With a shared nod of understanding, Sonic once more grabbed Amy and sped off, his pace allowing him to effortlessly climb the window and jump out of the hole, just in time to see Metal Sonic slam Tune down onto the ground mercilessly. 

From across the battlefield, Silver and the Diamond Cutters were locked and loaded in the fray against Eggman himself, in a gigantic towering battle mech. They had no time to react to Tune’s predicament, Silver launching Tangle, who in turn held a wispon welding Whisper wrapped around her stretchy tail, right atop the mech’s arm. Whisper went in for a disarming blow, utilizing her purple wisp in an attempt to saw off the forearm. Tangle whipped around the body, going straight for Eggman’s cockpit. Silver threw her a large rock, Tangle grabbing it by the tail before immediately smashing it into the glass.

“You pesky rodents just don’t know when to call it quits!” Eggman growled, his voice projected through an audio receiver on his mech. “My beautiful creations are too good for you; Now, get off my mech!” With a push of a button and a crank of a lever, the mech’s body started wildly spinning in place, Tangle and Whisper trying desperately to hold on, but ultimately were flung off, Silver just managing to grab a hold of the two and gently settling them down on the ground once more.

“Eggman, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Tune glared at the man piloting the mech, snarling. “I should have taken you down when I had the chance back in Melodia-!” Metal Sonic only tightened his grip as if in response to her threat, making her groan out in pain.

Eggman’s cackle echoed into the atmosphere, wicked and cocky. “My dear, you seem to have strayed a bit too far from home and caused quite the stir. Tell me, what was your plan here? To rid the entire world of voice in a pathetic attempt to spare people from Alto? How absolutely absurd. But no matter. So as long as you behave yourself, your pathetic life will be spared. After all, you have the highest honor of letting your voice be used for something greater than yourself, and I'd hate for you to miss it.” He grabbed onto his mic, calling out to his favorite creation from beyond. “Metal Sonic, get the Harmonic Distortion collar on the girl and get back to base. As much as I’d love to toy with these fools, we’ve no need to stick around.”

Everyone’s blood went cold, turning to face the chaos ensuing beyond. It felt like every bone on Tune’s body was breaking, her frame completely surrounded by larger badniks, tall and looming. Her hands interlaced with Metal Sonic’s harshly, her body struggling to hold on, Sonic and Amy fast approaching trying to burst through and help, Amy calling out her name in desperation as she and Sonic fought the onslaught of robots, Silver and the Diamond Cutters hot on their tails, rushing to their defense.

“ORDERS ACKNOWLEDGED: SUBJECT ‘FORMER MELODIST MAESTRO’ IDENTIFIED.” Metal Sonic’s low, threatening voice rumbled.  “INITIATING VOCAL SUPPRESSION PROTOCOL.”

Tune was losing consciousness and fast. She whimpered against Metal Sonic’s restraint, mentally forcing her arms to try and fight against his overwhelming strength. She could see the chaos ensuing around her from the corner of her eye, how everyone was desperately struggling to reach her, how Sonic and Silver raced against the clock, trashing every single robot in their wake just to attempt to get Metal Sonic off her, but were constantly being swarmed by more and more badniks. Silver would use his power to sweep them away, but more would just come, seemingly out of thin air. This was getting nowhere, they were losing. They were losing hard. She had no choice.

I need a way out, she thought to herself. I need this to end. For them.

Breathing in as deep as she could, she tried to attack, focusing all her energy into another sonar wave, much more powerful than her usual ones. Everyone’s eyes widened in shock as a faint glowing aura formed around her body, her eyes glowing in similar fashion. Her hair raised to the sky and a choir screamed out from Tune’s vocal chords, a lower register male voice added to the mix echoing a guttural, angered sound.

But even with all the voices combined, it wasn’t enough. Metal Sonic was fast, too fast for Tune to even manage to yell out for more than a millisecond, engaging Tune with a violent sucker punch to her cheek, her head shooting to the side with a yelp from the impact. She swore she could see one of her sharp canines being involuntarily spit out through her already blurry vision. Even despite everything, she struggled to try again, determined.

Another punch, more ferocious than the last, Tune saw stars. But she kept going, her aura quickly weakening, eyes glazed over.

Her aura melted away, Tune’s voice thoroughly silenced with another punch, this time directly onto her skull. The world was spinning. Metal Sonic’s chest cavity opened revealing a wired storage compartment with a thin collar embedded with a strange looking speaker, forcing it upon Tune’s neck, electricity zapping every nerve and muscle in her body. Her entire being was on fire, her muscles violently shook and contorted. Her eyes and mouth glowed sickly yellow as hundreds of lights aggressively materialized and scattered out, like she was vomiting a morbid rainbow of sound, screams heard throughout every corner. 

Finally, when the mesh of colors floated into the air, a single, solitary yellow aura slithered softly from Tune’s body. She desperately tried to reach for it aimlessly, her eyes widened in agony and fear. To her horror, it was placed directly into Metal Sonic’s chest cavity, morphing as a small, pulsing energy ball, a familiar melody singing in its hue, caged into a small capsule. The world was slowly going black. 

“N-no…Al…to….” Tune gave one last gurgle before her body finally gave out on her abruptly, rendering her completely unconscious in the middle of the field.

As the auras of screams scattered into the wind, a blue aura shot directly beyond the crowd of robots and straight to Sonic at inhuman speed, his body contorting as it entered his being. He grabbed at his throat instinctively, and for the first time in months, he could hear himself breath, gasping for air and falling to the ground, Amy barely managing to keep him from completely collapsing.

“Sonic!” Amy yelped, setting her hammer aside to grab onto his shoulders.

“Amy…” Sonic finally managed to get the words out raspily, hearing his own tone felt foreign to him.

“TARGET NEUTRALIZED.”

Eggman once more laughed maniacally, watching as Metal Sonic grabbed Tune’s limp body from the ground by her newly attached collar, throwing her to the side like if she was nothing more than garbage ready to be disposed of.

“Great work,” Eggman toothy grinned. “Let’s see this pesky little Melodist try to gather more voices now that Metal Sonic has claimed her power. The Dominion Hymn will be mine once I find the key to making Alto submit to me entirely. I'll come back for the rest of those voices soon enough. Now, all units: get back to the ship!”

Eggman began to take his exit, taking one last conniving look at Tune’s body, grinning devilishly. “Congratulations, my dear. You've just granted me the key to control much more than just Melodia.”

And with that, just as soon as they arrived, Eggman’s robots scattered, any who were being attacked would quickly evade and march onward. Soon enough, they would all clamor to Eggman’s humongous battleship above, ascending from multiple floating platforms awaiting their arrival. Eggman followed suit, and even when the Restoration members all tried their very best to knock him back down, it didn’t matter. He escaped confidently, his mocking laughter echoing in their faces, stretching across the atmosphere, a product of their failure…

It was eerily somber, a light wind all that sounded off as the battleship flew away. The fires had been dealt with, the citizen’s properly looked after, but the damage to Restoration HQ was massive. It would take several months for them to fix the ramifications of Eggman’s swift invasion. No one had any excuses, no explanation.

But Sonic? He could only stare back at Tune’s softly breathing frame as medics would arrive on the scene to drag her tarnished and unconscious body away to the nearest medical station. The world stood still around him, even as reinforcements and medic squads came to access the damage. He could only take in Eggman’s words. It was all that etched into his brain:

“Let’s see this pesky little Melodist try to gather more voices now.”

That’s what he said. But it couldn’t be…It just couldn’t. But his fragmented memories, the ones laid at his feet for months since his voice was taken, flickered in his brain, painfully playing out like racing film. The fight in Casinopolis, the electrifying kiss, 'Rhythm’s' mournful expression as she bowed to him as if he was her only audience member, and most importantly…that haunting, choir-like voice, echoing inside the dark walls of the venue; the same voice from Sonic’s nightmarish visions, the same one heard coming from her mouth. It all came back to him. Her attempt to stop Metal Sonic’s assault proved everything. He could no longer deny it.

Tune was the Siren they’d been searching for. She’d been hiding right under their noses the whole time just waiting for her opportunity to strike. And Sonic had unknowingly welcomed her into their lives with open arms.

When Tune was safely placed on the emergency stretcher, Sonic turned to the rest of his friends with a dazed shake of his head, trotting in their direction. His heart skipped a whole few beats when he noticed Silver’s contemplative, dark expression staring daggers at Tune being dragged away. It was almost like he was debating charging towards her and doing something Sonic knew he’d be more than capable of. He’d seen that look before, he had been on the other end of that look before in the past. And he knew exactly what it meant.

So with a swift movement, before Silver could even take that first step, Sonic grabbed onto his shoulder, squeezing it tight. Silver couldn’t help but glare at him, his tunnel vision shifting only slightly by the blue hedgehog.

“She’s the one who did it: She’s the Siren.” Silver all but growled. “She’s been stealing people’s voices away like they were tools.” His frustrated voice was getting louder with every passing sentence. “She’s been using us this whole time and we never questioned it for a second! She could have been plotting this whole time to steal the entire Restoration’s voices and we would have submitted to it immediately without ever even realizing it!”

“Calm down, Silver.” Amy’s voice chirped from behind. “We can’t just start assuming things we don’t know the full details of.”

“Amy’s right,” Tangle’s voice broke through. “I mean, she could have done it when she first arrived, but she didn’t. That’s gotta count for something, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t trust that she won’t try to, now that she’s been fully outed.” Whisper softly refuted. “We don’t know the full scope of her power. We don’t know her motive. But she’s a threat nonetheless. She needs to be put down.”

“We can’t do that to her!” Amy frustratedly argued. “If nothing else, we need to know the why before we can come up with a plan going forward.”

“Does it even matter at this point?!” Silver angrily retorted. “She stole the voices of countless other people who could potentially be suffering through the same thing, and she’s been lying to our faces about it the whole time. How can you defend that?!”

“I’m not,” Amy calmly stated, her palm raised to try and put an end to Silver’s line of thinking. “What I’m saying is that if we want to have any chance of fixing it, we need to get her to talk. And she can’t do that if she’s being beaten to a pulp while she’s still down.”

Silver went to argue once more, but Sonic’s firm grip brought him back to reality, his eyes darting towards his partner, who’s stern yet determined look made Silver stop in his tracks. Releasing Silver’s shoulders, Sonic spoke up:

“Silver...” He raspily said, noticing how Silver’s eyes widened at the sound of his voice. Silver latched onto Sonic’s cheeks, emotions layered in every corner of the psychic's expression.

“Y-you’re…” he trailed off.

“I’m here.” Sonic grinned, if only to try and ease the overwhelming tension. “I’m back.”

Silver grabbed onto Sonic like a lifeline, tightly embracing him as if he’d never see him again for as long as he lived.

When Tune was physically capable, when she would finally wake, they’d have much to discuss.

CHAPTER 13:

Silver was stationed firmly outside Tune’s room in the infirmary. He was never allowed in, and was told countless times by multiple staff members and friends alike to give it a rest. But he refused. For days while Tune recovered, still unconscious, he sat there just outside her door for hours at a time, only leaving when he needed to help out rebuilding and to check on his miraculously undamaged garden. 

He was awaiting her return. For anything. He was unbelievably angry, conflicted. He felt mournful and betrayed all at the same time. His mind went back to all the times he’d put himself out for Tune, how he’d chosen to make friends with the same person who’d stolen his beloved’s identity away. How she fought tooth and nail to retain that identity, only to be forcefully restrained and revoked of that privilege. 

Whatever Tune was plotting, Silver wanted to be the first to know. For all the fighting, the attempts to make her as comfortable as possible around the members of the Restoration, his overwhelming patience to watch her float around the bushes whenever they’d attempt to get her to talk about anything regarding herself that didn’t involve the bare minimum factoids, Silver wouldn’t allow her to escape from this. Because at this moment, the consequences of what she did now became a matter of personal vendetta. His future was once again at stake for the first time in years, and she was solely the one to blame. He’d get to the bottom of it, he’d enact justice for the people she’d taken the liberties from. 

And if she refuted at any point, he was ready to do whatever it took to get her to confess.

Despite his anger, Silver couldn’t help going back to the night on top of the greenhouse. Her foul attitude since that day had mended slightly, but her demeanor and insight about herself still lingered on in his brain:

“Don’t you think you should give this to someone who’d actually deserve it?”

“I don’t deserve y'all's kindness.”

“Y’all need to learn to put that energy towards people who need it more. People who deserve it.”

But the last conversation Silver would have with her, the day Sonic and him joined her on the sands on their trip to the beach, right before she planned to leave for New Mobotropolis, watching the waves go by and the world drift away, stuck to his angry, breaking heart.

“I can’t promise to spill my secrets right away. Frankly, I’m still of the mindset that y’all would hate me forever once I did. But I want to get better. It’ll be slow, but I’m willing to put in the work.”

And the daunting question still floating in the air, an unconscious plea for help.

“Can you guys be patient with me a little longer while I work my way towards that?”

Without Silver knowing, Tune had basically laid out the facts of her apparent turmoil with each conversation they’d have. And she had warned them directly: they’d hate her if she spoke about her past. He was reluctant to admit it, but there was a lot of truth to that statement. If not hatred, resentment felt more appropriate. Resentment and frustration for her selfish actions, even if she couldn’t have known how this would have affected him personally.

When the door to Tune’s medical room opened up for the third time that day, after about a week of empty updates on her condition, a nurse in a white lab coat was the first to acknowledge his presence.

“She’s awake.”

Silver suddenly felt his blood go cold. Would he have the heart to do it alone? To step inside and confront her dead on? Should he?

…He gave a small nod to the nurse, pulled out his phone, and gave a quick text to Sonic. It was quick, direct and to the point.

“Come down to the ward.”

It didn’t take long for Sonic to get the message, decidedly leaving Silver on ‘read’ before dashing towards the medical ward. When he got there, it was dim, the atmosphere stifling. The looming energy that Silver was exuding was so out of place for him, it was dreadfully painful watching him contemplate everything right then and there. Sonic joined him by the front door, taking his hand and giving it a tight squeeze. The nurse awaiting the speedster, opened her mouth to speak.

“Before you go in, there’s something you should know.” she began. The two hedgehogs looked at the nurse as she spoke, listening intently. “She’s stable, but she’s…she lacks focus. And whatever that collar that Metal Sonic put on her won’t come off no matter how hard we’ve tried. He took a direct assault towards her brain, and, well, due to the impacts and slight fractures she suffered through, she seems unwilling to speak a word since she’s woken up.”

Of course. It could never be that easy.

“Due to how fragile the situation is, it’s best not to stress her out too much.” the nurse continued, clasping her fingers together. “I know this is hard for the both of you, but if I can ask, please: Try to remain as calm as you can while you speak to her.”

Despite the nurse's insistence, the duo pressed on. With another firm squeeze of each other's hand and a nod to the nurse, from both of them this time, Sonic and Silver pushed the door open and entered the room. 

There, lying in a hospital bed with a full tray of food she was aimlessly pushing around, was the Siren. The two walked up to her quietly, Silver’s stoney expression hardened on his face. They both took the double seat farthest from her bed, unable (or rather, unwilling) to really get much closer. She barely acknowledged them, choosing to stare blankly at her tray. Frustrated, Silver used his power to steal away her spork and tray, placing it atop a nearby table next to the window. When she still didn’t bother raising her head, hands loosely placed atop her lap, he forced her to face them head on, using his power to gently lift it up. Her eyes still barely looked at the two, glazed over and undetermined. Her posture was limp, lifeless.

In essence, her very soul had given up. It was like she was barely hanging on, existing only because her body demanded it. But she herself was absent.

“I’ll get right to the point:” Sonic was the first to speak. “Why’d you do it?”

The Siren stood quiet, unbothered by his interrogation.

“It doesn’t help you any if you keep quiet.” Sonic continued, annoyed. “I think you at least owe us an explanation as to why I had to go months on end with my voice in your throat.”

Still nothing. It was like nothing was registering, or rather she chose to ignore it. Unrelenting, Sonic pressed on, trying a slightly different approach. “You’ve got nowhere else to go, y’know. The entire Restoration’s got your face down. Even if you try to run, we’ll catch you. So why not just fess up now? It’s not like you’ve got anything else to lose.”

Silver glared at the Siren’s glazed over expression, he felt his quills standing up with every passing second.

“You know, just for the sake of it, I decided it best to check on my timeline using a pair of Chaos Emeralds we have hidden away at headquarters. And do you know what I found?” Silver spat out harshly. “A freaking ghost town. People are aimlessly wandering around, and those freaky robots are marching the streets.”

His hands balled into fists, trying to keep calm like the nurse told him, but his emotions were quickly getting the better of him. Surprisingly, his words seemed to have struck…something in the Siren’s core. Her ears twitched at his words, eyelids raising if only ever so slightly.

“You ruined it,” he could barely stop himself. “Because of you, I have to start back from square one. I’m back where I started, like if all the hard work I put into protecting my timeline didn’t matter in the end. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?”

He saw the Siren gulp involuntarily, her expression softening and eyes glistening slightly as she watched Sonic place a hand on Silver’s back, rubbing circles, but choosing not to take his eyes off of her.

“Why won’t you answer me, damnit?!” Silver yelled out desperately, his eyes shooting out small tears he couldn’t feel himself cry out, a bit of saliva spitting out from his mouth. “Why can’t you just talk to us?!”

The walls of the room reverberated and echoed back at him tauntingly and empty, the Siren wincing slightly. A moment passed as the three locked eyes with each other silently. And then, after an agonizingly long beat, the Siren finally moved without a sound, raising a fist to her chest and circling it around. Sonic and Silver recognized it immediately.

“I’m sorry.” she signed, breathing harshly yet mutedly as she lowered her head once more. She repeatedly circled her fist over and over again as she sobbed, tears falling into her blanket soundlessly. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” The duo sat dumbfounded. There was no way…

“You…can’t be serious.” Sonic muttered out, words escaping him.

The Siren just kept signing over and over, before grasping at her disheveled hair, the green she once wore was now faded almost entirely, revealing its natural black color. Her body mutedly heaved, shuddering as she continued to cry. She was like a child, rocking back and forth as she tried desperately to soothe herself and regain composure, to no avail. She tried signing as much as she could, her hands clumsily voicing what she could not speak.

“I didn’t wanted to hurt you.” she shivered, her errors in sign quite noticeable and movements expressly inexperienced. “I wanted my go home. I wanted to go my home. But my home is wrong. I can’t go home.”

The two hedgehogs didn’t know what to make of it. They had never seen this side of her before. Once she was a confident and brash loudmouth, now a mute, sobbing shell of her former self. It was like she was a completely different person. And it for some reason ached at the two deeply, watching her grovel atop her lone hospital bed, without any outlet but her hands to vocalize her pain, which were now once again occupied, grasping at her head.

Despite every part of himself telling him not to, Silver stood up and took a seat across from the girl. Despite his frustrations and every single part of him telling him it was wrong, there was still some tinge of sympathy watching the Siren pathetically mourn. He couldn’t understand it, but he felt deeply inclined, reaching his arms out to pluck the Siren’s clawed hands from out of her hair and onto his waist, placing both hands on her shoulders. She tried to resist his help instinctively, but he refused to let her. Once she understood, she aimlessly grasped at Silver’s body as she wailed uncontrollably. She kept mouthing out her apologies, despite no one able to hear. Sonic followed shortly afterward, taking a seat right next to the girl opposite of Silver and placing a hand on her back. He was unsure what to do for the first time, watching as her body heaved into his partner's stomach. He took a glance at Silver, who in turn worriedly stared back at him, his mouth thinning into a line. The two were on the same page: they were genuinely at a loss.

It took a while for the girl to recover. But once she was calmed somewhat, she released herself from Silver’s gentle grasp, Sonic removing his hand and resting it behind him, watching as the girl quietly signed off as best as she could.

“My home is in–dangered.” she hesitantly spelled out. “A-l-t-o took it from me. I do voice stealing because it…makes me strong. Makes me strong to chase away A-l-t-o.” 

“How does it make you strong?” Sonic asked.

“My voice…” The Siren, unsure of how to sign it, tapped the two hedgehog's chest with dual pointed fingers and gestured openly with her arms, clawing her hands like she was grasping at something on them before pretending to eat something massive. She gulped down, and then stretched an arm out into the distance, the other hand going for her chest like she was an opera singer. Then, she flexed her arms like she was proving something.

“I don’t get it…” Sonic scratched the inside of his ear. “You eat them or something?”

The Siren groaned out mutedly. She scanned the area for something to write on, eyes focused on a lone notepad and a small pen left behind by the nurse. She gestured to it, Silver using a single finger to bring it to her with his power. She scribbled quickly.

“THE MORE VOICES I STEAL, THE MORE POWERFUL MINE BECOMES. IT’S LIKE THEY BECOME PART OF ME. MY INCANTATIONS ARE STRONGER THAT WAY. THEY REACH FURTHER.”

“But that still doesn’t explain the why, Tune.” Silver spoke up. “Why are you doing this? What’s your end goal here?”

She hesitated at first, unsure of how to explain. Silver tried again, desperate for anything she could muster.

"Please, just let us help you. Talk to us, Tune."

There was no turning back. She was already in deep trouble, and it was pointless to try and lie anymore. The words she wrote next were simple and direct, full of the most honesty she forced herself to muster that day.

“I DID IT TO PROTECT YOU.”

‘Protect’? What did that mean? She continued swiftly.

“ALTO CAN STRETCH HIS VOICE TO OTHER PEOPLE AND CONTROL THEIR MINDS. HE LITERALLY FORCES HIMSELF ONTO YOU WITH HIS VOICE. BUT HE CAN’T DO IT TO PEOPLE WHO ARE WITHOUT A VOICE TO MANIPULATE.”

“So you steal other people’s voices so that Alto can’t get to them first?” Sonic asked, grasping at his throat instinctively. “So that day in Casinopolis…”

“I STOLE YOUR VOICE IN AN ATTEMPT TO MAKE SURE YOU DIDN’T FALL VICTIM TO HIS SPELL." The Siren scrawled out. "I WANTED TO DO IT FOR EVERYONE AT THAT VENUE. EVEN IF YOU CAN’T SPEAK, YOU CAN STILL LIVE YOUR LIVES. YOU STILL HAVE OTHER WAYS TO COMMUNICATE. BUT ALTO STRIPS THAT FREE WILL THE MOMENT HE GETS HIS HANDS ON YOU. I HAD TO MAKE THE HARD DECISION. EVEN IF IT MEANT BECOMING THE ENEMY, I CHOSE TO PROTECT.”

“But why not just say something, Tune?” Silver frustratedly reprimanded. “We could have helped you. We would have understood—” A harsh slap on his thigh with her two fingers was all he needed to shut up. She quickly flipped to the next page, already taken nearly half the notepad up in her writing and continued, her annoyance at Silver's comment proved by how her handwriting worsened.

“DO YOU HONESTLY THINK PEOPLE WOULD BE OKAY WITH ME JUST STEALING THEIR VOICE AWAY IF I JUST UP AND ASKED? EVEN IF I HAD THE TIME AND OPPORTUNITY TO EXPLAIN EVERYTHING? DO YOU HONESTLY THINK THEY’D BELIEVE ME? BE SO FOR REAL RIGHT NOW.” 

“I hate to admit it, but she has a point, Silv.” Sonic sighed.

YADA YADA PLOT DETAILS WRITING IS HARD I LIKE CAMP BETTER OKAY THAT'S THE END YEYYYYY

[edenpoise]

❛ you shouldn’t be out here by yourself. ❜ //cue all snakes and frogs leaving the immediate vicinity lest they get meme arthur fisted-

⁽ @originemesis ⁾ ― ： meme. from here .

E . ― IT WAS A HUSHED NIGHT- SIMPLY TRYING TO FIND THE PEACE IN THE QUIET AND CALM. It felt like she could have a moment to breathe ... something she didn't know she lacked until she was given this moment. Even still, the chill that crawled up her spine wasn't to be ignored. It was a calm and quiet night, but it was also a cold one. It was such a strange oddity. Something to get use to, the nights in Eden weren't nearly as cold.

Eve didn't bother to turn herself around when hearing the sounds of grass crunching- of leaves moving ... she knew the heavy sounds of those steps. None of the children were nearly big enough to create such a sound as of yet. She didn't know what to expect from him, really. Maybe she was to hear him COMPLAIN about his day- or perhaps say something witty ... maybe once and awhile get her to laugh. She m i s s e d those days. But what she hadn't expected was that, t h a t.

Her teeth clenched and her fingers formed into fists, tightly wound within the cloth of her robe. The world around them became eerily silent. As if the animals were afraid themselves to even speak of the TENSION that fell upon this once calm night. She shouldn't be out here by herself ... she shouldn't be here by herself ... SHE SHOULDN'T BE BY HERSELF. 'Don't pretend like you care-' the words were at the edge of her tongue, ready to lash out with harsh words. Just anything that display the painful feeling in her chest, just SOMETHING- !

...

But she didn't, her held breath was released and she watched the chill in the air for a moment longer. She didn't have it in herself to hold onto that anger, not to him. Not right now, " I like being out here ...- its peaceful. " She would turn her head, her eyes locking to his own, before she would numbly gesture to the side of her, " I'm not quite ready to leave yet ... you can remedy the loneliness if it suits you ... "

Please. If only for a few minutes, she would like to close her eyes and pretend things were like they were.

[echantedtoon]

Kingkaard Week Day 2

Light and Darkness

The eyes stared blankly down into the cage across from him, the eyes that stared back weren't filled with anger surprisingly. But with ...hope. Confusion maybe? Maybe something else that was long ago forgotten and misplaced by him, but it didn't matter now did it? It was all but swept away when he grabbed his boy and threatened his life. As spoiled as the little water beetle might've been, he was still HIS son. His own flesh and blood. The very thought brought the man more anger as he clenched his fist and a scowl played on his features. NO! NOT HIS SON!! NO LONGER THAT MAN'S BOY!! He had lost any and all privilege to call that young boy family after that little stunt. Lancer was now HIS boy. HIS baby. HIS responsibility. He was now his and his alone. And that's what he intended on making good and clear to this animal behind bars.

"Don't smile at me."

The hopfull smile was immediately lost from his face when the angry hiss escaped his mouth. The small trinkle and shine of the beautiful tears starting to form at the ends of those eyes.

''Why?"

He laughed. He couldn't help it. He laughed like a maniac at such a foolish question like that, "Oh thou m-m-makest mineself laugh. Even now when thou art in thine dungeon for the very action of treason against thine o-o-own blood." The beautiful shine of a small tears ran down his beautiful crimson face. Like little diamonds of sorrow and pain compared to the strained smile he was wearing as a mask. Voice might've as well been a broken record with how much it cracked. "You c-could've had everything that was given to you. B-B-But I guess h-having a child crying a-about thine father's actions tis a good plan?!"

The taller man could only stand there silently staring down at him. With that stupid, stupid mask! The one which he couldn't see most of his actions. Was he proud seeing the impact he left? Was he even capable of feeling remorse? The fallen monarch hadn't even moved an inch when he yelled at him....He cracked and he choked back any noise he was going to make with his throat. ..It was when a hand grabbed his face. Making him freeze.

"It wasn't my intention to ever hurt my son.....Or you. Please. Forgive me-"

SLAP!!

"NO! DON'T TOUCH ME!! DON'T YOU EVER TRY TO PLAY PITY WITH ME!!" The red fury mixing with the blue sorrow was made into a beautiful canvas of tears against the red flesh. Shining with the watery diamond tears of past. The fallown king shocked into silence once again. A finger pointing at him. "AND DON'T YOU EVER DARE THINKEST ABOUT CALLING HIM YOUR SON!! HE BELONGS TO ME NOW!! AND MINE SON W-W-WILL....*hic* n-never be hurt a-again."

Silence. Absolute cold. D E A D S I L E N C E.

...With a shake of his head, the beautiful canvas turned and began his journey back to the entrance of this dastardly prison. Not a sound was made behind him and he din't know whether he should've been satisfied or releived.

"Howest t-t-thou strayed from thine light o-of thine's life."

(SO-...Deltafell+Edgy= Angst right?)

[casspurrjoybell-28]

Alpha's Temptation - Chapter 35 - Part 5

*Warning Adult Content*

Daemon's eyes widen in surprise but he doesn't say anything, just nods for me to keep going.

"Um. I... Um..." my lip trembles, already feeling my breath coming short.

Just the mention of him sends me into a panic.

Daemon runs his hands up and down my arms, knowing how much physical touch soothes me.

I've been touch starved for so long.

"M-my dad left the pack when I was s-six. That forced my mom and I to live with my stepfather..."

I go into the story of how she died from sickness and how abandoned I felt by my father.

"A-all I had left was Alpha F-Ferix. But he..." my voice cracks, my heart caving in.

I don't know if I can say it.

Saying it makes it real.

It makes me have to acknowledge that it actually happened.

Daemon looks like he's about to stop the whole thing, and I feel the need to press on.

I wanna get it out.

I can do this.

"He liked... hurting me. U-Uh, it was fun for him, I think," I scratch at my hair, looking down so I don't have to see his reaction.

"It all s-started when I was six. He'd burn me. T-Try to drown me. Other stuff, too. I don't really remember it all. What I do know is that he'd beat me almost every d-day. He let his friends do it too. And when I m-misbehaved, he'd lock me down in the cellar. I wouldn't be allowed to e-eat anything for days. And..." I wheeze for breath, tears rising to my eyes but I swallow them down, pressing on.

"W-when he got really m-mad, he'd..." I gasp, my airway feeling like it's going to close up.

"He'd cut m-me with this l-long knife. T-that's why I u-um have that stuff on my b-back," Daemon has gone deathly quiet, but I keep going.

"He hated me more than anything. He knew I liked art, so he c-crushed the bones of my right hand so I could never draw again. H-He forced me to..." I break out in a sob, clenching my eyes shut.

"To make paintings in my own blood. H-He told me I don't deserve anything, t-that I'm worthless and would be better off dead. S-So the night before you found me in the woods, he held a knife to my neck and tried to kill me. I b-barely managed to get away..."

Daemon shoots up to his feet, a feral growl ripping out of him.

His fists clench so hard the veins in his arms look like they'll pop.

And then I look up at his face.

His eyes are red.

He looks inhuman, the dark rage boiling beneath the surface.

I leap up to stand too, my heart racing.

"Daemon..?" I say, my voice high with fear.

That same, blazing anger distorts him.

He doesn't look like himself.

"I am going to rip him limb from limb," he seethes, going for the door. I grab his arm, latching on.

"Wait..."

But he pulls out of my grip, grabbing the knob and ripping the door clean off its hinges, splintering the wood.

I yelp in shock, watching as it falls to the ground in a large crash.

Daemon doesn't look phased.

He marches right out the door and I cry, running after him.

"Daemon please."

I wrap my arms around him from behind, trying to stop him.

"It's the middle of the night. Where are you even going to go? Dark Moon is miles away."

"It doesn't matter."

"They have guards around the pack perimeter... even if you got past, y-you can't kill him now. It'll start a war."

"I don't care. Hurting you means war," I hold him tightly, refusing to let go.

"Please don't. J-just stay. Stay here."

"He cannot get away with this. He abused you... no, he fucking tortured you for more than half of your life, He stole your childhood. He has to pay," he roars, his wolf simmering to the surface.

"I know," I sob, clutching him from behind. "I know he does b-but he can pay later."

Daemon turns to me.

"That monster is still out there... alive and well even after what he fucking did. No one gets to do what he did to you and live."

"But Daemon.." I plead.

"Imagine if you hadn't been able to escape him," he stops me.

"You wouldn't be here right now, Ash. Do you know what the thought of that does to me? The thought of that man killing my baby and I'd never even know it?"

We lock eyes, my own blurred with tears as I look at him.

I've never seen someone so angry for my sake, nor believed someone actually gives a damn about what happens to me.

But I see it now.

I see the pain in his eyes, the anguish, the way his chest rises and falls in angry breaths.

"Knowing what you went through is agony," his eyes shine with sorrow, his voice gruff. "I wish I had been there to protect you."

I sob, shakily taking his hand into mine.

"Then be here for me now. Don't go," I beg. "I-I'm not saying you can't kill him. Because I hope you do and I hope he suffers..."

That's the first time I've admitted that out loud.

"But not now," I shake my head.

Daemon is silent, taking all of me in.

Then he lets out a long breath.

"If I don't go kill him now, make no mistake... when I do get my hands on him, he is gone."

"Okay," I say quietly, a tear dripping down my face.

I'm okay with that. Ferix deserves it.

We continue to look at each other, my face no longer hiding anything. I let him see it all.

The ugly side of me, the part so broken and traumatized that I swore I would keep hidden forever.

But there's no judgment in his eyes.

The look in them hasn't changed.

It's the way he first looked at me, I realize.

I had been too out of it to see at the time but when he first found me, for a moment, all I could see was that look.

That same look captures me now, has me throwing myself into his arms to have him crush his lips against mine in a ferocious kiss, one that steals my breath away.

One filled with want... no, need.

His tongue captures mine as he greedily takes from me, letting me take from him in return.

When we rip away from another for air I stare up into his eyes, wondering what good deed I ever did to be blessed with him.

"What if I become a burden to you?" I whisper, my heart clenched.

His eyes glow like hot coals, the furrow in his brow deepening as he presses his forehead to mine.

"Never."

[strywoven]

@fatebinded has requested a story : ❛   i don’t want to let go. i’m not ready to say goodbye yet.  ❜   jen to kaen bc punch me pls

𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒅.

This conversation – thus , this topic – has been a long time coming.  Kaen has neglected it for both their sakes ( or so they tell themself ) , though now that the already strained relationship between realms has become too contentious to ignore , it seems appropriate to mention it all.  Kaen does what they can to explain everything to Jen ( about the thinning divide between realms that sparked the conflict , about the influx of violence between mortals & non , about the gods taking advantage of the encroaching chaos— ) , to tell him that even the godling has a role in all this ; they , too , will have to eventually accept their Fate and try to ⸺

⸺ It startles them when Jen suddenly and uncharacteristically interrupts their words with his own : i don’t want to let go , he says , his features fixed with despair , his eyes filling with the memories of a history that now begins to repeat itself , i’m not ready to say good-bye yet.  Although he tries to keep his voice firm , calm , he fails , his tone wavering and sounding almost c h o k e d with preemptive grief.

Many a time in the past the godling has found themself watching people leave them behind – it is a wound they and Jen share – but t h i s is new ; the roles are entirely REVERSED as they see their friend with his fists clenched and quivering voice , his expression d e s p e r a t e as he gazes up at them , imploring them to reconsider.  It feels … WRONG in a way Kaen cannot quite articulate.  Perhaps because they know this must be reopening old scars for Jen , but also because he does not deserve the grief of potentially losing someone he cares for ( again ) .  In fact , no-one ought to be forced to burden such a pain.

Guiltily , Kaen glances away , own furred ears drooping l o w against their head , the divine glow to their person d i m m i n g .  No , he doesn’t deserve this.  Yet this must be done ( it must , it must , it must ! ) , one way or another.  Surely , he could understand they have no other choice … ?   ❝ Jen … ❞  Starts the thought only to let it end , uncertain of how to carry on.  What should they say to him ?  What can they say ?  An apology doesn’t seem adequate enough for something like this.  Their gaze finds his , their hand settling atop one of his balled , trembling fists , g e n t l y unwinding his fingers so they may hold his hand in a comforting grip.  ❝ Ah know- Ah know ye would rather Ah not do somethin’ like this , an’ ‘onestly if there w a s any other way Ah’d do it , but- but there isn’t.  Ah ‘ave ta’ go an’ face m’father , ‘s th’ only way ta’ try’n end things. ❞  Kaen grimaces at their own words , at the taste of them ; it all sounds so … F i n a l .  Though it is true , their life hangs in the balance , swinging precariously on an ever-thinning divide.

For a long while , Kaen simply holds his hand , sits with him in silence , allows the weight of the moment to press down upon them both ( for him , the realization that his best friend is quite literally walking into death to save the world ; for them , the realization that they are sacrificing everything to save everything ) .  Eventually , the godling sighs , puffing embers into the air.  ❝ Ah dun’ wan’ ye ta’ mourn me , ❞ They tell him , noting the way his face scrunches up even further , ❝ Ah wan’ ye ta’ save- ta’ save yer tears fer when it’ll matter , okay ? ❞  Their free hand lifts , pressing to the back of his neck and ushering him forward to press their foreheads together , an i n t i m a t e and affectionate gesture.  ❝ Like fer when Ah end this stupid war an’ come back ta’ ye … ❞  It’s a promise they both know might be IMPOSSIBLE to keep , but Kaen makes it to him anyways.  There’s another small pause before Kaen smiles a bit , their voice softening , lowering to just above a weepy-noted whisper , ❝ Ah … Ah love ye , Jen.  Please dun’ ferget tha’. ❞

[eri-lessthan3]

okay so, I once found this on r/amogus, and I think you too should witness the horror

“Hey,” Red mumbled, standing behind Cyan as he tried to tap two differently coloured wires together.

Cyan didn’t turn, but nodded in acknowledgement. “Hey yourself.”

He was engrossed enough in his task to not feel Red’s arms slip around his body and press his hands onto his ribs, and he didn’t notice, not until Red gently took the zipper at his collarbone and started pulling it down.

And as well as that, Red’s helmet was similar to a gas mask, so Cyan could feel his warm breath against his neck, and it made him shiver.

“… Ok, what are you doing.”

“Mmh. Nothing.”

As he started to register what was happening, Cyan thought about fighting back, but then he realised how badly he actually wanted- no, needed this.

I mean, come on, they’d all been on the same ship for seven weeks, and Cyan wasn’t desperate enough to wanna touch them (except sometimes he’d come in his pants like some sort of teenager reading Demetri comments on Reddit whenever he thought too much about Red).

Besides, Cyan did find Red kind of hot, and he was pretty touch-starved-

“If you wanna fuck me,” Cyan huffed almost impatiently, closing the wire panel as he finished the task just then and turned around to face Red, “then just say it.”

“Fine,” Red grunted, pinning Cyan to the wall. “I wanna fuck you. Hard.”

Cyan yelped in surprise when Red’s tendrils grabbed his wrists and yanked them above his helmet.

“And I want you screaming for me.”

“So. Leeches-” Green began, but then Yellow cut him off.

“We are NOT having this discussion again.”

White glanced across the table and at the pair, amused. “Aw come on, let the man speak - he has a point.”

“Shut up, you rip-off Hitler.”

“Fight me, suka—”

He grunted as Blue gently swatted his head, frowning in annoyance.

“Don’t be mean,” he mumbled. “besides, where’s Red and Cyan? It’s spaghetti today, and they both love it.”

“Maybe we can find them on the cameras?” Green suggested.

Then, as if in a silent agreement, everybody stood up, left their plates, and started towards the camera room.

Blue went ahead of them, entering the room first and turning them on-

And then surprised everybody by letting out some sort of noise of exclamation.

“Er. What is it, comrade-”

The other three froze as they stared up into the screen - and watched in surprise as Red fucked Cyan into the wall.

They all let out a collective ‘oh’ as Green fell backwards and passed out.

“O-oh fucking h e l l —” Blue covered his eyes over his helmet, while Yellow continued staring, reaching down to poke Green awake.

“We- we should probably t-turn the monitor off and-”

“No.”

Blue stared at White, sputtering and steaming madly. “What do you m e a n, no?”

“I mean, ‘no’. This could be… Good research.”

Green finally woke up, and was blushing so hard that you could actually see the blush pass his helmet. “I- so we’re just gonna watch while they-”

“Fuck, that’s- kind of hot.” Yellow whispered, shaking a bit.

So without further ado, they all proceeded to watch the cameras without hesitation.

Cyan whined shamelessly, body quaking with excitement as Red’s stupidly long and slimy tongue wrapped around his length.

The scientist almost felt ashamed that he was enjoying this so much - he used to be one hell of a Dom before, and now he was nothing short of a writhing bitch under Red’s control.

Control.

The word stood out in his mind, hands clenching into fists as he THOUGHT he felt teeth, a heated grunt bubbling from his throat when his ears were filled with the sweet sounds of Red’s own moans around his member.

“Oh, Red,” Cyan gasped out. “please Red, please-“

He already felt his climax coming to hit him like a bat agains a baseball, his cherry ready to pop any second now, and he braced himself to cry out passionately-

When Red just.

Stopped.

His tongue removed itself from his member, and he got up, now level with Cyan, who was quivering with both utter rage and pure bliss.

“Not yet,” He heard Red whisper huskily as he reached down for his own zipper. “I wanna feel good too.”

Cyan was helpless - all he was able to do was whimper as the alien in front of him grab his own cock and start to circle the tip with his thumb.

He pressed his left elbow into the wall, right next to his head, panting softly as he jacked himself off.

Cyan struggled against the tentacles now, desperate to come, he was s o fucking close, but they were too strong; Red moaned a bit louder now, setting a quicker pace as he felt a feeling similar to having warm honey poured into his veins.

And then he came, the cum spurting in thick ropes over Cyan’s own member, aggravating him even further.

“Fuck’s s a k e, Red, lemme come already—”

And he yelled in absolute blinding pleasure as Red grabbed his dick and squeezed it, fisting and milking him for all it was worth, as Cyan practically choked on his own sobs, body wracking with them.

When Red’s tentacles finally let go of his now achingly sore wrists, he collapsed onto his big body, gasping for breath.

“Mm…” Red hummed, embracing Cyan lovingly. “You did so well, love…”

“L-love?” Cyan chuckled shakily, hugging back. “Well, if… You insist.”

Almost instantly did he drift to sleep.