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haeryna · 10 months ago

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in my dreams you love me back (i still love you) ↪ gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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summary: soft moments with shoko keep your heart soft as well, but suguru finds something that he wasn't supposed to.

tw: sfw but vague mentions of losing your virginity. your mother MEDDLES but let's be real, we'd do the same. allusions to the bible for the aesthetic but also because i like the imagery of the themes. not proofread.

notes: title taken from red velvet's "in my dreams." the second half of "i would give up heaven if i had to." another short chapter because i split it in two originally! banner from @/cafekitsune

"You look like shit."

You can't stop the huff that escapes your mouth as Shoko peers at you from your phone, propped up against your rice cooker. She's somewhere in the United States right now, attending a medical conference. She isn't wrong; your ten minute break in the bathroom had turned into a full-blown half hour breakdown. Thankfully, none of your coworkers pointed out the redness of your eyes and the sallow tint to your skin. Your manager had practically forced you to go home early. They all assumed that you had broken down about how the Gojo Satoru had demanded you be the one to make his drink. At this point, you were too tired to correct them.

"I just got back from the cafe, leave me alone." Yawning, you reach for a bowl. "I'm starving and exhausted, and now you're going to yell at me, Sho?"

You can hear the heavy exhale, and the camera blurs as she lets out a cloud of cigarette smoke. "I never said that. Did you see them today?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Nobody else can make you cry that hard, and I know it wasn't me."

You hesitate for a moment. "Mom thinks I should hear them out."

"Personally, I would tell them I'll speak to them after a down payment of 5k."

"Shoko!"

But your laughter fills the air, and you can catch Shoko's self-satisfied smirk from the other end. "There she is." A soft haze fills your screen as her voice softens. "Do I need to fly back and tell the two of them to fuck off?"

"I can tell them to leave myself," you protest, but Shoko gives you a deadpan stare. "Okay, well, maybe it'll be hard."

As the silence falls, warm and comfortable, you bustle around the kitchen, spooning rice into your bowl of leftovers. The air is warm, and despite your exhaustion, you can't help but appreciate the dreaminess of the evening. Shoko watches you, dark eyes unreadable. "What?" you finally ask, curiosity lacing your voice.

"Just be careful," she sighs. "Satoru and Suguru will probably do some crazy shit to get you to notice them. I just don't want those idiots to scare you."

"They don't care enough to do that," is your sardonic reply, and this time, it's her turn to laugh.

"If you really think that, then you're blinder than I thought."

He is breaking me down on every side, and now it's too late for me; he has uprooted my hopes like a tree.

When the number of your old landline rings on Suguru's cellphone, he almost blocks it out of habit before he registers the last four digits. Panicking, he immediately accepts the call.

"Hey, is everything okay? I-"

Your mother's voice chirps back at him, a bit staticky from the old phone that he knows she'd insisted on keeping installed in the kitchen. "Suguru, dear, could you do me a favor?"

Ingrained instinct forces a "yes ma'am," from his mouth before he can even process the request. He can practically hear the smile in your mother's voice. "It won't take too long, don't worry. My back has been aching an awful amount after my last surgery, but I've been meaning to wear some of my old church clothes to Bingo Night. Would you mind grabbing it for me?"

The attic is cluttered and old, and the dust stings his eyes, but Suguru can't bring himself to complain as he begins to rummage through boxes. It feels like seeing you again, like being your Suguru again, as he unearths old photo albums, and stuffed toys. There was the rabbit you used to carry around all the time. A picture frame, of you, Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru one summer afternoon. Carefully, he wipes away the dust, smiling at the memory. You'd lost your front tooth that summer; now, it was forever memorialized.

Finally, he reaches a small collection of boxes in the back. The dress lays draped over a small stack of boxes, but as he grabs it, one topples over, spilling its contents all over the floor.

Suddenly, selfishly, Suguru is grateful that Satoru stayed behind back in their hotel room, because inside the cardboard box is envelopes. At least thousands of them, crammed into each possible corner, dates written on the front in the same handwriting you've had since high school. He tears open another box, only to find the same. Three whole boxes of letters. Selfish hope and heavier dread sinks into his skin like the dust that is slowly falling to the floor; Suguru has unearthed something that he knows he's not supposed to see.

Was this how Adam felt, holding the forbidden fruit in his hand? Which was stronger; the will of God, or the love of man?

"You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.

He's almost frantic as he searches for the first letter, scattering them around himself until he finds it; labelled a week after Suguru had taken Satoru with him to pursue what they had believed to be an impossible dream. Suguru hesitates only for a moment, until with one decisive swipe, he rips the flap from the waxy paper beneath. This one is addressed to him.

Suguru,

My parents put me in therapy. Remember how we always used to joke that if anyone needed it, it would be you? Why did you leave me? What did I do wrong? It hurts, Sugu, why, why, why My therapist thinks that keeping letters will help, and my parents want me to at least give it a try. Mom won't say anything, but I know she's concerned. Dad's already torn into Toru's parents, so the whole town is fully aware of what they've done. Shoko says that they're practically livid with shame, skulking around the town as that'll fix their reputation. You missed it; there was one night when the fireflies came back, and I swear they filled the entire sky. It was beautiful. It reminded me of the first time we met, do you remember that?

I wish you'd been here to see it. I'm sorry, Suguru. I'm sorry that I wasn't good enough to take along. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you I love you. I hope you're safe. I hope you're taking care of Toru for me.

I love you so much that it's hard to be mad.

Water drips down onto the ink of where you'd signed your name, and with a start, Suguru realizes he's crying. Gently folding the letter, he sets it aside, and reaches for the next one.

Mom and Dad have what Grandma had. I'm scared, Toru. I wish you were here. You'd always say something silly that would make me forget for even a moment.

Another.

I saw you on the television today, Toru. You're so beautiful it hurts.

Another.

I've given up on properly going to college. They're so sick that I'm terrified to leave them alone.

More. More. More.

I try my best not to listen, but the radio in the coffee shop plays the songs you make, Sugu. I hate it, but it's selfish of me. The girl you sing about, does Toru get along with her? Does she make you happy?

He can't stop himself from reading any more than he can stop the tears pouring down his face. They'd missed so much of your life, and yet you'd dutifully written letter after letter, as if you'd planned on them seeing it. Like you hoped they would come back some day. The next letter was only written two years ago, but it turns Suguru's blood to ice.

I saw the scandal on one of the gossip magazines while I was out shopping for groceries, Toru. The Chanel model? Really? I was kind of hoping for the Gucci one, she seems so nice to her assistant.

I say this like you're a celebrity. A celebrity that I can just laugh at, and say "must be nice, having supermodels fall into your lap!" You were mine, once, long before you were hers. I love loved you.

I did something stupid, last night. Remember Kenji, from high school? The one you always hated? I can't even explain it, how furious I was, when I saw you with that model. You looked so happy, like it didn't matter that all your joy and abundance didn't come at my expense.

I ended up sleeping with him for the first time, with anyone for the first time really. I'm not going to write more; it's embarrassing, and it wasn't even good, but I think I'm more upset with myself. It doesn't matter.

It's not like you'll ever find out. Even if you do, it's not like you'll care.

It's not like my love mattered to you to begin with.

Suguru's chest feels as though someone has washed his heart in acid. On paper, the person you were after they left was more jaded. Less optimistic. You no longer spoke of things you wished they were able to experience with you, but rather all the things they'd left behind. You thought they didn't care, and as he forces his useless lungs to take another breath, he knows that he can't leave this town until he convinces you to come with him. As he stumbles down from the attic, dress in hand, your mother gives him a knowing stare.

"Did you find the dress I asked you to grab?"

"Yes ma'am," Suguru says numbly. It's all he says. It's all he can say. Your mother sighs, patting the chair next to her. "Why don't you call Satoru over, hm? Try some of the tea I bought. I remember your mother saying you only drink black. You really should call her more."

Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in?

"I'm home!" you call out, slipping your shoes off with one hand as you balance the full bag of groceries in the other. "Did you take your medi-"

The carrots drop to the floor as you take in the sight of Gojo and Geto sitting at your kitchen table with your mother of all people. "What the fuck?"

Geto's eyes are rimmed red, like he'd been crying, while Satoru stares at you with a hint of anguish. "What the fuck," you repeat again, dumbfounded. "Why are you in my house right now?"

Geto opens his mouth to speak, but your mother waves it away. "You know how bad my back's been lately, I really wanted to wear that old emerald dress your father got me, do you remember?"

Stunned, you can only nod.

"And, I didn't want to have you come all the way back from the city just to grab a dress for me, so I called over Suguru and Satoru to help me out," your mother finishes. You can't stop the panic from leaking into your voice.

"Where was the dress?"

From the look on their faces, you know that Geto and Gojo have found it. All the letters you were too weak to send, too weak to throw away. How much did they read?

"The attic, dear," is your mother's quiet response, and when you turn her attention to her, you can see the quiet love and encouragement in her eyes.

What's more important? The love for all the things they did do, or all the things they didn't?

White noises rushes into your head, and you can barely process your mother's departure. Something about Bingo Night? The door clicks shut and you're left with silence so profound that your body almost instinctively crumples in on itself. Suguru can't look you in the eyes, absentmindedly tracing the rim of the delicate porcelain teacup that looks comically small next to his calloused hands. Satoru merely watches, but you can see the tension in his neck, in the way his fingers flex around empty air.

So, you do the only thing you can do. You run.

Turning, you all but sprint up the stairs. You lied. You couldn't do this, couldn't face them, see them, hear them-

Toned arms reach around from behind, pulling you decisively to a well-defined chest. The air is forced out of your lungs as you yelp, squirming out of the hold, only to freeze as Satoru places his cheek on your head, nuzzling into your hair.

"I missed you."

Tears spring to your eyes but Satoru keeps going. "You were the only thing that kept us going. Our apartment was so shitty, we had to put cardboard on the floor just to keep warm. I thought of you all the time. I thought of which stage outfit you'd like better, how you would get along so well with the other members of the group. We didn't forget you. We love you too much for that."

"Stop," you choke out, as your legs crumple under you. Satoru catches you, tugging you further into him, as tears trickle down your face. A blurred shape; Suguru, kneeling in front of you, gently taking your hands in his.

"One chance, princess," he breathes. "Give us one chance to explain ourselves. After that, we'll do whatever you want, give you whatever you want. We've only ever been yours."

#haerinwrites #idol!satoru gojo #rockstar!suguru geto #satoru gojo x reader #satosugu x reader #jjk angst #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #satoru x suguru x reader #satoru x reader #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 months ago

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Fintech bullies stole your kid’s lunch money

I'm coming to DEFCON! On Aug 9, I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On Aug 10, I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

Three companies control the market for school lunch payments. They take as much as 60 cents out of every dollar poor kids' parents put into the system to the tune of $100m/year. They're literally stealing poor kids' lunch money.

In its latest report, the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau describes this scam in eye-watering, blood-boiling detail:

https://files.consumerfinance.gov/f/documents/cfpb_costs-of-electronic-payment-in-k-12-schools-issue-spotlight_2024-07.pdf

The report samples 16.7m K-12 students in 25k schools. It finds that schools are racing to go cashless, with 87% contracting with payment processors to handle cafeteria transactions. Three processors dominate the sector: Myschoolbucks, Schoolcafé, and Linq Connect.

These aren't credit card processors (most students don't have credit cards). Instead, they let kids set up an account, like a prison commissary account, that their families load up with cash. And, as with prison commissary accounts, every time a loved one adds cash to the account, the processor takes a giant whack out of them with junk fees:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

If you're the parent of a kid who is eligible for a reduced-price lunch (that is, if you are poor), then about 60% of the money you put into your kid's account is gobbled up by these payment processors in service charges.

It's expensive to be poor, and this is no exception. If your kid doesn't qualify for the lunch subsidy, you're only paying about 8% in service charges (which is still triple the rate charged by credit card companies for payment processing).

The disparity is down to how these charges are calculated. The payment processors charge a flat fee for every top-up, and poor families can't afford to minimize these fees by making a single payment at the start of the year or semester. Instead, they pay small sums every payday, meaning they pay the fee twice per month (or even more frequently).

Not only is the sector concentrated into three companies, neither school districts nor parents have any meaningful way to shop around. For school districts, payment processing is usually bundled in with other school services, like student data management and HR data handling. For parents, there's no way to choose a different payment processor – you have to go with the one the school district has chosen.

This is all illegal. The USDA – which provides and regulates – the reduced cost lunch program, bans schools from charging fees to receive its meals. Under USDA regs, schools must allow kids to pay cash, or to top up their accounts with cash at the school, without any fees. The USDA has repeatedly (2014, 2017) published these rules.

Despite this, many schools refuse to handle cash, citing safety and security, and even when schools do accept cash or checks, they often fail to advertise this fact.

The USDA also requires schools to publish the fees charged by processors, but most of the districts in the study violate this requirement. Where schools do publish fees, we see a per-transaction charge of up to $3.25 for an ACH transfer that costs $0.26-0.50, or 4.58% for a debit/credit-card transaction that costs 1.5%. On top of this, many payment processors charge a one-time fee to enroll a student in the program and "convenience fees" to transfer funds between siblings' accounts. They also set maximum fees that make it hard to avoid paying multiple charges through the year.

These are classic junk fees. As Matt Stoller puts it: "'Convenience fees' that aren't convenient and 'service fees' without any service." Another way in which these fit the definition of junk fees: they are calculated at the end of the transaction, and not advertised up front.

Like all junk fee companies, school payment processors make it extremely hard to cancel an automatic recurring payment, and have innumerable hurdles to getting a refund, which takes an age to arrive.

Now, there are many agencies that could have compiled this report (the USDA, for one), and it could just as easily have come from an academic or a journalist. But it didn't – it came from the CFPB, and that matters, because the CFPB has the means, motive and opportunity to do something about this.

The CFPB has emerged as a powerhouse of a regulator, doing things that materially and profoundly benefit average Americans. During the lockdowns, they were the ones who took on scumbag landlords who violated the ban on evictions:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/20/euthanize-rentier-enablers/#cfpb

They went after "Earned Wage Access" programs where your boss colludes with payday lenders to trap you in debt at 300% APR:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/01/usury/#tech-exceptionalism

They are forcing the banks to let you move your account (along with all your payment history, stored payees, automatic payments, etc) with one click – and they're standing up a site that will analyze your account data and tell you which bank will give you the best deal:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/21/let-my-dollars-go/#personal-financial-data-rights

They're going after "buy now, pay later" companies that flout borrower protection rules, making a rogues' gallery of repeat corporate criminals, banning fine-print gotcha clauses, and they're doing it all in the wake of a 7-2 Supreme Court decision that affirmed their power to do so:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/10/getting-things-done/#deliverism

The CFPB can – and will – do something to protect America's poorest parents from having $100m of their kids' lunch money stolen by three giant fintech companies. But whether they'll continue to do so under a Kamala Harris administration is an open question. While Harris has repeatedly talked up the ways that Biden's CFPB, the DOJ Antitrust Division, and FTC have gone after corporate abuses, some of her largest donors are demanding that her administration fire the heads of these agencies and crush their agenda:

https://prospect.org/power/2024-07-26-corporate-wishcasting-attack-lina-khan/

Tens of millions of dollars have been donated to Harris' campaign and PACs that support her by billionaires like Reid Hoffman, who says that FTC Chair Lina Khan is "waging war on American business":

https://prospect.org/power/2024-07-26-corporate-wishcasting-attack-lina-khan/

Some of the richest Democrat donors told the Financial Times that their donations were contingent on Harris firing Khan and that they'd been assured this would happen:

https://archive.is/k7tUY

This would be a disaster – for America, and for Harris's election prospects – and one hopes that Harris and her advisors know it. Writing in his "How Things Work" newsletter today, Hamilton Nolan makes the case that labor unions should publicly declare that they support the FTC, the CFPB and the DOJ's antitrust efforts:

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/unions-and-antitrust-are-peanut-butter

Don’t want huge companies and their idiot billionaire bosses to run the world? Break them up, and unionize them. It’s the best program we have.

Perhaps you've heard that antitrust is anti-worker. It's true that antitrust law has been used to attack labor organizing, but that has always been in spite of the letter of the law. Indeed, the legislative history of US antitrust law is Congress repeatedly passing law after law explaining that antitrust "aims at dollars, not men":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

The Democrats need to be more than The Party of Not Trump. To succeed – as a party and as a force for a future for Americans – they have to be the party that defends us – workers, parents, kids and retirees alike – from corporate predation.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/26/taanstafl/#stay-hungry

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #fintech #ed-tech #finance #usury #payment processing #chokepoints #corruption #monopoly #cfpb #consumer finance protection bureau

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storm-angel989 · 4 months ago

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I thought of another cute request! Val’s wife and the other vees reactions to Val having a migraine and still trying to go to work

Hi Friend,

Love this request! Think OTO Val’s wife and storyline. We’ll call this OTO fluff.

<3 Mandy

I wonder if my wife knows that the lights make noise?

A sharp hum, a buzz most can tune out- myself included, most days. Unfortunately, as I laid in bed the sharp pangs pulsing through my brain made it more than clear today wasn’t one of those days.

I shut my eyes tighter and tried to review the days schedule in between pangs of pain. Two new models, six contracts, four shoots and Angel Dust…Angel Dust was owed his dues. Even if my saint of a wife tried to take my place in the studio for the day, as she had done successfully in the past, she couldn’t. This was my contract, and I needed to fulfill the terms personally.

I heard the shower turn off and tried to hide the pain as I forced myself to sit up. Five minutes. I had five minutes at most to pull myself together before she walked out of that bathroom, took one look at my face and the back to beg argument would begin. I had to divert the best I could.

Painstakingly, I pulled myself out of bed and slid on my glasses. I quickly grabbed my clothes from where she had laid my outfit out the night before and dressed as quickly as I could. I made my way over to the bathroom door. Three sharp, painful knocks before I spoke.

“Baby? There is an emergency in the studio. I have to go right to work. I’m sorry, mi amore. Breakfast will have to wait.”

Without waiting for a response, I hustled out the door and made my way down to my studio. As with every other due date, Angel Dust was sprawled out on the stage, eager to receive payment.

“Aw, Daddy,” he purred as I stepped onto the platform. His arms wrapped around my neck. “What do you say we have a little fun this time, eah?”

I tensed up. Ignoring the aching in my head, I pushed him onto the bed in one fell swoop.

“Oh yes, Daddy,” he moaned greedily. “I’ve been a naughty, naughty boy, I…”

“Shut. Up.” I growled as I pressed my lips to the base of his throat. “Your contract doesn’t say a fucking thing about you enjoying the process.”

Three minutes later I stood up and strode across the stage, leaving Angel behind in a haze of high and pain. I didn’t like what our contract demanded, but we were bound by it either way. At least I could abate my anger by making sure the drugs came with a miz of pain and pleasure. My hope was that someday, somehow the pain would overtake the pleasure and he would beg for an out.

As if I would be so lucky.

I slammed the door of my office shut, hit the light switch and in the dark, barely made it to the garbage can beside my desk before emptying my stomach of its contents. The act of payment started making me nauseous the day I met my reader, but combined with the pulsing pain in my head, it was unbearable. Gone was the thought of making it through the day- hell, I wasn’t sure I’d make it back upstairs. I picked up my phone and squinting, I hit the speed dial for my Vox.

“Vox, I’m..fuck, can you grab my migraine medication from the nurse and bring it to my office?”

The buzz of a dial tone was his only response. I put my head down on my desk and in minutes, the door creaked open, letting in a silver of light. I let out a groan and covered my closed eyes with my free hand.

“I find it incredibly ironic that a moth demons gets migraines, arn’t you supposed to be attracted to light?” Vox’s voice floated through the darkness.

“Quit teasing him,” another voice snapped. “Val, love, cover your eyes.”

I held back a groan. “Vox, I called you. Honey, you need to be…”

“Checking up on my husband, who clearly can’t take care of himself,” Reader said softly,

I felt her hand against his forehead, and her cool hand slipped under mine and over eyes. Inadvertently, I leaned into the comfort her palm offered and let out a soft moan of relief.

“Vox is gonna turn the light on. You’re going to slowly open your eyes, stand up and we’ll get you upstairs,” Reader continued.

“I need my…” I began.

“The studio is empty and Vox has your medication. Now shut up and do what I say,” she interrupted sharply.

I heard Vox chuckle and I closed my eyes as tightly as I could. Even under the protection of my wife’s hand, the light that slipped through stung my head like a thousand yellowjackets.

“She’s pretty feisty when she wants to be, eah, Val? Lights on.” Vox said lightly. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

I barely remembered making it back to my bedroom. The sharp pinch of an IV needle, an ice pack and several hours later, the pounding slowly began to fade. Softly, I mentioned to my wife the relief I finally felt.

“You’re a fool for going into work today, you hear me? A fool. Even my father, the toughest of the commanding angels….”

I leaned up and cut her off with a kiss. She stopped scolding instantly and leaned into me.

“Bebita. I love you,” I said softly.

She rolled her eyes but kissed my forehead. “I love your stubborn ass too. Next time, make a better decision.”

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softerseasons · 26 days ago

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Juno, out of curiosity, what does an accountant DO? What does it mean to be one? Because I know there's math involved. I've heard it's very boring. But I don't know anything else and I'm curious because you're very good at putting things to words.

Okay first of all, I cannot express just how excited I got when I first saw this message. There is nothing I love more than talking about things I know about, and usually when my career is mentioned I don't get questions so much as immediate "Oh, bless you" and "I could never"s. Which- totally fair! For some people, accounting would be boring as all hell! But for a multitude of reasons, I adore it.

There are multiple types of accounting. The type most people tend to be more familiar with is that done by CPAs- CPAs, or Certified Public Accountants, are those that have done the lengthy and expensive process to be certified to handle other peoples' tax documents and submit taxes in their name, amongst other things. Yawn, taxes, right? Well, the thing with that is that there's a lot of little loopholes that tax accountants have to remain familiar with, because saving their clients a little more here or getting a little more back there can really add up, and can do a lot for people who, say, have enough money to afford to hire someone to do their taxes but not necessarily enough to be going hog wild with. Public accountants can work for large firms or by themselves, and also do things like preparing financial statements for businesses, auditing businesses to ensure all of their financial transactions are true and accurately reported to shareholders and clients, and consulting on how finances can be managed to maximize revenue (money in - money out = revenue, in very simple terms).

The type of accounting I do is private accounting! That basically just means that I work for a company in their in-house accounting/finance department. Private accounting tends to get split up into several different areas. My company has Payroll, Accounts Receivable, and Accounts Payable.

Payroll handles everyone's paychecks, PTO, ensuring the correct amount of taxes are withheld from individuals per their desires, and so on. Accounts Receivable handles money flow into the company- so when our company sells the product/service, our Accounts Receivable people are the ones who review the work, create the invoices, send the invoices to the clients, remind clients about overdue invoices, receive incoming payments via ACH (Automatic Clearing House- direct bank-to-bank deposits), Wire (Usually used for international transactions), or Check, and prepare statements that show how much revenue we are expected to gain in a period of time, or have gained in a period of time. This requires a lot of interfacing with clients and project managers.

My department is Accounts Payable. Accounts Payable does basically the other side of the coin from what Accounts Receivable does. We work mostly with vendors and our purchasing/receiving departments. We receive invoices from people and companies that have sold us products/services we need in order to make our own products/perform our services, enter them into our ERP (Enterprise Resource Planning, a system that integrates the departments in a company together- there are many different ERPs, and most people simply refer to their ERP as "the system" when talking internally to other employees of the same company that they work at, because saying the name of the system is redundant) using a set of codes that automatically places the costs into appropriate groups to be referenced for later financial reports, and run the payment processing to ensure that the vendors are being paid.

To break that down because I know that was a lot of words, here's some things I do in my day-to-day at work:

- Reconciliations, making sure two different statements match up: the most common one is Credit Card reconciliations, ensuring that there are appropriately coded entries in the system that match the payments made on our credit line in our bank.

- Invoice entry: this is basic data entry, for the most part. This can have two different forms, though

- Purchase Order Invoice entry: Invoices that are matched both to the service/product provided from the vendor and the purchase order created by our Purchasing/Receiving department. We ensure that the item, the quantity, and the price all match between our records, the purchase order, and the invoice, before we enter this.

- Hard Coded Invoice entry: Invoices that we enter manually due to there being no Purchase Order for them. This is often recurring services, like cleaning or repairs, that may happen too often or have prices vary too much for Purchase Orders to be practical.

- Cleaning up old purchase orders: sometimes Purchase Orders are put in the system and then never fulfilled. Because this shows on financial statements as being a long-standing open commitment, it looks bad, so we have to periodically research these and find out if the vendor simply didn't send us the invoice, if the order was cancelled, or if something else is going on.

- Forensics! This is my personal favorite part of the job, where someone has massively borked something that is affecting my work, and so I go dig into it, sometimes going back as four or five years in records to find the origin point of the first mistake, and untangling the threads of what happened following that mistake to get us to where we are today. There's an entire field called Forensic Accounting that is basically just doing This but for other companies (it's a subset of auditing, and often is done via the IRS) and that's my dream position to be totally honest. I loooove the dopamine hit i get with solving the mystery and getting praised for doing so faster than anyone else has even begun to realize the problem to start with.

- Balancing Credits/Debits: This is more of a Main Accountant role thing, but the long and short of it is that every business has Assets, Liabilities, and Equity. Liabilities and Equity are what we put into the company/what we owe, and assets are what we have received/what we are owed. Anything that increases Assets or lowers Liabilities or Equity is a Debit. Anything that decreases Assets or raises Liabilities or Equity is a Credit. Every monetary change we process has to include an equal Debit and Credit. This is its own whole lecture, so if you wanna know more about double-entry accounting, let me know, but it's yawnsville for most people.

- Actually cutting checks or initiating bank payments to vendors for amounts we owe them.

- Vendor communication: I'm on the phones and email a lot with vendors who are wondering where their payment is, or why something was short-paid, or if I can change some of their info in our system, and so on and so on. Every job is customer service, unfortunately. I don't love it, but I do a lot less of it in private accounting than I would have to do in public accounting.

- Spreadsheets: I make so many spreadsheets I am a goddamn Excel wizard. I love spreadsheets. This isn't necessarily accounting-specific though, most people in Finance jobs love spreadsheets, or at least use them to make their lives easier. I make them just for fun, because I'm a giant fucking nerd who finds that kind of thing enjoyable lol. So if you ever need a spreadsheet made for anything, hit me up.

As for math, that's a pretty common misconception. While there is math, it is very rarely more complicated than "I paid $3 of the $8 I owe, now I owe $5" for me. There are some formulas you learn in school (Business Administration with a focus in Accounting is what I studied), but they're also pretty standard and rarely include more than like... basic algebra. Which. Thanks @ god because I flunked so hard out of pre-calc in college. I could not have done accounting if it really were all that math heavy.

Aaaand yeah! That's all I've got off the top of my head- if you have any more questions about it, do let me know, I'm happy to ramble on for hours, but I'm cutting it here so I don't start meandering on without direction lol.

#juno's musings #velvetvexations #accounting

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years ago

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Okay okay hear me out, Eggnog is being a creep and watching reader pleasure themselves, and surprise surprise, reader moans out Eggnogs actual name, what would Egg do next?

[stalking, suggestive things and such]

This is bad.... Very bad.

Though they've managed to pull their eyes away from the inciting scene and shut the closet door, Eggnog could still hear your lewd sounds and the rustle of your sheets.

This was not was supposed to happen. You were normally asleep at this hour when they used the passageway conveniently hidden in your closet to watch you sleep and steal things. They were so accustomed to finding you asleep that they nearly got caught; a well timed moan sparing them from the heat of being discovered while kindling a different kind of flame with their chest.

The memory of the scene is still fresh in their mind no matter how far they try to push it into the depths, trapped in a never ending cycle that makes them squirm and pull their sweater over their crotch each time it repeats. Your blankets tangled around one leg, fingers worked deep inside yourself as your body twitches and expels hitched breaths. The closet was positioned at the foot of the bed so they could see it all. Your legs spread further right as they eased the door shut.

Eggnog curses themselves as they palm over the swelling in their jeans to relieve the worsening ache. You're still so loud, so inviting. Their thoughts slip to fantasies of their tongue taking place of your fingers. Worshipping your flesh and body far better than they ever could. They'd bury themselves in your heat and take all you have to offer like the greedy soul they were, leaving their love and gifts of pleasure as payment and praying it'll be enough.

Eggnog's hand slips past their waistband before they can come to their senses. Precum dampens their fingers as they tease the tip of their cock. They hate themselves for it, but it hurts so much. Your sounds flood their ears and it leaves them a complete mess on your closet floor. Eggnog even has the nerve to pick up a discarded shirt and use it to both muffle their huffs and get off to your scent. They can't do this while you're here. They can't. They can't.

"Elisha...."

Eggnog whimpers at the call of their name- then stops. That... wasn't from their head. Reality and fantasy were blended together, but that definitely wasn't from them. There was no way they could imagine their name sounding so sweet. Eggnog places their ear to the door.

"Fuck... Elisha.."

There it is again. That voice that makes their sight blurred, calling them to the heaven they were sure they were in to have such a beautiful mess begging for them. Eggnog would've finished right then and there if guilt had ate at their core so. Taking advantage of your vulnerable state, nearly losing themselves and breaking from the closet to give you what you desired.

Eggnog stands with shaking knees and gropes for the ladder to the attic. They need to leave. Right now. Before they did something they were unsure was just. Their hand missing the railing by a mile and they stumble into the wall knocking over your storaged items in the process. Your room lights flicker on.

"Is someone there?"

Shit.

#Milk farm tag #yandere oc #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #yandere smut #yandere lemon #yandere hybrid #yandere drabble

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spacesplinters · 2 months ago

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Lady in Red

For @corrieweek 2024! Day 1: Eldritch

CW: major character death, suicide-ish, eldritch horror, outsider POV

It itched.

It was a tiny mortal thing that had made its way to Her surface and scrabbled at the Dark with greedy little claws, leaving tiny wounds. She ignored it at first, as a hive rat ignores a flea, but—

It kept itching.

And She was trying to sleep. She'd been sleeping for a long time, and really, everyone was happier that way. The few Light Ones who were aware of Her presence knew better than to try and wake or purge Her, contenting themselves with purifying the barest surface of Her physical form. She did not begrudge them their small Light. She was not like some of Her ilk, who felt the need for complete domination.

Balance was fine enough. Especially when it was always balanced in Her favor—and there was too much blood soaked into Her now for the Light to ever be a threat to Her.

But this itch. It wanted what She was, even though it was too meaty and linear and temporal to truly grasp it. But its desperation lent it a thread of strength the threatened to make the little bug bites he left on Her into sores, possibly even infections, if left untended.

Her veins thrummed with life and death and flesh and decay and durasteel. She dragged Herself from Her beloved slumber and let Her mind focus on the spot with the itch until She had its form and its measure and its power clear in Her understanding.

And then She sought what forces were allied against it.

The Light Ones would have been an obvious choice—so close to the itch, even in physical space, and its natural enemy—but they would sense Her manipulations and combat them. Tiresome.

Still, Her chosen antibodies would need at least a bit of that Light in order to succeed.

She found them by following the scent of blood.

They were painted red, like Her priests in countless millennia past. They were scarred and bloody too, though not out of devotion to Her.

Not yet, anyway.

The brightest among them pulsed with ruby light. She watched and felt a distant twinge of kinship.

This one wanted to sleep too, ached for it like a lover. And just like Her, it was the itch's fault that he was awake. Always, horrifically, awake.

The first thing She did was find the tiny little chain that the itch had placed on Her Chosen. He screamed when She pulled it out, and then he stopped being for a little while. A miscalculation. Luckily the other little lights managed to put his light back. Useful. And Her Chosen cared for them, gained strength from them and his bonds to them. This was fortunate—it was difficult to bolster Her Chosen directly as he had not yet taken an oath, but She could aid all of them in small ways, and make him stronger through them.

So She watched them and learned them. She settled into their blood, here and there, identifying the particular structure of their components, the specific pulses of electricity that they needed to continuing being. She did not take knowledge without providing payment—they slept deeply, these soon-to-be followers. She wrapped them in warm red dreams, the promise of endless night, endless rest nestled in the heart of Her. They woke stronger and sharper and whispered to the others of Her. And when they found their words insufficient, they began to paint Her on the walls of their home, on the insides of their armor, on their skin. They used paint. At first.

They also began to remove their chains themselves, apparently made aware of them by Her initial, clumsy extraction. Once She saw their process, it was easy to free the rest without making their lights cease. She left the remnants of their chains next to their heads while they slept.

The ones who had not yet dreamed Her were oddly distressed by this. She was so sure they'd appreciate the clear evidence that the itch no longer held them, but there was a lot of screaming. Mortals were odd.

The itch called Her Chosen to its domain again. Too soon. He hadn't sworn himself to Her yet—and without his oath, She could not fully protect him from the itch. She forced him into sleep and showed him the way. It would have been better to deliver the knowledge more slowly, slipped into dreams and shadows and translated through what he painted. It hurt him, to provide it this way. As he writhed in the knowledge, She feared he would refuse, overwhelmed by Her form and Her promise.

She underestimated him. All of Her sang with the sweetest of lullabies as he dug in the knife and carved his oath to Her into himself. He was weeping, but it was both joy and pain. She could feel his anticipation, his desperation, his longing.

When he finished the oath She tenderly knit his wounds closed, leaving the marks as lovely red scars.

The itch was annoyed by the delay. Her Priest answered its call with a sharp grin and went to its stronghold where it stupidly believed itself untouchable.

She watched as the itch tried to yank on Her Priest's chains, satisfaction roiling in Her when it realized it had lost its power over him. Irritation followed, when it demanded blood in retaliation.

No. His blood belonged to Her now, and this itch had no further claim to it. The itch left Her Priest on the floor, his little meat bits slowing without their essential fuel.

After the itch left him for dead, She pushed the blood back into Her Priest's body and knit him back up. He didn't appear terribly happy about it, but She could sympathize. He'd been resting, after all.

Oh, how She wished She could rest.

Her Priest returned to the Cult and spoke with his companions. They sat together and cut deep enough for Her to sing to them, and when they rose they knew what was needed.

Her Cult set aside their strange little weapons that shot light and took up blades instead. They received Her blessing through their blood and protected themselves by marking Her sign over their flesh and their armor.

She was swept up in the rich song of their blood as they marched to the itch, to the worthless little bug that had dared impugn Her rest. The melody of their violence was sweet and soothing, and She sang Her love for them as She bathed in the offering Her Priest gave, a glorious, warm red offering of this pathetic enemy's heart-blood.

He had fulfilled his oath, Her beloved Priest, and now She would fulfill Hers. Awash in the relief of victory, the love of their vode, their brother-warriors, Her cultists softly, sweetly fell into sleep, curling and nuzzling into each other as Her warm red dreams carried them gently away to painless, blissful slumber. Her Priest fell into Her embrace without hesitation or fear, words of gratitude on his lips as She cradled him close and finally, together with Her dear cult—

Finally. She slept.

---------

Cody dropped to his knees among the mangled corpses of the Guard, scream ripping uncontrolled from his throat as he clutched Fox's mutilated body to his chest and wept.

A/N

They're happy, and they're gone. <3 I'm wintersplinterblossom on AO3 (same name as my main blog, this is my SW side blog), will be adding this there soon!

#corrieweek #corrieweek2024 #Commander Fox #eldritch horror #Coruscant Guard #Corries #MCD

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builtaworldwithyourlove · 5 months ago

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Free Falling

Chapter One

1.6k / (eventual) husband!joel x f!reader /minors dni

‘I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel’

Summary: you take the leap to leave your stagnant relationship, and end up falling into the arms of a man who will give you the life you always dreamed of.

Content: loveless relationship, TW: domestic violence, emotional abuse, age gap (reader is mid-late 20s, Joel is late 30s-mid 40s), angst, allusions of cheating, sad sad sad but Joel will save the day, slow burn, smut, fluff, oc(reader’s boyfriend and friends/family), mention of reader grieving loss of her dad, swearing, smoking, alcohol consumption, no outbreak!au

🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷

The front door slammed. The alarm clock showed 4:47am. James was meant to leave for work at 5:30 am, but he had clearly made a point of leaving early and waking you up in the process.

You swallowed, forcing the lump in your throat back down as you regained awareness and the ringing in your ears reminded you of the reason for the spite behind your boyfriend’s exit. The hole in the wall and the dull aching in your wrist served as an ugly reminder, just as much as the echoes of James’ yells.

Your mum hated James, and if your dad was still here, James would have been given the boot, whether it was down to you or not. However, you had settled. You were soft spoken, kind, caring, beautiful. Any guy would be lucky to have you and deep down you knew this, but again, you were too kind to ever say no.

James had moved in with you after you bought your home with the inheritance from your dad. His name was on no legal document, and he had no financial input to the running of your home, yet you let him encroach, and you felt more of a guest than he did. Things were really good at the start, he treated you okay and you got on well most of the time, then came the messages from girls on Instagram and the late nights smelling of alcohol and perfume. You slowly detatched yourself from him, mentally learned to not feel any sort of way. You weren’t interested in anyone else, but you just didn’t love him anymore. He sure as hell didn’t love you anymore.

🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷

Last night was the final straw:

You had got home from work, beaming with pride for the new promotion and set of responsibilities that came with it. The inheritance money from your dad help set you up in your home, but you worked damn hard to keep up with the cost of running the place. Mortgage payments and bill payments came out of your own pocket.

‘James?’ You shouted, half defeated. You hung your bag up on the back of the barstools in the kitchen, and preheated the oven for dinner.

Your phone rang.

‘Hi, I’m not about for dinner. Don’t worry about me’ James slurred down the phone.

‘Okay, be safe. See you when you’re home. Love you.’ You may as well have spoken to a brick wall, as James hung up and the line went down.

Your eyes stung, but you shook it off and continued with your dinner and ran a bath and got into bed. You had a huge day of meetings tomorrow and were determined to make a good impression on your new team.

James eventually stumbled in, waking you up as usual and treating the house as a rage room.

You held your eyes tight, and your palms sweated as your body froze. Remember the feeling when you were seven and thought you heard a ghost, or a monster under the bed?

He bounded up the stairs and shouted your name. He grabbed your wrists and woke you up.

‘Where’s my dinner?’ He slurred.

‘You told me you weren’t about.’ You meekly defended yourself.

‘Fucking useless’ he hissed.

You sobbed. ‘We’re done.’ You had finally snapped. You couldn’t even give an argument or any other words. Just that.

James punched the wall, inches away from the television opposite the bed, then proceeded to stumble backwards and pass out on the bed.

You set his alarm an hour earlier, out of spite, knowing he’d hate being woken up and would probably not be able to go back to sleep. As you unlocked his phone:

1 new message from Lottie:

See you in the office tomorrow, thanks for the drink!💋

You chuckled dryly, and got back to sleep. You felt a weight had lifted and you could finally live life on your own terms and be your own person.

🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷

You had finished getting ready for work, and decided to call your mum on the way to the office.

‘Hey Mumma,’ you whispered softly.

‘Baby, are you okay? James texted me asking if I could get his stuff ready for his mum to collect,’ your mum sounded concerned but also slightly hopeful.

‘I ended it. It was too much, he broke my wall, he hurt me. I owed it to you, Daddy and myself to do better,’ your voice cracked, but you reminded yourself of how much you deserved this life you worked so hard to finally be able to live.

‘I’ll kill him. Motherfucker.’ Your mum scoffed.

‘I’m fine Mum. I got my promotion, I wanted to throw a celebration at mine this weekend to tell you. Why don’t you and the girlies come round for drinks and we’ll debrief.’

‘I’m so proud of you, plum’ your mum sniffled, and you wanted to reach out and cuddle her, ‘ I hope you’re dressed to the nines for the meeting today.’

‘I dug out the Speedy and she is back in business’ you laughed.

‘That’s my girl.’

James hated your designer hand bags. He thought it was pretentious and he hated the way people looked at him after the conversation stuck at the fact you had bought everything for yourself. His money went on boys nights.

🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷

You made it through the day. Everyone in the office loved you, and you were so hardworking and intelligent. Admittedly though, you cried over a glass of rosé with your ultimate hypeman and bestfriend Lottie at lunchtime. If anyone was going to give your praise, it was her and your mum. Your little sisters were too young to give you adult praise, but they had their own ways of expressing their pride, as well as 12 year old girls can.

You stopped off at your Uncle and Auntie’s florist as you did every Friday, for your fresh bouquet of weekend flowers. Rufus was your dad’s best friend, and his wife Clara was like a second Mum to you, hence the Auntie and Uncle title, as they earned it.

They had your sunflowers wrapped in brown paper, with a polaroid of your dad tucked in the fold. Every week they would surprise you with a new picture of your dad, which you hung as a trophy on the inside of your wine glass cabinet. Your dad loved his wine, and you knew he’d be best remembered when people were getting their tipple.

You choked up, like you always do when you see your dad, and Clara held you tight. Rufus came up behind you and swept your soft curls off your shoulder and cuddled you both in his arms.

‘I love you both so much’ you sniffled, wiping your tears, ‘I wanted to tell you both i broke up with James. I wish Daddy was here so we could pop a bottle.’

Clara cackled, and Rufus waited to see if you were going to cry anymore or if it was safe territory to joke along.

‘I’m gonna need a number of someone to fix my wall and change my locks though,’ you shuffled a stone across the florist floor, looking down out of fear of being interrogated.

Rufus rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette, you took a drag and Clara gave you a number of an old friend.

‘Your mum would kill both of us,’ Rufus pointed at you, as you held onto the cigarette and blew the smoke in his face with a wink.

‘Mum’d let me off, I’ve been through a whirlwind.’ No one could tell you no. As much as people could take advantage of your softness, you knew how to wrap people around you little finger. ‘I’m having drinks at mine tomorrow, come. Mum and the twins will be there, so will a couple of the girls. I’d love you there.’

‘Don’t need to ask us twice, plum’ Rufus kissed your head, and Clara kissed your cheek as she held your head tightly.

Your heart was full, and for once there was no dread or fear.

🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷

You got to your front door, and crossing the threshold, inhaled a deep breath. The smell of your perfume lingered, and there was no sign of James. All his stuff was gone, and his car wasn’t there. His set of keys was on the side, with a note that said ‘thank you for everything, I’m sorry I couldn’t be the man for you.’

It was bittersweet, as you used to love him, but this was a chapter that needed to end. He didn’t want kids, or marriage or the picket fence. This was convenient and you had too much love in your heart, which needed reciprocating.

You twiddled the card in your fingers, with a number and the name Mr Joel Miller written on it.

You sat in your lounge, legs tucked up on the sofa beneath you, and you boldy texted.

‘Hey Joel. My auntie Clara gave me your number. Are you okay to do some work on my place tomorrow, I know it’s Saturday but I have evening plans and need it fixed or my mum will flip her shit. I’ll pay double and provide coffee🤸🏻’

Joel smirked upon reading the text, and somehow, his heart skipped a beat.

‘Hey darling, how could I forget about Clara’s girl. I’m so sorry to hear about your dad. I’ll be there tomorrow. Thanks for asking😘.’

Your bit your lip, you vaguely remembered Joel from family parties, and he was a good friend of your family’s, but you had never really said a word to him, always too occupied with not winding James up.

You left the message as read, and decided to have an evening of housework to get the house somewhat presentable for Joel.

You snuggled up in bed after showering and doing your fake tan Friday routine. Leo, your British Blue kitten, pounced upon your satin sheets and eventually settled for the night with you.

You dozed off, with nothing but hope and positivity in your mind.

Next Chapter

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tyxaar-fics · 9 months ago

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Hello it is I, I am writing vaguely uncanny Convex fanfic again! :P

Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP Rating: Teen No Archive Warnings Apply Other Warnings: Body horror, Disassociation, Identity issues Something I wrote about what it feels like to join the Vex and the Convex's transformation.

To Sacrifice One's Humanity It’s always the things that aren’t said that are the most dangerous. For instance, Scar was never told just what the process of joining a sinister order of otherworldly trickster Fae involved. He supposed it was the Vex’s own little revenge for Cub and him scammi- getting a good deal out of them.

Okay maybe Scar was starting to reconsider the Pact, but he always tried to look on the bright side! After all, regrets and sulking were useless in a situation like this, the change was irreversible and they both went into it knowing that. But, regardless of how certain they were beforehand, nothing could quite prepare him for the uncanny experience itself.

The deathlike pull of having one’s soul ripped out as payment, the rest of him ready to be hollowed out and made into an inhuman vessel for foreign magic. It was…? He sifted through words in his head a few times before settling on one. It was intense . To call the process painful would be misleading. ‘Pain’ was too physical of a sensation, too mortal. This was something deeper and far more spiritual, it was the cold burning of the mind and body transforming into something else, rending itself apart from the inside to prepare the shell for its new purpose. It was the creation of a postmortal and the presence of something new, something eager that now tugged at his mind and wasn’t stopping. It filled in the gaps left by his absent heart and it wove itself into him, shifting, changing.

The part that bugged Scar the most about this whole ordeal though, was he still felt like himself . Despite everything, lying collapsed on the planning room bed as his body twisted itself into a new form and every part of him was taken and destroyed, he was still Scar… At least, he certainly thought and felt and considered himself that. He logically knew he didn’t have a soul anymore, it was taken as sacrifice, so he should feel different somehow, right?… But no, no it was still good old Scar thinking these thoughts. The same person he was before…

Maybe.

Putting aside existential questions of identity, as were topics to consider after this was over, Scar forced his aching body to turn over briefly to check on Cub. Collapsed on the couch on the other side of their makeshift headquarters, he looked just as dishevelled. However there was a… strangely comforting feeling about Cub, cool and safe and familiar. It made a faint smile spread across his tired face. A weird blue mist surrounded Scar’s vision now, and he could feel something tug while hazily staring in half-consciousness at his friend… a dancing, captivating energy. Was it magic? Probably to be honest. It felt good. How long had they both been like this? Days? Weeks? Would the other Hermits try to look soon?

It whispered at him, that incessant force. It had been for a while now, but as Scar rolled back over in delirious exhaustion, it took hold. It wanted him to rest and this time, and so he gave in and fell back. A nap would do him good…

Dreams of laughter in the darkness, echoing through his skull. Wandering aimlessly. Hungry, hunting, patrolling the open air in search of a victim.

----------------------------------

Cub considered himself lucky to have slept through the first stages of the transformation. A waking mind would probably make the process more complicated, and he did not want to deal with the physical world whilst the most torturous part was underway. The dreams were bad enough already.

However, that phase was coming to an end, and upon stirring back into consciousness, the first thing he noticed before even opening his eyes was that something was gone from the room. It took him a moment to connect that missing presence to Scar, and he absentmindedly hoped his friend hadn’t gotten into too much trouble…

Cub slowly cracked open his eyes to check the bed, and yep, Scar was gone. The twisting haze over his vision had also started growing more vibrant. It wasn’t necessarily obstructive , just unfamiliar. It’d take some getting used to he supposed… In the meantime, Cub started taking stock of his other senses. A sweet taste in his mouth, as well as something weird and hard, a similarly sugary smell, a gentle storm of whispers in the mind, and itchy skin, like something trying to get out.

His head spun as Cub forced himself to stand up and stagger to the bathroom just off the main room, trying to avoid the loose paper and miscellaneous objects from their studies scattered around. He needed to deal with whatever was in his mouth, as well as maybe take a shower. Cub wasn’t meaning to look in the mirror, avoid it until the process was complete… but, once he caught a glimpse of what was on the other side, it was inevitable.

The creature was staring blankly at him in awestruck silence. It leaned forward on diamond-hard claws that cracked the sink’s ceramic in their trembling grip.

It had no eyes. In their place there were just soulless glowing pits of white light spilling out into the dark bathroom, illuminating it in a sinister glow. Its skin was peeling off in sheets to reveal an eerie grey-blue underneath, framed by hair that bled out colour to reveal an icy white. The teeth were…. Cub now knew what that sweet taste and weird feeling in his mouth was when he spat a handful of human teeth out into the sink, coated in glistening blue blood let out by the new deadly fangs growing in. They were sharp and strong, designed for ripping through flesh. He raised a hand to his face, gently running claws through his hair as the creature in the mirror moved in sync with him.

No, no, it didn’t. He needed to stop dissociating, he knew what the Faerie in the mirror was, who it was, what he was.

This was what Cub had become. Here he stood as one of the Vex, a freshly prepared vessel to host their magic.

His face twisted into a sharp smile, and let a resonant chuckle echo through the dark room, newfound energy sparking on his voice. The onset of power was giddy, a sugar rush of laughter and voices and whisperings of chaos. They told him what he could become now, they promised to teach him their secrets for service and loyalty.

This is what Scar and him wanted, what they sacrificed themselves for, this form and its magic was their reward.

Cub felt unstoppable.

(Or at least he would after having that shower and maybe another nap.)

#tyx's ramblings #tyx fics #tw dissociation #tw body horror #hermitcraft fanfic #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #gtws #gtwscar #convex #hermitblr #hermitcraft #fanfic

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kanerallels · 10 months ago

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Behold, the very quick follow up to this fic!! As with before, no season 4 spoilers!

This was the last place William should be. He had half a dozen things that needed attending to after the recent arrests— paperwork to be filed, men to debrief, to say nothing of the superintendent— and a dozen more open cases he should be working on.

And yet. Here he sat, in a rickety chair in a small hospital room. Flipping through one of the files Fitzroy had dropped off at his request and pretending to read the contents. Pretending he wasn’t watching the woman laying motionless in the hospital bed.

He’d brought Eliza to the hospital a few hours earlier. After she was taken hostage and shot. Shot. How could I let this happen? The doctors had been able to remove the bullet and stitch her up easily enough, but due to a combination of blood loss (too much blood. He still remembered her blood staining his hands.) and sedatives, she still hadn’t woken up. And William couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Staring at the file in his hands, he tried to read the report inside. Instead, his gaze drifted up to Eliza again. Her eyes were closed, and the white sheets made her look even paler. She was almost never still like this. Even when she was sitting, one could practically see her thinking, her mind moving faster than he would have thought possible.

I let this happen. Henry, I’m so sorry. I should have protected her better.

Swearing under his breath, William tossed the file to the side, where it joined the others on the bedside table. Running a hand over his face and through his hair, he dropped his face into his hands.

“You look rather terrible.”

Eliza’s voice, albeit weaker than usual, snapped him out of his thoughts. Sitting up sharply, William saw her watching him from her bed. A thousand different retorts tumbled through his head, all swept away seconds later by the thought, She’s awake. She’s awake and alright.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

One of her eyebrows went up. “I must say, I wasn’t expecting that answer. Usually, you’d have some snide response.”

“Usually, you haven’t been shot,” William pointed out, the ache in his chest easing a little. She’s fine. “And I am not snide.”

“Of course, William,” she said, not a speck of sincerity in her voice, and he had to roll his eyes. “Um. I admit my memories are a little fuzzy, but… we apprehended our culprit?”

Of course, she’s focusing on the case. Although she’s in the right for once— I should be, too. “We did,” he assured her. “Fitzroy and Phelps are processing the prisoners. Your client dropped by earlier, he said that he would deliver your payment tomorrow.”

“Hmm. Well, as humbling as having one’s client see one in a hospital bed is, I suppose the payment will make up for that,” Eliza reflected with a sigh as she stared up at the ceiling. Flicking a glance at William, she asked, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be working?”

Leaning back in his seat, William gestured to the files stacked on the bedside table. “I am working.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Eliza said, rolling her eyes. “Why are you here, William?”

Well. He couldn’t exactly tell her the real reason. Glancing to the side to buy a little time, William thought, Oh, that would go well. Just say “I’m here because I nearly got you killed and your father is probably turning in his grave, and I’ve never come so close to losing you in my life. And it terrified me.”

I definitely can’t say that.

A slight gasp caught his attention, and he looked up to see Eliza grimacing as she tried to sit up. “What the blazes do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, moving out of his seat and to her side in a swift movement.

“I hate laying here like this,” Eliza huffed as he set a hand at the small of her back, supporting her. “It makes me feel far too useless, like some kind of invalid.”

“You’ve been shot,” William pointed out, moving and stacking the pillows behind her. “You are an invalid. Here, lay back on that. Slowly.”

He didn’t let go until she’d eased back onto the pillows, which supported her so she was half reclining, half sitting upright. Then he moved back to his chair. “This, by the way, is why I’m here,” he informed her. “To make sure you don’t kill yourself trying to sit up.”

“Hardly likely, with you hovering like a mother hen,” Eliza grumbled.

“Well, that is the intention. And I’m not a mother hen.”

Letting out a snort that William did not think was remotely ladylike, Eliza said, “Now that is a blatant lie. If there’s one thing this entire debacle has proved, it’s the fact that I’m right.”

“Debacle is right,” William muttered, a twinge of guilt skewering him again. Ruthlessly shoving it down, he told her, “When you’re better, we’re going to have a conversation about charging into situations that you don’t have a grasp on yet.”

She rolled her eyes. “If I never went charging into situations, there would be a great many unsolved cases out there, William. I rather think that’s worth the price.”

“Well, I don’t.” It slipped out before he could think better of it.

She didn’t even bat an eyelash. “You don’t get a vote.”

“Of course I don’t.” He’d be annoyed if he wasn’t so relieved to see her awake and alright, snipping at him like she always did. She’s alright. I didn’t completely fail, and she’s safe, most importantly.

That eased enough of the fear and unrest stampeding through his chest. Reaching forward, he plucked a file off the bedside table, flipping it open. As he began to read it, he could feel Eliza watching him. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Working,” he said, not looking up. “Remember?”

“You don’t need to stay with me, you know,” she said. “I’m fine on my own.”

“I know.”

She didn’t say anything else— not then— and together, they settled into a comfortable silence.

#miss scarlet and the duke #msatd #eliza scarlet #william wellington #eliza x william #writing stories is a kind of magic too

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artsycervidae · 4 months ago

Text

Moksha: Chapter 22

Summary: After a night of terrorizing the district, both sides withdraw to tend to their injured.

Word Count: 5.7 k

Double check with the chapter and trigger list!

Gyutaro felt something creeping between his brain and his skull. His body dropped into the house like a rock into a pond, and the impact struck him immobile. This had never happened before. He raised himself up, realizing falteringly that the stabs of pain were debris being pushed out of him, flesh mending itself, which was good at least. He was out of his own body, but it was still working with no more harm done than a near-decapitation. The intruding sensation was far more unnerving. All his thought processes-- a possible ambush, a poisonous injection, a new hypothesis-- were wiped clean, leaving behind a fresh, stark amnesia. Affixing his head took all the willpower he could muster, his hands and thoughts struggled to comprehend the task. 'What the hell. What the hell?!' Gyutaro floundered for understanding, but all that came was the onslaught of stimulation: the dark was too rich, the floorboards too old, the stench of mildew and disease too prevalent. The sharp and burning agony of his physical form ached deeper than his core. It was so familiar but foreign. He had known pain like this once.

He wanted to reach into his cranium and scratch right through, to reach for something that kept evading him. But he just sat there, shocked still and too sore to do anything about it.

Hinata's landing was equally rough-- their left knee crunched softly under their weight, and they gasped, grimacing with relief. Concentration broken, the starving pains made their presence known amd made Hinata retch, seizing them by the stomach. Nothing regurgitated, which was good news. How embarrassing would it be to throw up right in front of a Kizuki? But the bad news... they flexed their left leg, then observed the blood seeping through their left side. 'Huh.' The obi flashed in their mind. They were letting too much slide. They were still too eager--

They were lucky Recovery Breathing could stop the bleeding. Their situation was already unfavorable. How much damage could this body take before it gave out altogether? Would they last another two days, or would Gyutaro discard their pact? They didn't mind knowing he would gouge them for all they had. Surely he knew they had the same intentions for him. Either way, they both would benefit if Nobu died first. Once Nobu was dead, Hinata would devote their mind and body toward the final step. And if they lost anyway, Gyutaro could have whatever was left of Hinata as payment-- a gesture of their selfish gratitude.

"Hey, did you survive?" They called out, playfully sheepish, adjusting the kimono on their shoulders. They scanned the demolished hallway and its rooms, seeking their fellow murderer. "It'll seem insincere if I apologize, so I won't. But I'll admit that was a dirty trick, taking advantage of the fog. You ate during our fight though, so maybe we can call it even."

There he was! Oh, the way Hinata's ethereal kubijakiri swept his head back onto his shoulders, tilting his neck this way and that-- testing his connections, surely. A little worse for wear, but he was as lovely and whole as ever. And though they adored the way he shrugged and tested his regenerated tendons, he seemed... different...

Gyutaro's fingers flexed. He breathed consciously. The involuntary fear was subsiding but the brain-crawler left him dazed. Time was moving slow enough that he could see everything: the soft puffs of dirt as the house resettled, the feather-like drop of splinters... and through the heat and haze, the waning swordsman parted their lips in open admiration, tongue tapping at the tip of a canine, running along their front teeth in consideration.

"Don't trick me," Hinata teased. "Demons don't get concussions. I know it wasn't the fairest test, but you passed beautifully. I suspected you would." Gyutaro's glassy eyes turned up to them, irradiated lanterns burning holes into them. They paused and asked "... Who are you?" with their voice small but intrigued.

Because the person looking at Hinata through Gyutaro's eyes was not the Upper Six Kizuki that they knew. They couldn't help the chills that ran up and down their spine, looking into a familiar face and seeing a stranger looking back.

Then it was gone. Gyutaro felt the world fall into place, time caught up, and colors desaturated. The pain disappeared with a snap. He would have gasped if it weren't for Hinata standing there, looking as if they'd seen someone get their head cut off and stand back up. "What?!" He shouted, for lack of anything else to say.

Hinata's skin jumped at the outburst. "Are you okay?"

The question grated Gyutaro. "Do you have time to worry about that now?" he asked, his fury palpable, his fascination steady. "You seem to have bigger problems. And I'm not just talking about me."

"Oh," they looked to the red stains in their clothing. "This?" An interesting point... there were too many coincidences lined up. "I'll live for now. Besides," they tilted their head to him in consideration, "You know you're my biggest priority at the moment." Gyutaro's jab had arrogance and energy, but the toothy smile was absent. He wasn't even scowling with that much vigor, more distracted than angry, ruining the whole tormenting situation. Hinata would rather Gyutaro tear them into pieces than lose interest in them. "But if you insist--"

They rushed him, the net writhing and puffing with impatience. The demon recovered and met the nichirin katana head-on with his kama-- a trading of blows, net barbs slashing easy-access routes for his counterattack blood sickles, some of which carved shallow divots into Hinata's skin now and again, whipping through their flowing clothes with steadier accuracy. The human was getting slower; they were tired. Without the benefit of eating flesh for power, they focused instead on the rhythm of their heart, applauding and cheering for blood to be shed. Pain, their constant companion, kept their mind sharp with mouthwatering anticipation.

Meanwhile, Daki was running for her life. Her muscles had begun to slough off, and her feet left bloodprints as a smoking trail. The tracks sizzled into ash, but not before leading the Mist Breather right to her. She could sense him somewhere behind her-- stalking.

'It'll be okay! Gyutaro is right over there! He's okay! Get to him!' But no matter what turn she took, she felt the fibers of her muscles atrophying quicker than she could regrow them. Her eyes wept down her cheeks literally, so her obi grazed over the world around her to keep her path clear. She heard the hissing through teeth as the boy suddenly swung in, swift and savage. Reflexively, her obi limbs took to the air and she pumped her legs, running on air in the direction she came-- or, was it that way? The fabric tentacles clambered over roofs and balconies and her sandals went clack! as she found footing. Was she going the right way? She got turned around somehow.

The young Slayer was upon her immediately: she heard his flowing uniform behind her and her Blood Demon Art reared itself like a shield, too late. He was already in formation. "Foliage Breathing, Fourth Form: Lotus Rot."

Tetsuya could feel everything, and no longer was his brain stuck or floating surreally above the clouds. This sensation could be directed anywhere in his domain, and he guided his attention to the creature before him. He molded the petals of a lotus flower around her, the strokes of his sword slicing the obi strands away from its vulnerable core. Even from so far away, he could feel the squelching and tremoring of her organs caught in an endless torment of death. His sword pinned the most vital ones as easily as seeing through her skin: Heart. Lungs. Liver. Kidneys. Each puncture left a massive hole in her body, though these were merely to weaken the demon. Before he could deliver the killing strike-- a piercing plunge into her throat, a swift twist of the blade, a vicious swipe into the brain-- she emitted a high pitched squeal.

In a series of slices, in a matter of seconds, Daki had been utterly destroyed... she knew it too, and couldn't help but burst into tears. She was furious, devastated, hideous. She had been so close to arriving at the nick of time, to saving her brother and sweeping into the spotlight, gorgeous and incredible, awing the sibling whom she had hurt. A future of praise, respect, and forgiveness, stolen! After all this struggle, this was how she was going to be treated by this-- this-- this gremlin! This horrible little brat! He was the worst, the absolute worst! She despised him!

The obi burst from her back in a torrent, ten fabric limbs whipping at the boy; at the last minute he abandoned his assault and guarded against them, but one of them made it past his sword and slit through his uniform. It constricted around him-- and though she could have snapped him into pieces or plucked his body apart like pulling petals off a flower-- she hurled him away as hard as she could in a tantrum.

"Go away! I hate you! Just die! Die die die die diediediediedie!" She poured all her hate into her words, all her energy into her attacks. But the boy had vanished into the mist. She turned on her heel and ran blindly, stumbling into walls and hoping she would find some sanctuary to heal, or better yet, her brother.

Tetsuya knew the value of discipline. He took advantage of the demoness's decision to disengage, backtracking to assist the final remaining hostage-- he had finally cut the fabric free of her during the Fourth Form. She must not have noticed. As the pink cloth fluttered to the ground, a solid object had fallen from it like fruit from a tree. The unconscious young man lay in the open, tangled in the disintegrating silk, seemingly unharmed. Tetsuya dragged that body to the side of the road and propped him against a building. It brought a faint sense of pride, but it was short-lived when he took for the demon's trail. The bloodied footprints had already dissipated, all biological evidence of her existence fading. This did not discourage him, though-- the tendrils of his mind traced the wind and vibrations of the buildings around him, walking slowly and steadily through the dark. She would turn up eventually... he only needed to catch up.

Daki blindly broke through a door, preparing for a shout or holler to announce her arrival. But no shout came, and so there was nobody to kill and feed on. The injured girl moved through the room and found a corner to sink into. She couldn't stop wheezing, no matter how she breathed and groaned. A blubbery sob stifled itself in her chest as she sniffled.

She wanted to go home. She wanted to be cured, cleaned, and tucked into her bed safely. She wanted Kazuko there, combing her hair and showering her in compliments until Daki learned how to sleep.

She wanted her brother.

Weeping, the demon girl gasped the air like a fish and allowed herself this one respite. Only one of her lungs was operable, but she drew breath into it regardless before plunging her mind back into Gyutaro's mind.

His fully-attached head was stooped mere centimeters over his prey, holding the ghost back, but the Slayer had him restrained likewise. The twin kama sandwiched the katana blade, the nightmarish net tangled the scythes clinging to her brother's hands viciously. The human jerked with their arms and kicked with their legs, but her brother was vicious at every opening as he stomped and yanked with bone-breaking force. With a particularly brutal heave, he had swung the human up into the air before slamming them into the ground, but the human pulled him along-- bouncing off the floor, bringing the demon down with them into a grapple. Gyutaro snarled--or laughed-- as their combined weight snapped his femur in two, throwing off their weight and neutralizing the Slayer's advantage.

Like a grotesque bug with three heads, they fought to get back up. Even when he blasted them with the half-circles that liquefied from his shredded flesh, they rudely swung him into his own attacks, and the broken-sword gauntlet would jerk out from the fray (luxuriating in the freedom, limited as it was) to crush stray projectiles. He moved, they moved-- the tug-of-war remained taut.

The mere suggestion of her brother being in a stalemate made her feel sick. She forcibly reminded herself that this was no specter from hell-- demons were the only things to be feared here. 'Kill them!' she thought, cheering him on like he had for her once. 'Get them, big brother!'

"Da--?!" Gyutaro felt it again-- that invader creeping through his brainstem. Only this time, he recognized its accompanying 'voice.' Gyutaro never experienced telepathy in his own body, within his own skull. Was this how it felt for him to peer out from Daki's eyes? He hated it-- hated the possibility that she could push her way into his personal life at such an awkward, inconvenient time.

What made the situation all the more harrowing was how Hinata perked with curiosity, their quartz eyes alight. "What is it?" They wondered, and their tone wasn't what he expected. They pulled on the knot between them, and lowered their voice conspiratorially. "... Does he know? Are you safe, or are you cornered like me?" Gyutaro ground his teeth hard enough they cracked, nearly crumbling like his battle tactics-- and though he had grit his jaw countless times before, this time was different.

It hurt. He had never hurt so exquisitely, to the point his bones encumbered him and lights blinded him-- it was all Daki! With a growl, Gyutaro shook Hinata like a wild dog would shake its victim, so brutally that it broke both his arms. It wasn't hard to do: the Slayer refused to release him, so all it took was twisting his elbows the wrong way, the bone puncturing through skin and allowing him to bleed freely. He jolted back and out of the grapple with a harsh gasp, fresh limbs bursting forth in a hurry, his blood rushing and solidifying in his hands. "Get lost!" With Hinata's anchor freed, he cast them off with a wave of flying blood sickles. Slayer and all, it crashed through the house and out of sight. Hinata reeled from the power that Gyutaro displayed-- in that brief moment of panic, lacerations etched into their arms as the speeding slices careened and collided. There was enough power in them that they rebounded off the last few structures of the house. The roof collapsed. Gyutaro was pummeled with debris. Hinata scrambled and took cover between support pillars-- avoiding death for the second time in a matter of seconds.

What are you doing here?! In Daki's mind, these unspoken words were a familiar tone of voice if in a different quality of derision. She hadn't expected him to be grateful, but Gyutaro's apparent annoyance was like salt! She wanted to insist her aid, to find him and turn the tides like she had always planned... but the dam broke, and all she could do was plead. Big brother, help, she cried. Help me. My healing stopped, I don't know what to do! That boy is here somewhere, and he won't leave me alone!

Even now she knew, that horrible kid was lurking and looking. Hunting her down, like the deplorable brat he was!

Gyutaro didn't bother asking where she was-- she had obviously followed him, which they would discuss later. He needed to find her, first and foremost. And now that he knew they could interact from remote places...

He planted his nails at his temple, then tore half his own cheek off. It smarted, but got the job done: it calmed him enough that he could discern the boundary between her suffering and his. He felt back down the invisible tether that tied him to his sister, the ruins around him blurring. Daki tried to focus at the same time but when he pushed back, it was was like having a heavy burden taken from her hands. She dropped into her own body, limbs going soft as the dark room closed in on her with sudden detail: not with vision, but with smell, taste, touch, and sound. Gyutaro could smell rice, alcohol, and dust. She sniffed and snorted out blood, hardly gathering the energy to wipe at her skinless face with the back of her hand.

Stay where you are, I'm coming. Gyutaro knew exactly where she was-- he had passed that particular storeroom in the earlier chase. She wasn't far. With no time to waste, he left Hinata to whatever fate had in store for them, plunging out of the devastated business and into the road.

Hinata's head ached-- like a pressure was building up behind their nose and between their eyes, or a pin being forced through their cranium. The scene replayed in their mind: Gyutaro's eyes had shifted, and Hinata recognized the new dance partner again. The same steps, the same performance, but a new inspiration. And when he called out to this influence...

Jealousy seared their mind, recalling how immediate the change was. Hinata had been seeking Gyutaro's weaknesses, the bruises to press on and make him work harder than he already was. They had rather hoped they could get under his skin, but it seemed something-- or someone-- beat them to it. Someone who, once introduced, made Gyutaro significantly more of a threat.

This was someone he wouldn't hesitate to burn the world down for.

It was ironic, and utterly unfair, that a demon like Gyutaro had someone who loved him dearly, while Hinata had nothing and nobody. But if Gyutaro had someone like that... it meant he was vulnerable. There was a chance to put him in danger. Which meant they had to find this 'Da' before Nobutoshi could, and determine if Muzan knew about this weakness. Their teeth clacked together with silent envy and intrigue. Then they burst from the rubble, shrugging off the infrastructure and pain before sprinting after their target. They wouldn't stop him-- they knew better than to corner something deadly, but they also couldn't allow the demon to keep all his secrets to himself.

Gyutaro felt something hot on his trail. He could hear them cut through the air like a thrown knife and halted in place to turn on them-- but it wasn't Hinata. He had taken advantage of the fog to predict the tiny Slayer's arrival.

Hinata watched in horror when a certain disobedient soldier flew into the demon's path and struck a perfect Heat Refraction Form, his sheath in his other hand to serve as his second weapon. Gyutaro's kama snapped out at the oncoming Tetsuya-- but the boy shimmered like an optical illusion. The reach of his sword carved a perfect arc, the brutality of its touch burning anything in reach. The thought 'How in the hell--?' was cut off by 'He's going to rupture something!' Hinata knew Tetsuya had eaten too much today. His body wasn't trained for Flame Breathing. He had only a rudimentary understanding of Foliage Breathing. Couldn't he recognize the danger inside him, if not before him?

Gyutaro felt the sword slash into his shoulder at an angle before it caught. Naturally. The kid wasn't strong enough to behead the likes of him. His kama rose. A single directive took hold of Hinata, and they recognized the feeling. Like sand shifting out from under their weight. Their control slipped; their hypnotic directive frizzled their perspective like burning hair.

They drew in an unconscious breath, like one about to be plunged underwater. Then, their mind cut to a discordant flood of sheer feelings: The bite of icicle teeth. Watching the sun rise with Kosuke. Being pulled along by Kenzou. Kai and Shiori glancing to them uncertainly. Kabuto laughing roarously. Nobutoshi holding them as they returned to him from death. Junko's everpresent company at their left side. At least the darkness was preceded by anyone Hinata'd ever had the audacity to love: and then there was only the beat of their heart in time with Tetsuya's.

If it was a matter of going toe-to-toe against the child alone, the fight would have been settled long ago with Gyutaro having pierced the Slayer's underchin. But before the demon landed his strike, the boy's shadow separated itself from him-- it was Hinata, materializing from nowhere as an unspoken danger, though this deterred Gyutaro no less.

Hinata grabbed him midmotion, seizing his elbow with that grotesquely barbed hand and digging its nichirin claws into his joint. Gyutaro snarled in their strangely placid face; their eyes were nearly entirely white, as if rolled back in their sockets, but he could still see the pinprick of a pupil staring back out at him. This bought Tetsuya the time to dislodge his sword and strike again. Gyutaro ripped himself from the grip, degloving himself down his wrist to catch the knife-sword with his bony, bleeding forearm. Before Tetsuya's blade could get stuck this time, Hinata threw their form against his, body-checking him out of harm's way. Their net pulverized Gyutaro's blood whorls before the attack could gain traction. The kid didn't even fall over. He wobbled, turning with his makeshift shield into the path of oncoming blood sickles, and struck at the demon again. Like a choreographed plan, the Slayers came at Gyutaro with rotary blades: they parried and he hit and they blocked. Gyutaro defended again and again and again. His scythes obliterated the kid's forms and threw off his weight, but every misstep was covered by Hinata, the traitorous asshole. Each blow sent throttles up Gyutaro's shoulders until he was the one advancing, chest heaving with anger.

He fought back hard, ignoring everything else that stood between him and his sister. The tingle of pain, the noise, the fear-- all of it was secondary. His arms were a flurry as he swung and pushed his blood scythes out, forcing them to shred through layers of muscle and pre-flayed dermis; he regenerated over the self-mutilation, then tore through it all over again. Demon Blood Art: Rampant Arc Rampage protected him, spewing woven semi-circles as he charged the oncoming attacks. But in that push for ground, Hinata's sword dropped from their hand.

Before Tetsuya could be obliterated by an unstoppable hell bullet, Hinata twisted and snatched the younger Slayer by his uniform, seizing him to their chest in possessive protection. They fled from Gyutaro's bloodsoaked path.

Tetsuya couldn't tell what had happened: one moment, he was connected to everything and everyone, all five senses submerged in the wild kinetic overlap of motion and blood. But it was all lost to him now: Hinata's katana had been struck airborne in the fray, where it spun out of control. Only now did it land, piercing the ground with a high note. This reached his ears-- Tetsuya was ripped from his fugue state, coming back to his body to find it in someone's hold. "Let me go!" He hollered, struggling against the person pinning him to their side.

Gyutaro only stole one look back: the boy thrashing his limbs from under an arm, Hinata staring onward. Or at least... it was Hinata's body. The lights were on, but whether Hinata was home or not was debatable, and he didn't have time for debates. He left them in his dust. He felt around in his head for that intangible connection again and found his sister there.

Daki's head swam, focus cutting in and out between the aching of her stomach, teeth, brain, and skin. She was still weeping cloudy liquid from her deformed eye holes, but she felt him coming and crawled out from her hidey hole. Gyutaro found the broken door. The sight within was enough to make his blood boil-- he regretted not killing the boy the first chance he had... he even regretted that Hinata survived to protect the punk. His poison-skinned sibling was on all fours, the bloodied handprints ashing off the floor. When her protector appeared in the doorway, she couldn't help the pathetic whine that slipped out of her, "Big brother," as she raised her hands to him, pleading him to make it all go away.

"Hey," he was quick to squat next to her, slouching to such a severe degree that his scapula jutted out. Daki threw her arms over his shoulders and clung. He held her in return and his palm moved in small, careful circles on her tender back, the rotten layers of his heart peeling away at the soft sound of her crying. He hadn't seen her this upset in a while. "Oh, sweet Daki. It'll be okay. Look at you-- you've gotten yourself into some mess, huh? Dummy, you went running around in the mist," he cooed, babying her. She could only swallow, hiccup, and nod her head. "Don't worry. I'm with you. You don't have to work so hard anymore. Here, let me."

He pulled away and cupped both sides of her face. Daki sniffled as her nasal canals were remade. Her makeup was a mess-- half-melted across her skin, though the newly grown patches were clean. Gyutaro used his thumbs and her tears to smudge away the worst of the mess, tilting her face and examining, confirming he did a proper healing job. It was then he realized how minimal the damage had really been-- she only looked worse than she was left off. The righteous fury softened to exasperated relief. Daki had simply played with her food too hard. Still, that boy made his sister cry... that wasn't something he could let slide. "There you go. That wasn't so hard, was it? You scaredy-cat. We'll get you back home, I've got it all taken care of. But you have to be strong, okay? You'll need to run the rest of the way, or the Slayers will notice me." He couldn't take risks with Hinata's ability to track him-- and if they still found Daki, he could ambush them if they got close.

"I'm scared," she whimpered as her fresh green eyes misted, testing the new tear ducts.

"Don't be. They're only alive because I want them to be, for now. I'll tell you later." He had said it with such confidence that his sister swallowed and nodded fervently, her hands dropping back into her still-regenerating lap. She didn't question or argue.

"Are you ready?"

"I'm ready."

He scooped her up, ferrying her to the door before he swung her legs-- fresh and whole-- to the ground. Run! Let's go. He pushed her, hands on her shoulders as he briefly piggybacked the momentum and merged into her trapezius muscles.

Daki did as she was told-- she bundled her destroyed costume to her body and fled. Gyutaro took his rightful place behind her eyes, a passive passenger guiding her speed and regeneration. She took to the rooftops before he could dissuade her otherwise, but she surprised him by moving faster. She catapulted herself over the more populated streets silently. Her multiple obi limbs swam through air, propelling her far from the devastation they had caused. The Slayers still did not follow them.

On the other side of the district, life carried on as usual, perfectly undisrupted by the chaos elsewhere. The dissonance wasn't new to Gyutaro, but Daki kept glancing around as if they were children sneaking back home, and she couldn't believe they were getting away with it. She slipped into her quiet, dark room. It had been tidied, and what a relief it was to return home to a clean living space. She incredulously closed the window, and the confidence came easier to her from the safety of their lair. She caught her breath, then laughed and tossed her hair. "Those Slayers sure are pathetic," she declared. "They relied so much on all that perfume to try and trap us. We showed them."

As if she hadn't been the one beaten down. Rather than indulge her good mood, Gyutaro burst her bubble.

I told you to stay home.

She could not believe what she was hearing! Gyutaro went on, What is this get-up? Aren't these work clothes? I don't recognize them.

It's a disguise, Daki argued stupidly, trying to wrap her head around the criticism. I came because--

A disguise? Why? Were you seen?!

Not really, she lied. She waited for him to call her on it. He didn't. Gyutaro's silence scared her; being an older sibling seemed to give him the uncanny ability to sense her bullshit in particular.

What about the Slayer? he interrogated. The one whose mist hurt you so bad.

She repressed the memory of the cloth-swaddled boy and his attention to detail, who made off with her other eye witnesses. No! she seethed, Neither of them saw me! And if they did, how would they recognize me? These aren't my clothes, and if you hadn't noticed, my skin was falling off. Gyutaro, who had regrown that skin for her, seemed more irate with her being right than having caused him trouble, which only added fuel to her fire. Besides, I saved you.

I wasn't beheaded, Gyutaro muttered. As if my neck could be cut.

I stopped them, she preened, Did you see? My obi reached further than before, and that's not all I can do--

Right, Gyutaro cut her off, suddenly reminded of another grievance, you interrupted my fight.

Not on purpose! I was testing my new power.

Our power.

No, she asserted, my power. I was seeing and feeling through your eyes, brother.

I've been doing that for years now. How do you think I found you before the Slayers could? he asked patronizingly, but then laughed when she couldn't say anything in return. I guess now we don't have to be in the same body to talk, or even transmit information. This is useful to know.

That's not fair! Her fist punched the floor, her belated petulance shining through. You're already so much stronger than me! Why do you get to see what I see too?

Well, Gyutaro added begrudgingly, I just didn't know it was an option when we were apart.

She appreciated the crumbful of humility. That's not all, she announced, reaching for the obi and smoothing out its pattern to seek out the splash of cooler, earthy tones. But there were only the geometric patterns, the floral decals... "No... no!"

Stop shouting, her brother scolded. Calm down. Tell me what you're so upset about now.

"I'm sorry, big brother," she wailed, lamenting her own awful luck. Her arms fell back to her sides limply. "I wanted to show you-- that stupid kid ruined everything! I worked so hard to impress you, after finding out I can preserve humans in my obi!"

Preserve?

Daki nodded, her lower lip warbling. I caught so many humans for us. I was going to surprise you with a feast... as an apology.

It surprised him. Not that his little sister was kind or considerate-- he knew that she was too good to help it. Just that... she felt the need to apologize and make amends. She must have known he would forgive her anyway. He would always be angry, but he loved her too much to count it as a debt.

Well, he conceded, warming up as he spoke on, that's a neat trick. In fact... this tips things in our favor. Good job, Daki! He may as well have sprouted from her back and pat her on the head.

She hiccuped. Really? And when he hummed his affirmation, she positively glowed. Should we go back out? I can still catch us all the humans we need.

No, and before she could take offense, it occurred to her that she didn't feel up to it either. They were both exhausted, stamina drained from an unexpected night out. Lie low. They'll keep looking for us all night and wear themselves out. And we caused enough havoc that the other humans will be looking for suspicious people. They'll either get themselves caught or wear themselves out... don't do anything outrageous until I'm back. I have a lot to think over.

Hinata had described the plan as a siege-- but Daki had swiftly presented Gyutaro with an easy, effective solution. As stupid as she was, Daki had her ways of surprising him still. He couldn't wait for the Slayer to find out all their hard work had been for nothing: that he and his sister held all the cards in the game they played, and that it took no effort at all. I told you that your powers would get better, Daki... you keep this up, and you'll be as strong as me, I bet. She grinned. The sweetness of a well-earned victory couldn't compare to his sincere praise. He repeated himself, Good job... but next time I tell you to hang back--

I will, she greedily accepted.

And go back to work, he said, utterly ruining her moment. You need an alibi, if you're going to insist on playing with your food.

Fine. She folded her arms.

And with a murmur, Gyutaro slunk into the darkness. Daki, thoroughly satisfied, turned to her mirror and cleaned her face. Tsubakihime was believed to be ill and resting, therefore it made sense that she be well within her right to lock the world out and sleep in, as their most prized jewel ought. She was content-- not full, not powerful, but feeling hardier. Satisfied. With the sun coming up soon, she determined to do better-- to make Gyutaro's approval a regular occurrence.

This brought forth the issue of clothes, ruined by body fluids and wisteria moisture. Typically, Daki left this work to the old woman, but surely she would recognize Kazuko's things and make a fuss over it. Perhaps she ought to ask her brother about his process; she wasn't sure if he made a fire, dug a hole, or simply found a river to throw leftover belongings into... and the work sounded stupid and exhausting. She would rather make the old biddy take care of it, like she had with Sayako's belongings. Daki had handled the woman's stubbornness soundly, hadn't she? Until then, she needed to make sure Kazuko never found out--

As she was shedding the destroyed articles, she found a stray sheet of paper hidden in the kimono. Already, Daki had forgotten its importance-- it was Kazuko's letter, but it had been nasty and not very interesting. Now, it was barely legible, drenched then dried in demon blood, holes punched into it where the Slayer's sword cut through Daki. Oh well. She stashed her victims' belongings in a lacquered chest. The box was meant to hold vast amounts of jewelry among its many drawers, but removing the casings made some extra room. With unmarred skin and clean linens, Daki prepared for a bath. As she gathered up her sundries, she hummed a little with no concern for the things that had slipped her mind.

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